Black

It was a quiet, reserved, private place where everyone respected one another; a place where everything clicked together simultaneously. Everything was synchronized and everybody that lived in its vicinity knew this environment was the norm. The wind would be careful where to blow the leaves because it did not want to disrupt the familiarities. Everything in the surrounding area was cohesively adapting to the environment and creating ease of cohabitation. Today was no different, the orange and yellow leaves blew near the front steps of a front porch situated between two other homes. The houses were not connected, but close enough to know what was going on in the house next door. The night of fall weather became the backdrop of life. These homes were not too expensive, and not too cheap, but so barely affordable that some people might think them above middle-class society. 
Standing on the porch of one home was a man with the stature of a 6-foot-tall football player. He stood on his front porch and positioned himself to look directly out into his front lawn. He appreciated the quiet of his neighborhood. The peace and the serenity of his neighbors. It was the perfect life, some would say. Everyone spoke to each other and got along well. 
This lifestyle of his did not change much either. He would go to work, come home, and then repeat the same routine each day. Just as predictable as the seasons would change each year. There were hardly any differences in his life in comparison to the changing of the seasons. The clocks would make sure they were in line with him; he was so precise and always correct. A standup committed man with moral integrity equal to other greats that walked planet earth. 
The man has a porch light that hangs by the front door that would flicker and glitch on and off every so often. The porch swing would move back and forth slowly, reminding him of an old vintage country home. Mosquitoes and small insects gravitated to the dim light. The man stood there, enjoying all the minor details of his home he had worked hard to achieve. The nicely trimmed grass. The clean washed truck. The nicely painted doghouse. Yet, before he could become too overwhelmed with emotion, “Mr. Black, how are you?”’ he hears someone shout. 
One of his neighbors speaks to him, but in a comfortable tone so he would hear. Mr. Black made his way down the steps to speak. He went to grab his mail from the mailbox as well. Mr. Black smiled back with one of the biggest smiles that would draw almost anybody immediately to him. This forty-year-old, set in his ways; a strong, confident gentleman has the charm of a baby, the affection of a mother, and the looks of a young male model. His attractiveness was unique, and women knew it and would engage in conversation just to be around him. 
“I love your new truck,” the neighbor speaks but this time complementary. 
“Thank you. Expensive.” Mr. Black replies making eye contact. The neighbor smiles, returning the favor. She remained confident in engaging in conversation.
“How is your wife?” 
“Oh, she’s fine. Probably in the house cleaning or cooking. Keeping me happy.” 
“Married life…,” she hesitantly responds. 
“Have a nice evening, Mrs. Halls. Sorry… “Miss” Halls, the divorce is still going on…right?” Mr. Black quickly corrects himself.
“Right,” she grins awkwardly, trying to conceal her pain with a forced smile. She walks away slowly and thinks to herself, “Black didn’t remember I was divorced already.’ 
Mr. Black walks back up to his home. He could hear his wife begin to vacuum inside. As soon as he turned, facing the house, the vacuum cleaner was switched on, almost instantly. Beginning to search through the mail, Mr. Black looks down at the late notices of past-due bills. The late truck payments mixed with letters about his business taxes that were piling up, along with another rejection letter for attempting to take out another loan on his house. One-by-one, he ignored each bill because of his lack of financial leverage. His trucking company became terribly slow, and he had to lay off a few workers. One of his employees became so outraged he showed up at Mr. Blacks’ home, and threatened to show up again. 
The complications and stress played a very strenuous role in his marriage. He could see that it was giving his wife a lot of anxiety, heartache, causing her blood pressure to constantly rise. He stopped rummaging through the mail. He looked up in the direction of the porch. The porchlight stationed by the door on the left side of its frame continued to dim and flicker as he looked at it, sighing inwardly. He looked down at his bedroom slippers while he walked up the first step…. slowly…then the next, until he reached the top of the porch. He walked over to the swing and dropped the mail on the flower fabric cushion. Some of the mail fell on the porch underneath the swing. He did not care to pick it up and left it there.
He faced his front yard, and walked to the all-white banister that wrapped around his house. He proceeded to put both his hands on his bannister, situated at waist level, gripping it as tightly as he could, causing creases in his hands. He heard the bannister crack a little. He tried to hold on to the last bit of hope he had left somewhere inside him. He gripped the bannister even tighter and internally processed his mental torment, then accidentally hit his head on the hanging bird feeder. He was so focused on trying to clear his mind, hitting his head was the least of his worries. He tried to take his mind off the mind-numbing mental pain of his situation by gazing out into the street and listening to the few birds that made their way around the small cul-de-sac of his neighborhood. The wind began to pick up. The currents of the flow of the wind always blew close to his home. Today was no different. The chimes began to move rapidly while they hung from Mr. Blacks’ porch. Seconds later, he heard the staccato pop from a gunshot coming from inside the house. 
Everything went silent for a few seconds. The birds changed direction away from his house. His mind moved in slow motion; he tried not to overreact. Before, he could completely get himself together and reach the front door, the wind blew the door shut so quickly, it automatically locked from the inside. Shouting at the top of his lungs and banging on the front door repeatedly, he called for his wife; hearing the mosquitoes hit the porch lighting fixture as the light continued to flicker.  He raced around the back of his house, tripping and falling over the water hose he left in his front yard. He lost his bedroom slippers as he rushed to get back up on his feet. He stumbled as he tried to regain his balance. He finally made his way to the driveway, knocking over trash cans, running up the steps to the side of the house; attempting to push open the door and rush inside, banging and screaming. The side door was closest to the living room where his wife was at. He pushed and tried to force his way into the house but could not get inside. His body was positioned sideways, to repeatedly ram the door with his shoulders. Forgetting that the other side of the door was blocked by tools and car parts. Getting aggravated and frustrated as every second went by, he could hear birds chirping. The sounds of peace and calm in his mind now became the backdrop for a fading picture, turning black in his consciousness, not being able to do anything about it. 
“Mr. Black, is everything okay?” Jerry, the next-door neighbor politely inquired. “Do you need help?” he asks. 
Mr. Black ignored him and continued trying to break into his own home. His panic levels rose increasingly. He rushed back down the steps and noticed Jerry watching him as he made his way to the back door of his home. Jerry continued to water his front lawn as he always did every day before sunset.
Not paying attention, Mr. Black fell again after tripping over the bags of leaves that were in the backyard and some bags leading up to the steps to get to the back door. Feeling dizzy as he regained composure, not giving up on himself. Even with all the distractions of his neighbor, the barriers he had made for himself to get to the back door, he finally reached the door and turned the doorknob. The back door opened, and he began to feel lightheaded, not fully gaining his balance. His eyes became weak; heavy. He lost consciousness. 
Boom! 
He fell to the floor in the tile-covered kitchen. He hit his head on the counter while falling and laid there, eyes shut, aware now…of nothing at all.