William Golden awakes to yet another morning. 1
He'd once tried to count the number of mornings he'd awoken to. A silly exercise perhaps, but when you'd spent as ungodly an amount of time on this earth as he had, even silly exercises can amuse you for a time. 2
It had worked out to some crazy number like four hundred thousand, but he's long ago given up counting. All he can do now is pray that the count will end. 3
Damn, but he's tired! Not physically, for he had slept the sleep of the dead last night; the three quarter bottle of gin had taken care of that. 4
No, he is world-weary, or perhaps life-weary is a more fitting term. I'm probably the first being in history to have had that thought and meant it, he thinks. William Golden is not a normal man; perhaps he is not even a man at all. He is immortal and has been walking this earth for nearly two thousand years now. And he is tired. 5
His body has long ago become a prison to him, holding his soul captive in a world he longs to escape, to finally break the chains of this immortal existence and move on to the next plateau. 6
He's sick of watching his loved ones die before him, growing old and fading away in his arms as he watches helplessly, as young and unchanged as ever. 7
He is sick of being scared to love anymore ... it has been too long since he has let himself care for anyone, too long since he has held a woman and felt anything. 8
Sighing, he throws the covers back and swings himself out of bed. There has to be a way! he thinks, the same thought that has begun every day since the night his Agnes died. Everyone dies sooner or later, he tells himself ... his father, his mother, Agnes, everyone he’s ever known and loved. And still, he goes on. There is a way, he says to himself. I just need to find it! 9
Each day is the same now. There is only one purpose, one reason to open his eyes in the morning. 10
What shall it be today, he wonders. He'd bought a new gun yesterday from a shady character on Seventh Ave. The bullets were supposed to carry a small explosive charge in the tip, and the man has promised that the destruction they would cause was nothing short of total devestation. Perhaps blowing his brains out will work today. 11
And if not, perhaps throwing himself in front of a subway train. He hadn't gotten around to that one yet. Possibly the combination of the electrical jolt and the impact of the train would work where other methods had failed. 12
As he performs his morning routine, he stares at the bleary-eyed reflection in the cracked mirror that hangs above a dirty bathroom sink. For two millennia that image has stared back at him, never changing, the same unwrinkled face that had mysteriously ceased to age one day, ancient eyes that belie the youthful visage. The same eyes that now seem to taunt him, as if to say 'You and me are in it forever bub, . . .fuh-evah.' 13
And that is the kicker. The immortality that had seemed such a blessing in the beginning is now a hell he can't escape. There is nothing left for him to do in this world; there hasn't been for a very long time. 14
He washes away the last traces of sleep from his eyes, and begins to get dressed, donning his favorite suit. His only suit in fact, the same thing he puts on every morning; a dark black three-piece suitable to the funeral his life has become. He absently brushes away the bits of dried blood that cling to the collar from yesterday's attempt.15
He removes the gun he has stored in the night table, and disengages the safety. Sitting atop the same night table, where it always sits, is the four-thousand page manuscript he adds to every night as his suicide attempts fail, one after another. 16
Someday someone will find this along with his dead body, he hopes. It tells the story of a life that has spanned the centuries, one man's perspective on a history he has witnessed, on events no other living human can boast having seen. "The Golden Years", if you will.17
The destruction of Pompeii in 79 A.D, he had been there. Suppressing a shudder, he remembers the searing of his flesh as the molten lava rained down upon his city. Remembers awakening from death to find all his loved ones dead and himself left to carry on. That death had been his first, the first of many. 18
The Crusades? He'd been there, as Pope Urban II presided over the council of Clermont and called the first crusade into being in 1096. He had marched from Anatolia to Nicea and cheered as the heretic Muslims surrendered. 19
He'd been there to witness the end of the Hundred Years War as the Burgundians turned upon their English allies and helped drive the English from France. And the War of the Roses that began a few years later? He'd been there as well. 20
There’d been so many wars. The Spanish Revolution, the Boer War, the Battle of Colluden, the World Wars; he'd been at them all, perhaps looking for death even then, but of course he had survived them all. He had seen more death and destruction than any man should ever have to bear. 21
And now at the end of it, there is only one war left. He puts the cocked gun to his head and recites a prayer. 'Lord, forgive me for this, but your servant can take no more." 22
Suicide is a mortal sin, he knows. But even Hell is preferable to one more day ... and he pulls the trigger. 23
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Piercing light tries valiantly to dig its way beneath eyelids that Golden keeps closed, squeezing them desperately tight. Maybe if I keep them closed, the light will go away, he hopes, knowing full well it won't. It seems this attempt was as dismal a failure as the rest. 25
Giving in to the inevitable, he opens his eyes and gets up to clean the mess that is as usual the only evidence of his attempt. Not even a headache remains, after a slug through the temple. He wonders fleetingly where the slug goes, as he has wondered before, but it's a mystery to him and of no matter anyways.26
Oh well, he thinks resignedly as he mops up the sticky blood marring the linoleum finish of the kitchen floor. Tomorrow's another day, and there's always the subway.27
Author notes
The first in what I have now decided to attempt to evolve into a serial. Read "The Golden Years - Chapter One - I Am Born" for more of William Golden. Username Colinlinder
In a list
- A Writers Group group list • next in list
A contest entry
- Almost Anything Goes (Seriously This Time) by Shadow Pixie.
