The Life Inside the Can ( a creative writing piece)

David Maisel a photographer took this picture of a can with a cremated person's remains inside. This can was undisturbed for a long time and eventually nature took it's course and the can started to deteriorate. I recommend that you check out this website and take a look at some of the cans they are pretty awesome.

http://www.davidmaisel.com/works/picture.asp?cat=lod&tl=library%20of%20dust


So my story about what I think the life of the person inside this can could have been; begins:

I stand there and look at the picture of the can, the can that is deteriorating. The can looks like a bucket of paint that possibly someone may have used and in the process dripped paint onto the sides. So that was a person. That can was someone inside, someone who was forgotten or abandoned. Who knows? I am going to find out.
Way back several years ago a man by the name of John Kingsley painted pictures of his wife and subjects that amused him when they came his way. His wife who was called Martha Kingsley was a very well off lady who did not have to worry about the fact that her husband could never hold a job.
She was happy living in retirement. Her husband could not keep a job because as she observed he did not fit with people, they could never understand him and he them .
Martha was happy being the subject of paintings. John and Martha got along well and their marriage went well because they alone could understand each other.
One terribly awful hot day in the middle of June, Martha had a stroke, and well wasn't able to grace this earth any longer. As Martha died John sat by her side stroking her hand and rocking back and forth in his chair. Back and forth. Martha smiled and then closed her eyes and passed on. John groaned and began the muttering that was to make a difference in his life and others, "gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, "
Pounding on the door started and didn't stop until three man finally managed to get the door open. The men were a mixture of both detestable men and good men but none the less they were in the house now. Edward the coroner qualified as a good man, pure, honest, noble and willing to do the right thing. All of these characteristics were what made Edward a respectable well liked town coroner. William Clay, Martha's father was one of the men that had entered the house but he was not what we will say "good people". William was a stout pompous man who was arrogant and despite John's many marvelous traits considered him useless. The third man was a man of the name Clemence Cole. Clemence was neither a good man or a bad man, he was a confused man. He was human. He sometimes did what was right and at other times did only what served him.
Now back to what John was doing. John still sat by Martha's bed muttering and swaying back and forth completely oblivious to the men that stood around him. "Let's get it over with put the dang creep in the loony bin where he belongs, I never should have consented to that marriage he was a good for nothing," declared William in a disgustingly arrogant and completely gross manner.
Edward stood there contemplatively. He knew that John wasn't a creep but that he also needed to be sent somewhere where people could take care of him now that Martha wasn't around. " I am not sure we should think on this some more"
Clemence who happened to be Martha's brother and was the man who didn't know whether he was good or bad, was in somewhat of a quandary about who to side with, His father or the good, just man? So Clemence just stood there with a puzzled look on his face and said nothing.
The three men stood in silence contemplating staring at the still peaceful figure or Martha. "Well, at least She should not be left there," Edward stated in a controlled manner. "Agreed," replied father and son in unison.
So the coroner removed the body and left the house and Martha's relatives trailed behind. John sat non moving in the twilight muttering,"gone, gone, gone".
A day or so later the coroner came back, alone this time with his mind made up. Seeing as John was autistic he wanted to do what was best for John as John couldn't rightfully take care of himself. So John was to go the Oregon state Asylum. On June of 1887 John climbed into Edward's car and allowed himself to be driven and submitted into the Asylum.
Day after day John stayed in his room alone and thinking and occasionally muttering "gone,gone,gone" One day, a couple years after John was submitted he became ill of consumption, every day since he became ill Edward visited and sometimes just sat with John doing a puzzle, or watching a movie, or even perhaps drawing a picture. On September 2 of 1890 John started to talk and talk.
John did not talk about the weather or the birds outside the window, John talked about his life with Martha and what happened. He talked about how awful it was at the Asylum how they forced him to take medicine when he didn't want it, how they made him take a bath even though he wasn't dirty, how the nurses whispered when he walked past, how they treated him like he was stupid and they talked to him like a child.
September was the day that John stopped his mutterings the day that John though ill became better. John did not become better from his consumption that day or the next. John had a chance in his psychological state. He was never cured because he was never mentally "wrong" just different.
Edward, amazed sat there and wrote all that John said. So when a week later John died of consumption and no one came to claim his body John's story wasn't lost. John's body was indeed gone pressed into this can but his story lives on in this journal
So as I read Edward's account of what happened; to you as my grandfather read it to me remember that what is "gone, gone, gone" doesn't have to remain that way.What was gone for John was a family, but it was never actually "gone" he just didn't know where to look for it.