Paintings on The Father Wall
by
Ami Braverman
Published by the author at Smashwords.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Contents:
A Conflict of Necessity
Bennie and Jiggles
Monkey Dynamo
A Conflict of Necessity
Fade in. A slow spin around the room. A picture, frozen with the windows open and the desk, a mess of papers and dry coffee cups. The spin slows to a crawl. Two figures stuck in time staring at each other from across the room with intense emotion, the older with an intimidating expression of anger. The younger, stuck in the headlights of the anger, portrays a meek, uncomfortable expression of hurt and vulnerability, his lips dry and chin soft. The older one is caught in mid sentence with mouth open, small and tight, small flecks of spit in the air and in the corners of his mouth. A disgusting sliver of drool, on the bottom of his lip, slithers towards his unshaven chin.
With the introduction of time to the picture, so comes noise. The papers on the desk shuffle gently like a docile audience. So washes-in the frozen sentence of the older man.
"Fuck, you! You little cock-sucker!"
"Please dad, don't talk to me like that."
"I'll talk to you anyway I want, you sheepish turd."
"Look, I don't understand why you are getting upset. I only said…"
"You 'only said'? 'Only said' huh? You broke my heart right now. You destroyed me."
Behind the scenes, softer than the ruffling of the papers, a woman's sobs can be heard, throaty and repetitive.
"Father, look, it's ok, I forgive you. Years have passed and I'm over it. Why are you getting so angry?"
"You forgive me, turd?"
He emphasizes the 'you' and the 'me' with partially real, partially feigned disgust.
The young man's eyes start getting wet as his lips waiver and his throat knots. Look closely as his anguish slowly becomes anger and we start to see the resemblance between the two.
The bodies freeze in a mutual stare, yet time keeps moving. The papers ruffle, gossiping in muffled whispers. The woman's sobs in some other room become more emphasized by the sudden silence. The older man shouts,
"Be quiet in there. There is no need for your drama, on top of it all."
The sobs slowly dissipate and are replaced by deep rhythmic breaths that fade into the background. The younger face morphs into an expression of suppressed annoyance.
"Leave her alone. I don't like it when you treat mom like that."
"You shattup. I married her not you. I'm sick of you lusting after her. It's sick."
The added element of surprise in the younger face quickly translates into anger.
"What are you talking about? Why do you have to make things so evil?"
"Now I'm evil? I thought you forgot about it all. I thought you moved on!"
The volume in the room intensifies and as though in concert a stronger wind throws itself in the room as a storm starts to close in. The papers start arguing and cheering on. Maybe they are making bets? The crying woman's deep breathing is lost in the noise, forgotten. The father steps forward and the son, too, moves forward in a defiant response.
"I did move on! You were a terrible father. You treated me terribly but I have moved on. It took a lot of working, on myself, but I managed to take control of my life and set my own path. Why is this making you so angry? You should be relieved."
"I am sooo happy for you. You are ok now? You are your own stupid man? You fucking cancer patient."
"Dad!"
"Don't dad me. You don't know how you have hurt me. You have cut me deep, my boy."
Now it is the fathers turn to have water in his eyes and a quiver in his lips. This betrayal of weak emotions seems to make him angrier and he shouts even louder.
"You never told me. You never talked to me. How can you get over your relationship with me without even discussing it with me? How could you betray me like this?"
"I'm telling you now. You are making too much of a big deal of this. I had many problems after growing up in this house. I had to deal with it. It was my thing. It had nothing to do with y…"
"Nothing to do with me? You cross dressing ass licker!"
The figures freeze again as time keeps sifting and the papers shout louder and louder. The younger face shows small signs of a smile and he tips his head slightly.
"Cross dressing ass licker?"
The father starts showing small signals of softening his resolve. Suddenly he turns and screams.
"Edna! Get the fuck out of here, you cunt!"
The woman shuffles out quickly looking at the open windows trying to convey with fearful eyes her intention of closing the portals to the storm. The anger returns to the younger face and he looks more than ever like the infuriated man in front of him.
