Noah by Hawra’a Khalfan

In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

You will find it here, and when you see it beside this piece of paper your instinct will tell you to check for a pulse. There won’t be a pulse. You will realize that quickly but you will still reach in and try to find one. Your next instinct will be that of any other “civilized” human being. Like clockwork you will call the government officials to come and rid world of it. This letter will make it easier for them. This letter will do their job for them. 

Nobody will claim it. Nobody will even know the name of the person who lived in the shell that was left behind.

Nobody will realize that I am gone. I haven’t made a difference. I am nobody, and this nobody has done nothing.

I am pouring all my thoughts at this very moment on this piece of paper because I want to have one last human interaction. Ironically, this human interaction will take place after I am gone. I still want to show the world how it feels. I still want to share it all with somebody. I want to tell them why.  I want to tell them why.

In movies, or television shows, or even in books- the note that is left behind normally just reeks of regret. I regret nothing. I merely have an explanation. This, is why;

I have a name, but not even the people I work with know it. I am Noah. Noah, the unsettling man who lives in the basement under the lobby at the Scythe Motel.  Noah, the man who will not be forgotten, as he was never remembered. I am Noah, and I am forty-nine years old.

I am Noah, a forty-nine year old man who had many dreams. I am Noah, the forty-nine year old man who managed to shatter any flicker of hope he ever had.

This body I leave behind will burden you, and for that I apologize. I have never stopped to ask your name, valued janitor. Nevertheless, you and I will have had the most human connection of all. You and I will have shared Death.

Nobody will claim this body or come to it’s funeral. I feel as though I should put down my reasons and last thoughts on this paper as I have never dared to share myself with another, before this.

You see, I was going to be an English teacher, yet the world moved on a pace different than mine. I knew I had everything it takes to become the teacher I wanted to be. I wanted to make a difference, but that was not in my fate. Stating that I merely wanted it, is not good enough on it’s own. But I did- I wanted all of it.

The funny thing about goals is that if you loose track of your most important one, it is nothing but a downwards spiral from there. I ended up working as a security guard in a school nearby, and that is how I met Marrian. Marrian grew and sold wheat grass down on a farm with her mother, and every Saturday she would come to the school and drop off some wheatgrass for the upcoming week to be used in the cafeteria. Marrian was a godsend. She was it- the woman of my dreams and I was convinced that I would never find another woman who was as kind, or beautiful. She was a simple girl but had the most infuriating sense of humor (which was my favorite thing about her). I wish I told her. I wish I told her. I wish I told her of my love for her, but wishes don’t mean a thing anymore, and this is not a letter of regret. This will not be turned into a letter of regret but of hope-

Marrian, you have been gone a long time, but I will join you now. I have thought of you so often. There is never a moment when you are not on my mind. There is never a moment when what we could have been was not on my mind.

I don’t remember much after Marrian’s death, the routine was slowly attacking my brain cells one by one and I went with it. I did not want to think of anything but her. I could not think of anything but her.

I later found myself working at a place much like a slaughterhouse. My job was to announce which ‘fresh meat’ was going to come up on stage.  I was told that the women I work with are beautiful, but I could not see their beauty. I constantly looked for it- but all these men came to the slaughterhouse and left it reeking of fresh meat. I could not see beyond the actions of these men and women to be able to take in their physical beauty. I did not understand the whole system, I merely went there to be able to make money, and to survive.

Survival was important to me, and I have survived long enough. How marvelous is it how much a human being can change given some time?

Today, I can say that I am a man who has been dying slowly for twelve years. I will no longer waste oxygen. I will rid you all of me. Today, I can happily say;

I am gone.

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