Writer Spotlight: Matt Keller

“Gone”

Matt Keller is a graduating creative writing major. This piece was written in his senior year of high school, and although it has the same rough edges and inconsistencies common in his early writing, he wanted it put in print as a testament to his former self, to the writer within he wasn’t confident enough to let speak, and as proof that it’s never too late to try.

The doorbell rang and its sound echoed throughout the house; up and down the halls, falling to the basement, and out each window. It reverberated outside and into the town, ceaselessly bouncing off brick walls losing sound each time. Anybody in the area would have been able to hear it, but of course no one did because if there were people there, they would just block it out with their own sounds. Only a world with no people could be this silent.

After a few seconds, the bell rang again. This time, Tim Nole took more notice of it. He had thought, Just my mind making things up. Of course no one’s around to ring a bell. Some mirage, and finally, Nothing good is coming anyway. He had spent the last few weeks- since everybody left- walking up and down the streets. Knowing every part of his town, he already had routes planned out for his trips. After the first two days, he had stopped looking for others. He lost his voice from yelling out for help. Did he really need it? He had all the food or water he needed, shelter was abundant. Who was he to complain?

But it was that unbelievable loneliness that drove him to believe in the bell after the second ring. Tim had learned silence can be deafening, and he learned it the hard way. The last thing he heard other than the tapping of his boots and the in-and-out of his breath was…

Gone, so it didn’t matter what it was. It would be a lie to say that he didn’t go to sleep every night hoping that everything would be back to normal in the morning, but it would also be a lie to say that his hope was as strong now as it was the first time. 

When the bell rang again, Tim sat up and tried to figure out where he was. He woke up each morning in a different spot, and now he was on a street bench; his legs curled up to squeeze on, covered by nothing because blankets would be too hot for the summer sun. But today he felt a slight chill, which was odd for having heard the first signs of salvation in weeks.

“Hello?” he called out. It wasn’t loud, but neither was the doorbell for that matter, so he knew his voice would travel. Also, he didn’t think his voice could get much louder after a long rest. That one word itself cracked and showed the inactivity of his vocal cords.

He rose, and off of his chest a small gold ring fell, clattering against the cement walkway. It was his last piece of Before, yet every night he would grasp it a little lighter. Until today, that is, when he almost forgot about it in his excitement. But he snatched it up and started off towards where he thought the sound originated.

The hunt would prove harder than Tim expected. The cluttered buildings were like a maze to the doorbell’s sound, and now Tim had to do that maze backwards. Of course, every few seconds the sound would repeat on que and he would get a hint as to what turn to take next. He supposed it was like a final test in which his knowledge of home would be tested. Good thing he had been studying heartily the last few weeks.

Finally he came to Liberation Drive, the suburb a company had been building Before, yet laid unfinished; just a long road with the skeletons of houses resting on either side. They were going to buy a house there.

—

It’s perfect, especially because you don’t want to move away from home.

“Thanks, hun, but I’m happy where we are now.”

I think we both know that this apartment isn’t nearly big enough for three.

“...”

Think about it.

“For three?”

—

The sound was loud now, but Tim couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Maybe it was because he was lost in the past- Before- or maybe it was because he was now very sad. He supposed that if he knew what happened to everyone, he would be able to somehow move on. But instead, he had gone to sleep one night and nobody woke him up in the morning except for the alarm clock. I suppose that was the last thing I heard, he thought.

In front of a house structure, perhaps the fifth or sixth one down the road, a pile of building materials laid in the grass. It seemed that the box was being carried by something, then wasn’t. Tim could resonate with that whiplash of unreality.

The doorbell was one of those materials, and in front of it was a crow. Every few seconds its beak would fall down and press the button, like one of those “Drinking Bird” office toys Tim had seen.

When Tim approached it, the beak stopped its rhythmic ways. The crow stared at him with those almost unearthly black eyes then gawked. Its sound was almost taunting, saying, You couldn’t have actually believed I was a person, right? I heard all of those were gone. Gone. Gawk. Gawk.

Tim stood on the edge of the road, one foot up on the sidewalk which laid before the house. A rush fell over him, taking the strength from his muscles. His bones were like liquid, but his mind would not let him fall. The question of how a doorbell connected to nothing was creating sound, or why the bird was even hitting it, never came. Her ring fell, though. He let go of it, and watched as it glimmered in the sun; falling to the concrete and rolling.

The ring had fallen into a nearby drainage grate and let out a weak splash as it hit the bottom. Tim stared at the cage for a few moments, seemingly filled with loss. The band was now floating helplessly on the murky water, but it was just an end to that life. He didn’t require answers to those questions anymore. The fear dissipated and what was left was just… red.

He moved faster than ever before. Over the sidewalk, across the uncut grass, and at the crow. It barely recognized the danger before being snatched into Tim’s new- strong- arms. Tim didn’t mean to, but he broke the crow’s neck. It fell limp in his hands, staring endlessly at the sky.

Hands ripped through feathers, and Tim saw more red than ever before. After stuffing his mouth full of the bird, he stopped for a moment. Looking back over the grass and to the storm drain, a thought began to form.

What am I do-

But the ring sank; water filling the space it left as it hit the bottom. The shine was dead now, and no one could bring it back.