Short Story Rough Draft

Weeping Table

It had been days since he last saw her, many nights had passed by and he wondered if she even thought of him as much as he thought of her. Their last meeting was not pleasant. It was meant to be a perfect day, but ended only in sadness. He hadn't meant to do what he did, it just happened and he had no control, it seemed as if he never had control...

 

For once he wished he could have been better, could have really been there like she had been there for him, but of course the little evil inside of him came out and took control of every action and decison he made. There was no stopping it once it came out, there was no way to stop it. He had already tried several times only to find himself making it worse. This evil tore him apart from so many, from the ones he cared about and even someone he thought he might love.

 

He walked back and forth across the room, shaking his head and clenching his fists. Suddenly he slammed his fist down hard onto the table next to him. It shook under his fist, as if it too were afraid of him, and as if it would also break. He looked at the table he had taken his anger on and saw all the people he had ever hurt, all the pain he caused. And for once he knelt down beside the table and wept. He wailed and shook and cried so hard that no sound came out. He looked at the table and begged for it's forgiveness. He hadn't meant what he had done,

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, so sorry..."

He continued to repeat it several times, looking at the table as if it were the girl he had hurt so badly. As if asking it for forgiveness would be the same as asking all the people he cared for, for their forgiveness.

 

All day and all night he knelt by the table and wept repeating the words of how sorry he was.