Please login or signup to add a comment to this paragraph.

Add comment   Close
Don Yarber Don Yarber
Recommendations: 42

The Emptiness

Share this writing

Link to this writing

Start Writing

More from Don Yarber

Being Too Descriptive
God loves idiots and little children.
Like an Old Barn
A Poets Fate

More Short Stories

Rebekah King Rebekah King
Recommendations: 21
Jason Dookeran Jason Dookeran
Recommendations: 12
Elizabeth Tan Elizabeth Tan
Recommendations: 29
I Cannot Resist
Stephen Stribbell Stephen Stribbell
Recommendations: 10
Four Fundamentals of Making Acquaintances
Kaitlyne Beaudin Kaitlyne Beaudin
Recommendations: 25
She had a friend.

Is there more to life than this?

      The Emptiness © 2011 by Don Yarber

       His epitaph read:  “His lips knew the richness of the vintage of lust, his eyes the beauty of the earth, and his soul the emptiness of life.”
       As I stood there, solemnly looking down at the stone, I was thinking.  Yes, his lips had known the richness of the vintage of lust.
       “Barbara,” he had once said, “I don’t love you but I adore your body.”
       And Barbara had answered, “As long as there is a part of me that is pleasing to you, I am happy.”
       And as they loved with their bodies his lips drank of the wine of lust.
       A fine mist of rain blew across my face and I wiped the water away from my eyes.  True, his eyes had known the beauty of the earth.
       “Lorraine,” he had once said, “You have a touch that is warmer than a summer rain, gentler than a fallen leaf and wild as the mountain winds.”
       Lorraine answered, “If I didn’t know that you have been kissed by summer rains, touched by fallen leaves, and braved the mountain winds, I would be hurt instead of flattered by your words.”
       And while the brook trickled freely down the mountainside, they lay together, watching the sun as it sank behind a bank of scarlet streaked skies, and his eyes knew the beauty of the earth.
       I smiled as I read his epitaph and thought of the life he had lived.  Stunning that it should end in such a manner, I thought.  A jealous woman is more dangerous than the combined forces of evil.  Conjure up a wild witch with all her magic potions, fire into her wicked midst a shot from an expert’s rifle, trample her with a herd of wild horses stampeding, blend the remains with the most powerful of vitriols and you have the potential danger of a jealous woman.
       Then, as the gentleman next to me took my arm and turned me away from the fresh grave, I thought of how utterly empty his life had really been.  He had loved, fought, gambled, ventured, and accomplished practically everything that men desire to do; yet somewhere something was missing.  A vital something had been left out.
       I can’t help wondering what it was in life that went wrong.  I mustn’t tarry now, however.  Maybe the secret will be revealed by the gentleman who urges me away from my grave.

                     The End

Link to this writing

Share this writing

Don Yarber's website:

Next: Carnage Came Along! - HH Anthology