Post by Tony on May 26, 2009 7:38:27 GMT -5
I don’t laugh much anymore, not since that day. I don’t tell jokes either and I use to love telling jokes. Nothing seems funny anymore. Not even the things that use to make me laugh all the time. No, I don’t laugh much anymore, but I’m fine with it. You can’t really laugh when the only thing that made you happy has left you, right? Yeah, I’m right. It’s just too bad that no one else can see it, too.
I’m sitting here in my living room with the shades drawn closed. It is sunny, bright, and warm outside. That doesn’t fit my mood at all. I prefer the darkness now. The gloom, shadows, and uncertainty is what my world is. It’s a good thing I had those sound proof windows installed the year before so my neighbors wouldn’t be bothered by the music I play. It goes a good job of blocking children’s laughter and bird songs. Just too cheerful for me.
I sit in overstuff reading chair, one leg up on the arm rest. I’ve got my acoustic guitar on my lap and I’m idly strumming looking for a tune to play. A song comes to mind I start playing the chords turning the once sporadic notes into a sweet high sound. I play it slowly, not because I don’t know the song, but because it makes it all the more sadder. I whisper the words under my breath, I can’t really sing. People tell me I can, but I don’t believe them. I finish the song and hang my head a little, tired. I’ve been tired for so long.
A knock at the door. I get up to see who it is. I haven’t talked to my friends for awhile, they must be wondering how I am. They can’t call, I left the phone off the hook. I don’t go to my computer anymore, that’s upstairs and I don’t go upstairs anymore. I put my guitar on the chair and shuffle to the door. I peak out the eyehole, it’s Susan. It is one of her friends, the one I hated the most. I don’t hate people, but this woman grates on my nerves.
I unlock the door, but keep the chain in. “What do you want?” I croak out. I’m thirsty and haven’t had anything to drink for awhile.
“My God,” she replies, “you look like shit.”
“Fuck off, skank,” I reply and start to close the door. I hear her shout a protesting sound.
“Have you seen Colene, Hank? I haven’t seen her for weeks.” Susan asks.
“No. And I don’t know where she is.” I lie, knowing full well where she is.
“Will you tell her I dropped by if you talk to her? I know you guys were having some trouble. Just if you see her, okay? I’m worried.” Susan walks away without letting me reply. I close the door, not caring what the broad said.
I shuffle back to my chair and pick up my guitar. It was such a nice guitar. My uncle gave it to me before he passed away. He use to play all the time and taught me everything I knew. I could name any song and he could start playing it without a moment’s hesitation. He was an amazing guy before died in an accident.
I strum a few notes and find another song to play. I try to sing this time, but my throat is too dry. I look around and see a bottle of scotch I left out. I take off the cap and gulp down a few shots. It burns slightly as it goes down, but I don’t care. I put the cap on and try to sing this time. But the fire in my belly starts to spread to my head confusing me. I nod off to sleep to dream troubled thoughts.
--
I awoke slumped over in my hair, my guitar laying on the floor beside me. One of the wires had broken, my finger must have caught it as it fell and broke it. No matter, it was easily fixable. Or, it would be if I could go upstairs. But I don’t go upstairs anymore. No, not anymore.
Getting up from the chair I shuffle to the window and pull one of the blind flaps down. It is nighttime and the neighborhood is quiet. Good. I always hate when it is busy.
My stomach rumbles so I head to the kitchen for something to eat. There’s nothing in the fridge but a few condiment bottles, one pickle in the pickle jar, and some slices of cheese. I look in the cupboards and all I fine are a few canned vegetables and a box of crackers. I take the crackers. They are simple to eat. I should go to the store, but I just don’t’ feel like it. I’ll have to go eventually, but not right now. No, right now I am going to eat my crackers.
Sitting on my kitchen table eating I look around. The kitchen is dirty and is need of much cleaning. There is burned food on the top of the stove, some dark stains in the corner, and a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. I have to clean that up eventually, but not right now. Crackers don’t need plates or cups or anything. They are simple. And all I can really manage right now is simple.
Crumbs spill onto my shirt and lap and I look down as I brush them off. My clothes are disheveled, I’ve slept in them for God knows how long. I probably have a bad case of body odor, but I can’t smell anything. I scratch my head and dandruff falls, the hair is greasy to the touch. Yeah, I need to clean myself up. I’ll get to that, too, eventually.
