False Hope

One.

A man stands alone

Dressed for a day at the office.

A slick suit with a blood-colored tie.

But

Right in front of his face,

Obstructing his view,

An apple.

As green as the sweet, fresh-cut grass on a hot July day.

The sour kind.

So sour his lips curl.

It’s heavy, loaded.

But it’s so far away.

It can’t hurt him.

Just like his wife

She’ll never leave him.

All is well.

Two.

The apple approaches

Just as his wife does in the middle of a fight.

She hurls threats, over and over

Even hours later her hot breath lingers in the back of his mind

“You’ve done it this time”

“I really mean it”

“I’m leaving.”

But she won’t.

She never does.

The apple.

It will never hit him.

Even as it gets closer.

So close he can hear it.

As the whoosh of the winds increase tenfold with each millimeter.

As her screams get louder and more violent

But still

It’s all so far away,

And all is well.

Three.

As if unexpected

BAM.

It hits him.

Everything seems to explode all at once.

She’s gone, and the apple implodes his face.

Dead center.

The crack of his bones makes a noise louder than his scream.

He didn’t see it coming.

But why?

With all the warning signs it seemed obvious.

Is he ignorant?

Or holding onto something that isn't quite there?

Hope that everything will be okay,

Trust that everything will fall into place?

But it won’t,

It never will.

Because now he’s left with nothing.

Nothing but a broken nose as bloody as the color of his tie.