Short Story:
Blinding shafts of light poured into the room as I woke up from a fretful night’s sleep. God. I was a mess. A week without showers had clearly made its mark on my body as my mouth was caked with some dry, pungent mustard – courtesies of last night’s microwaved hot-dog. My hair looked like… Was that the damn homeless dude that kept robbing my trash cans? Rushing out of the house, half-naked and holding a past-due bottle of Martinelli’s, I yelled at the fading figure of an old man on a bicycle. “Not again,” I groaned as I headed back into my house.
I couldn’t believe myself. I had forgotten to do it. You see, every morning of every day of every year of every decade… you get the gist, I had this routine that I never missed. I woke up at 9:09 am sharp, put on my 7-11 work uniform, made my bacon and egg sandwich, and was out of the house by 9:15. Eh, who cares, after today it won’t matter anymore.
Just then the phone rang. Uh-oh. Was this the call?
I forced myself to close my eyes and swipe up.
“Hello?”
“Mike, sorry to bother you in the morning. I wanted to let you know that the ownership decided to close the store for repairs – it’ll be at least a month until we have it back running. Take care of yourself man.”
“Hey, wait! You telling me I don’t have a job for god-knows how long? How am I supposed to put food on the table bro? I’m struggling already. Hello? Hello?!”
I slammed the phone onto the ground and gave a guttural cry of frustration, but I realized I wasn’t going to be alive in a month. I wish you were here Raina, you would have known what to do. I could almost see her face again. Those innocent, hazel eyes…
~~~
Today was it. I had spent countless evenings in my bed dreaming of all the hypothetical ways I could escape my fate. Yet, as the list grew longer and longer, I realized that there was no way out. Honestly, I didn’t fear death (for the most part); a small, lingering voice tantalized me with the prospect of life continued but that voice had been nearly snuffed when Raina had passed away. Taking a seat in my favorite chair (more like the only chair in the house), I began the arduous task of waiting, and waiting, and waiting.
As my watch hit noon sharp, the phone rang, but this time there was not a sliver of doubt in my mind. This was the call.
“Hello.” It was not a question on my part but more of a resignation to fate.
“Good evening Mr. Haswell,” the caller stated, all business, “Are you aware of the reason for this call?”
I sighed, “Can we please cut the formalities and get straight to the point.”
“It is required that we go through this process to ensure the most comfortable and hospitable experience.”
“If you consider death hospitable.”
The voice calmly replied, “This is merely what is owed to you, what you have earned Mr. Haswell. You of all people should know this.”
After a moment of silence it continued, “Are your matters taken care of?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any family you wish to contact before…?”
“No.”
“Any siblings, wife, children…”
“No is a very simple word my friend,” I interrupted.
“Understood, my apologies. Well, everything seems to be set – one moment Mr. Haswell. There seems to be a problem.” The voice becomes muffled as the line is put on hold.
My eyes wander around the room, tracing the maze of lines on the soddy wall, curling like wisps of smoke. Gradually, my heartbeat grows louder until my world slows down to my body’s drum, living as one – mind and flesh. So this is what it’s like to die. I’m coming home Raina.
“Mr. Haswell, are you there?”
For a second, I am in total loss of the situation then I remember this call – the call.
“Uh, yes. Sorry,” I mumble as I clench my hands, awaiting my death sentence.
“It seems as if your sentence has been canceled. Another man has volunteered to take your place.”
I just sit there, mute. Did I hear that correctly?
“Mr. Haswell, you are no longer a dead man.”
“Wait, what did I do for this person? Who in their right mind would take my place?”
The voice chuckled, “Nothing. You did nothing to earn this. All I know is that you are free to go. Goodbye.”
Analysis:
In this short story, I sought to focus on this concept of the Son’s sacrifice, life for life, in Book 3. The Son offers up all of himself to pay the debt mankind owed. He says he will “death I yield and am his due,” but is “glad to be offered” (Milton 3.245, 3.270). When I read this passage, I found myself discounting this act of grace and love; only as I read it repeatedly, I began to appreciate the character of the Son and his “heroicness.” Nevertheless, this story focuses more on the character of the reader/humans than the Son. My mission was to explore the thoughts and emotions of the audience and humans in general when they discovered this story of sacrificial love. The story takes away a good chunk of the supernatural powers and events of the redemption, however I wanted to set it in a modern context so that the reader could feasibly connect with the characters. Mike harbors the pain and anguish any normal person will undertake through life. Mike had to die, it was what he was due just like Adam and Eve in the PL (thus humanity), but he was rescued by a total random stranger. The ending was intentional since the reader is left to resolve what happened by themselves. What is Mike going to do now? So, in turn the reader is asked, “What are you going to do now?” It places the reader in the drivers seat to formulate an epilogue that is fitting to their desire. Representing Mike as the reader of PL, I think this accomplishes one of the goals that Milton wanted to achieve – to challenge his audience. The PL ending is starkly like the story’s ending in that the reader is left to divine what will happen after Adam and Eve leaves the Garden. It is no longer Adam and Eve’s story but the readers. In the end, the short story lost the original setting and characters but allowed for a deeper emotional connection and the reader to own the PL story as their own.