Years swam in and out of Thomas Morrison's mind, the remembrances flying at him like glass cuts. He lay in this suffocating room, re-enacting the moments which could have gone all so differently—the moments he had allowed to slip by, lost beneath bad decisions and temporary pleasures.
He remembered his youth, when life was so big and full of promise. He had been the quiet one in high school, content to drift by on natural intelligence without really trying. His teachers saw potential in him, dubbed him 'bright' and 'full of promise,' but he never believed it. College brochures sat unopened on his desk, invitations to a future he'd never dared to imagine for himself. By the time his classmates were packing their bags to go off to university, Thomas was working odd jobs, convincing himself he was just 'figuring things out.'
When he was twenty-two, he had his first real shot at anything: a small electronics repair business with a pal. It lacked glamour, sure, but still, it was something to build around. For the time being, it seemed great. The customers trickled in, and Thomas felt a spark of pride he hadn't known before. However, the pride then gave rise to complacency: he spent profits wildly, refusing to reinvest in the business. Disputes started between him and his partner; instead of confrontation, Thomas tried to brush it under the carpet, thinking it would improve with time. They did not. The business folded in under a year, and Thomas found himself out of work and bitter.
The sting of failure did not make him cautious; it fueled his recklessness.
Thomas resorted to gambling, chasing the mirage of easy money. What started out as harmless poker games with friends spiraled into nights spent at dimly lit casinos, the clinking of slot machines and the dealer's monotone voice embedding themselves into his life. He had thought at first that he could handle it and that he was just one lucky break away from turning things around.
But the wins were small, the losses devastating.
To continue with the gambling, Thomas borrowed money—first from friends, then from loan sharks—promising to pay it back swiftly, convinced that sooner or later his luck was going to change. But it never did. As the debts mounted, so did his desperation: the little money he had would be squandered not only on gambling but also on momentary indulgences—expensive dinners, overpriced drinks, and women who disappeared when the money disappeared.
His family, who had always been his anchor, became strangers to him. Modest and hardworking, his parents were a lesson in discipline and sacrifice. They attempted at first to be supportive: advice, money. But after a few years, Thomas's gift of gab, with which he extricated himself many times, began wearing thin, with repeated requests and lies for yet 'one more chance' piling up until no one trusted him anymore.
'I just need a little time,' he had told his father during one of their last conversations. His father's voice, steady but strained, echoed in his mind now: 'Time for what, Thomas? To ruin yourself completely? To drag us down with you?'
He also burned his bridges with his siblings, by borrowing from them and never giving it back, avoiding their calls when he couldn't face the disappointment in their voices. Family gatherings became insufferable, his presence a bitter reminder of squandered potential. Soon, they weren't inviting him to gatherings anymore.
In his thirties and alone, Thomas was an adrift man in the consequences of his choices. He tried quitting gambling, but he had dug himself into a too-deep hole. The shame of facing his family, creditors, and even himself kept him locked in a cycle of self-destruction. And all those memories swirled now around his bed, circling like vultures over the body of a dying man, faces of parents, furrows of worry upon his mother's face, quiet disappointment in the posture of his father. His mind conjured images of siblings—once close comrades and now strangers very far away. And the nights, endless nights wasted in the chase of illusions, only to awaken with empty hands.
Thomas leaned into the darkness, his voice barely above a whisper, and for the first time in years, it shook with regret. 'I wasted it all.' And for the first time in years, he let the full weight of his mistakes settle over him.