Ryan sat there in his chair and looked out over the mountains, as he always did when he was concerned. He had everything he needed for the next couple of months to stay in the small lodge that his father had built all those years ago. That seemed so long ago, but at the same time, just like it had been yesterday. 

After his wife had passed away in her late fifties, Ryan had come here when ever he felt like it. He would stay for a few days, maybe a week, sometimes even months. He was getting to old for it, he knew it too, but he didn’t mind. He often times thought about who would find his body in the the old lodge in the middle of the woods, would he already be fully decomposed, or just starting to smell? He wondered if his spirit would remain or if he would go to Hell or Heaven? 

He missed his wife, but he knew she was at peace. She was without the cancer now. She was happy, wherever she was, he hoped so anyways. She had had it so hard with that damn sickness, he hated it, hated it even more when she went into remission and it would come back stronger and more of a force to break her morale and happiness. 

He sighed and leaned back in the chair. He took a sip of the vintage wine his father had stored in the lodge’s cellar all those years ago. The sun was starting to set, it was spectacular. He thought of his children, he wondered why they hadn’t talked to him since the funeral. He had always tried to be the father he would have wanted. But he was always at work, trying to provide the things his sons would have liked or what he thought they would have liked. He put his sons through college, they were married now, had children. He still hadn’t seen the children other than in holiday greetings cards. His boys had always fought with him. He thought grimly, sometimes to hard. 

He slowly stood up, the old bones protesting weakly. He noted sadly that he was actually old now. He laid down in the soft bed, he didn’t care if it wasn’t firm enough to keep his back in shape. Seemed these days it hurt no matter what he did. He slowly let his mind drift until he slipped into the dimension of sleep. 

The next few weeks were about the same, wake up, eat, a small hike, a lunch, read, wine, dinner, more wine. It wasn’t until he sat down to have his glass of wine when he realized he had gotten out two wine glasses. He thought nothing of it at first. But he caught himself doing it again, and then after a couple of weeks, he didn’t bother to put the glass back up again. Then he thought nothing of it as he filled the glass. 

Every once in awhile his wife, Hope, would join him for a glass. The cancer was gone and they were both young and full of youth again. They would talk of all of the great things in the past, the future and how great it was to not have the dark shadow of cancer in their life. Then sometimes she wouldn’t be there and he would be sitting there with one wine glass, enjoying his wine and looking down into the valley below. 

Sometimes his kids would be there, Micheal and Jacob, fighting over something and asking their father to stay home, he would smile and nod his head. He would tell them he would be home soon enough and to take care of their mother. Sometimes they were older. Around ten and twelve. He would beat them because of a hard day at work. He usually cried after it though, he felt unclean after it all. Hope would look at him sadly and ask him to stop quietly, then as her panic grew, she would begin tugging at his wrists, or screaming. He didn’t take notice alot of the time. 

Sometimes he would be little, his father would be having one of those days, not enough food on the table, lets take it out on Ryan. It was always like that. The stock market isn’t doing well, daddy’s stocks are all gone, we need to leave, we can’t afford to eat breakfast any more. Take it out on Ryan. But he didn’t mind, it made him tough he thought. He didn’t cry so much now. And anyways, he was helping his sister, she didn’t get hit if daddy had hit him enough. 

He would sometimes think, this isn’t right, but then as he would think this, he would fall into a void of just not caring. He didn’t mind, some of the memories were happy, like the honeymoon. Oh, it was so nice that night. He didn’t mind that his parents hadn’t approved of the wedding with shy blushing, but beautiful girl in the long white dress, he didn’t need their approval. He was happy with her. 

He often thought of trying to make these, visions? No, that wasn’t the word, memories? No, they were happening right in front of him. He was there. It was all real. He knew it was. If it wasn’t then he would be crazy. Delusional. No, he wasn’t crazy. He was normal. He swore violently he would kill anyone that thought he was.

Then there were the nights where he stood over the bed, watching Hope sleep weekly. He wanted to help her so bad. He had to, she was too weak, he didn’t like it. She was just a shell of the women she had been. A dried out husk of a beautiful women. He knew then, she couldn’t live like this. He slowly would pull the pillow off the ground and put it over her mouth and nose. She couldn’t breath. He could tell. He didn’t mind. He was doing her a favor every time he did it. Hope’s eyes would shoot open and she would try and scream and move the pillow. But she was too weak from the leaching cancer, and her scream was muffled. She died slowly it seemed. Then when she was blue he would kiss her lips and get ready for the day. He never came back home after every time.

Ryan lay in bed and realized he couldn’t breath. He wondered idly what was wrong. But then he lost interest. Then realize that everything he had been doing, seeing, had been things he had done in his youth or at least he had done them a while back. He panicked realizing that he was crazy. But then the warm feeling of not caring sweeped him up in and embrace so that nothing seemed to matter, even when the lining in his lungs burnt and he started to scream. He didn’t seem to mind to much, it was like watching someone else die. 

All the images of his life flashed before him, ones he didn’t remember, like his birth, his first step. Then there were the ones that he remembered, the Depression when he was five, his first beating, the first kiss, the first love, his first child. There were more, like his wifes death, he didn’t consider it murder. He had done her a damn favor, a might damn fine one indeed! And what did he get out of it? Nothing! No one thanked him! But then, he wouldn’t mind at all. 

The room seemed to get a lot darker, but he didn’t mind. He closed his eyes, things seemed very calm. He liked it like that. It was just too bad he didn’t know it was calm, he had slipped into oblivion, knowing nothing, comprehending nothing, he had gone on, from the Earth. From life.