He was never there. And yet he was always watching. I am not even sure he is one man. Sometimes he would be proud of me. Others someone to be afraid of.

He was the monster under the bed and god himself. As she prepared breakfast she would cry and sometimes I'd be sure I heard his name among the sobs. Other times she'd stare at me with that weird look and say to him, even though he wasn't there: “I was right. I did good. Fuck you. Fuck you.” and then she'd tell me “What are you looking at? Eat your cereal” and then she go on talking to him “Bastard, fuck you, fuck you!”

I tried to say those two words once. She got angry and took my ruler with the little houses and the yellow dog and waved it in the air and she told me he'd come and be very angry and take me away. And then she'd sit there, her head in her hands, her hands tangled in shiny black hair, her hair hiding her face, a face full of tears.

I think he is that tall mister I saw after school that day I finished early. He held her waist in his arms and her bright red lips pressed into his. I didn't dare ask. He might have taken me away if he knew I knew. I kept it a secret. But I do have a drawing of them hidden well, I will not tell you where though. I don't trust you. You might be him.

If you are him please don't come take me away. I love her. I know you might be listening the other day I was crying. I didn't mean what I said. And she said “sorry”. Don't you know you should forgive when someone is sorry? She is sorry, and I think she's telling the truth and I don't hurt anymore when I press my finger on here, see? The blue is gone too.

Also if you are him please stop making her scream at night. I'm scared. I hide under my sheets and I don't dare go save her. If you are not, please, come and save her...

Goodnight now. I have to hide this and go to sleep. I think he is in the closet, watching me.

She was sitting on a ledge, at the side of the road. Two young'uns were standing near her.

“I don't want to talk to you, you look sick, and dirty”, she said and a wrinkled hand wiped the ash off the flowers on her lapel. The ash dropped and stained the off-white garment of her trousers.

“You look sick and dirty old lady”, the dark-haired young man replied, promptly. “You look sick and dirty, sitting here in the dark, all alone, smoking”.

“I'm not sick and dirty...” she protested. She paused ever so slightly. “I'm a lady”. Even as I was already far past them, her voice stayed, resonating in the charged atmosphere.

#borrowed #smallstories

This is the fourth or fifth time I'm switching blog platforms. I still haven't moved the old posts here and I'm kinda weary of breaking the permalinks. I will probably leave the old blog in place and just post newer posts here!

Anyway, good reads!