"No mom. Stay there. He can't talk to you like that."
She whispers almost silently,
"Forget it, Yoav. I am ok."
"Thank you Edna for that important information. Now get the fuck out of here. Go and clean something. Look how filthy this place is."
"She is not your maid!"
"Look I told you already male cunt, you will never have sex with her. She likes real men, not cunts."
The son steps forward enraged and the father steps forward in retaliation. They are now in striking distance.
The mother has strangely disappeared from the room and also from everyone's minds. Muffled noises of dishes can be heard a few moments later but not even the nosy papers notice. Bigger things are happening here. An electric tingle can be felt in the room as the storm closes in, closer and closer. The son speaks with stiff control.
"I don't want to have sex with my mother. I never have."
"Then why do you insist on showering with her?"
"I was eight. You still haven't figured out that children are innocent, you anus?"
The father stalls and then replies,
"Children aren't innocent. They are little bastard manipulators and I will not be manipulated."
"Of course children manipulate. It's just part of growing up. Those are the tools they have. That's not a reason to constantly abuse them with curses and then grumpily ignore them the rest of the time."
"I will not be manipulated! Not by anyone!"
"Not even your own kid, while he grows up?"
"Especially my own family. They will not manipulate me."
"I was a little boy dad. I was so lonely and so intimidated. Nothing I did was right. Of course I stayed attached to mom for longer than the norm. She was the only shred of light in my life, until you forbade her to even be that. I was so lonely."
His younger face slips and a tear seeps down the side of his cheek.
"Oh, here we go again. You were so sad. You were so lonely. Bla, bla, bla. Why can you only remember the negative things? Everyone has bad things happen to them when they are kids. Why not focus on the good? Remember how we used to go to the forest and sit around a fire? Remember how we sang in the car and played 'I spy'?"
"For God's sake dad. Of course I remember that. Do you really think that a few annual picnics can make up for a whole childhood of abuse and seclusion? Really?"
"Here we go again. I don't want to hear it! You're just manipulating me again. What do you want money? Are you broke again?"
The hurt faces quickly fade into anger as a giant gust of wind barges into the room throwing the annoying papers all over the room, once and for all. The papers spin around the room as the figures stare in battle poses. They ignore all their surroundings. Not the papers or the rattling windows or the creeping mother by the far wall. She silently closes the windows one by one in a stealthy mission to if not metaphorically then at least literally further the peace. With the final window closed a shattering sound echoes through the only temporarily silent room as the father grabs a dirty coffee cup and throws it on the far wall. The noisy crash resonates in the enclosed room and masks the noise of the slap as the son hits the father for the first time in his life. A shaky dam, built over the years of repression, breaks and a dark scene follows of a son beating a father. It is a terrible scene. A violent scene. The more he hits the angrier he gets. The mother sobs and screams and throws herself into the melee. The most active she has been in all the years the son has known her. None of them notice that the storm too has broken and the rain is rattling on the windows. The papers lay silent on the floor. They do not feel like gossiping anymore.
Time passes in a blur. All actors sob in pain and frustration. Even the camera is soggy and wet. A painful fog engulfs us all.
After the dark catharsis, the terror that is sometimes the orgasm of life, the three figures sit apart on the floor. The son heaving painful tears, huddled in the corner. The father, never a violent man, lying on the floor, bleeding, with his 'kishkas' in their usual left shoulder. The mother kneels by his side crying louder and more piercing than a colic infant, uncontrollable and hysterical. A long time passes with the storm attacking the room, relentlessly. Finally Edna turns to Yoav, with burning red eyes.
"You don't understand my love. You never spoke to him. You never resolved it with him. He needed it from you. He is weak and alone in a mind that only sees pain and anger. It's not his fault."
"Yes it is," Yoav replies with tears, in a broken shriek coming from a stiff throat.
"No, my love. You don't know. We never wanted to tell you. He was abused his whole life."