220 points, ended June 25, 14 entries
Honorable mention
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Short-short Story Contest! Any genre welcome! by amanda vampiress.
475 points, ended August 10, 60 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Ten Challenges by Cupcake14.
375 points, ended August 13, 9 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next story in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
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This is very well written! I enjoyed this piece very much. I do feel sorry for William Golden. You captured William's suffering and endless torture of living while everyone he loves dies perfectly. The descriptions were vivid and engaging. The dialogue was done quite well also. Thank you for entering my contest. I will certainly have to read a chapter two of this later.
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Very intruging story. He seems to be on the verge of going mad.. I know I would be.
You describe his situation very well and it makes you feel for the poor guy. Loved it.
beginning: 5, language: 5, plot: 5, ending: 5, dialog: 5, characters: 5.
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There's always the subway.
Poor guy. I do feel so incredibly sorry for him. He's tried killing himself so many times....
I think this is a stroke of genius because I've never read anything quite like it. The emotions are clear that he's feeling; he is easily seen as the young man with the eyes that have seen so much. I actually cast him in my mind.
Well done on that.
I wish you all the best in the contests you're in. I think you will definitely go far with this piece. I loved it!!!!
I do have a few suggestions:
Par 8: too long since he has last held a woman [too long since he has held a woman]
Par 13: As he performs his morning routine, he stares at the bleary-eyed reflection in the cracked mirror than [that] hangs above a dirty bathroom sink. / The same eyes that now seems [seem] to taunt him, as if to say 'You and me are in it forever bub, . . .fuh-evah.'
Par 14: There is nothing left for him to do in this world, [;] there hasn't been for a very long time.
Par 15: He absently brushes away the bits of dried blood that cling to the collar from yesterdays [yesterday’s] attempt.
Par 16: Sitting atop the same night table, where it always sits, is the four thousand page manuscript [hyphenate: four-thousand page] he adds to every night as his suicide attempts fail, one after another.
Par 18: Supressing [Suppressing] a shudder, he remembers the searing of his flesh as the molten lava rained down upon his city.
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Very helpful review and I have made the suggested changes. Thank you very much for taking the time on this
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This was a great piece. It had me hooked from beginning to end. Your main character seems very individualized, even from this short piece. You have a good writing style and I think this story has a great future ahead of it!
Thanks for the entry
Good luck!
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Thanks for your kind comment. I'm working on a serialization of this one and William's saga continues in chapter one as he recounts the events of his birth two thousand years ago
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I love the characterization in this one. The quirks really give life to the protagonist! I like this a lot. The life-weariness, the whole angle on suicide, an angle on immortality from someone immortal. We've had too many stories about people TRYING to attain immortality, none that have an immortal TRYING to become mortal. Great concept! Loved it!
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fantabulous
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Great story! I really enjoyed this and would love to read more. Your character is conflicted and very interesting, and so far everything is coming together to create the beginning of what seems to be a wonderful story. I'm really curious as to where you'll take this and would definitely read more if you do post more up!
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Great!
A very good story! The question itself is very interesting, and the story is quite well written. A very well done piece of work! -
i wonder about one thing, is the bullet in his brain? what happens when you try to kill yourself if you're immortal? the train runs you over and then? do you get split into pieces? an interesting question. well, a sad man indeed
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I couldn't help but to think of Doctor Who as I was reading this. I would very much love to read more, and yes, I think it would make a fine novella. You have a very good character here and it sounds like he has certainly got a lot of good stories to tell.
Welcome to storywrite
Joann
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