The Pain of Silas Greene

by Jim Kopetz

Silas Greene had abstained from sex and relationships altogether for three years. It wasn't a lack of attraction or an absence of loneliness; they were as strong as ever. It was himself. He was a poison. He drained every ounce of feeling that any love had had for him until they finally walked out, fed up with his pain, his self-loathing, his addictions. It was three years ago to the day that he realized the source of all his relationship problems, and he hasn't engaged a woman since. After all, he was a poison.

He never intended for his life to turn out this way but shit happens, as a wise man once said, and he refused to allow anyone else to suffer because of him. No one could get close and the loneliness spread throughout his body like a malevolent virus, only making him all the more insufferable. He reinforced this by drinking copious amounts of booze, whiskey being his drink of choice, and consumed any substance put in front of him. It seemed to make things bearable. But what Silas Greene did not know is that all the sorrow and pain and resentment leads him into redemption, not religiously but as a human. By being alone he becomes a man. But he can not write.

Did I mention he was a writer? Maybe I just assumed that you, dear reader, would assume his occupation simply by the description of his predicament. But back to the story. In those three years he hadn't written a word. And this was a boy who used to write three poems a day, yet not a word was written. He couldn't. He had no muse, no inspiration. Every good writer had a strong woman/man behind them. Silas had neither which is what he wanted.

His anger would only hurt those who put their trust in him. His existential nightmares would burden her. His lust could never be satisfied and his member would engorge itself only by the smell of bourbon as it's poured upon her belly. 

It was as if he saw the tsunami coming and instead of running, held up a bottle and chugged as the world was about to end, cursing and throwing the bottle into the sea. That, for lack of a better analogy, was Silas Greene.

to be continued...