“I am so very disappointed in you. You have let me down yet again, again, and again. It's constant. You never fail to make me look bad. Your mediocrity is fast becoming intolerable.”
But I am trying. I always try my damnedest to make you proud, as a matter of fac,t I never do anything but try my absolute best.
“And it's just nowhere near good enough.” His attention falls to the blade in his grasp. Slowly turning it within his sweating palms he ponders his next move.
We both know you aren't going to do anything. We've been down this road before, plenty of times. I'm actually surprised it's not named after us. Ha! Pathetic Highway or perhaps… Desperation Boulevard.
“You might be right.”
Put that old thing down let us talk about it. I have my doubts that it's even sharp anyhow.
In a flash the knife is suddenly embedded through fabric and into soft yielding flesh. Then with a swift movement it is yanked free. Thick claret drips steadily from the wound forming a steadily widening puddle on the dirty tile floor. The spray pattern decorates a nearby wall with thick dark liquid upon the dull, faded, lifeless wallpaper peeling with age.
“Why do you always do this to me? You don't even act sorry. I'm starting to believe you do this on purpose...That’s it! You like to make me look...BAD! It must be how you get off.”
Nope, there are easier ways with a lot less drama. You might think of helping yourself. I don't think I'm all to blame. Look around you, when was the last time you did anything resembling cleaning or tidying up of any kind?
He had to admit he was right. In the main bedroom empty cartons, cans and discarded food wrappers crunched under his feet as he shifted his weight, uncomfortable now with a realization that had plagued and nagged at him for weeks. He couldn't even remember the color of the carpet it had been so long since he had seen it last.
When was it that you shaved last? Have you seen yourself lately? You honestly look like primordial ooze that has finally decided to drag it's ass out of a swamp!
Did he really look that bad? There was a mirror in the corner of the room. Traipsing across a sea of garbage, he disturbs ancient carapace insects with thick antennas that probe delicately in the air. After several laborious footsteps through a seemingly mountainous terrain of human detritus he reaches the mirror.
A stranger stares back, mimicking his every move as he stumbles closer. Sunken eyes peer back at him from within the dark ringed recesses; an entangled chaotic maelstrom of hair hides most everything resembling a facial feature. His nose but a smudge only decipherable because of the glob of crusted mucus smeared beneath it. Sliding closer he dares to lift a hand, more of a greasy paw really, wiping (but only really succeeds in smearing) the congealed fluid that has made the reflective surface in front of him its home. The attempt offers only a slightly better viewing area. Leaning in closer he slowly opens his mouth, afraid of what he might find inside. A furry fat creature squirms within a fortress of crooked and blackened stones… was that… thing… his tongue?
“What has happened to me?”
You mean what have you LET happen yourself.
“Where is Hannah? She would've never let this become of me.”
She left months ago.
All gone. I would hazard a guess and say it was the last push you gave her... down the stairs that put an end to that relationship. Jut a wild shot in the dark.
“And... you let this happen?”
Whoa! Stop that train right there. It wasn't me!
“I will NOT let it happen...again!”
A maniacal grin splits the unkempt forest of facial hair as the wielder twists, yanking the weapon now in both hands, across and down. Warm intestines slither and cascade over his wrists and the knife's slippery handle as he falls to his knees. Making a hollow sound the blade falls from his hands onto a delivery box, the half devoured pizza within rises dramatically in slow motion to meet his plummeting face...
”Huh!” Jerked from his slumber he jolts upright. The sheets are damp and cling like a lover's embrace to his naked upper torso, “Hannah? Another one of those freaky dreams. I swear they're getting worse, Doctor swore the meds would…”
The lack of movement beside him cuts short his diatribe, not one to sleep through any commotion she should be close beside him. Her warm embrace and comforting words should be soothing him. Perhaps an offer of cool water followed by sweaty love making minutes before the alarm voiced its daily offense… but there was nothing.
“Honey?” He eases himself upright against the cushioned headboard.
The covers are pulled over her head, loose strands of her hair peek out from under them as if tempting an impromptu game of hide-and-seek. Strange he thought, she would normally ensure her long brunette locks were tied up and back before even brushing her teeth. Her position under the cotton sheet seemed strange, unnatural even, and so still.
“Hannah!” His heartbeat is now the only sound in the room pounding mercilessly between his ears. In a panicked motion he fumbles for the covers. It takes him a few attempts but finally wrapped within his fists he removes them from the bed in a flourish of swirling color.
She didn't leave. You don't want to look in the kid's room.