There's a man standing still under a tree near a lake cradling a book in his hands. He's contemplating the deep red book cover as he runs his palm over the engraved title letters. The title reads "Once". At the bottom of the cover were his initials engraved in small letters, H.L. He was very particular about his name and only allowed himself to be called H.
After a couple of minutes, H looks up without lifting his head and begins to recall his memories in search of all the times when he had done something for the first time. He had written them all in that book but he wanted to find more times like that, more times in which he could say “Yes, I did that once” but not in any way to be egocentric, but rather to not repeat his past accounts. H seemed clouded and could not think of anything special he had done today. Instantly, he began to look through the book very carefully to retrace his memories. H started with what he'd last written. It said:
"I stand in silence under a tall ancient tree alone with the mist of morning light peering behind me now. I carved my initials on this tree. Now it knows something I hadn’t yet done. With time, the scar this tree now bears will disappear from its surface but it will remain in its core."
He then read the page from yesterday which said:
"I need to leave this dust filled town. I have made friends with some of the people here but I have exhausted any chances of living through any more experiences that I haven’t already in this place. I can't take anything either... I have already done that before. I won’t be able to drive more than fifteen miles in the car I took either. I could take any other vehicle but I need to travel far and discreetly. I suppose I'll take the train north in the nearest town just this once."
Still in a daze, H flipped back another page but all that was written was the date and a scribbled line. At the bottom of the page all that was written was “Disappear”. On the next page back, there was a single strand of hair that swirled over the page and was secured in place with surgical tape. The hair looked like a thin copper wire framing the elegant letters within it. In that page he had written:
"I am standing in the dark outside while she’s in there alone I would hope. As I approach from the side of the kitchen, I can smell something sweet and something… how could I describe it… metallic perhaps. I feel that soon my senses might begin to fail me if I don’t hurry. I never understood how she had this effect on me. She was truly a stunning red-head and seemed so righteous, which was what once attracted me to her. After years, our time had ran out and our history had been made. The comprehension and attention that I once had given her was no longer in my capability to sustain it.
I need to get inside before the light in the bathroom extinguishes. I hurried to the sliding back door of the mostly lonely house. She hadn’t locked the door in which made it easy for me to glide into the roomy kitchen. I thought perhaps she had been expecting me to come back after all, even after I had told her that the only thing left for us to do was to say our goodbyes. There was a small pie sitting inside an open oven. That's where the sweet smell was coming from. I knew this was a sweet gesture of hers to try to amend things. The poor fool, too full of herself to comprehend the feelings of others. I make my way to the bedroom on the first floor which was empty but this way I could faintly hear the footsteps coming from upstairs. I’m standing in the room intently listening with my left ear for the footsteps to cease. After an annoyingly still amount of time, I hear nothing but a slight whimper. I enjoyed her presence while she lulled away while I ran my fingers through her hair but even in her sleep she could not keep quiet. Now is the time to exit the room and go upstairs swiftly before her subtle slumber is interrupted in any form.
Continued… It was all dark but there was a dim light at the end of the hallway coming out of the largest room. It must be from the timid morning light. I hurried and stepped in what was once our room. Like flames, her long red hair was illuminated by the light on the short white pillow. The rest of her was hiding under the blankets, catatonic like. There was a pair of small, cerated, blood stained scissors in the left pocket of my coat, which I took out hastily. I used it to carefully cut a single strand of hair from her beautiful mane and I put it in my pocket with my journal for later. Then, I took out what I had in my opposite pocket, unwrapped it, and set it on the pillow next to her. Just as her with that pie, in a way this was my form of detaching. I realized then where the metallic smell was coming from. The gauze on the right side of my head, where my ear once was, had begun to soak through and I could feel the warm blood slide down my neck. It was well worth it, hence I felt no more pain. I had once been able to listen to her but I could no more. It all happened once and once was enough. This is the only thing I'll have of this day to remind me of how much more is preserved and absorbed soundlessly, and who no longer belongs to me."
It was not often that he would write since he was very careful about his patterns of repetition. For him time and experience was better preserved in such mannerisms. H continued turning each page over and glazing it with his patient gaze. His stamina was drained and there was nothing more he could possibly do hinder himself from subsiding. After retracing all of the pages with his spectral looking fingers, he figured the only thing left now was for him to remain under that tree for as long as he could. There was once a man called H, who no longer had a hold on all his five senses.
