When Some One Dies

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Photo by Ian Espinosa on Unsplash

When someone dies, I ask what the hell is life all about
I’m soo sad. I weep. Where the hell is this peace I seek
This pain is to much to bear. It sears my soul
I am hurting, distraught and bereft

Such a good friend of mine is taken from this life, at this time
Where is the justification. Where is the reason why
Where are you now God. Explain to me the reason why
Why now, why her. Why at this time

Come on, fess up. Explain to me the reason why
It makes no sense. I am distraught. I cry
I am a man, but yet I weep
Her Love, Her energy, Her Happiness
You take that, and don’t explain why

Do I hate you God, if you exist at all
This life I don’t understand at all
I curse you life, I curse you God
I really do.

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Regret.

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Photo Credit : Glenn Carstens-Peters on Unsplash.

Alone in the silence of the forest he searched for it. Memories of happier times. A memorial made in nature, to remember them forever. The few sounds, the branches and mulch, leaves crunching and melting and giving way under his feet.
After some time searching he came across the memorial nature offered. His mind journeyed to those times, they had all enjoyed here. The laughter and picnics they had shared, at this place. His hand lightly touched and traced the heart shaped indent in the tree, and the names enshrined within. He thought of them both, but not for long, as it was too painful. He lifted the whiskey bottle from where it was now a permanent fixture, forever close by, just inside the shabby coat, that had seen much better years.
It was his way of dealing with what should not have been. The alcohol offered some very brief temporary relief, until he sobered up, and then he would follow on that pointless road, of sorrowful drunkenness, much regret, and yet more alcohol to numb the pain. A never ending crazy pointless circle. But as a method to block all memories, good and bad, there was none better alcohol.

‘I’ve watched you’, the voice startled him. But it was soft, gentle and compassionate.
‘I watched you from afar many times, but sensed you wanted to be alone with your hurt and sadness’.

He turned to see the owner of the voice. She had a softness, a calm strength, and quietness about her. He was embarrassed and ashamed of how he must had looked to her. Unshaven, dirty, with unkempt clothing, and badly in need of a bath. He found it hard to focus, but managed to make out her outline.

‘You must be hungry. We have a cabin, not far from here. Will you join us for some food’.

He had not eaten properly in days. But nourishing sustenance was of little matter to him anymore. Nothing really mattered to him anymore. Living had lost its luster. He did not look at her, but turned away from her, as he held one hand on the heart shaped indent on the tree. How can this person be so trusting of strangers, he asked of himself.

‘No, I don’t want or need anything’, he answered quietly. Preferring his solitude, and freedom to think and come to terms with what had happened, if he ever could.

‘Ok’, but if you do change your mind, we are just over the other side of the big oak tree, on that hill. We’re the only cabin for miles around’.

With that she slowly sauntered away, without looking back. He watched her go. Unsure of what to make of her. But he certainly did like her non neediness, and thankful for her acceptance his wish for privacy, and the desire to be alone.
After she had left him, and when sure he was alone, he spoke quietly to his lost wife and young daughter, and asked then what he should do. Would they question his loyalty. The very idea of some decent food, an opportunity to clean up, while certainly not a priority, would not go amiss either.
The loud sniffling and noise, and the sensation of being watched caught his attention. He was very big when stood on his hind legs. Salvia dripping from it sharpened teeth, bigger that any man he had ever encountered, and the loud growling. The fur was dirty, and ragged, the claws on the feet and paws, frightening. Never had he encountered such an animal at close range, and was surprised at the stench emanating from it. He slowly backed away from the approaching animal. To run was to play to the animals instinct to chase. To climb high, was pointless as bears can climb as higher and faster, that nay man.
He tried vainly to remember what he had ever read, or seen about what to do when confronted by an angry, hungry animal. But his mind was unable to function under such stress. His breathing rapid, his legs shaking, and heart beating strongly in his chest in response to his body’s adrenaline. Any chance of clear thinking was minimal. He did have the fortitude to pick up a large heavy branch of a fallen tree, but guesses success against such an animal, was unlikely.
One fact he wished he did not recall, was how a bear on his hind legs can stand up to seven feet tall and larger, and are capable of tearing a mans head from his shoulders, with a wave of their arm. The bear began to run toward him. He stood his ground, aware that his last moments were soon to be, and in his semi drunken state he welcomed his own demise, so he could soon be with his departed loved ones. He just briefly wished it was not in such a brutal manner. But he briefly prayed to Jesus, and asked for it to be swift.
The perspiration dripped from his forehead, his breathing more rapid than he had ever experienced, he closed his eyes, and awaited the impact.

