Mitchell's Mustard Blog

July 14, 2016

His Loving Touch

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 3:09 pm

“Fuck. . . I’m sorry” he yelled.

The words that echoed around the walls as she lay looking up at a crack in the ceiling, it wasn’t the only thing damaged in this house. His voice had changed so much over the years, it had lost it’s edge of calm, of love, and reassurance. It had become angry, just like him. Soon after it would turn to desperation while she cried nursing the new trophy of their altercation. The kind of trophy you didn’t want on show, hidden under her make up rather than proud on the mantle piece. This had become her life. Another day, another bruise. She was strong, had built up a tolerance to his knuckles. But this time was different, the type of knock that puts your world on it’s side, pulling you into a plume of darkness, the ones you have to wake up from.

“I didn’t mean it, darling. I didn’t. . . It was an accident” he pleaded.

She flinched from his skin, she could smell the alcohol seeping from his pores. This smell had become resident in their household, a long time gone were the scent of flowers and peace. She stay laid where she landed, he collapsed back onto the sofa. His presence of anger turned to adolescence, holding his troubled mind in his damaged hands.

“You have to forgive me, my love” he begged.

She had never feared him before, she knew the telltale signs as to when she should keep her distance, but never actually feared him. But she lay there fearing the next moment, the next day, and the next time his anger touched her skin. Her nausea could have been from concussion, realisation, or their unborn child.

“Help me, please help me” he sobbed.  

The thing she feared the most was that she didn’t want to be there, but she didn’t want to be anywhere else either.    

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.

March 27, 2015

Her little love notes

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 9:35 pm

‘I adore you x’. This was written on the post it note that he found in his suit jacket pocket, he hadn’t worn the black suit for years and was surprised it still fit him, probably due to the weight he had lost recently. He stopped and stared at the loving note, spellbound, lost, loved. She had beautiful handwriting, he knew he was biased, but he loved the way she curled her letters, delicate, passionate, and all without a concentrated effort, it just flowed. He pictured her giggling, running around the house with the post it note pad, quickly leaving love notes for him to find when he returned home from work. And when he found them, she would act blasé, nonchalant, but he could always see the excitement in her eyes as she followed him around the house asking questions about his day, she wasn’t worried about the answers, she just wanted to see his face while reading the notes she had strategically placed. She didn’t always hide them, he would find ‘morning sunshine’ stuck to the bathroom mirror, ‘I’m proud of you’ on the front door, or one of his favourites that he had kept in his wallet, ‘you make me tick’. He had found that note on her pillow a week ago, the morning she had left for work early, on the day she didn’t return.
She would sometimes buy him little presents, something she might stumble across, a little something that she knew he would appreciate. Leaving little post it note clues around the house for him to follow and find her gift. Her infectious giggle would echo round the house while he was hunting, following the trail. He missed that giggle.
He was perched on the edge of their bed in his underwear, he stared at the note. He knew this was going to be the last note he would find in her handwriting, because today, she was the reason he had to wear the black suit, the day he had to say goodbye for the last time. He kissed the note and placed it on her pillow. He knew he needed to get dressed, he didn’t want to, but knew the cars would be here soon.

November 9, 2014

The Log Cabin

Filed under: Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 6:02 pm

The mountain range was beautiful at this time in the morning, the sun licked every curve, every crevice, beating the shadows back into their own corners of damp and loneliness. This was one of the selling points for the log cabin. He, being a writer, loved how secluded it felt, high in the mountains, surrounded by trees and earths elements. She, being his wife and decision maker, loved this view. It had been ten years since they had made the decision, they had never regretted it. He had spent many mornings standing in the kitchen, looking through the window at this view. His wife was sat in her usual spot, outside on the decking, coffee on the table, watching the sun paint images onto the mountains as the new day began. They hadn’t been to the cabin for a while, he was busy with a book tour, she was busy being a secondary school teacher. He knew this was probably be the last time she would see this view, the last time they would be there together.

