Bob sits alone in his darkened study, Bottle in one hand, gun in the other. Looks over his last letter, "Can't take it anymore," the usual thing. Takes a long drink from the bottle, Then throws it from him. "I'm quitting once and for all," he mutters. He points the gun, takes a breath, pulls the trigger. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? All the things we do today, All the innocent songs we sing, May tomorrow our best hopes slay. Deb comes in the kitchen, the day's mail in hand. She looks at Bob reading the paper, Says one word, fatigue in her voice: "Bills." Bob looks up, sighs, grabs the first beer of the day, The only regular thing in his life right now. His mind drifts to their stillborn son, forgetting the bills. Electric, water, heat, doesn't matter the price, They can't pay 'em anyway. Bob flips on the radio, a smile comes on his face, The station's playing his favorite song. He wonders what Deb will wear tonight, It'll be their fifth date, a milestone! He drives up, she comes out, tear-stained face. "Bob, I'm pregnant!" Deb sobs. The news slaps the smile off Bob's face. Do the right thing, he thinks. "Let's get married." Bob's head hits the desk, the gun drops from his hand, Blood running from the wound, his mind racing, making time slow. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? All the things we do today, All the innocent songs we sing, May tomorrow our best hopes slay. Bob glances down at his car's clock. "It's ten minutes past your curfew," he says. Deb shrugs. "My parents are asleep, they'll never know." She looks at him and smiles shyly. "I had a great time tonight, Bob, thanks." Bob's eyes say, "Me too" as he leans across to kiss her lips. "The back seat looks pretty comfortable right now," Bob whispers. Deb only hesitates for a moment; he is so cute . . . It's Bob's senior year, he's on top of the world. Summer's only three weeks away. His mind is a million miles away from his English class, The teacher's voice a distant buzz. He thinks about his plans, his upcoming Freshman year at college. His eyes drift across the classroom, coming to rest on Deb. She looks across at him, smiles her pretty smile. "She is so hot," he thinks. "Maybe I'll ask her out . . ." Who knows what tomorrow will bring? All the things we do today, All the innocent songs we sing, May tomorrow our best hopes slay. Bob exhales the long breath of a dying man, Eyes slowly close, everything fading to grey. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? All the things we do today . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Reason for writing:
The most seemingly innocent things can have devastating consequences.
Birth sign: Scorpio
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Sebastian Reynald.