The shoot that rang out seemed so close, he wondered if he had being hit. The following shoots rang out in rapid succession. The large brown bear stopped, stood up on his hind feet, and growled loudly, before turning on his tail and scampering back into the woods, towards the riverbank. He searched among the trees to find the source of the rifle.
He watched the trees for a few moments before the three figures, dressed in combat uniforms emerged from the forest.

‘What the hell do we got here, eh boy’,

With that the large leader of the group spat some dirty brown chewed tobacco onto the ground. The southern twang, was just like it was in all those movies he had seen over the years. His two sidekicks laughed at the revered leader. He held an automatic rifle under his arm, cradled lovingly, just like a child. The two others, held long barrel shotguns down by their sides.

‘What the hell kind of fool comes out into the woods without a goddamn fire arm. Were going to fight that bear, with a piece of wood. Well were you boy’, and they laughed.

He could sense their aggression, and bad intent.

‘You just gotta be a dumb ass city boy, he just gotto be, dont he Wendell’.
‘Well he sure must, cause he has got the brains of a dumb ass’.

‘Why don’t you just turn round and start running back towards the city, dumb ass, and we’ll see if we can’t shoot you in the rear. Go on boy, run’.

Again the men in combat laughed at the power there weapons gave them, and the predicament the disheveled city man found himself in. The men ducked quickly as a shoot ricocheted of a nearby tree. More shoots rang out in their direction. They searched the trees for the source of the bullets, but could not find it.

The voice was firm, it was strong.

‘Okay boys, you’ve had your fun, now you git along and leave that city boy be, da’ all hear. ‘Go oonn, now scoot, afore I get real mad, and set my dogs on you’.

‘Show yourself, Godamit’, the leader of the men in combat gear demanded.

There was no response from the trees, that hid the unseen shooter. He also took the opportunity to run for cover, and headed in the direction he hooped the shots were coming from. More shoots rang out, pinning down the men in combat gear.

‘Alright Godamit, were going, but don’t you worry Missey, we’ll be back’.

The men stood up, put their hands skyward, and slowly moved back from where they came. They argued loudly among themselves, until the leader angrily kicked and punched his two companions into silence.

‘Are you okay’, he looked at her, from his position low on the forest floor’.
‘I am now. That was some crazy set up’.
‘We get it from time to time, out here in the backwoods. some times survivalists, high on weapons, illicit drugs and alcohol. Sometimes, drug gangs build chemical factories hidden on the woods, and want to keep strangers at bay’.

‘How good dose a hot meal and a nice bath sound like now’.
‘Yeah’, I’ll take it’.

With that, they headed towards her cabin, just behind the large oak tree, just behind the hill, that she had pointed out when they first meet earlier that afternoon, as she was watching him grieve for his loved ones.
With the excitement, the new events that happened that afternoon, he felt a sense of awakening. A sense of being alive. A feeling he had not encountered for quiet some time. A possibility that perhaps there was more to life, than living full of regret and remorse. Maybe this was a new chapter to his life.
They made their way to her cabin, beautiful in its remoteness, and tranquility. As the evening sun began to set, the sky turned from bright blue, into a golden expression of colur. Soothing orange and yellow hues. The crickets croaking the only sounds from the forests. As they made there way onto the wooden porch, the blonde young girl shyly emerged from inside, and ran to and hugged her Mother. Her Mother lowered her rifle to the floor, and picked up and kissed her daughter.

He was quickly sobering up, after such an eventful afternoon.

‘Are you not afraid, living here alone. Is there no man around look after you’.
‘No, we make do. We do fine, don’t we sweetheart’, addressing the young girl. ‘In any case, I’ve got my dogs, and my rifle, and know how to use it’.

‘What of those men, from today. They said they’d be back’.
‘We’ll see. But for now let’s get cleaned up, and lets eat’.

