Something, that might just be worth while

Well..Here is something I wrote a few days ago... First time I was writing something "fictional" in english. I might never finish it so I could as well post it here, if anyone reads it all comments are welcome...


Burning. The smoke was slowly scenting the room with the aroma of ashes and regrets.
-NO! – he screamed.
-No regrets… – he whispered.
“That was the whole point – this was about anything but regrets.”
The thoughts belonged to a man. The reddish glow of the fire that lid the room did not allow for his age to be recognized. The almost noble steadiness of his movements, however revealed someone who was way beyond the middle of his life, but was yet not familiar with the sorrows of old age.
The room was not modest, but calling it extravagant would be an insult to this man.
A massive fire place was the center piece of it .The black marble from it was made stood untouched.
The only sign of any ornamentation came from the letters carved on the part arching the opening.
“Cinerem cineri” – Ash to Ash.
The fireplace with its morbid epitaph was actually the only memory of the crematorium that the house used to be in a century long gone. Only a few old coals were covering the metal grid at the bottom. It was cold.
The fire was coming from a small ashtray on the desk.
It was throwing enough light to reveals the bookshelves, covering the walls on both sides of the fire place from top to bottom. The only 3 other pieces of furniture in the room were a wooden desk, a comftable seat and wooden cupboard with glass windows. Besides the desk lamp the chair was the only other “modern” object in the room. It and the desk were done in the same modest, yet solid colonial style as the bookshelves.
The cupboard was empty – It wasn’t a few hours ago. Its contents – a whole universe of memories, faces and stories were now burning in the ashtray. Only a few items remained on the desk – those that he could neither burn from the world or from his mind. He would take those with him.
The man looked around….He often mused why he chose this exact room for his cabinet. Was it his almost childish fascination with those aspects of life and death that people prefer to leave to priests and grave-diggers?
Or was the very idea of being so openly exposed to mortality another of his acts of defiance against God.
The man smiled. None of it mattered anymore. Believing or not he and those around him never managed to escape the world that the idea of god had lead into.
He thought he could – all those years he was so sure he had managed to avoid believing. And for a while he even managed to do it. Until today…Today he realized that everything he had done was polluted by fate. The very act of his defiance, of the things he put himself and others through in order to show their freedom from that omni-potent shadow-t just revealed how deep within that shadow they all were…
The others were in their rooms most likely –everyone and each one losing the battle with their own private hell of rationality…Or maybe in the common room – pretending that nothing had happened and it was all part of The Plan…
He wondered how Claudia was doing…The others would do fine, but she was different.
He no longer belonged here. He knew he was wrong. The Plan no longer served a purpose – It was just an excuse…And God – God existed – he just didn’t care…And him and the others – they just pretended they didn’t.

The man looked outside – the sunset was slowly turning into inky twilight…The branches of the autumn trees were raining their death leaves, making it seem like the sky was raining golden arrows on the black soil…

In the distance a church bell rang…Slowly the a memories came along…
Some 30 years ago – it had all started with a church bell….

It was a golden summer. The fields seemed to stretch eternally to the point where the horizon seemingly bent and joined them…A 10 year old boy with brownish hair was sitting on the grass and looking. The sky seemed so far – so blue, yet so distant. Same could be said about the boys eyes.
He was day dreaming of adventure – the average boyish dreams where a Jedi fights a pirate to save the kingdom…or something like that…
Behind him a church bell was heard. The boy sighted – he knew what that meant. Day dreaming had to stop and be followed by an hour long sermon. And what was worse he had to listen, so that he could answer The Questions.
His parents were not religious, but they understood religion as an important base for the young mind to have. “So that you know we got here” as his father said it. That was way after every sermon the kid’s father would ask him questions about what the minister was talking about, what it ment and even if it made sense or not and why ?
If the boy answered he got some nice small present…If not the father would just sign and say “Son – I am disappointed. How would you learn to think, if you don’t understand what it is to believe ?”
Saying this to a 10 year old made no sense, yet his father always did it.
Even though the kid was pretty smart for its age, the idea of what his father meant went only as far as “I am disappointed”. No one likes to disappoint their parents – at least not at first.
His mother’s motivation was a lot simpler. She just wanted to make sure her son and daughter knew the traditions and how to honor them as part of the community .Understanding why those traditions were for her was work of the church…
-Damien, Laura! Time to get inside. The sermon is starting.
Their mother was calling…Always the same words…Week after week. Even 30 years later he could still record that neutral, mannered yet caring voice his mother had when saying the words…

The boy got up , brushed off the dusty powder from jeans and ran towards the voice.

The bell was ringing in a deep metallic voice…