"I was abused my whole life," Yoav says, looking down in pain.
"No you weren't my son. You had it hard. I know and you had to grow up fast. But you did it well and we both always loved you for it. We thanked you for it. You're father is a child. He got stuck at the age when the terrible things started to happen to him. I saved him. You saved him. He shouts, but he doesn't mean it. He just wants the anger and the pain to leave his mind. He never hit us. Ever. I love him. I knew what I was getting into when I married him. I had things hard too. Harder than you ever had it and I will never ever tell you about it. We will never ever do that to you. We love you. We tried the best that we could do and you came out ok, didn't you? You're a wonderful, good person. You are the good that came out of it all."
He stared in shame and in pain.
"I'm sorry," said Yoav.
And together the mother and the son picked up the forever broken boy and nursed him back to health.
The end.
Bennie and Jiggles
Bennie was 8. He was 8 and he already had ancient memories.
He had ancient memories of Daddy, who used to come home smelling like wine and hit Bennie with the shoe. When Daddy had gone, Mommy had burned the shoe but Bennie had found the tongue part and had kept it hidden in the drawer.
The shoe was not the only thing that Daddy had left behind. There was also Jiggles the old doggy. In the beginning he had been called Woody but then he had grown old and had started to jiggle. Hence the new name. But Bennie had never met Woody. He only knew Jiggles and he loved him.
One day Mommy caught Jiggles chewing on the leg of the couch, as he always did. The doggy always did this but Mommy still always looked surprised when she saw it. So she screamed and she shouted and she bit at her nails, like she always did and told Bennie to take Jiggles outside for a while. He did so, slouching down and dragging his feet. When on the street he hummed to himself, as he always did and drummed his fingers on his stomach. He loved music but he never sang. Oh no, he never sang. He was a terrible singer.
As Jiggles sniffed at a loitering branch on the busy sidewalk, Bennie looked at his feet and tried to remember what Daddy had looked like. He remembered the strong presence of his smell, but he could not really remember what the guy had looked like. He also wondered if Daddy was hitting someone else with a shoe right now. This thought disturbed him and he hummed harder as he kept on walking down the grey street. Suddenly Eddy, the 10 year old that lived down the street walked in front of him. Eddy always picked on Bennie. It had been especially bad ever since Bennie had tried to join the choir at school and had gotten kicked off the stage and laughed at. Bennie kept his head down and decided that he had to do something. He felt that he had to take control of his life, so he knelt down and took off his shoe. Then he picked it up and threw it into Eddy's face. Eddy looked at him with anger. He always looked much older than a normal 10 year old. He took the shoe and started beating Bennie with it. Jiggles stood on the side, shaking and sniffing at a vagrant bush. He really seemed to like wooden things.
Later when Bennie got home, his clothes were ripped and his face bruised. Mommy jumped off the couch and took him in her arms. Mommy always loved him when he was hurt. When he told Mommy who had beaten him and how, she got very angry. She left him at home with Jiggles and went down the street to talk to Eddy's mommy. When she came back she stood tall and told Bennie not to worry. Eddy's daddy was going to teach him a lesson.
About a week later, when Bennie was not hurt anymore and Mommy was shouting at the couch chewing Jiggles again and biting at her nails, a letter came in the post. It said that Daddy might be coming home again. The men that had taken him away were going to let him go and now maybe Daddy was going to come home. Bennie knew this because he could hear Mommy telling Grand-Mommy about it on the phone and crying. He took Jiggles and went for a walk. He slouched and shuffled his feet. He looked at his shoes and hummed harder than ever. When Jiggles stopped at a very intriguing weed, slipping through the bricks, he noticed Eddy sitting on some stairs right by them. Eddy glared at him and then looked away. Bennie looked back and then after a few moments thought walked towards him. Eddy said,
"Leave me alone. My Daddy grounded me for a week because your Daddy hit you with a shoe. Go away, stinky boy."
Bennie smiled and stuck out his tongue and Eddy told him again,
"Go away, you stinky boy."
