A Happy Ending
Got bored one night and wrote this in like half an hour. It's short, a single scene, and reminiscent of the darker style that I both prefer and will no doubt be using to more heavily influence my work in the future. FYI, this has been done and lying around for weeks now, so it's not something I've been working on instead of Solipsism. Just figured I'd toss out a bone to gnaw on.
A fire burned, bright and slow. Oranges, yellows, and bastardous blood reds light up the poor dog's fur, a dark grey usually called black, but just like everything with him, looks were deceiving. A crack broke through the midnight air, releasing a puff of smoke and an innumerable plethora of embers to the onyx skies, the blazing bits joining the stars for just a brief moment. How like the mutt they were, being graced with the company of greatness for a moment, only to fall and burn out the next. A tight arc, unforgiving in its slope and fleeting in its peak; parabolic, perhaps, the focus never as high as the peak, but just below. Maybe if that had been the goal, his life wouldn't have become a rendition of a Greek Tragedy. "The Rise and Fall of Ryan Shafer", it had a nice ring to it, but no one would ever read it.
Ryan grew up a mutt. His family was poor, mixed breed for as far back as the records would go. Typical of any child raised as he had been, he was expected to go nowhere. His ascent in the world would be a refresher course on the Vanguard TV3, and yet he'd defied it. He came up strong, a hard worker, getting a job as a teenager and managing to put down enough money to get a bank account going and financing his own vehicle, giving him a good start economically. He'd begun his ascent through the ranks of an accounting firm, starting at a position fit for him and progressing through a tenacious desire to learn and advance. He was unable to be shaken, a force which could not be stopped, the pinnacle of the American Dream.
When Ryan advanced upwards, he met a golden jackal, a beautiful girl from far out east. Her story was similar to his, and she'd come to America in hopes of the American Dream holding true for her. They'd made short contact through business, but Ryan refused to let her drop off his radar; instead, he'd inquired for a personal phone number in lieu of a work phone to contact her, and though she could see right through him, she obliged and slipped him her home number. Before long, they were meeting up on weekends and having drinks and long conversations into the morning. A year later, they were married. Ryan's job security promised a strong life for the future, but no children were foreseen, nor were any introduced. Life seemed pretty damn good.
Ryan took a hit off a brown bag whiskey, emptying it halfway before pitching it at the fire. He smiled, wicked and hateful. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket, leaving the contents of the other pocket for a moment later. He called his wife's phone; no answer. He chuckled. No, of course not. He called a second number, hearing a half drunk, half asleep male voice answer.
"Hand her the phone." He commanded, but with no unnecessary force. "It'll be short." A rumbling noise traveled through lines as the phone was passed.
"What Ryan? It's almost one in the morning."
"The house." He said. "It looks so beautiful in orange."
"What the hell are you talking about?" She asked, her voice curious and worried.
"Fire's beautiful." He reached a paw into the flames and felt the hairs singe. "Nice and warm."
"Wait, what!?" She yelled. "The house is on fire?"
"Yeah, kinda." He chuckled again. "Tell your brother you'll need to stay for a while longer."
"Oh, and what about you, you jackass? Where are you gonna sleep, the ground?" Ryan laughed, deep and hearty, taking the contents of his other pocket into his right hand.
"Ha. Yeah, you could say that." A crack sounded through the phone, causing the speakers to crackle.
"Ryan!?" His wife called, screaming in sudden fear. "Ryan!? What was that!?" She called at the piece of dead plastic for a few minutes more, before falling to the floor in tears. He was gone, just like that.
Sometimes life just loves to toss you a happy ending.