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A Mile to Hope



May 3rd, 2012

It's the Middle Ages, and I'm being drawn and quartered.

My limbs are stretched out as far as my muscles and ligaments will hold. I'm barely holding it together. I resist the urge to split at the seams with all my strength. But I'm tired. I'm grasping at straws, and I need a break. I need a moment to think. A moment to plan. A moment to see clearly. It's been a month and a half since she's gone. A month and a half has aged me tenfold. I'm weary.

I wouldn't want anyone to walk a mile in my shoes. If they did, they would find out the shoe's tread was worn down to form a flat rubber surface resembling Play-Doh. The rubber soles are so thin that oddly shaped holes are forming beneath my feet, exposing the bottom of my skin to the elements. I feel my flesh being scorched by the hot pavement. It's a long mile. The longest walk that seems to never end.

I see hope in front of me on this long, desolate road. An end could be possible. Should I start planning for a future?

I see myself getting beyond my fears and letting go of my anger. I'm providing good child care, so I returned to work. I walk closer to that winning vision, but I begin to limp. My bare feet are dragging along the ground, raking the floor. The friction of my skin is causing blisters. My nerve endings start to transmit pain to my brain as my dermis that surrounds the heal turns red and puffy. I feel like I can't continue.

I kick off my shoes.

My bare feet grind forward, acting on pure adrenaline my body and heart provide. It's the will to survive.

The pavement's heat rises from the ground, altering the clear landscape with the heat-induced wave that blurs beyond what I can see, obscuring the clarity of my vision. The once clear road was now hazed.

I press on to reach my final conclusion and begin my life again.

Will this mile ever end? I get closer, and I thirst for this hot, dry air. But I won't stop to drink, and there are no roses to stop and smell on this lonely baron road to my salvation.

Mimie was my first real relationship. She was my first girlfriend, my first love, and the one I made my wife. She's the mother of my children, and I'm marching forward because she'd want me to. I'm almost there, and my mile is nearly completed.

My journey came to its final dramatic conclusion, ending this nightmare.

And just like that, it was all a mirage.

My vision playing tricks on me. There is no happy ending. My mind succumbed to the defeat. The heartbreak is killing me. I fall to my knees and rest my buttocks on my bloodied heels. My arms dropped to my side. My shoulders shrugged forward, resigning myself to defeat. I just want to give up. But my eyes glance forward. I again see hope.

A resurrection of my life that I used to have. With all my strength, I pull my body up. I stand on the burnt flesh that was once healthy and strong. I take in a deep breath and begin to walk another mile. A walk to salvation on the road to perdition.

I see off in the distance, hope. Is it real this time, or is the heat playing tricks on me? I can only wish for hope.

We always have to hope.

Don't we?


598 words









Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

© Copyright 2012- 2024 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to re-publish in film, television or print. 

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