But Bennie did not give up. He felt more in control than he had ever felt so he bent over and untied his shoe. Then he picked it up and once again threw it into Eddy's face. Eddy, the hot head, got angry again and beat Bennie with the shoe. It was like he could not even control himself and he hit Bennie harder than Bennie had ever been hit before. All the while, Jiggles rolled in the grass with a piece of bark in his mouth. This time when Bennie got home, broken and torn, Mommy got him both ice cream and love and told him not to worry,
"In one month Daddy will be here and he will protect us."
While she said this she stood tall and a light gleamed in her eyes. Later that day she went down the street to Eddy's house and got Eddy grounded again.
Two weeks later, Bennie rushed out of his room to the sound of Jiggles whimpering and howling. Mommy was beating him with her shoe, shouting at him for chewing on the legs of the couch. Bennie rushed forward and shouted,
"No, Mommy, no. I'll teach him. You'll see, I'll teach him."
But Mommy turned to him with crazed eyes, chewing on her nails till there was blood and said,
"You can't teach an old dog new tricks."
Bennie grabbed Jiggles and ran out the door as Mommy's shoe hit him hard in the back.
He walked with Jiggles down the street and wiggled his back to relieve the pain. He slouched even more and felt a part of the street hit a toe as he walked. He had dragged his feet so much that a hole had been worn into the sole of his left shoe. He looked at Jiggles and shouted at him,
"Why do you love wood so much? Why can't you leave the couch alone? Everything is your fault!"
As he was shouting at the confused hound, he had not noticed a broken bottle on the pavement in front and a piece of glass suddenly cut his toe through his shoe as he stomped over it. He wailed more from anger than from pain and took off the shoe and threw it. He was so angry that he could not even feel the pain, not of his toe and not of his back. Not even of his ancient memories of Daddy and the archetype shoe. The anger felt good. It felt better than pain. He went across the street and got his shoe. Then he searched for Eddie, like a hungry hyena and threw the shoe at him as hard as he could. This time he was totally numb to the beating, even though the shoe still had some glass on it. Later on, Mommy loved him again and Eddy got grounded again.
A week later, Bennie walked into the lounge and saw Jiggles creeping towards the couch. He was slowly crawling with his stomach on the ground and fearful but determined eyes turned towards the back of Mommy's head, who was sitting above the desired wooden couch leg. He moved slowly and his mouth was slobbering just a little bit. Bennie could see how heavily the shivering dog breathed. It did not seem like he was enjoying himself. Bennie ran outside and got a stick and then he ran towards Jiggles and gave him the delicious stick. Jiggles grabbed it and immediately started chewing on it with his paws pushing it down. He looked at Bennie with glistening eyes. It looked like he was crying.
For the next week Bennie stood guard in the lounge with a few sticks ready. Whenever Jiggles showed signs of hunting the couch's legs he would jump forward and give the dog a stick. After a few days, Jiggles stopped trying and Bennie just gave him a stick from time to time. Bennie was so happy that he started taking Jiggles on long walks up the hill to the park, where Jiggles could stare in wonder at the giant trees.
Three days later while Benny was walking down the street, after a stroll in the park, with Jiggles, something happened. He started thinking to himself,
"Hey, Mommy was wrong. Old dogs can learn new tricks."
He thought about this and hummed gently to himself. He really did like humming. If only he could sing. He thought about this too. Why couldn't he sing? If Jiggles could learn not to chew on the couch then why couldn't he learn to sing? He took in a deep breath and started singing. He thought about his mouth and his throat and his stomach. He thought about the words and the sounds. As he walked some people stopped and looked. They said,
"Kid, you have a great voice," and,
"Wow, what a nice song."
So Bennie smiled and sang as he walked. His back was straight and his feet clapped the pavement with joy. Suddenly Eddy appeared and stopped Bennie with his hand. He looked at him for a very long time. He breathed deeply and gave Bennie a fatherly, knowing look. He smiled deeply. Then he beat Bennie up, but not with a shoe…
Years later, Bennie came to his mother and gave her the tongue of the shoe she had burned all those years before. He looked at her aged face and told her,
"Burn this Mommy, burn this."