He stepped through the french doors onto the decking with his coffee in hand, took a seat next to his wife.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said
“Errr, yes, I guess” she replied looking confused
“Are you okay, darling?”
“Where are we?” she looked startled, confused, and a little scared. He had seen these facial expressions quite a lot over the last six months, he would never get used to them.
“We’re at the cabin, darling. You know, in the mountains”
She took a moment to look around, her personal space, realisation started to spread across her face.
“Well of course I know we’re at the cabin, but, why are we here?”
“I just thought it would be nice to come up for a couple of days, fresh air, beautiful views, a little thinking space”
She reached across the table and took his hand in hers, she smiled, the smile that wrapped him up in cotton wool and emotion.
“Of course, of course, it was a lovely idea my darling, thank you” she said with a smile.
They sat and watched the sky pass, the colours turn, true beauty unveiled right before their eyes. The sound of nature surrounded them, the sounds that he often thought he could hear when alone in another lonely hotel room on tour.
“I do love you” she broke the human silence
“I love you too my darling, so much” he felt a tear build behind his glasses.
“I know I’m ill, I know why we’re here, thank you”
She was always the observant one of the duo, she was known as the clever clogs, a private joke between the two of them.
“What are you going to do?” she asked
“What do you mean? What am I going to do?” he looked at her puzzled
“You know . . . When I don’t remember” she said putting on a brave face, she knew that if she was going down, she would go down strong and swinging.
“We don’t need to talk about this now, darling” he frowned
“I want you to always remember that you are my everything, my saviour, my love, my beggar, and my king. I need you to remember this, because, I know I won’t” she squeezed his hand and turned to look at the pictures on the mountains.
“Lets not talk about this, please. I’m going to get more coffee, you want a fill up?”
He stood up, took both of the mugs and headed into the kitchen. He flicked the kettle on and broke down. An overwhelming heartache took him under its wing, He cried like never before, trying to catch his breath while it tried to leave him, a paper butterfly in a wind tunnel. His body shook, like a possessed being. He knew this day would come, the day that her illness needed to be discussed in depth. He took a few minutes to dry his eyes, deep breaths, waiting for his heart to settle and his hands to stop shaking. He made their coffee as he watched her through the window, the love of his life, the reason he was strong, like an ox, it was all for her.

He stepped out onto the decking, placed the coffee on the table and rested back into his seat. she turned to look at him, her face confused and startled again.
“Where are we?” she asked
“We’re at the cabin, darling” he replied, his eyes started to well up again, his breathing heavy.
“Oh, of course we are, darling. Is that coffee for me?” she smiled
“Just for you, my love”
She took his hand in hers, turned her head to look at the view.
“This is a lovely view, isn’t it darling?” She smiled.

June 29, 2014

We Will Never Change

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 2:29 pm

Do I help you pass the time,
and fill the gaps you made,
extinguish the loneliness,
help build a bridge a day.
We will never change.
My insecurities believe,
I’m only a passing whim,
distracting your mind,
just while you wait for the next best thing.

Lying, and crying,
you will never change,
bad nights, and fights,
I will never change,
my fears, and your tears,
It will never change,
we will never change.

A huge space to fill,
becoming like a stone in my shoe,
the bad things we put each other through,
we could both name a few.
We will never change.
Treading on eggshells,
when seen together,
you shrug and smile,
I’m at the end of my tether.

Lying, and crying,
you will never change,
bad nights, and fights,
I will never change,
my fears, and your tears,
It will never change,
we will never change.

You need more of me,
I think of you less,
a corner is turned,
we’re rolling down from the crest.
We will never change.
Back to square one,
We’ve been here before,
we break up, then make up,
but we know what’s in store.
We will never change.

You will never change,
and I will never change.

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.

May 15, 2014

To Whom it May Concern

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 6:54 pm

To whom it may concern,

To gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

I crave your attention to cure my loneliness,
to fill the gaping hole that resides in my chest,
a decision made on impulse,
rather than a future to invest,
a hand to hold, but I don’t love you,
I shrug and confess.

I become tired of being grounded,
so I unwrap myself from your arms,
saying things that pierce your skin,
punch drunk from your angry palms,
selfish greed floats to the surface,
swallowing my good intentions and charms.

I will hurt you, its nothing personal,
to crave a love, It’s not intentional,
to gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

A restlessness that will always prevail,
love that mimics the weather,
I smiled, and nodded along,
but it was only you who said forever,
I hold my head high as I bleed from the inside,
when did together really mean together?

The grass will never be greener,
on the other side it’s just the same,
it starts with a similar breathtaking feeling,
but it just ends as a different face and name,
I’m sorry to cause confusion,
but I’m still glad you came.

