I finally had an idea for a story today, and I haven't written in years. Do I have any potential to write or an I kidding myself? I want honest critiques to this short story please.
Copyright 2011 by Randy Lee Rykse - Seamus
“Deana, will you marry me?” said Seamus, in the classic one knee, marriage proposal-pose. He waited in a silence that felt shockingly suffocating.
Deana was the type of woman men peer at and feel a deep, almost primal sexual attraction. Slutty isn’t the term, and it’s something that not all women have… you can just look at them and they make you think sex. Anyhow, tall, brunette, green eyes, with legs all the way to heaven.
“Oh my gawd, Shamey… please don’t do this to me right now, just not soon so, my gosh I don’t even know where to – please, leave. I need to think.” Deana hisses and turns his back to him.
A look of pure agony flashed across Seamus’ face, but quickly changes to one of desperation. He gets up and pulls Deana’s shoulder, which is quickly jerked away.
“Please don’t make me wait. Either you love me or you don’t, it’s so simple to me. I know I love you, without any doubt. I feel it, don’t you?” A single tear streamed quickly down his cheek, before being swallowed by a forest of facial hair.
Deana spun around, face reddened with anger and frustration. Her arms flailed above her head in Kermit-like fashion, and she began to unravel.
“God DAMMIT, Seamus! I don’t know if I feel it, so what does that mean? Just leave!” she screeched, and pushed Seamus to the door of their apartment. He stumbled and crashed shoulder first into the door, grabbed the knob and stammered out, stunned. The door slammed harshly behind him.
He stood at their doorway for over a minute, staring at the welcome mat that read ‘Happy Holidays”. All he was thinking was, why in the hell did we get a doormat for a ******* 3rd floor apartment? At last he turned and walked the three flights down to his fiery orange 2011 Mustang
. Two quick beeps allowed him entry, and off he went, west on the highway to his old apartment, of which he was now glad the lease had a month left on it still. He turned the radio up to try and clear his head. Maybe some country…
“I got a brand new girlfriend!
We went and jumped off the deep end…
flew out to L.A. for the weeken-“
Seamus turned the volume knob down on the car stereo so forcibly that it now lay on the floor near his feet. He began bawling uncontrollably, but was near his home so he just fought through the tears, making it safely into his studio apartment with no lights or heat.
He sat in the only piece of furniture left, a raggedy old recliner that no longer reclined. His right hip was being dug upon by a piece of equipment he used with care at his job, as a local and relatively successful homicide detective. He pulled it out of the holster and held it in his hands.
After two failed marriages and how madly in love he is with Deana, not to mention the pressures from a job that made him feel empty inside, he felt the weight of the gun in his hands and it felt strange. It no longer felt like a tool to protect himself and others with, the weight in his hands felt like cold, heavy, and above all final, relief.
He squeezed the handle tightly as if to muster up the courage, took two short but deep breaths and in one quick motion put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
Seamus sat dead in his ancient recliner; his body slumped slightly to the side allowing a pool of blood to collect next to the chair. ‘Bad Boys’ theme from the show ‘Cops’ was playing over and over in his jean pocket, Deana was yelling and banging outside the door, saying how she could hear his cell phone ringing, she wasn’t stupid.
“Come ON Seamus! I was just scared before, let’s talk about this! I love you! Please just answer the door; you’re starting to worry me... ”