Mitchell's Mustard Blog

February 29, 2016

She Got That From Her Mother

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 9:30 pm

It was either the nausea, or the pain streaming through his head that woke him. Before he opened his eyes he knew things weren’t okay. With all the telltale signs around him, it was his gut feeling that put him in panic mode. Knowing he was awake but feeling like he was dreaming, he would pinch himself but movement was limited. Frustrated that his body was ignoring his commands, like a child with no control. His lungs rebelling as his chest squeezed tight, looking for the biting point, the line of no return. Finding it hard to concentrate, like distracted adolescence. The pain, enclosed breathing space, a loud humming from a distance. All the things playing hide and seek with his senses added to his confused train of thought. His mind jumping back and forth, current to past. The uncomfortable seat he was slouched in, the smile on his daughter’s face. The fear of opening his eyes, his wife holding his hand.

Feeling his chest start to pulse, liquid leaving his mouth and nose. It felt like a memory, but the realisation kicked in with the damp feeling in his lap. Is this a dream? If so, he wanted to wake up now. He felt guilty, confused because he didn’t know what for. Feeling his throat wheeze reminded him of his father, he had smoked for years against everyone’s complaints and concerns, his father’s whistle. The memory stuck with him while he slipped deeper into the dark. Remembering the anguish across her face, the sound of his daughter crying his name as he left. Tears found their way down his face through sealed eyes, his nose burning.

You only regret making a decision once it’s too late, no energy to turn back time. His life slipping away through his pores. He remembered attaching the pipe to the exhaust of the car, taking a look at life outside before he closed the garage door and sealed himself in. His mind was fighting but his body refused to react. Fatigued, frightened, alone. His final thought was of his daughter, she was beautiful, strong. She got that from her mother.   

October 9, 2015

Drawing a Line In The Sand

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 1:49 pm

Like the strength of waves, beating and crashing. A power of vengeance, sorrow, and regret. Pulling away as it rises, then striking, giving only a moment to catch a breath. He had never felt tears like it before, the waves behind his eyes. The heartlessness in seeing a proud man break down, to crumple like an addict, pulling limbs in as tight as possible, folding into nothing but himself. Protection from any other blows, but wasting time because he knew that the first one had already defeated him. “You don’t realise the size of your heart until you feel it ache” he said to anyone, and no one. Surrounded by all the love one man could ask for, yet, in this moment he felt further away than he had ever been before. He was used to the distance in miles, not emotions. His wife and children loved him, stood by him, but in that moment he refused to reach out. They are the love he lived for, but he had just lost the love that he had never lived without, this was untravelled territory. The unconditional love will always resume, but the warmth that came with it had faded away in it’s sleep. Today, drawing a line in the sand, no going back, it’s all different now. Everything looked the same, smelt the same, but it wasn’t. The world was now missing a vital part of his life, his idol, his hero, his father.

June 23, 2014

Lost Fragrance

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 12:47 pm

Her fragrance danced around the house like a whispered breeze, enough to distract but never enough to catch, to hold for a moment, to pull towards him and hope that she would follow close behind. The fragrance that’s missed but never lost. Voices of past conversations echo from wall to wall, but always in the adjacent room, a tease of his loneliness as he sat in silence. After all that had happened, it was the silence that strangled him, held him against his will. The sound of her singing in the shower, high pitched disagreements, her enticing moan as she straddled him, or her laugh that cradled. All lost without a decision to make, taken. The cruelty of her belongings still layered through his existence, he knew she would never return but he wasn’t quite ready to move anything in fear of forgetting. Every morning he was distracted until he absorbed the memories, seeing her medication in the bathroom, over and over he felt chewed up and spat out. Bitter, he blamed everyone, everything, he blamed the medication because that was the hope they had clung onto, a false hope that never paid off. Every night he was reminded of her frail body fall to the sickness that controlled her, consumed her. He had watched the disease wrap her up into an uncomfortable environment, pushing away and drifting off with exhaustion. Her pained facial expressions screamed in the silence of his mind. He felt lost, empty, and angry. He needed time, but that had slipped away from him just like her fragrance. They told him that each day will get easier, until then he’d breakdown, hiding his tears behind closed doors because the children couldn’t see him like this.

June 16, 2013

A fathers decision

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 2:12 pm

He sat, he thought, he reminisced. If he could live it again, he would change every day, every sunset he missed, every breath. It was days such as today, fathers day, that stopped him in his tracks so he could be reminded of the bad things he had done, the bad things he had spent years trying to correct but had failed so far. He was sure it was never meant to end out this way, the fairy tale lives in stories you heard as a child, they were so easy, uncomplicated. no one ever told you that these stories could never be a reality, The decisions he had made, the paths he had taken, they had led him to this moment, on his own, in someone else’s home, where no one knew his name.
He stared at a father’s day card on the mantelpiece, it held him in a trance. The names meant nothing but the card held other life choices, what could have been, he wondered if his children thought of him, remembered his name. He knew he was a disappointment to many, he never wanted to stop trying to change their view. Etched into his mind were the last moments he shared with his family, his wife, his toddler son and daughter. The last time he heard her voice, the words that crossed her lips, “It’s not fair on the children to see their father like this”. Prison has a way of separating families.
It has been twenty years since he had seen his family, since he had been a father. Twenty years since he had received a card containing the word dad. He knew that the decisions he had made where the reason his children didn’t know their father, but what they didn’t know was that the decisions he had made were for them, to give them a better life, a better future but his decisions had backfired.
He picked the card up to take a closer look, blue crayon scribbles containing the words ‘love’ and ‘dad’ from a child named Tom. The scribbles he longed for, something so simple that means so much. A part of his life he always missed, someone to look up to him, some ones hero. He held the card to his chest for a moment knowing that he will only ever be some ones criminal, or some ones past. That moment, he wished he could change everything but he knew he never would.
He slipped the card into the bag of all the other goods he had taken from this house, he took another quick look around for anything else he could sell before he headed out through the back door, the door he had broken. He always wanted to be remembered or recognised by loved ones, but the decisions he had made meant that couldn’t happen.

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