See me sitting here, typing. Drink to the left, phone to the right. A mindful sink of dishes at my back. Double doors too. This house is heavy with a not silence. It is by no means quiet. Endlessly creaking or weeping. Even when the children are sleeping, even when the missus is out, the sounds still surround. The waning of the heating, the melting of the snow.
My feet are so wet, so cold. The snow, melting, drips down my neck.
These glass double doors behind me lead to what we meaninglessly call the sun room. It has fallen out of favour as an evening haunt, freezing as it always is in winter. Slowly but indefatigably too it fills up with toys and magazines that are not mine, that I never asked for, and that I cannot be bothered to throw out, either in the dead of night or above the inevitable howls of daytime protest. I have been driven out by the cold of the night and the warmth of my children.
Fucking state of the place.
It is dark through these glass doors now and if I glance up and turn in their direction I can see my own reflection but little of the room itself. I glance up. I turn in their direction. I think I see movement.
Slowly, slowly, move more slowly. Slower than that. He's glancing up. He's turning in my direction. Stop. Freeze. Don't even fucking breathe.
Nothing. Just my pallid face and my ridiculous, tied back hair. I go back to my chatting, my tweeting, my excuse for this writing.
It's okay. He's gone back to his writing, his spewing of shit. All those nasty words, all those stinking turds. He pretends that he loves those girls but he don't. He cares about only himself, and his drink and his drugs. Lies are all that he writes. He must surely be writing lies right now, the cunt. And he'll pay. He'll pay. Right now, he'll pay.
I should go to bed. Bodypump in the morning and no way out of it.
He's stretching. He's moving. It has to be now. I have to go fast. Go fast now, go fast. Burst through the door, raise up the knife, drive it down quick. Down through his arm, raise it again. Grab the ridiculous tied back hair, plunge into the pallid face. Ha. Right in the eye.
What are they doing in heaven today?
21 hours ago