But she looked at it for a very long time and then put it back in the drawer. She had always known that it was there.
The end
Monkey dynamo
So he was late…again.
And she was out in the cold, waiting…again.
Why did she always fall for such weird guys? On the other hand, he did have a good sense of humor, albeit a bit unorthodox. Oh and big ears. She liked big ears. Maybe she had come to the wrong corner? She did not think so. There weren’t any street signs around but she had followed his directions to the letter. She also did not want to ask the people on the other side. Not the bevy of young ladies and two men that seemed too sparkly for a street corner. They looked like people of questionable morals. Had she ever been that young? How could they not be cold, in their skimpy, little outfits? She was freezing.
Why was he so late! Many of the people across the street were being picked up all of the time. Why were they so lucky as to have guys picking them up out of the cold? She rubbed her hands together and stamped her feet. The cold really was unbearable. She had not yet lived long enough in the city to get used to the unbearable cold. After a while, all of the ladies across the street had been replaced with new ones and she was still there waiting for him. There wasn't much traffic on the grimy street but almost all passing cars stopped by the bunch on the other side.
Finally a car that was coming her way was slowing down. She held her breath. Was it him? It was hard to see with the high beams on.
‘Oh, the little clown!’ she thought to herself.
Nope, it wasn't him. The car stopped in front of her and the driver leaned towards her as he lowered the window. He looked at her for a while, slightly longer than the culturally unspoken yet agreed upon comfort range. Even before he asked her the question, realization was creeping into her mind.
"How much?" he said.
She laughed.
A little bit later she got to the idiots apartment. She was angry! She needed to remember that. Some of his jokes just went too far. While unlocking the door, she composed herself and wiped the smile off of her face.
His house was a mess of habits. Most of his clothes had been thrown over the edge of the couch. All of his dishes were in the sink. About fifty empty beer bottles for recycling were next to the literally overflowing trash can in the kitchen. She could see that half of the trash was comprised of chicken bones. What was funny was that a clear path was open for the comfort of getting to every room. The whole place was like a recycling station. He had recently placed a little sign in the lounge that had arrows pointing to the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom.
‘Oh, the little clown!’ she thought to herself.
She slowly took the path to the bedroom, expecting him to be lying there, in bed, naked with a huge grin on his face as was always the case after he had pulled a big prank. As she walked, she noticed in the hallway mirror (the only one in the house) that she was still smiling. She put on an angry face and walked in.
He was not there! This was a bit weird. In his house, in his home he was always quite predictable. She noticed a note on the pillow and picked it up, scratching her forehead.
She read.
'Woman.
I’m writing this letter because today I visited the doctor and found out something terrible…'
She coughed hard and rubbed her forehead. What was this, another prank already?
She read on.
'But let me first talk beside the point. I have always been a joker. It is a deeply seeded need created from a certain lack in my childhood. Pictures say more than words…so imagine a picture:
A boy of about nine stands at the edge of a road. The road leads through a lower, middle class suburb. The picture is not highly saturated in colors. This is partially because there is a large cloud looming overhead and partially because it is just a distant memory. The boy's dark hair is slightly overgrown and shabby. An endless wind is tickling some strands aside. On the similarly overgrown grass behind him, lays an abandoned soccer ball and a bit further on there is a house. No, the soccer ball isn’t overgrown too but I think you can see the pattern here. If you look closer you can see that a motherly face is looking out of a window with and expression of concern. She's not in the kitchen. Don't be such a chauvinistic oink.
Focusing back on the boy, you can see that it is hard for him to stand and yet he does not sit on the curb. Maybe sitting makes the waiting unbearable?
I waited like that for a very long time. Not just for one day but every day at the same time. I was waiting for him at the hour of his usual return. I was waiting for my father.
