Falling

 

Bernie woke up on the floor with no recollection of how he got there. Completely exhausted, he didn’t even have the strength to move. From his vantage point, he could see a golden square of sun shimmering on the carpet next to him. The bedroom window, far above and to the left, didn't have the courtesy or the common sense to block the light, so the light slowly crept along the floor towards him. It was only a matter of time before the burning rays would be upon him and his prostrate naked body.

Straining to the right, he could see the opposite side of the room. “Damn, the doors open,” he thought. “That’s not good.”

And, as he feared, Otis came through the door, sniffing at the carpet. Pausing as he reached Bernie, the dog grabbed him by one leg and carried him through the open door, down the hallway and into the living room. Unceremoniously dropped on the cold linoleum by the front door, which someone had left open, Bernie was getting chilled further, exacerbated by the drool from the dog.

He had never felt so alone. Literally by himself, in a room he was not supposed to be in, naked and in front of an open door in the middle of winter. “How long will I lay here before someone sees me and shuts this door,” he thought. Though the sun was shining, it was still bitterly cold, and Bernie started to shiver. Completely helpless, he had no idea of how to remedy his situation. He would’ve called out for help, but the words escaped him. He could see no one, he could hear no one and apparently no one could see him either.

In a moment of desperation, he put all of his strength into one arm, a panicked last-ditch effort to accomplish something. Maybe someone would hear him or see his attempt at flailing. But his present position left that possibility highly unlikely.

As he lay in his compromised position, completely helpless, he thought back to earlier days, when those around him seemed to notice him, to interact, even to speak with him. But now it seemed that those days were gone. It was the eerie silence that troubled him the most. Was he the only one here? Was he actually all alone?

In the chilling and painful silence, he remembered the books he had read, the stories he had been told, the supposedly heartwarming tales of human interaction, love and care. But he wondered where all of that was now. The sound of heavy breathing jarred him from his introspection and the hot breath of the dog pumped down upon him. Again, scooped up by the sharp teeth and foul breath, the dog jumped up and pushed the screen door open, trotting into the snow. Throwing Bernie into the air, he became the sole focus of fetch.

Though he had no wings and never had the predisposition to flight, still Bernie flew through the air, rising and falling, all at the whim of the furred creature. Landing with a gentle thud one last time, Bernie landed deep in a snowbank. Hearing a whistle, he feared the worst. The dog had been called back inside and Bernie lay in the snow, slowly going numb. Soon he could feel nothing, he could see nothing, and he could say nothing, for he lay, face down at the bottom of the snowbank.

Eventually giving up hope, Bernie went to sleep and dreamed of warm, tropical places. Sandy beaches, clear water and fruity drinks brought by wrinkled old men on brass trays. He could feel the sun on his face and the occasional gentle breeze. Swiping his fingers through the sand, he eventually forgot all about the snow, the dog, and the fact that no one remembered him. Rising occasionally and walking in the gently crashing waves, he no longer felt cold, he no longer felt empty and alone. The beauty of this place took it all away.

With a sudden jerk, he was pulled into the air and again was flying. But this time the flight would be his last as he caught sight of an overweight middle-aged man standing next to a lawnmower, his hand extended out, having just tossed Bernie in the bin by the street. The lid closed and there was only darkness.