Discovery or; More than Just Bad Luck

Not original in the slightest. Not colourful or worthy of remembrance in any way. Even his name suggested a certain lack of importance.

An identity belonging to another man already.

The way his hair fell into his face not unlike every other man with that hair style.
No, there was nothing to separate him from any other person.

Well, except for one small thing. One small... Talent.

You see, Henry Miller had a gift not many people have but that didn’t set him apart, it certainly did not set him free.
Henry was full of ideas. All day long, no matter where he was or what he was doing, Henry came up with the most amazing ideas, novel ideas; inventions. He would look at something and think of ways to improve that object.
But the problem with Henry was the thought that came after that thought. Somehow he thought that these ideas, characters and inventions were already in a book, or a type of sewing machine or something he’d seen before somewhere. He thought he had heard all of his ideas before, and thus he did not write anything down, he did not take his ideas any further than a seed in his overcrowded mind.
He always got excited when he first thought of something he believed to be a true original; his heart always beat a little faster.
But that feeling would soon blend into the dirt on the ground and eventually he would forget.

Henry was always treated as average, always satisfied with crumbs of attention from people; colleagues, friends; family.
But he felt he earned a place in history every time he thought of something ingenious, something the world needed and would praise him for bringing to it; then reality would set in and he’d realise he’d heard it all before.

So Henry carried on.

Henry lived alone. He enjoyed the solitude and the late nights out in his garden. He loved walking in his garden in the midnight hours; his Eden. He had an immaculate view of the moon and he liked to lie on the moist grass because it didn’t remind him of anything. He just lay there.
Henry was all Henry thought he needed. I suspect he thought this way because there was no one else.
Henry had a bad heart. Not the kind that didn’t give a homeless man a quarter but the kind that would stop. Just cease. Like the sound on a T.V with no reception. His doctor had warned him of this on several occasions, but of course it was something considered so far in the future, so pointless to worry over now.
Then one day.

Henry was walking to work on an average Tuesday morning. He walked past a hot dog vendor; the man looked as if he hadn’t bathed since winter began but the new fallen snow made him appear clean.
That is what Henry adored about snow. Life seemed fresh and hopeful. The city appeared to him a pretty virgin, untouched and expectant.
Deceptively innocent.

Henry walked through a small mall where people-watching was not a pleasant activity; a short cut to a cafe he would frequent.
He passed empty store windows like vacant eyes staring out at him as he carried on, past mannequins displaying pagan nudity, to his final destination.
His usual hazelnut latte.

As he got to the front of the line and gave his order to the tanned brunette with full red lips behind the counter, his eyes grazed the front page of a newspaper so pleasantly placed in his eye line.
A sinking, sickening feeling.
Henry began to laugh, like laughter in a dream, it felt to Henry; pure bizarre. A fragmentary sound.

If he weren’t constantly drowning in routine he may have had the chance to escape the news that ruined his life. He could have gone on without the knowledge and lived a peaceful life.
You see, Henry never read the newspaper. He never watched the news.
But this is not our Henry. Our Henry saw the newspaper at the coffee shop he went to everyday before work and by extension, saw the fairy tale future he hadn’t realised he had being handed to someone else on a silver platter.
Henry saw his dreams coming true for another man, he saw his idea in some unknown’s bank account, in some unknown’s relative’s proud smile.

And he died right there in the coffee shop covered in steaming brown liquid.