Random stories

It had only been a week. I thought I’d be able to hold out longer but goddamnit, I didn’t think I would feel his absence in every ounce of my being—not like this. What’s funny is, even though I know he’s not here, it still seems like he is. His scent lingers in the couch pillows, his shampoo is still nestled in the shower caddy behind my shaving cream, and although his mother came by days ago to pack up his clothing, I still manage to find a lone sock or two of his in my pile.

It’s not fair. All of this feels so fucking unfair. He’s gone for good and here I am, sitting on the floor of his room or a "man-cave" is what he’d call it, coming down from yet another panic attack. I just can’t take it anymore! I can’t stand the constant ache that fills me up with complete rage and sadness. He can’t be dead, he can’t just leave me to do this on my own!

Which is why I did it. Or at least I’m doing it right now. I took a deep breath, exhaling before my eyes slowly drifted over to the far right corner of the room. Just above his desk sat a collection of figures he’d been rounding up since he was ten years old. I never understood what was so great about them. They looked like any other action figure kids played with. I mean seriously they were really nothing special—just stupid dolls.

I sighed.

Or…perhaps I was just trying to convince myself that they were in order to justify the fact that I’d listed them on a classified ad website and there’s a guy on his way over to buy them right now. I shut my eyes at the thought, feeling my heart beat pick up speed. Fuck. I know what I’m doing is wrong. These were his favorite things in the whole world. They were something him and his father started collecting over the years and when his dad died four years ago, they became that much more important to him.

Now my heart is beating so hard, almost as if it could explode if one more thought allowed it. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. I want to let him rest peacefully as I know he’s no longer suffering but…I need him. I truly need him.

He made me promise not to pawn them off should he die or else he’d be back to haunt me. At the time, I found it quite amusing. A collection of figurines bringing back a dead guy? Ha! I’d love to see that.

But here I am, desperate, lonely, and superstitious. I’d once read an article about a grieving mother claiming to have spoken with her dead son after cleaning a pair of his lucky shoes that he refused to wash due to the fact that the luck was "in the filth of it." And although I found it to be quite ridiculous and that she was probably just delusional due to grief, I am now in no position to make such claims due to the fact that I am now in her shoes. It’s not easy giving away such a huge part of him, especially to some stranger. However, I’d give anything to simply just see him again.

I’m sure he will understand.

A knock at the door forced my eyes open. That was fast. He must have raced over here in a hurry, hoping I didn’t bail or sell them off to someone else. I remained sitting on the floor for a few seconds staring at the figurines in hopes they’d speak up and tell me I was making the wrong choice. But they didn’t and so therefore I was definitely making the right one.

I stood up ,walking over to the shelf and pulling down the figurines one by one and placing them in a box that sat upon his desk. "I’m sorry," I muttered, taking hold of the box and heading downstairs. My heart was still drumming. Boom…boom….boom.

I make it to the front door, reaching for the handle with sweaty palms and quickly pulling it open. As I did so, my eyes instantly met with the man before me, causing me to drop the box of figurines on the floor.

I could not believe my eyes.

"I told you so," he said.

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Submitted by ThirdeyeMoody on Fri, Sep 02, 2022 to /r/WritingPrompts/

The prompt

Your dying lover jokingly swears that if you sell their precious collection, they’ll come back and haunt you. After their death, you sell it all, hoping they’ll keep their promise.