She Got That From Her Mother

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.   

The Next Flight, Maybe?

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.

A Life to Bury

You could smell the whisky on his breath, but you couldn’t see the loathing behind his eyes, the loathing of the job in hand. The only thing that broke the silence for that moment was the rough sound of his hand rubbing four day stubble on his broad chin. The stale smell of cigarettes strangled the collar and sleeves of his shirt, knowing that the feeling of someone watching him will never go, not while he’s here. The wind whistled, pulling at his unkempt hair, cartwheeling leaves falling into the freshly dug hole he stood above. Sweat started to build at his hairline, he was nervous, exhausted, out of shape. She always said he was out of shape, at this moment he felt like she was right. He felt small, insignificant, lost. He didn’t want to be there, he would have done anything to still be in his house, reminiscing alone, the sound of ice cubes against a tumbler, behind a locked door. But he had to do this, he signed up for this years ago but he never really gave it any thought, this day came earlier than ever expected. He’d rather it was someone else standing in his shoes right now, but a promise is a promise. The morning sun on the rise, the beauty of another day distracting his fearful eyes. He was scared, tired and from this day forth, alone. He stood for a moment, placing his body weight on his shovel, the sweat and dirt that covered his face disguised his pale sickly complexion. He knew the black cars would roll up soon, holding his life in a box. His mother used to say “for every tear you cry, will be returned when you die” but his tears were gone, dried up and forgotten just like him. He had anger, he had pain, but he didn’t have the energy. His arms had become heavy, his heart in his throat as he saw the reflection of the sun on the leading car. Today is a day he will always remember, for today was the day this now lonely grave digger had to dig a hole for his own wife. A promise is a promise.

Love Cage

Feeling the presence of another can soon be taken advantage of, forever forgiven for the mistakes one makes can be a fool’s idea. Unconditional love flows only with blood and all others can be tested. The chain links that wear with the tide as well as the unpredictable and heavy waves of emotion that hit the walls of protection. Worn and used these walls around the enclosed hearts start to crumble and fall to uncover the raw and tender existence to the elements. Both a force to be reckoned with until the force turns on itself, best of allies but worst of enemies. Love is a strong word that binds the hearts to beat in unison, like two love birds that will still sing no matter the size of their cage. The songs will only turn to sorrow if one is taken or leaves, left is the uncomfortable silence of loss. It takes a moment to lose what you have but can sometimes take an existence to find what you want, most the time they are two in the same but you’ll only learn this when it’s too late. It’s not about what you haven’t got it’s about spending twice as much time appreciating what’s next to you . . . that’s love, passing the time, second thoughts, hiding the truth isn’t love. Everyone has their secrets but love is about cracking the spine to read you like a book, they may never get to the unwritten chapters but if they care they’ll try.