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The Last Light of Kenneth Lonleyman
By Thomas Miller
In the dim glow of a single flickering bulb, the old farmhouse stood silent against the backdrop of a winter's night. The wind howled through the barren trees, rattling the windows like an intruder seeking entry. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of dust and the echoes of memories long past.
Kennith Lonleyman sat alone at the kitchen table, a glass of whiskey trembling in his hand. He was a man weathered by time and sorrow, his once-strong frame now bent with the weight of years and regrets. The creases in his face told a story of a life lived on the edge of hope, now teetering on the brink of despair.
The gun lay before him, its cold metal surface catching the light, gleaming like a dark promise. It was an old revolver, handed down from his father, who had used it to protect the family farm from predators. Now, it served a different purpose, a silent companion in Kennith's final hours.
He took a slow, deliberate sip of the whiskey, feeling the burn as it traveled down his throat, warming him momentarily. But there was no warmth in his heart, only a cold, numbing emptiness. The loneliness had crept in over the years, growing like a shadow that no light could dispel.
Kennith had always been a solitary man, content in his own company, or so he thought. But the years had taken their toll. Friends had drifted away, one by one, leaving him to navigate the long days and even longer nights alone. The farm, once a thriving testament to his hard work, had fallen into disrepair. The fields lay barren, the barn roof sagging, and the animals gone. The echoes of life that once filled these walls had faded, leaving only silence in their wake.
He reached out and touched the gun, his fingers tracing the worn grip. It was a familiar feeling, yet foreign in its finality. The revolver was more than just a weapon; it was a symbol of the power he still had, the power to choose, to end the suffering that had become his existence. The decision weighed heavily on him, a burden he had carried for weeks, maybe months, ever since the darkness had begun to consume him.
There was no one left to stop him, no voice to call out his name and pull him back from the edge. The world outside had moved on, oblivious to the quiet life that was slipping away in this forgotten corner of the earth.
He thought of his wife, Martha, who had passed on years ago, leaving a void that no amount of time could fill. She had been the light in his life, the reason he had endured the hardships, the one who had made this old house feel like a home. Without her, the walls had closed in, the rooms growing colder and emptier with each passing day.
Kennith closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him. He could see her face, smiling at him as she tended to the garden, her laughter echoing in the summer air. He could feel the warmth of her hand in his, the way she had held on to him, even in her final moments, as if she knew he would be lost without her.
But now, the memories were just ghosts, haunting him, reminding him of what he had lost. The pain was too much to bear, the silence too oppressive. There was no more reason to keep going, no more light to guide him through the darkness.
With a deep, shuddering breath, Kennith picked up the revolver, its weight solid and reassuring in his hand. He placed the barrel against his temple, feeling the cold metal press into his skin. There was no fear, no hesitation, only a profound sense of relief. The end was near, and with it, the end of the pain, the loneliness, the endless nights spent staring into the abyss.
He squeezed his eyes shut, a single tear slipping down his weathered cheek. In that moment, he whispered her name, "Martha," as if she could hear him, as if she could still reach out and save him from himself.
And then, with a final breath, Kennith Lonleyman pulled the trigger.
The sound of the shot echoed through the empty house, a brief, violent interruption to the quiet that had settled in like a shroud. The wind outside howled in response, rattling the windows one last time before falling silent.
The light in the kitchen flickered once more, then went out, leaving the farmhouse in darkness, as the last light of Kennith Lonleyman's life faded away.