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Something Remembered

February 27, 2013

Something Remembered

He slammed open the door and threw his keys. They smashed against the wall, inches from the fragile window, inches from a shattering death by glass followed by a plummet to the unrelenting solid cement below.

Instead the keys vented his frustration out on the wall. Without a dint (but at least marking the damn thing) before they dropped with a loud clang to the hard wood floor.

He stood in the doorway for a long moment and simply stared at the keys where they lay, hardly believing he had reacted so physically and finally stepped into the room.

The door closed softly behind him in stark contrast to how his mind wanted it to close. He left the keys on the floor and circled the room. He ripped off his jacket and threw it onto a nearby table. The bang it produced when it hit the glass surface told him he left either his phone or his wallet in the pocket.

The weight of the object dragged the jacket towards the end of the table. With a thud the object fell from the open pocket and hit the floor. Hmmm, the phone.

He left it there and headed for the fridge.

Pulling the beer from inside he drank half of its contents before he realised he didn’t really want the beer in the first place.

He had taken it automatically, giving his hands and mind something to do so he wouldn’t have to think about those Pricks at work demanding he do this or that.

F uck em all, he thought. He slammed down the rest of the beer and retreated back to the fridge for another.

He took the last can from inside but didn’t open it. This one was to be savored. He couldn’t possibly get drunk on the little he’d consumed but he couldn’t be bothered going out to get more.

He threw his numbing body down onto the couch and stared at the blank wall before him. Why was it blank? That’s right, he had taken down the pictures to replace them with the new ones, the ones brought for him by…who? Christ he couldn’t remember now, frankly he couldn’t care.

The blank wall drew his mind like a canvas crying out for paint. But he’d had enough experiments. Everything was such a mess. He pulled the tab on the can.

But he’d fix it.

It would take some time, but he’d repair the damage he refused to admit he caused. It shouldn’t be too hard. A few good words, a smile and a gesture there, within no time things would change again.

But would they ever go back to how they were? He didn’t want to admit it but the facts were right in front of his eyes, like the digits on his watch. Damn it.

He wondered curiously as he stared at the blank sun-stained wall whether a man could go to hell simply for being an arsehole. If so then he had a one way ticket. But then, hell could hardly be worse than the hell in his own head.

He took another swing of his beer and grinned. Hell would be a welcome change of scenery. Something to do that he had not done.

Yesterday someone had jokingly suggested that perhaps he was going through some sort of mid-life crisis, but this was a crisis that had been building for years.

k it, he would go out and get another drink. Hell, he’d buy a whole slab. He wanted to get drunk, blind drunk. Maybe then his mind would stop taunting him, reminding him of his mistakes for just a little while.

He crushed the can in his hand and walked over to pick up his keys. Grabbing his jacket again he headed towards the door.

He left the phone where it was.

The door slammed shut just as the phone began to ring. It rang thorough the tune several times before the caller finally hung up.

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From → Something

2 Comments
  1. Getting very intriguing….makes you go ‘who’s the caller???’ 🙂

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