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Shorts
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| The Guardian | |
| By Leo | ||||||||
| 29 May 2006 | ||||||||
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On the whole i think most adults are big enough and ugly enough to look after themselves. In this piece i was just reflecting on whose job it is to protect the children. The man looked on with contempt. The child sat at the desk, pushing a crayon aimlessly around the piece of paper. Pausing momentarily, he lifted his head up from his artistic deliberations. “I want a drink.” Was all he said, returning immediately to his drawing. I want a drink. Is that it? I want a drink. No please or thank you. Who do you think I am, your fucking slave? He took a big deep breath. He needed to stay calm. “What would you like, milk or lemonade?” “Your milk is yucky and my mummy says lemonade rots your teeth,” the child replied, without looking up this time. Your mummy. That stuck up bitch. The one that comes and collects you in her flash new car. I bet she didn’t work for that. Her rich boyfriend probably paid for it. Where is she now? She should be looking after you. She’s probably in the tanning salon, or in some nail bar somewhere talking about rubbish to all the other spoilt bitches. “Look,” he said, trying to consciously contain his anger, “there’s only milk or lemonade today,.. or how about a glass of water?…” “I want orange juice,” “We haven’t got any orange juice” “I’ll wait until my mummy picks me up.. she’ll get me orange juice…” In his minds eye he could see himself closing his fingers tightly around the child’s delicate little throat. Squeezing tighter and tighter, until his little face gorged with blood and went purple. Do you like that? Do you? You snivelling, winging, whining little shitbag…He snapped out of the daydream. He had to get away. He went to check on the others to see if they wanted anything to drink. He looked at the clock, it was nearly home time. The child would be out of his life. “Get your coat on. Your mummy will be here soon” The child had only just managed to get his coat on, when his mother appeared at the other side of the glass door panel. The child waved. The man undid the lock and let her in. “How’s he been?” “Fine…, he’s been doing some drawings..” She squatted down at the child’s level, as she straightened his jacket. “How’s it been?, have you had fun with daddy.?.” the child looked up at his father, as if to check it was safe to continue. “He’s horrible. He doesn’t play with. And he smells..” She stood up. For the first time she looked deep into the eyes of her ex-husband. The smell of alcohol then reached her nostrils. “You’ve been drinking” she spat accusingly, “..you’re pissed. You bastard!..” He said nothing. “You only have him once a month. Is it too much to ask,, for your to stay sober for one weekend.?. You’re pathetic, absolutely fucking pathetic…” She glared at him. She then leant down and kissed the child on the crown of his head, “come on, mummy loves you, lets go home.” Without a further word, or a farewell, she turned and left. As she walked to her car, the anger and resentment flash-boiled in his veins. He’d like to snap her fucking neck as well. Stab the cunt in the face. Who was she? Talking like that to him. The intensity of the hate that he felt was near incapacitating. He clenched his fists, his arms, shoulders, chest and face. He gritted his teeth together and screamed silently as a paroxysm of white-hot rage convulsed through his body. Cunt. Cunt. Cunt. Shit cunt. Bitch. Spittle flew from his contorted lips as he snarled. A squeal of rage pierced the air as the tension left his body. He slumped into a kitchen chair, caught his breath and placed his face in his hands. The rage began slowly to dissipate, as he made himself get to his feet. He needed to get back into the front room. He opened the door. The match was nearly over. His mates were screaming at the TV. Empty beer cans littered the floor. The air was thick with smoke and profanity. “Sit your arse down’, ordered one of his mates, “it’s still one nil” “yeah yeah yeah” was all he could say. His thinking was still addled. Before he did anything he needed another drink. He took a long sup from his tin of Tennants. It immediately took the edge off of his unwelcome reality. It soothed his mind. He felt better. Another long swig. Fuck her. And fuck that little shit. He’d been an accident anyway. There was no way they were going to control his life. Thinking about them, caused his breathing to labour, and his body to tense again. They always talked down to him, disrespected him. Especially that little spoilt bastard. Where he came from, a father was supposed to be shown respect. The feelings of violence returned. Images of the ways in which he could punish them consumed his thoughts. You wait and see. I’ll show you. You will respect me. You wait and see… BBC Breaking news bulletin: Family slain at siege housePolice have entered the house at the centre of the siege in west London. A police spokesman has confirmed the bodies of three people have been discovered. The spokesman said it was too early to confirm the causes of death. This comes two days after an estranged father took his ex-wife and son hostage at knifepoint.
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