Stories

Stories

The Choice

He sat there contemplating. He had a choice to make: Two roads in front of him, which to choose. The choice was bigger than he knew, but then such choices always are. His final destination would be the same by either path. But it was the journey that he was considering. The sun warmed his back as he sat down by the road. He rummaged in his pack and picked out some cheese wrapped in oilpaper.

He unwrapped it, the sharp tangy smell invading his senses. He popped a piece in his mouth and lay back. He idly watched the clouds, his mind still occupied by the choice in front of him. He liked to consider, take his time, before making decisions. He knew, though, that really he was hoping someone would come along the path. He kept one ear cocked, wanting to hear the soft jingle of harness as a fellow traveller came to the crossroads. A path is easier followed in good company.

Two roads stood in front of him, both well-kept. He didn’t know which way to go, but relished the knowledge that he could choose. A sound then, a jingle, a creak of cartwheels and a peddler is coming towards him. He smiles and waves and gives proper greeting. The peddler returns all three and offers him a seat. He shrugs and calls out a question, “which path do you follow?” The peddler smiles, and points at one, “The one that will take me.”

Laughing, the young man picks up his pack and takes the offered seat. The cart rumbles off along the chosen path.

Two roads were in front of him, two paths through his life. Down one was an easy life, the mother of his children, the love of his life. The peddler clicked his tongue and pulled the reins and went down the other

Silence

There’s something dripping..

I can’t hear it, but I can feel it. A scratching feeling along my spine.

I’m lying awake, in the dark. The rhythmic breathing of my partner irritating me out of peace. Normally it would soothe me, the up and down, gentle in and out of his breath. But tonight there is something dripping, probably in the bathroom. I know it is, even if I can’t hear it.

My breath is fogging in the air. The heating isn’t working. The air is cold, chilling my lungs. I breathe out and watch it form a smoky cloud. The night is still, almost utterly, except for his chest rising and falling. I can’t hear anything, but then again I never do.

This world is silent to me.

Deadly Sins

She walked,

Lost,

The world turned to dust around her..

pergatory,

hell would be better..

*lust*

Such a simple thing.. a need for his body. To wrap hers around him. sweating.. who knew where it would lead…

She walked,

Lost,

*Greed*

It shouldn’t matter, the need the want the very hunger to live, it should not count at the end of days.

She walked,

Alone,

in the dust.

*Gluttony*

She had taken her fill of the world, her fill and others.. and now, it meant nothing, ashes in her mouth.

Pergoratory should not be so cruel.

*Sloth*

She could have left, with the others, but she had things to avoid, people, a life, she preferred the laziness of vice..

The joy of her

*Pride*

Always there, her head held way above the others.. always proud.. always right… right into the teeth of lies..

and there at the edges of the pit, there it was her holy unknowing

*Wrath*

Gods would bow before the fury of her anger, if any such creatures existed in this death, this dirt, this end of worlds.

she walked.. alone, in the desert of her pergatory.. feeling always creeping always knowing that her sin above all others was

*Envy*

At those who died, died before this hollow wasteland gripped the world.. died when she lived, because her fear would not let her go.

alone..

Hell would be better.

Storm of Grief

The sky was lit in oranges and pinks.. a mourning sky, a warning sky.

I walked to the edge of the balcony and stared. Turning I saw her, legs swinging back and forth, like she had every right to be there, breathing. “storms a comin’ in,” She looks at me. Eyes wide, ever innocent. I look back across the sky, the pinks are fading, fast. I glance again at her. She blinks, “Better lock ‘em down”. Lightning flares across the sky.

Everything is black.

I sit up, gasping. I look out to the sky, oranges and pinks, again. That goddamned mourning sky, bittersweet before the storm. Water is running in the bathroom. I want to turn over, avoid the looks, the worry. I am no good at this.. this opening up. My dream flashes back. My insides, me, got to lock ‘em down. Briefly I struggle. The water stops. I hear him leave the shower cubicle. My face closes up, stony again, shouting -LEAVE ME BE-. The door opens. I turn away.

- -

I don’t want to do this. It hurts and I have tried so hard to make it stop. People keep coming up to me, offering cheap tawdry condolences. He’s standing beside me in some mockery of solidarity. Some attempt to show he feels the same. But he doesn’t, can’t, because he is feeling, and I have locked it down. battened the hatches against this storm.

- -

All this tea and sandwiches and sympathy is driving me mad. Can’t they see it’s meaningless. It’s too late for this. it means nothing. I leave the room. Walking to the back of the house. I need to feel the air, break this claustrophobia. The air is tingling. I turn and she is there, again, legs swinging back and forth under her, like she used to do. Before. It’s so hard to hold it back. To look at her, and know she isn’t there, that she is some figment, some broken shard of my mind. She smiles at me, eyes wide, innocent. Always innocent. Ever innocent. I look away, and break.

And he is there, holding me, my port in this storm. He has been waiting for this, for me to let it go. I break and wash myself over him. He holds me silently, letting me be.