Enough

Adam Warren George
3 min readAug 11, 2023

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It is never enough. That is what he told himself. It wasn’t necessarily true, but his belief made it so.

Any effort. It wasn’t enough.

I am trying to paint a picture of futility. If you’ve seen it, you’d know how it feels. The knowledge that no matter how hard you try, it won’t be enough in the end.

Back to him.

It wasn’t like he had given up. He still navigated his days with purpose. It’s just that each day came with it the soft buzz of inadequacy. Kind of like drinking too much coffee. He would never achieve what it was he wanted to.

He had goals. He even met many of them. There was still an underlying thread which never went away. It was one of the constants in his life.

“Help!” He yelled at a pedestrian across the street. “This person needs help!” He knelt next to an unconscious man.

He checked his pulse.

Nothing.

The pedestrian made their way across the street.

Meanwhile, he started CPR. “Call 911!”

He breathed into the man, then pressed on his chest rhythmically.

Nothing.

I know what you are thinking, you want the dead to come back to life. You want him to be a hero. And what if he did save him?

He wasn’t sure why he happened upon the dead man. He tried his best to revive him. He failed, but he tried his best.

The police showed up and took the dead man away on a gurney to try and resuscitate him in the ambulance.

He went home.

There was a new sadness about him. He had tasted death on that man’s lips.

He decided to make himself a coffee and sit out on his porch.

Even though he had friends and family, there was no one to call. Only God would know how he felt, and he had never been that close to God.

He watched the steam off the coffee, and wished he had a cigarette. He wished he could pull a little bit of death out in the form of smoke, and give what life he lost on the inhale to that man. But that man is gone now.

He couldn’t hold back that feeling of bubbling sadness, as sobs sprung from his chest. He spilled his coffee because they came on abruptly.

He looked at the coffee spill on his white shirt and managed to set it down before the second wave hit him.

He went inside and curled up on his bed, letting waves of sobs come over him.

His neighbor heard through the thin walls but wasn’t going to say anything. They didn’t know each other that well. Just nods in the hallway in passing.

As the emotion ran through him, and he gained composure, he felt like taking a shower.

He sat on the shower floor and let warm water wash over him. He tucked his head on his knees. He didn’t want to end that calming feeling one gets from letting warm water flow over them. But like the coffee cup runs dry, his cathartic rumination had to end.

He didn’t get the best sleep that night.

He dreamt that the man lived.

When he woke to the reality, he felt the burden.

It wasn’t enough.

--

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Adam Warren George

I like to write, because I enjoy communicating what I experience. And I like to do it in creative ways, lyrical and poetic prose, not sticking to the path.