- Motel Room 206 -
The wheels of the car screeched to a halt as the man pulled across the faded lines of the parking spot. His neurotic laughter and violent slam of the side door was enough to disturb the constant buzzing of the fluorescent motel sign. As he drunkenly stumbled up the stairs, mumbling the tune of Elvis’ Heartbreak Hotel; all reality halted to a blur. Instead of using his keys, he continuously punched the wooden door praying it would open. Minutes later, knuckles covered in blood, the door finally swung open making a small dent on the interior wall. As he stumbled inside the dimly lit double bed room, he tripped over empty boxes and stepped on broken glass from the night before. Nothing was left except the crumpled polaroids scattered on the bedside table which were forever stained with the smell of Coors Light. Dust flew in the air as he opened the cover of an old journal they had written together. Her poetry never failed to make him smile. He lit his last cigarette to once more hear the infamous crackling sound he so loved but most of all to feel the smoke dry his tears. As he sat on the edge of the mattress he couldn’t help but notice his gun felt heavier than usual, but he didn’t care. It was only a waste of one bullet and it would just be written off as a car backfire. The static from the television set only made the room feel more ominous and he couldn’t help but compare his overly-dramatic death to that of a Hollywood movie. One last sip to sooth his conscious and that was it. That night the street was particularly quiet. Red and blue lights surrounded the motel and flowers were left at his doorstep. No one ever knew why but he always came home blackout drunk on this exact day, every single year, for the last 4 years. I guess I saw this coming but it was just odd not to hear the mumbled arguments and occasional laughter coming from room 206. Oh well, sooner or later i’ll get used to it; I always do.