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| A man alone | |
| By cacman | ||||||||||
| 08 April 2008 | ||||||||||
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This is in response to the Lazy writers Group, but wanted to post it here as well, its my first time trying the group hope you like. The title for the theme was "A man talks to his lover" The clock ticked away in the living room, as what remained of the day shone through onto the cream square patterned carpet, and lit the side of his face. "Why couldn’t you tell me about it" he asked "I could have…we could have sorted it out" He cradled a glass of 22yr old malt, in which the ice was slowly melting. Raising it to his mouth he took a long sip, the taste hit his throat like lightning on sand. He could feel his tongue reject the taste. Nothing tasted the same anymore. "How long was it happening, I was here for you, you just had to say" his voice broke slightly "what about Paris, surely that could have been enough" He rose from the chair and in a few steps was leaning on the fireplace, he found himself staring at a picture of them both sat on a bench at the chapel down the road from where they grew up. They were about 10 when the picture was taken. She was wearing a blue coat with her hood done up so just her eyes were showing, and him a big Woolley pullover his Grandma had knitted him. "We had fun didn’t we? Tell me that at least, not just that Paris trip, but your 21st in Butlins where we all got so drunk we were off work for a week after? Or my 18th in Majorca? or those nights spent messing about down the lakes with our mates" he took another sip of his drink and sat back down "Who am I kidding" he muttered to himself "why didn’t I see it coming hey? I saw the signs I just thought you were being funny with me, thought I had done something wrong" He took another sip and swirled the glass, the ice screamed along the side of the tumbler leaving a watery wake in the malt. "What am I going to do now, did you think about that? Did you think about me at all through this" his tone of voice had changed now, it was no longer the soft calm one it had been. He had risen from his chair again his voice was now a harsher firmer sounding barrage of noise "how could you do it? WHY did you? What would have driven you that far away from me that it could lead you to this?" He finished the last of his drink "was I that bad at loving you that you would do this to me? Did I not care for you enough that you would do this!" he paused for a moment, thinking quietly to himself as he stared into nothing. He was calm again now "Were you thinking of me when you done it? Was that part of the thrill? Did that make it for you? Did that make it all the more worth while? I guess..." he stopped himself, he couldn’t continue. He had to leave, the house held one to many memories, he placed his glass on the mantelpiece, between the photo of the two of them and the empty bottles of pills she had used to end her life just three days before. "I guess" he continued " I’ll just have to keep on loving you, and you know what the worst part is, that hurts more then you not saying goodbye" He took one last look at the living room. His eyes were filled with the emotion of two sleepless nights. He had a long lonely road ahead he thought. But he'd always have the memories.
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