But can we forget about my father for one second? What the hell does he have to do with it? That was decades ago! I need to tell you about what the doctor told me today, although maybe I should tell you a little story first. Do you remember that you asked me how I got the scar above my right brow? Well I didn’t feel like telling you then, while I was horny for your ‘hot bod’ but I will tell you now. I think I was 19 years old. I came to watch a movie in the mall with this guy I knew. I don’t remember his name. I do remember though, that he was a very fake person. You could say that he was socially challenged. Awkward and enabling. Just too eager. He also had a goofy grin showing small teeth. Very annoying. But, it was a Friday night and I was bored so I went with the guy to a movie.
In those days I worked in a small Italian restaurant that was inside the mall. I labored in a cramped kitchen with an old dish washer from Ukraine. I got along very well with him. You see, I have a trick with dishwashers and such. All you need to do is offer them something to drink once in a while and ask them about their families. They just love you after that. Simple really. '
She stopped reading for a second and scratched her forehead. This letter was exactly like him. It would take him forever to get to the point. His thoughts were too associative. It was hard to follow. She wondered, for a second, whether she should just jump to the conclusion of the letter but, in the end, she decided against it. She rubbed her forehead where she had just scratched and then carried on reading.
'I was in a really weird mood that day. I had just lost my first love. She had run away after I had given her, her first kiss. She had fooled me with her fake feelings. I rather not get into the details. The movie we watched was called ‘The Truman Show’. It’s a very good movie about a guy that finds out that his whole life is a TV show. Everyone he has ever known has been an actor. He has, unknowingly, been daily entertainment for the whole world. The ultimate reality show.
Now, I don’t know if you know this but, sometimes, the more unhinged your life seems, the more perceptible you are to outside ideas. At the end of the movie I looked around me and thought of the healing lessons I had taken as a young teenager. I thought about how they had all said that everything around us is an illusion. After this it was a small pounce for me to start imagining that everyone around me was an actor, just like in the movie but in a more metaphysical screwy way. I gaped at people, straight into their eyes and they quickly looked away. Why were they looking away? Why were they avoiding my gaze? This got me very paranoid.
I walked in a daze through the quiet mall with the guy that I had come with walking beside me. I walked slightly ahead as usual, as though I was the alpha male and he was the subservient mutt. The mall had already closed and only people leaving the movie could be seen, lurking towards the exits. We had parked on the other side of the mall, next to the food court. As we walked, I remember getting a bit ticked off. I kept looking sideways at the plasticine grin beside me and thinking to myself,
‘Couldn’t they have afforded a better actor? This guy is terrible! He’s so fake. They make this whole world for me and this is the guy they put in contact with me? It’s ridiculous.’
I was so far deep in my delusional reality that I hadn’t noticed that the floor was wet and as I started walking up a slippery ramp on the way out, I fell forward. It all happened very fast, but I remember thinking, on the way down, that it’s all just an illusion so I didn’t bother to move my hands to block my fall.
I woke up, a second later, looking at a growing puddle of blood on the floor. I realized immediately that this whole illusion dialogue was just not a very good idea. The rest of that evening is a bit of a blur. I remember standing by the bars of the closed restaurant with the Ukrainian dish washers hands sticking out to give me healing, while the security guard and the fake guy watched in awe and discomfort. I remember being taken home by the guy. He had stopped at some place to say hi to some friends while I sat bleeding in the car. So much for alpha male. And lastly I remember calling my mother once I got home. She took me to the hospital and they literally glued my eyebrow back in place. This made me laugh. Centuries of medical research and the best they got to by now is ‘put some Bostik on your eye’?