They entered the cosy cabin, lit by wicker oil lamps, and a low kindling fire. She quickly set about preparing a nourishing meal for the three of them, humming happily to herself.
He took a sat by the fire, in the rocking chair and slowly rocked back and forth, enjoying the creaking sound. The young girl studied the stranger intently, as children do, undecided whether she liked or trusted him enough, but given a few moments of serious contemplation, she decided he was safe. She approached him, as he sat by the fire, and handed him her colouring book, and showed him what she had being working on. It was long time since he had being round human company, especially children. It took some moments for his sense of unease to subside, but the young girls wide eyed innocence and open acceptance and trust of him, helped sooth his mind. Soon she was standing close to him, and helpfully showing him previous drawings she had completed.
Her Mother watched from the kitchen, as the stranger began to interact and slowly enjoy the young child’s company. With the meal soon prepared, they ate mainly in silence. Never had a warm nourishing meal being so welcome, and he greedily scoffed the food at speed, and did not refuse a second helping. After dinner she showed her guest where he could clean up, and wash himself, and gave him some male cleaning utensils, used by a previous man.
She set about putting her daughter to bed. In the low light of the bedroom she tucked her child to rest.

‘I like him’
‘I’m glad to hear that honey, now you go to sleep child’.

She bid her daughter goodnight, unsure whether she liked the stranger as much as her daughter. Sitting by the warming embers of the fire, contemplating the earlier interactions she had with the survivalists or drug runners of earlier that afternoon, she considered to herself whether they would return at some stage to cause havoc. She decided to double lock all the doors and windows tonite, and to take an extra box of shells for the rifle, which she was planing to keep in close proximity to her, through the night, should it be needed.

He reentered the lounge area of the cabin. Gone were the ragged clothes. The unkempt hair, washed and trimmed, although not expert, not a bad attempt. The face now clean shaven although still malnourished. The ravages and damage of excess alcohol more than evident. But perhaps she allowed, as she studied him, underneath all that dirt and grime, that maybe there was a fine looking, but certainly troubled man underneath.

‘My, my, my. Why don’t you look just fine.’

He smiled shyly at the compliment, and just briefly caught her eye.

‘Draw up a chair, and join me by the fire’, which is what he did.

They both stared into the burning blue and yellow embers of the fire. The warmth was comforting. He could barely look at her, and especially not catch her eye. For fear she could see into his dark and twisted soul, and the secrets it held. The malicious, cruel and sordid thoughts that he tried hard to keep at bay, but seldom succeeded.
The thoughts that troubled and plagued even more so since he had stopped taking the medication he had being prescribed. It had been some time since he had been in close proximity to a woman. The scent of soft perfume, entrancing. Her gentle feminine energy, soft, palatable. He thought of touching her, and holding her, but he let those thoughts pass. She waited patiently for him to speak, if he choose to. Allowing him the psychological space, to be as he was.
They sat in silence listening to the crackling of the burning firewood, and the occasional howling of a far off wolf in the distance.

‘Well I’m off to bed, you sleep here on the couch. You’ll find some blankets over there’, she pointed to a corner of the room.

With that she left the cosy lounge area, and left him alone with his thoughts. In the quietness his mind started to become agitated, as though some higher power, some demon, some evil part of himself he did not want to listen to or acknowledge, began to call to him. To speak to him. To fill his mind with wild ideas, and suggestions that were too terrible to listen to. He quickly went to the small hallway, where he had left his shabby coat, and retrieved the saviour from one of the deep pockets, and greedily drank from the bottle, wrapped in the brown paper bag. Anything to drown out the voices in his head, which were becoming progressively louder, urging him. screaming at him, to do what he must. Again and again he drank quickly and heavily from the bottle of raw alcohol that burned his insides as he ingested it. But he knew that soon, very soon, his mind would find, if not sleep, at least some form of peace, until he sobberd up. He thought of his departed wife and daughter, and how he loved them, and never ment to hurt them. He had begged for their forgiveness and understanding many times. But they never answered.

The sound of breaking glass, was loud in the quietness of the night. Hushed voices, swearing and foolish laughter, audible. She was half expecting some visitors and was soon out of her bed, rifle by her side, and loaded. She made her quickly towards her childs bedroom, to find her not there. In panic, she lowered her rifle to the floor, and searched frantically under the bed, in the wooden cupboards, for her daughter, and then noticed the open window, that led into the woodland. In the low light of her daughters bedroom, the three figures silhouetted in the darkness blocked the doorway.

