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CinderMoth
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#1
Old 02-06-2010, 06:25 AM

"Richard, Dear"
I wrote this first one as part of a project a few years ago. I'm just curious as to what others would think of it.

WARNING:
There are parts of this short story that some may find offensive, or disturbing. It mostly relays to the what the subject is, not any excessive gore or violence. I've edited any terrible words that some may not want to read. Please remember that if you do decide to read it, that it is intended to be viewed with a mature mind set. Thanks guys. :] I'll be posting it separate from this, in case I ever need to change anything, or update the thread for any reason.

"Wretched being, why do you hurt? "
It came to me in my car, a collective of all the thoughts tumbling in my brain. What it came about to be was something completely different. Sort of a part of series.


"The Rookery"
This is the last one for now, until I think of a reason to post anything else. The girl in question is not a particular person or character, just a ghost of someone who might have been real. It's short, so if you're looking to read something easy, this is it.

Last edited by CinderMoth; 02-06-2010 at 06:40 AM..

CinderMoth
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#2
Old 02-06-2010, 06:29 AM

"Richard, Dear."

In apartment 504A, high above the city streets but not quite high enough to escape the sounds and smells of the people on them, a man is waiting in the shadows of his living room for his wife to come home from work. Whiskey is heavy on his breath, heavy on his mind, and skewing his decisions. The clock ticks off the minutes while he wrings his hands angrily in his lap. Four, five, six minutes go by and with each that passes, he grits his teeth a little harder.

I'll show her this time. Come home from work late again will she? Stupid broad is probably off with some other man, spreading her fat f---ing legs. Maybe that d--k of a cook she works with, always flashing his greasy smiles at her. She'll never come home late again, I'll make sure. I'll teach her not to leave her husband at home, hungry, while she flaunts her filthy self to anyone who gives a passing glance. Shit!

His eyes are unfocused, and glazed over as he stares down at the floor. Suddenly, the jingle of keys sounds from behind the door. His head snaps up, and he grins as his unsuspecting wife steps onto the threshold, her work clothes still in hand. She flips on the hallway light, and freezes in place as she see's her husband sitting only feet away. She's seen the look in his eyes before, and her jaw starts to quiver in fright as she tries to think of something to say.

"Where you been, Susanne? Huh? Where the hell you been?" The man lurches to his feet, swaying as he does. "Do you know how long I've been waiting here for you? Two hours. I've been waiting two whole damned hours for you to get home. Did you think dinner was gonna make itself, woman?"

For an intoxicated man, he moves swiftly and reaches over her shoulder to slam the door shut. They are face to face now, and she clutches onto her apron with bone white fingers. Her breath shudders slightly, as she tries to explain.

"I called and left a message for you, on the answering machine. I said I was going to be late coming home because the girl that takes over my shift couldn't come in on time. Please, Richard, I didn't even think you would be home this early. I'll start dinner right now. It'll be done in less than twenty minutes!"

He smiles at her and chuckles, but all too quickly, the look of amusement turns to fury. His breath is choking her with it's toxicity. A tiny blood vain has popped in the far corner of his eye.

"So that's your excuse? Do you honestly think that I would believe that load of shit? I can smell the lies just floatin' off you, Susanne. DO YOU THINK I'M SOME KIND OF F---ING FOOL?" He is near shouting now, as spit punctuates his sentences. His eyes search her for anything, any little reason to set himself off on her, and finally he finds it. A stray hair clings to her shoulder, possibly from anywhere. He plucks it away, with a sublime gentleness and holds it mere inches from her face. In reality, it's her own but he is too drunk to notice it's light curl and golden tones that match his wife's. From here, she almost looks fadingly pretty beneath the fluorescent lights.

"Where did this come from? Did you think I wouldn't know? That I wouldn't find out Susanne? Did you think I would figure out what you've been doing behind my back all this time? DAMNED WHORE!"

His hand wraps around her arm, gripping tight enough to leave bruises and throws her down onto the floor. He stands over her, a warrior over his fallen foe, and decides in a fleeting moment of soberness to just watch her writhe, rather than kick her while she lay there helpless. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wails.

"Get up, little Susie-Q. Maybe if you get this place cleaned up and get my dinner on the table in the next half hour, I'll leave you 'lone. You'd like that, wouldn't you? For me to just shrivel up and blow out of your life like dust on the wind." His words are slurred together, still mixed up in his mind from the alcohol. "C'mon Susie! Get up!" He pulls her up by one arm,"Get off the floor, Susie! Now!" He shoves her off towards the kitchen. Desperation fills his eyes now, and he is afraid that he might have gone too far, but she gains her footing, cradling her elbow tenderly in one hand. Her eyes remained fixed on the floor, a beaten soul in submission.

