04-11-2008, 02:04 AM
12. Insanity
Insanity.
Doing the same thing over and over in an attempt to get different results.
Putnar felt that that one word had become his life. Ever since he had been taken away to his father's house it had been the same thing day after day.
Wake up. Go to school. Come home. Sleep.
The weekend was only barely different and he would spend hours hiding up in his room hoping that no one would ever try to invite him out of that haven. Everywhere else in that house was hell.
Dinner was a vacuum of silence where his Father's second wife would try to drag some pleasant chatter out of him. He wouldn't bite, that wasn't going to happen. And then there were the endless complaints from his father. Work, money, life, Putnar, bills Putnar, Sara, traffic, Putnar.
Yes, somehow it always came back to him. Somehow it was Putnar's fault that the car had gotten a flat tire, or that the fridge was out of whatever the hell he was looking for that time. Somehow when Putnar had bought that gun months ago, it felt like years, and his father had come and whisked him away it had begun to make things his fault.
And Putnar would always bare it as he pushed a spoonful of peas into an impending death of suffocation in his mashed potatoes.
No matter what it remained the same, and as Putnar lay in that foreign room filled with expensive things he would never want or need, he would hope for something to appear in his live and break him from the cycle. He wished something would free him from the hell that was this insanity.
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