Alone in the barn, he layed the sleeping child on some hay, staring at her young innocent face and body. He sat alone fighting the desire. The voices in his head, urging him, willing him. It was Gods wish, it was Gods way, they promised. He despised himself for what he was about to do.
He thought of his Mother, and how he hated her, for her suffocating, overpowering love.
He thought of his father, and how distant he was, never on hand, nor interested enough, or perhaps unable to offer guidance. He recalled the numerous women who had refused, or never encouraged his advances. He blamed them in part for forcing him to find an outlet for his desires elsewhere.
He thought of those in the religious fraternity who abused their power, and secrecy.
He remembered how those in authority paid him little heed. He hated them all. But mostly he hated and despised himself, for what he had become. He blamed everyone and anyone for how he was now, as a man. Blamed everyone but himself. At times he acted in ways which sickened him. His breathing became rapid and loud, the excitement further igniting the already lively adrenalin within his body. She opened her eyes, wide and innocent, and smiled as he hovered over her.

The screams from the cabin pierced his consciousness. Imbued by the alcohol, and wishing to retrieve some semblance of self respect, and self love, he ran like the hero he alway wanted to be toward the cabin, and what lay within. The three intruders laughed as they overpowered and brought her to the cosy lounge area, and shoved nearby furniture out of the way, laying her in front of the dying embers of the fire in the grate, and they like wild animals began to paw at, and ravage her clothing. She screamed again, and the leader of the group kicked her hard in the stomach, which quieted her.
He didn’t stop to think, just came crashing through the porch door, into the darkened lounge, widely thrashing and swinging his fists at anything that was standing. The intruders were caught off guard, and they fell like skittles to the floor. Amid the noise and confusion she quietly slipped away from the melee. They turned on him, and managed to grab hold of him, two holding him upright as the leader of the group, still dressed in the combat gear, of the pseudo solider, began with relish to beat and pummel his face and body. The blood tasted warm in his mouth. His vision was dimming as his  consciousness was near to blackout. Regret loomed large in his mind, for ever even coming back to this place. Still the hateful blows rained onto his face and body. A never ending assault, that would not stop until the leaders anger, and thirst for revenge was satisfied.
The light from the rifle briefly lit up the room, the noise deafening in such a small area. He slumped slowly to the floor, they were unable to hold him upright any longer, as the cartridge entered his body, at chest height. The pain indescribable, the heat, searing. They let him fall and rushed the woman with the rifle, who stood in the door frame of her daughter’s room, and angrily disarmed her. Pulled her down in front of the fire.
Like wild animals, yelping, laughing and screaming they pulled at and ravaged her clothing, and beat her about the head severely, when she used what little physical strength she had to resist. She lay silently on the ground and in the darkness of the room lit only by the crackling wood in the fire. She too began to regret getting involved with a stranger she barely knew.

 

Written in response to a photo prompt seen here : https://creativewriting.ie/writing-prompts/

Silent

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Photo by RODRIGO MTORRES on Unsplash

Silent

In the quiet of the night, when moonbeams touch the skies
I think of you, and all that you do
It’s in the stillness within, I hear your screams
I sit and listen for your call
Will you visit with me tonite, or has your spirit really taken flight
I ache for your touch just one more time
Did you really have to go, life now seems ever so slow, and empty
Was it right you lost that fight, is it fair you took that dare
Like you didn’t even care, what was it you were proving
Are you happy now your gone, and we are all bereft
It’s in the quietness of the night, when I wish I could have put things right
I think of you.

Another Night….

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She knew how it was going to be ,another night, same as before, same as so many other nights. Pawing, brutal men. Dirty, sleazy men. Unattractive men, with the manner of wild beasts. She had to see them all, that was the game she had involved herself in. Were she not to perform her duties, as layed out by her Father, she knew it would lead to more brutal beatings, while her Mother looked on in an approving manner.
She waited in the quiet backlit street, away from the busy throughfare, away from the staring eyes of the middle class happy people, who could guess, or possibly  assume what she was by her demeanor. She was dead inside. No interest, no anger, no disillusionment, no happeniness,  no nothing. Her soul empty, her spirit deadened. A living walking, and occasionally talking corpse.
She waited patiently in that semi darkened, empty backstreet, knowing it would not be long before her customers, punters, sleazy men, call them what you will , would come calling. Her first two customers were men she did not like but was famililar with. She knew from past experience the encounters would be phyisically brutal, but thankfully quick. Reaching into her handbag, she retrieved the packet and withdrew a cigerette,and lit it. Wishing so much she could one day give them up, but they did at least offer some comfort, at least for a few moments.

