Chocolate-Influenced Short Stories

He Tried, Really Tried, But It Hurt Too Much

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It’s been a while since I logged one of my dreams and the one I have in mind to share happened a few nights ago. I was going to ignore it but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The after-effects of the dream really impacted me in my waking life, even to now.

Here’s my dream:

Midnight approaches in a corner of a city that actually sleeps. The night sky has been censored by the exhausted storm. Everything is either black, white, or in-between. Walking down a drenched sidewalk from hour-old rain, the clicks of my high-heels echo between buildings where no other soul, but me, scurry along to get home.

Along the block, street light poles expose me as I hustle, careful not to trip over myself. A cool wind forecasts more rain and I hug my trench coat closer to me. I make a sharp turn around a corner of the same block and immediately pause.

There are a handful of homeless people strolling around this small, brick road. A young one is leaning against the concrete wall of a building and three others are conversing under a street light pole. An unfamiliar old man is pushing around a shopping cart toward my direction. I’m very familiar with the others but it’s the old man who I have never seen before.

Regaining my pace, I continue down the block until I catch my face in the reflection on a glass window of a corporate bank. I’m very young-looking with fair skin and very long curly hair. But it’s my face I am astonished by. It is emotionless. I realize I couldn’t tell if I was sad, happy, calm, angry, or anything.

“It’s all tucked away in your heart.”

I snap my head away from the window and the old man frightens me by standing there with a large smile on his face. He isn’t as old as I thought he was. Probably in his mid sixties.

“When was the last time you listened to your heart?” He asks me kindly, smiling so brightly and eagerly. His eyes shine with excitement.

“Sir, I don’t understand what you are talking about?” I respond, making an inconspicuous step back away from him.

“Listen.” He hushes, placing a finger on his lips. I tempt to open my mouth and he hushes me again. Then I hear it. Thump. Thump. Thump. The old man’s eyes grow wide as he grabs the chest of his long coat. Something is glowing beneath it. I stare in awe as he unbuttons a few slots and slowly reveals what it is.

A bright, red heart is radiating through his black shirt, pumping in a soft rhythm. It was nothing I have seen before. First of all, no one has ever seen the color red in centuries and second, his heart was glowing.

“If I can believe, you can believe too.” He says ecstatically, smiling so wide that you’d think he has never frowned in his life. “Believe in what?” I asked quizzically, “I don’t understand what is happening.”

“Love! This is what a heart looks like full of love.” He says as he closes his coat back up, “My darling, you used to believe! You can most certainly do it again.” He points at my chest and I find that I am hastily unbuttoning the top of my coat. When I spread the top of open, pieces of red fall out and litter the ground. I gasp at the tiny fragments losing their glow right at my feet. Glancing down at my chest, there is a hole where a few pieces of my heart remain.

“My love! My love! Not to worry. It can be mended.” The old man drops down to his knees and begins to pick up the pieces. I am completely baffled by what I am seeing. Emotions of sadness, fear, and shock surrounded me and they were all foreign to me. “What’s wrong with me?” I gasp, tears begin filling my eyes.

“No, no, no, darling. It’s okay. They are called emotions.” The man quickly stands up and shows me that he picked up all of the pieces into his cupped hands, “You just have to remember. Don’t be afraid.” When I look at him, I notice he has become younger, about 40s.

Rain suddenly intervenes in our conversation and the old man immediately grabs an umbrella out of his cart. Once he has it open and set over our heads, he beckons me to hold his hand with my heart fragments. The moment I do, my body feels like it is being pull forcefully backwards but my feet remain in place. When I regain the view of my surroundings, I see a young, handsome man in front of me, smiling brightly and eagerly.

“Darling, you do remember!” He says happily, and he was right. As we held hands, I do remember. He was the love of my life, and he and I shared many happy moments. I could see all of the colors: blue, yellow, green, purple, red, orange. They were all so beautiful. Love was the source of my energy. The fragments of my heart inside our hands begin to glow bright. I forgot how wonderful love felt!

But as quickly as the happy thoughts came, sad memories consume me shortly after and I see all of the terrible things that happen between me and this man. Arguments, separations, threats, regrets, and worst of all, he abandons me. The pain overpowers the happiness I originally felt. I sob heavily and can’t bare it anymore.

I yank my hand out of his and everything returns back to the street, where the rain is pouring over me and the old homeless man. Everything is black and white again. The man’s chest is not glowing anymore. He is still holding the pieces of my heart.

“Why did you stop believing?” His smile dissolves into a frown and his eyes show heart-break, “I came from the future to find you. You lost your heart and I came here to help you find it.”

“I don’t need your help.” I snap at him, wiping away the tears and mascara off my cheeks, “I didn’t ask for you to help me find my heart.” I spin around to walk off but the old man pleas, “Please, my sweet darling, don’t stop believing in love!”

“I rather stop believing in love than love with such painful, emotional burdens.” were the final words I tell him before storming off.

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One thought on “He Tried, Really Tried, But It Hurt Too Much

  1. Reblogged this on Molly Greye and commented:

    My favorite short story I’ve written for WP so far. This is based on a dream I had a few months ago. It’s about learning to love again and the only obstacle in the way is yourself.

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