The next day my best friend (you know the one I’m referring to) asked me what had happened, when he had seen my bandaged eye. Now he is a very shrewd one, let me tell you, so when I managed to tell him a tall tale I was delighted. I told him that I had crossed paths with two drunken criminals the night before. I had gotten into a fight with them and being very afraid had grabbed one and strangled him from behind. I was hurt in the process but feared that maybe I had killed him. My friend and I spent the day checking the news and we even went to the scene of the ‘crime’ to search for evidence. He was so worried. It was hilarious. Unfortunately the bugger figured it all out at some point and being a vindictive son of a bitch got me back, half a year later. But that’s a different story. Let me tell you about another cool prank I pull sometimes. Do you know what I do when I can’t sleep at night? I make important calls to my friends. After a few rings when they answer in a sleepy voice, I reply, “Hello?" in an even sleepier voice and then I say, “Who is this? I have a big exam in the morning. Can we talk tomorrow?”
To which they reply, “Sorry, I’ll phone you in the morning.”
This trick works almost every time. It’s amazing! They sometimes even phone in the morning to apologize!'
She stopped reading for a second and scratched her forehead again. She wondered whether she was getting a rash. It seemed to be happening more and more since she had met him. Where the hell was he going with all of this?
'Oh, well' she thought and carried on reading.
'I want to let you in on a little secret. All of these pranks that I do. They aren’t for other people. The people are irrelevant. It all arises from a deep need, a deeply programmed lack, in the mechanics of who I am. I am like a gaping a whole, an unquenchable chasm, an unpluggable abyss. My jokes have nothing to do with the ‘prankees’, if I may. I really don’t care whether they enjoy it or not. You may be thinking that I am not so evil. That I am not so self-centered but I have proof my dear. How I wish that your boobies were here right now, to comfort me, for now I will tell you the hardest part. I will not stall, any longer.
Any longer…
As I have mentioned, I got some bad news from a doctor, just this morning. Do you know what Prosopagnosia is? It means that I cannot recognize faces. It is a syndrome usually following head injury. Yet the only time I have ever received a good whack on the noodle was way back then, when I had just finished watching the Truman show.
Do you know what this means?
For almost ten years, I have not recognized anyone’s face. I guess I just don’t look at peoples faces. I’m usually just looking down. I can’t even recognize my own face in the mirror! The scary part is that I hadn’t even noticed this fact until this morning!
I am not of this world. I am evil.'
Her hands were shaking as she read on.
'I am a beast. A shadow in a shell. Like most villains I repeatedly follow a script that was laid out for me in my lonely childhood. The people around me are irrelevant. I had thought that I had run away from it all. I had thought that I was happy. But this was just a back spin of an over eager mind for here I am, back in the beginning, whiplashed by life’s inevitability. Lonely, again.
Is this all there is? Am I simply an avalanche? The result of a falling rock or a song of a bird? This with the mixture of circumstance is me? Is my conscious self simply a Truman show with my body and the world looking in from time to time, laughing at my quaint ideas of free will?
I am not alive.
Dvir”
She wiped the papers with her sleeves. Tear stains had appeared upon them. They were her tears.
‘Oh, the little clown!’ she thought to herself.
She was shivering.
He put his arm on her. He was behind her, naked and grinning. Her heart ran in a haze of beats. She felt the vibrations running through her whole body. He spoke in a gentle voice,
“Hey baby, wassup?”
She stared up at him with foggy eyes for a long while. The room had heated up. This is something that often happens when many intense emotions are in the air. She touched his face and a small spark jumped at her fingers. All the static energy around was dying to move. The energy just could not stay in one place any longer.
“Sorry baby, you know I’m hairy. I’m like a monkey dynamo,” he said.
He actually had a shirt of a monkey being used as a static dynamo. It was styled like a blueprint for a patent. She smiled and took her clothes off.
“Sweetie, let me tell you, from all my heart, that I really respect your boobies,” he said.
After turning off the lights they lay in bed. He lay on her breasts and breathed unevenly.
She did not say one word the whole night.
‘Oh, the little clown!’ she thought to herself.
The end
Thank you for taking an interest in my work.
Please check out my debut novel, Synsunder, either at Amazon or at Smashwords.
Also feel free to check out my blog.
http://synsunder.blogspot.com/?zx=a68fe9a19a3e15f5
I would really appreciate a review on any one of these sites.