She watched him in the far distance, at the top of the street. The searching eyes
scanning the area. She knew by his body language what he was looking for, and in a moment or two negotiations would begin, a price agreed, and a suitable, hidden area, in the darkened backstreet selected. She watched as the tall man with the scraggy beard and long
overcoat approached. His steps slow and thoughtful, indicating a deep solitary inner conversation he was holding. As he got closer she hoped and prayed he was reasonably sane, and of course fresh and clean, and that he would be gentle. She studied his eyes, as she always did, with any man who approached her, before she painted on a friendly smile. To check his intent, an indication of mental imbalance, or possible violence. He was after a possible new regular customer.
What she found within his eyes was a slight recognition from somewhere, some other time. She inhaled hard on the cigarette, at times it helped clear her mind. Was he a regular from the past,who had changed his appearance , or was he just similar in looks to so many of the other men she had encountered in the past. The street was quiet, apart from passing cars in the distance. The sky clear. The moon full and bright, with a few stars visible. The night air, fresh and cooling. Something here was amiss. She paced up and down the pavement awaiting his approach, becoming quiet uncomfortable. Those eyes were familiar, so recognizable.
Although his eyes were empty and vacant, his mind elsewhere, or possibly not there at all. Were they still the eyes she had not seen in such a long timeCould it possibly be, after all this time, Could it really be. In this place at this time. But the eyes were the only method they had used to recognize each other after many years apart, in the past.

How much ? ‘ , he did not meet her eyes, just stared at the ground.
She needed to see his eyes,just to be sure.
She held a fresh cigarette in front of her face,
‘Light ?’
Finally he looked her in the eye.
‘No,don’t smoke’.

It was him, she was fairly sure of it now. Of course both had changed psychically, but he was still recognizable to her, just. She had not seen him for so long. So many questions Where had he being, What had he done. Had life being good to him. There was no flicker of recognition from him. His once lively, sparkling eyes, now empty , black and dead.

Where’, his voice soft, and gentle.
‘Don’t you recognize who I am ?’

For the first time in a long time, she actually felt something . Was it anxiety, anger, an eagerness to know. She felt a little alive.
No, I don’t know you, or want to know you’. His eyes cold, empty, dead and angry. No signs of any recognition from him.
She considered for a moment, pushing it. But instead decided to leave it be.
‘I dont wish to go with you, go away and leave me alone’, or I will call him over’, her voice sharp,getting louder and unfriendly. She pointed to the well built middle aged man, who stepped out from the doorway across the street, from where he had being watching. His mouth turned down in a sneer, His eyes cruel and mean. He inhaled on the cigarette he had being smoking.

She watched the forlorn figure of the elder brother she had not seen in so many years, slowly walk away from her. His eyes, dead, black and vacant. He walked out of her working area, and out of her life. She watched him go. Two people living empty, meaningless lives. Across the road, the heavily built man with the evil sneer, stepped back into the shadows.
She took another cigarette from the packet in her large handbag, one day wishing she could give them up.
Grateful for the cooling breeze, the clear sky and the moonlit night. She painted on the false smile,and studied his eyes as the new customer beckoned her over to the black shinny Mercedes car,that glistened in the moonlit. The clatter of her high heels breaking the silence of the night.
Written to a photo prompt seen here : (http://creativewriting.ie/writing-prompts/)

 

Was she floating or dreaming……

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https://unsplash.com/@chrisjoelcampbell?photo=Cp-LUHPRpWM

Was she floating or dreaming. Sinking or swimming. Whatever it was it felt good. The freedom, the weightlessness, the silence. The aloneness and isolation. So good to be free. Away from him. The very idea of going back, or ever seeing his face again. Too much to even contemplate. As her body slowly made its way to the murky bottom of the lake, all she could think of was the freedom she had gained. She could hear the faint sounds of people calling her name above her, as her friends and family and others searched in vain.

                      Wondering what it was like to die, and where she was headed. Those were the questions that now filled her mind. She was afraid, but also curious. Sad to have left her children to fend for themselves, or at the hands of the state. But satisfied that at least she had set him on his way to the next world. She suspected and hoped he would find a warm welcome in the fires of hell. His cruelty so devastating to her and her children. But now they would all be free of the tyrant.
                        She could not face the years of incarceration that would being her future had she lived. Trapped behind bars forever. But here in the murky waters of the lake, she was at last free.
                   To take her final journey to wherever that would be……….

