Richard's Demise

very ruff draftish....no italics, things like that....just please read and tell me what you think.

It was 1:30 am, and still no one had answered the door.

Barry knocked again, but in vain. Richard had to be there; the light was on, and he never left his light on at that hour.

Finally, he let himself in. He was shocked at what lay behind the closed door.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

The tiny apartment had been completely trashed. Thick books and broken glasses scattered the floor and random pieces of clothing were strewn over decrepit chairs and tables. He shivered as an icy wind blew past him, coming from the left corner of the living area. Richard’s bedroom. He could hear music playing in the background, slow and ominous. Something must have happened to Richard, he thought, this isn’t like him.

“Richard?”

Silence.

Barry tried again, walking towards the half opened bedroom door.

“Richard? Are you home? It’s Barry…”

He finally reached the door, and slowly opened it.

There was a man, slouched in his favorite leather armchair, with a glass of alcohol in his left shaking hand. He was looking at the wood floors beneath him, staring off into some sort of space Barry could never imagine. Tiny toy metal soldiers dotted the room, lying near his feet. He recognized them as the gifts that Richard had received as a boy from his father, the soldiers that he used to obsess over and collect.

“Richard?”

Richard did not move, nor did he utter a sound.

They both stood in that moment of time, in an inescapable silence that was even louder than the familiar voice of Billie Holliday emitting from the radio.

Ill be seeing you

In all the old familiar places

That this heart of mine embraces…


The words were dull and hazy, but they always had a special meaning to Richard. It was his favorite song-but it seemed he couldn’t quite hear it any more.

Seconds passed. Finally, Barry took a step forward, almost crushing one of the toys at his feet. Instantly, Richard’s head snapped up. For a brief moment, fear flashed in the man’s eyes, headlights bright, but the light dimmed to a tired stupor as he realized who it was. Red and purple blotches hung from and circled his piercing blue eyes- the only remotely enticing feature in a face that was usually soft and relaxed. Lack of sleep was affecting his usual boyish looks and smooth skin. At that moment, he looked much older than twenty nine.

It was the intense gaze of a broken man that Barry would never forget.

Richard sighed and looked left towards the wide-open window, out at New York’s East Street, slow and sleepy at one in the morning. No one was about. It was just them.

He held one tiny soldier in his right hand, weaving it between his pale fingers, and focused his stare on its metal surface.

“Hello, Barry,” he said, voice cracked and weary. And then, turning to face his visitor, “What are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you, ya know? That whole thing at Robbie’s…”

“Don’t start worrying about me.”

The voice was now threatening, edging with impatience.

Barry stopped, taken back.


...Ill find in the morning sun

And when the night is new

Ill be looking at the moon

But Ill be seeing you…


Holliday’s rich voice echoed the room, causing tense uneasiness.

Richard was not the same man he was a few days ago. He had never spoken a harsh word to anyone, never had confidence or liked the cold. And there he sat, unkempt, his straight black hair tousled and brushing his bloodshot eyes. He sat with his expensive shirt rolled up at his elbows, not tucked in. He sat unshaven, exhausted, and freezing as wind tore up the room and his thin body. No, this was not Richard. Richard was clean and hated drinking, he always combed his hair and never stayed up a second passed 12 am. He had finally cracked.

Barry was standing in the middle of a madman’s sanctuary, adorned with metal soldiers and Billy Holliday. It was all too eerie. Something had to be done.

“Richard! What’s the matter with you?” cried Barry, his face panicked and worried. “You’re falling apart…I’ve never seen you like this before. Two years ago you were alive. Then you were quiet and tired, and so neat. But now…something has really happened…”

Silence.

“I want to help you! Tell me what you’re doing. What happened?”

There was urgency in his voice. He was pleading, not only to assist another but also to cease his own pounding head.

“You used to laugh Richard!” he cried. “You used to laugh and smile and you used to cry. You were a person then. But now! God, look at your self. You’re just like the other robots that waste their lives, and die bitter and sick!”

Richard stopped fingering the soldier. He clenched it tightly in his hand. The left hand that had once held a drink was nervously clutching and clawing the extended arm of the chair.

…Ill be seeing you

In every lovely summers day

In everything that’s light and gay

Ill always think of you that way…


“Did you know,” the seated man whispered, “that this is my favorite song? That Linda and I always sang?”


Barry just stared back in disgust, in despair, and turned around and walked out the door.

“Goodbye Richard,” he choked.


Richard listened to the heavy footsteps disappear.

Barry’s words tumbled through his head, repeating over and over. He had sat emotionless, displaying his feelings only inside, and on the outside, the same white blank face. What happened, he thought, what did happen?


You used to laugh and smile and you used to cry…


And then, for the first time in years, he cried. He cried for a very long time. Tears splashed over the final words of “Ill Be Seeing You”, and became entwined in the melody.



…Ill find in the morning sun

And when the night is new

Ill be looking at the moon

But Ill be seeing you.



Billie’s voice faded away, and Richard’s favorite song finally ended.