Mitchell's Mustard Blog

December 17, 2016

Forever Sleeping

Filed under: A Little Something, Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 12:56 pm

As he lay motionless I placed my hand on his side, never have I felt something so cold and empty. He looked the same, but different. His golden coat looked grey, a misty outline of life laid to it’s lost meaning. My hand missed the rise and fall of his chest as I sat crossed legged next to him. I pulled at the neck of my school jumper as a distraction from the tears that fought my childlike pride. I knew I needed to leave but I wasn’t ready, I hadn’t said everything I needed but I still couldn’t find the words. It’s expected apparently, loss binds you up and you rush to say the right things rather than say what’s actually on your mind. Sitting here in the hallway of my family home, too young to understand how to feel and too naive for what happens next. Brushing my hand over him, feeling his greying coat between my fingers for the last time. Stroking him and rearranging his hair so he looking clean and neat, I didn’t want him to leave feeling unkempt and unloved because he couldn’t do it himself anymore. I leaned forward and rested my head against his, my pride gave way and let my emotions take over.

   “You’ll always be my boy, I love you”.

   Those are the words that I found, those are the words I’m pleased I said, those are the words that will stay with us forever.

   He had given me a childhood of love, a companion, a hairy four legged brother. It was a hard way for a young boy to say goodbye, a vision that will stay forever. I have so many fond memories of his character, his presence. Laying with him for hours with my head on his chest, the power of his existence beating against my ear. He’d follow us like there was something to gain, but in hindsight I think he felt like he had gaining by just being with us, by our side. The one thing I shall never forget . . For us he was our brother, our family member but we had the luxury of other things in our life. We had friends, jobs, school, the outside world. . For him we were everything.

   It was painful, the way you left us. It changed me, made me view things differently. There’s parts of me that wished we had never found you forever sleeping in our hallway, but there’s also parts of me that wouldn’t change a thing.

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February 1, 2015

The murder scene . . a snippet of a crime story I’m toying with.

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 1:01 pm

The sweat in the room was heavy enough to soak through his shirt, a smell that he didn’t recognise, but didn’t need an educated guess as to what it was. He thought it was strange how he had never smelt death before, but he knew that’s what it was that caused the aroma that clung to the walls. Knowing that once he left the room, the smell would cling to his jacket, similar to how cigarettes do. What he was about to see would also cling to him, an attachment that couldn’t be removed at 40 degrees.
The beautiful shaggy grey carpet on the bedroom floor would never be the same, Charlie loved the feel of it on his bare feet in the morning. It was expensive, after feeling it between his toes for the first time, he knew it was well worth the money, it had become part of his wake up ritual. The blood was thick and had matted parts of the carpet, it was ruined, once it was cleaned Charlie would still know it had once been there. This blood should still be under her skin, in her veins. This blood had once pumped round every inch of her beautiful body, the blood that had kept her alive was now split, like unwanted wine. She was placed on the floor at the end of the bed, take away the bruises, the blood, and her lifeless body held a pose. Her left leg bent with her foot tucked under her right knee, her toe nails painted in her obsessive manner. Her little black dress had been pulled up to sit at her navel and her underwear torn, nothing covered up to hide the truth. Her left arm down by her side, her right lay across her chest, for a moment Charlie pictured her trying to defend herself. Red sore abrasions on both wrists stood out on her pale skin, finger nails painted to match her toe nails. Her long hair lay to rest across her face and neck, but not enough to cover up the incision on her neck, her skin looked so pale against the bloody wound. Her body looked cold, distant, dead. Her eyes were still open and blood shot, bulging with fear and pain. Seeing all this devastation in the room that the two of them had shared so much love took Charlie’s breath, causing panic, it was the look in her eyes that caused him to freeze, he couldn’t look away, mesmerized. He’d watched enough television to know that touching anything would be a bad idea, the temptation to pick her up, make her comfortable, it was hard to bare. Alarm bells ringing in his head to phone the police, but all his body was willing to do was drop to his knees, a single tear formed in his eye whilst his chin started to quiver.

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