Is it done, am I free
Am I dead, with so much left unsaid
I love my children, but I have set them free
So they can be, what they will be
No more will he abuse, knock them down, and call them fools
No more will they be fearful, of his cruel and callous ways
How he blackmailed us with his financial prowess on oh so many days
I’m glad that he is gone, for we are safe now, no more tears to shed
My children can safely lie in there beds, with no more fear or dread

Although I am not with you now, nor ever will be again
Be certain I will always watch over you in whichever way I can
I don’t know where I’m going, or what will lie ahead
But this is what happens to a person when they are dead
I am afraid I tell no lie, but I’m also curious
But I’m hopeful your life will work out, the way you’d like it too
I could not face that prison term, trapped for evermore
Behind some solitary iron clad, steel and solid door

I did him in, maybe it is a sin, but maybe God will understand
This was not a nice, decent man, showing his family an honest hand
He was cruel, he was mean, he was nasty and unclean
He was brutal, a buffoon, a demon who was underhand
He was not in any way, qualified to be a family man
He should not have lived, it’s best he is dead
So that his cruelty and meanness is better left unsaid

I ask your forgiveness my children for what it is I have done,
I have taken away someones brother, some mothers son
But I have set you free my children to live a better life
Be not like your father, but be a better man
Don’t be that snake in the grass, don’t be so underhand
Lift people up with the kindness of your words, and be an honest man
Please understand I could take no more, of his cruel,brutal ways
Don’t be angry with me, the way I left this life. Cant you see I’m happy now
I’m free, maybe one day you will understand
Be free my children and live a happy life
As I will watch over, and love you, each and every night.

This was written in response to a photo prompt seen here :
http://creativewriting.ie/writing-prompts/

Never Settle…..

Never Settle

Never settle,you can do better,anybody can tell you that
He ain’t no good,she could be better looking
How can they even say that
But what do they know of my life,as it is
These people offering such sage wisdom and advice

What gives them the right to interfere in my life
As they do so night after night
I don’t want your damn advice,so keep it wrapped up real tight
In that small little mind of yours,I’d really,really love to clamp in a vice
My God you drive me insane,and your such a drain

I mean for goodness sake,I’m just saying
Go mind you own,and live your own life
Not be so interfering,causing other people such strife
I gotta get away from you,and others of your ilk
Those who pontificate,and castigate,I’d love to wrap up in silk
Post them off to outer space,so I can have some peace

I don’t cast my views on people and the lives they are living
I don’t want that foolish advise,that your determined to keep on giving
Go away and leave me be,so I can find peace of mind
Get a life of your own,and leave me alone
Or one of these days,you may find you don’t exist no more
Done and dusted,with a little help and out the door

So you take care now,but don’t you people dare now
Come offering unwanted advice,at all times of the day and night
Regarding what you believe is right for my life
And what it is that I should settle for.

This poem is a response to a photo prompt seen here : http://creativewriting.ie/writing-prompts/

 

Bitter……

Bitter

‘Are you bitter’, I asked her. Treading softly. Doing my best not to inflame an already flammable situation.
‘Yes I am,my life has being wasted, I wish to Christ I’d never meet him. The life that man had put me through, you don’t know the half of it’. Trying to commiserate with her sadness, but it was hard after hearing the same old story being repeated and replayed every few days. The same negativity spewed forth with such venom.
                                                      I began to detach myself from her angry words while she spoke. I feigned interest at times, I was a reasonably good actor, after all. But I allowed my mind to drift to happier scenes, images. So as not to be drawn into such negative energy. It was the only way to keep some sanity.

Sure she had a hard life, living with a chronic alcoholic. With the crazy mind games they play. Even when they give up alcohol, unless they get psychological treatment, which did not happen here, they still have the crazy alcoholic thinking, attitudes and behaviors, just without the alcohol.
I asked of myself did I feel bitter. Yes truth be told I did. But also some sympathy for him, for his illness, but not for the way he treated her. Can I forgive him, maybe , a little. Now that I myself have been on the receiving end of his crazy making, I find myself becoming bitter too.

via Daily Prompt: Bitter