"If you knew your place in this world Suze, you'd have already gotten me my beer." He laughs at his own little joke, something only he understands and stumbles his way over to the couch. For now, his anger is subsided. His attention is focused on the T.V instead, and Susanne says her thanks quietly to some rambling cable show as she scrambles to the fridge.

"Here, Richard. I'm sorry for being late, and I'll make sure that it doesn't happen again. Is steak and baked potatoes okay for dinner, dear?" She is still shivering slightly from being shaken up, but manages to open the bottle for her husband and set it on the table in front of him. The color is returning to her face, as she looks to her husband, her love.

Richard grumbles a reply, "Sure Suze, whatever. Just don't f---ing burn it, like you always do." He settles down for another night of battling his own inner demons, the first step being to live soberly as little as possible, and begins by swigging down a mouthful of amber liquid.

Last edited by CinderMoth; 02-06-2010 at 06:38 AM..

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#3
Old 02-06-2010, 06:37 AM

"Wretched Being, Why do you Hurt?"

Everything is green, and thrumming with life just after the first break of the storm, in the stagnant wait before the second coming. Her gut clenches, clenches again. Something is wrong, deeply wrong in the way that makes you ache from the inside out. The foliage flashing by her car windows is too much, it's pressing in on her claustrophobic ways, turning her wheel towards a ditch. Towards a tree. Towards anything that could provide relief from the ache in her stomach, and in her chest and inside her heart. Are these just residual feelings? Dust kitties left behind from the previous renter, eating and eating at what's left until there is nothing left? Nothing left to give, nothing left to take. How could a smile so beautiful be so broken? How is it possible to believe in such infallibility spoken from the lips of someone so perfect. With the same faith that they instill in you? That you hope they instill in you, at least. Her trust has been broken, not just broken but stomped upon and spit upon and left to rot and wail in the metaphorical wastelands. Putting it back together is not just a matter of say so. Actions speak louder than words, so what are you doing now?

Letting her squirm, between indecisiveness and the decision that her gut feeling is right. Right that it's not just malicious feelings left behind. That something is going on, something huge that she is trying and trying to ignore. She wants nothing more, driving through all of this crushing life and color, than to secure what she has. To hear what ever it is she needs to hear, or to see what ever it is she needs to see to see to finally let go and believe again. Or at least, to push the gut feeling away and live in ignorance.

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#4
Old 02-06-2010, 06:42 AM

The Rookery

Out here the wind is hollow and slow, pulling at the life inside of me. Everthing is dead with the turn of fall, except for the occasional patch of moss, or persistent crocus.

"Hush, trickle drop
Rush and trill...
The wind will stop
Hollow heart dulls
Hush, trickle drop"

I can't decide if I am content now, or if my day is getting worse, putting me on the verge of destroying myself.The roots here are strong, willing to hold the girl in a numb embrace. Her face chills, the water rushes by, steady and flowing. A thought crosses her mind; 'Who will find my body, soaked through and blue?' But there is no reply, only the distant cries of a bird. Seagull? Perhaps. Possibly a crow or a crane. There is little refuge in this place.Haunting memories surface. A name once carved into a tree, now disfigured by the past lover. They wanted her no longer, and ripped her carelessly from their mind. It is a sorrowful thing indeed. She paused to look, and continued on feeling torn. Further down, another memory surfaced(She can hear foot steps now...shattering her illusion of peace) one of laughter and happiness that was eaten partly by autumn and was completely consumed by winter. That warmth will come again but the friendship is gone, destroyed by mistrust and deceiving acts. (The stranger moves on, and her face numbs further.)This embankment was once a place of safety, but today all it holds are remnants of how she once felt. It is a broken, sullen dreamland now, empty and cold. Needing life and warmth as much as the girl that it holds in it's brittle grasp. There is nothing inspiring here, unless one hopes to inspire fear and empty hope. These lands are ancient, but hold the essence of nothing. Tears well up again as she stares down at herself. Beaten shoes, ripped pants, an ill fitting and dirty sweatshirt. How does one find comfort in themselves when they cannot hold even partial respect for who they are? She holds her admiration elsewhere, in a quiet boy with a ghostlike stare.

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#5
Old 02-21-2010, 01:51 AM

It's been a few days since I've been here. Looks like no one wants to read any of it. :]

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#6
Old 03-18-2010, 02:35 AM

Just checking in, seeing if there was anything going on.

RainbowMuffinage
Heey. ^___^ ~♪♫
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#7
Old 04-05-2010, 07:32 PM

O_O

Wow.

I'm sorry to ask this but, seriously, are you following me ?

These words, so sweet and truthful, are like my diary entries.

Well, appart from "Richard, Dear". That's more in a metephorical sence.

Truth be told, I adore these. Please, please, please continue to write and post more. (:

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#8
Old 05-21-2010, 12:42 AM

I appreciate any kind of feedback. Thankyou so much for actually reading some of these.

 


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