I will hurt you, its nothing personal,
to crave a love, It’s not intentional,
to gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

I’m sorry, its nothing personal,
I did crave your love, but not any more
to gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

December 30, 2013

The Next Flight, Maybe?

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 12:28 pm

He watched as all the destinations worked through the board, from right to left. The hustle and bustle surrounding him, everybody in a rush, impatient bodies with bags on tow. People looking to all for directions, everyone confused as the next. The zigzagging of feet and wheels, squeaking from the polished floor. The noise was overwhelming at times, most of the time. He took a seat for a couple of minutes, feeling slightly disorientated, if he took a moment and closed his eyes, maybe it would be silent. Just for a moment. The constant flow of chatter, he always thought would sit hand in hand with an his old untuned television. The noise for the vision. A tannoy blared above which pulled him back to the surface, apparently the check in desk had opened for Alicante. As the tannoy piped up, people stopped, looked to the ceiling, for the answers. People rushed, pulling their belongs behind them, to be first in the queue was all that mattered, the gold at the end of the airport rainbow. He didn’t move, he sat and thought about the sun licking his body, the warm sea tickling the bottom of his feet, his sore feet. He closed his eyes again, he was strolling down a little cobbled street somewhere in Spain, hand in hand with his wife, he loved her. It was a chance to wear one of his Hawaiian short-sleeved shirts, white backing with orange flowers, blue and red exotic birds, it was his favourite but his children were always embarrassed. His flip-flops clapping applause as he strolled the streets, sun hat, prescription sun glasses and a smile. Even his wife was smiling, she only seemed to do this in his daydreams now, she had such a beautiful smile, a happily married smile.
He realised time had passed as the tannoy announced the gate number, his daydream ceased to exist as his eyes opened. Reality flooded in, people had moved on, left him behind, and not just the ones Alicante bound. As he stood, his feet longed for the sea, for the sun to take away his aches and pains. Today there was no Hawaiian shirt, no need for prescription sun glasses. Today it was like every other day, his staff uniform and a high visibility vest. No bag of belongings, but a bin bag full of the unwanted. He set off with his broom in hand, ‘this place won’t clean itself’ he thought.

December 22, 2013

The death of a fisherman

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 4:22 pm

When the waves crashed against the side of the vessel, the boat was thrown side to side like a rag doll in a playful dogs mouth. The grey stormy sky a similar colour to the sea, the boat seemed to advance towards a future of nothingness. They all had families waiting for them to return, longing to hear the cheers of loved ones as they step onto dry land, a fond memory from each trip. Only he longed for the next outing. Spending weeks aboard and his body became used to the rocking, the unsettled sea waiting to swallow his boat in one almighty gulp. He could never explain how much he loved the sea because it would always be his worst enemy, it had beaten him black and blue, it had taken his men from him, taken the soul and life from the back of his eyes as he watched it claim victims, people he knew. Returning to tell their wives that life was now different, the expression on their faces as he became the enemy and not the sea. He had battled with his foe for many years, the creaks and groans of his boat had become his home, longing for his family but knowing he couldn’t stay on dry land for long. He couldn’t get the rush that he experienced at sea, she was his ugly mistress that could turn her mood at any moment and test the boats ability to perform, a battle with a beast that took no prisoners in a moment of weakness. He always believed he would die at sea one day, hoped he would be taken by her, they teased each other even though he knew she would win every time if given the chance. He felt he wasn’t ready just yet, she had taken so much but still had so much to give. She would rest like all other things, to build up her strength for her next attack, the calm before the storm. He watched her build, watched her huff and puff around them. He found beauty in her anger, this seemed to provoke her strength in some way.
Pain surged through his chest as he collapsed, If only he knew that his wild mistress wouldn’t claim him after all, would he have returned? Taken his last step onto dry land, to leave her crashing at his back, tempting him to return. To think that it would be his own heart that would fail. As he crashed to the kitchen floor his first thought were of his family, but to them he had become a stranger. He longed to feel the sea around him, drag him under and pull him into her, to feel her anger around him. Take him under her ice cold wing to numb him from the pain, they had toyed with each other for so many years, it didn’t seem right to die without her. He missed her whistling in his ear, baiting him to make a mistake. He wanted to be taken by her, she deserved to win this battle, but it was not gods will.

Older Posts »

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.