Previous Challenge Entry
Topic: Heroes (03/08/04)
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TITLE: Small hero By Elmari Viljoen 03/10/04 |
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Jack Thomas Crawford heaved a sigh and dropped his head into his hands. He was not known to be a man who gave up easily. As a top Bank Manager in San Francisco, his surroundings and possessions gave off the distinct glamorous markings of success. His stature and proficiency in business and his general comfortable manner made him a very looked upon example for many young aspiring businessmen and entrepreneurs.
“…marked with true humility and a steel hard determination to be the best, Jack Crawford exhibits many qualities of a true modern-day hero…” heralded the TIMES magazine just two weeks ago.
But now as Jack lifted his head, cold defeat shone, a single teardrop rolling his cheek.
“Why?!!” he shouted to no one in particular. He threw his coffee cup hard against the opposite wall of his office. The ceramic shattered and coffee splattered against the wall and onto the carpet. He didn’t care who heard him. He didn’t care at all.
Tears now streamed down his face.
Jenny’s dead.
He slammed his fist hard against the desk, now just letting emotion take over reins. Dead! It felt as if her death permeated through his own being up to the point where it choked the life out of him. She was part of him. One.
He could still remember her perfectly serene smile, echoing the purity of her white dress, the day he took her as his bride. Her eyes could just light up with love and passion, it sparkled with animation and curiosity…it shone with life.
Dead.
How could he live without her? He couldn’t even imagine a day without her passion, her love, her faith…Faith. This was not his role. So long had he trusted in her faith to keep them both out of darkness. Only now could he see how he had taken it for granted. There was a time once, when he believed. He also held onto hope, trusted in a God who made all things new. But that was before he saw how cruel HOPE was; giving you something to live for, then snatching it away when you really need it.
No, there was no use for hope.
He picked up the revolver that lay exposed on his rich mahogany desk. All morning he had just been staring at it. He has never used it. He never needed to. Now he wished he could shoot the drunk driver that took his wife away. The guy was already in a coma; he could just quickly help him out of it.
He slumped back into his chair. He didn’t even have the strength to be angry anymore. No use. Nothing’s going to bring her back.
No use.
No more.
He lifted the gun and pressed it hard against his temple. There’s no life for him here without Jenny. He might as well quit trying.
“Daddy?” a small voice broke the silence.
“Auntie Gina let me in, is that okay?”
Jack spun around to catch the gaze of a boy, marked with worry and confusion as little Matthew caught sight of the gun in his father’s hand.
He couldn’t utter a word. He just sat there, gun in hand, staring at his son. Barely 7 years old, this little blue-eyed boy showed the same passion and enthusiasm for life, which set apart his mother. And hope. He remembered Matthew’s little face when Jenny died; how with blind accepting faith he could say “I’ll miss Mommy, but she’ll be so happy in heaven, and Daddy, just imagine how much she’ll love singing with the angels!”
Somehow Jack has always perceived faith as somewhat of a weakness in a man, but now as he looked at this boy, he saw someone much stronger than himself. Someone who radiated with the courage to live. He wanted that.
“Matthew I’m so sorry”
He put the gun down and ran towards his son to capture him in an embrace. And for the longest time they just stood there holding each other.
“Don’t worry Daddy, we’ll make it together”
And as Jack looked down into those big blue eyes, he felt a twinge of hope.
”You know what? I think we will”
He lifted his son into his arms and walked out, closing the door behind him.