I wake suddenly. My arms and shoulders stiff. A pale moon lights a room of familiar but tainted things. Eyes search for what I know. I expect you. But no such luck. A single thing is there for me.
Whoosh, whoosh, Whoosh…. the wobbly fan pushes the stale air around.
Our bed, a twisted mass of tired sheets. Two flat pillows and a headboard. If I could turn there would be dresser and a couple of nightstands. The lights are all gone. They left out the window with the alarm clock.
My restless ear listen for any trace of you. The shuffling feet always give you away. I wait. I’ll manage to pull on the wires that hold me in place. I reflect upon the splitting pain from the cocktail last served. Something special…. you called it.
My dark home… Our dark home filled with divides from our own divides. Its cold but wasn’t it always..
I beg my brain to engage in the memory that ended here. It refuses. Instead, it amplifies the cracking of the house frame. The clicking on of a furnace. Traffic outside. The branch against the house. The one, I was supposed to cut..
The thought tatters and falls. I sense you at the door. You turned me away from it. But we know you are there…
“What are you waiting for…. just get it over with! ” I break the silence with a terse stab.
“Baby, we can talk all night… But that ain’t getting us nowhere.” Her deadpan words hang in the darkness.
*The last line borrowed from…
“Two outta three ain’t bad” preformed by Meatloaf, Written by John Steinman linked here https://youtu.be/k5hWWe-ts2s
Written as part of a challenge Tale weaver, details at https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/02/02/tale-weaver-105-the-dark-side-02-02-17/