I saunter back into the living room and pick up my guitar. Oh yeah, one of the strings is broken. No matter, I can play it regardless. The music will sound just a little off, kinda fitting for me. So I sit on my big overstuff chair and strum idly and hum to tunes as they surface in my head. Other things try to surface, but I don’t let them. I push them back down, back into that dark space where I never go. Like going upstairs.
I’m sitting here in my living room with the shades drawn closed. It is sunny, bright, and warm outside. That doesn’t fit my mood at all. I prefer the darkness now. The gloom, shadows, and uncertainty is what my world is. It’s a good thing I had those sound proof windows installed the year before so my neighbors wouldn’t be bothered by the music I play. It goes a good job of blocking children’s laughter and bird songs. Just too cheerful for me.
I sit in overstuff reading chair, one leg up on the arm rest. I’ve got my acoustic guitar on my lap and I’m idly strumming looking for a tune to play. A song comes to mind I start playing the chords turning the once sporadic notes into a sweet high sound. I play it slowly, not because I don’t know the song, but because it makes it all the more sadder. I whisper the words under my breath, I can’t really sing. People tell me I can, but I don’t believe them. I finish the song and hang my head a little, tired. I’ve been tired for so long.
A knock at the door. I get up to see who it is. I haven’t talked to my friends for awhile, they must be wondering how I am. They can’t call, I left the phone off the hook. I don’t go to my computer anymore, that’s upstairs and I don’t go upstairs anymore. I put my guitar on the chair and shuffle to the door. I peak out the eyehole, it’s Susan. It is one of her friends, the one I hated the most. I don’t hate people, but this woman grates on my nerves.
I unlock the door, but keep the chain in. “What do you want?” I croak out. I’m thirsty and haven’t had anything to drink for awhile.
“My God,” she replies, “you look like shit.”
“Fuck off, skank,” I reply and start to close the door. I hear her shout a protesting sound.
“Have you seen Colene, Hank? I haven’t seen her for weeks.” Susan asks.
“No. And I don’t know where she is.” I lie, knowing full well where she is.
“Will you tell her I dropped by if you talk to her? I know you guys were having some trouble. Just if you see her, okay? I’m worried.” Susan walks away without letting me reply. I close the door, not caring what the broad said.
I shuffle back to my chair and pick up my guitar. It was such a nice guitar. My uncle gave it to me before he passed away. He use to play all the time and taught me everything I knew. I could name any song and he could start playing it without a moment’s hesitation. He was an amazing guy before died in an accident.
I strum a few notes and find another song to play. I try to sing this time, but my throat is too dry. I look around and see a bottle of scotch I left out. I take off the cap and gulp down a few shots. It burns slightly as it goes down, but I don’t care. I put the cap on and try to sing this time. But the fire in my belly starts to spread to my head confusing me. I nod off to sleep to dream troubled thoughts.
--
I awoke slumped over in my hair, my guitar laying on the floor beside me. One of the wires had broken, my finger must have caught it as it fell and broke it. No matter, it was easily fixable. Or, it would be if I could go upstairs. But I don’t go upstairs anymore. No, not anymore.
Getting up from the chair I shuffle to the window and pull one of the blind flaps down. It is nighttime and the neighborhood is quiet. Good. I always hate when it is busy.
My stomach rumbles so I head to the kitchen for something to eat. There’s nothing in the fridge but a few condiment bottles, one pickle in the pickle jar, and some slices of cheese. I look in the cupboards and all I fine are a few canned vegetables and a box of crackers. I take the crackers. They are simple to eat. I should go to the store, but I just don’t’ feel like it. I’ll have to go eventually, but not right now. No, right now I am going to eat my crackers.
Sitting on my kitchen table eating I look around. The kitchen is dirty and is need of much cleaning. There is burned food on the top of the stove, some dark stains in the corner, and a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. I have to clean that up eventually, but not right now. Crackers don’t need plates or cups or anything. They are simple. And all I can really manage right now is simple.
Crumbs spill onto my shirt and lap and I look down as I brush them off. My clothes are disheveled, I’ve slept in them for God knows how long. I probably have a bad case of body odor, but I can’t smell anything. I scratch my head and dandruff falls, the hair is greasy to the touch. Yeah, I need to clean myself up. I’ll get to that, too, eventually.
I saunter back into the living room and pick up my guitar. Oh yeah, one of the strings is broken. No matter, I can play it regardless. The music will sound just a little off, kinda fitting for me. So I sit on my big overstuff chair and strum idly and hum to tunes as they surface in my head. Other things try to surface, but I don’t let them. I push them back down, back into that dark space where I never go. Like going upstairs.
