Last Place

Last Place

Forty-six. Forty-six years. Forty-six years since he had returned to this place. Forty-six years of marriage gone, dissolved, dispersed disapparated into the wind along with her soul. Now all Jack had to remind him of the Forty-six years was an uncontrollable pain as his memories burnt inside of him, ate at his heart, his lungs, his chest. The pain and this place, the place where they had first met, where she had first stolen his heart.

Slowly Jack began to walk around the interior of the building, being careful not to disturb the dust that carpeted the floor. Surprisingly, the factory had not aged as much as he had; the long cracks that crept through its old brickwork mirrored the creases that now lined Jack’s weathered face. In fact the building looked much as it had done when he had first discovered the place; the same rust red bricks, the same shattered window panes that he himself had broken, catapulting coins into them using an elastic band. The air was stale and stagnant, as though it had been undisturbed since he was last here, just hanging, loose and lifeless over the ground. There didn’t even seem to be any insects that were still alive, all the specimens that Jack came across were dead shells and skeletons long ago frozen in deaths grip. That’s what the factory felt like to Jack now, merely a skeleton of its former self, its former glory. Or perhaps it has always been like this, a statutory monument to the slow decaying process of time, but in Jack’s vigour and youth he had been able to see past this and shape the building into a theatre of endless possibilities. However things were different now, and with Jack’s youth behind him the dark atmosphere of the factory now resonated with something deep inside him into a rising crescendo. It was as though time had forgotten the abandoned building, holding it in a suspended frozen moment awaiting his return.

He crouched low to the ground, clasping his chest as a new wave of intense despair flooded over him. The place was filled with so many memories that it was almost unbearable; they were alive, calling to him through the walls, dancing, taunting him before his very eyes as though he was an ethereal observer to his own life. Like pixie shadows he saw them flicker in and out of reality.

“Mary I don’t want to lose you,” He saw himself saying forty seven years ago. “Please, please, say you’ll marry me.” His own tone shocked Jack, all these years he had thought that he was romantic proposing to her in such a fashion, but in reality he had been desperate.

“Of course I’ll marry you, you big ape!” He saw her laugh, as she flung her arms around the ghostly memory of his former self, holding him to her in a tight embrace. How he missed her laugh, her smile.

“Neeeeeoooowwwww!” Through the ghostly couple and causing the memory to vanish like a burst soap bubble, ran Jack at nine years old. He had first discovered the abandoned factory then and had thought it to be the greatest thing in the world; his own vast and abandoned playroom where he was the boss and could do whatever he wanted. Jack watched himself as a child running around the factory imitating an aeroplane with his arms spread out wide. He could do anything with his imagination then, and had hours of fun in make-believe worlds. He was so exuberant, happy and full of life.

A sad smile crept upon Jack’s face as he watched the nine year old run from one end of the factory to the other, spinning and turning as though he was doing somersaults and loop the loops through the air. So much had changed since then; Jack had grown up, become serious, and like all grown ups he had forgotten about what it was like to be a child. Forgotten the magic that is given to the innocent and the pure of heart.

”Hold infinity in the palm of your hand…” Jack muttered under his breath, quoting his favourite William Blake poem as his eyes followed the younger Jack around the building once more and then out the door, into the past.

“What are you doing boy?” Jack spun round, his breath caught in his chest painfully at the sound of that voice, it was strong and commanding, the voice of someone who had never needed or thought to consider their own importance in the world. It was Mary at twelve years old, when he had first met her. She had followed him home from school one day, though she wasn’t the only one to have done so. At the time Jack was being severely bullied by some boys from school. He had grown accustomed to being called names and having stones thrown at him, he would simply keep his head down and quicken his pace. Eventually, they would get bored and leave him alone, but Mary didn’t. Unbeknownst to him she had followed him back to his special hiding place, his factory. There she had approached him whilst he was curled up on the ground in a fit of self pitying tears.

“What are you doing?” She had persisted, her voice had been sharp yet not uncaring. Jack watched himself jump back startled. He had been horrified, she was the first person other than himself to find his factory, and he didn’t want to share it.

“I’m crying” He snapped back at her, “What does it look like?”

“Oh no,” She said, shaking her head slowly, “you can’t be crying, boys don’t cry, they can’t cry. Maybe you’ve got some dust in your eyes, here take this and wipe it out.” She handed him a dainty blue hanky.

“Dust…yes…er…thanks.” He muttered as he obediently wiped the imaginary dust from his eyes.

“You mustn’t let those nasty boys upset you, they’re just jealous of you,” Mary said lightly, as though she was discussing something as mundane as the weather. “What’s your name?”

“Jack” said both the younger and older Jacks simultaneously, the older with fresh hot tears brimming in his eyes.

“Hello Jack,” Mary smiled, holding out her hand for him to shake. She had a firm grip, her small fingers tinted with the colour of fresh grass stains. “You go to my school don’t you, I’ve seen you around. I’m Mary.” With that the memory froze and faded into past, along with the warmth it had briefly brought to Jack.

His heart sank, falling to the bottom of his chest like a futile penny thrown into a wishing well. It was then that he realised that all his happiness, all the warmth, love and laughter in his life belonged in the past. A past that was now unobtainable to him. Simply living with the memory of Mary was not enough; it was an unreachable illusion that would taunt him to the end, breaking his heart every time he saw her. It was then in a moment of pure clarity that he finally understood why he had returned to this place, he finally understood what he had to do.

Rising he made his way up the stairs leading to the factory’s bell tower. It was Forty six years since he was last up here and as far as he could tell nothing had changed. But he had. Never in all his youth, in all his years of loving Mary, did he ever consider for one moment that he was capable of killing her. Murdering his Mary. But she had been in such pain, what else could he do? She had wanted a relief to the suffering, a relief that only death could bring. Once the cancer had reached its final stage she had begged him, pleaded with him to proceed. But while he was holding the pillow to her face, pushing it down with such force, stifling her, smothering her, suffocating her…did he feel her struggle? She did, she struggled. Had she changed her mind? Would she rather take her chances with the cancer in order to save his soul? Jack had whipped the pillow from his beloved’s face, but it was too late, his Mary lay still. He had killed her.

He had now reached the top of the factories old bell tower. It was unstable and swayed threateningly beneath his feet yet he felt no fear. Stepping over to the window Jack could feel the cool autumn breeze upon his face, now wet with tears. Closing his eyes he forced himself to think about Mary, did she forgive him? He loved her so much, would have gladly given his life for her. But it wasn’t to be. Mary, wonderful Mary had left him and the world was worthless without her. And now it was Jack’s turn to join her. With a movement as effortless as a heartbeat, he stepped off the ledge into oblivion.

Aimee Wilkinson

Words: 1500