Pitter Patter

A day in the life.

0Likes
0Comments
1523Views

6. VI

The slow hum and the soft grind of the wheels of the train on the track massaged the soles of my feet. That pavement sure had been a chore to walk on, however I was now back on familiar ground. Or floor. No matter now, it captivated me then and I had no doubt that it would continue to captivate me until the end of time. Familiar people, after a period of time, become unrecognisable to you. The contours of their face no longer follow the trail you remember. The languishing laughs echo in the distant passages of your memory. Touches that once comforted and endeared now pulsate with the fearful weight of alienation. Hands and feet didn't move as quick as you expected them now, and the shadows of the frustration were cast by the light of the setting sun. These shadows appeared before me now as I crunched along, beating the path less trodden. My lips were sealed together with that harsh wind again; and it was funny, because it was not as though I was going to say anything anyway was it. And what was even funnier was that it had gotten into the train somehow. There was this pressure that I could feel was getting to me, sitting on my chest and letting me know it was there; I hadn't even had the energy to get out of bed that morning, and somehow I'd found myself checking in everywhere. I had tried to escape myself countless times that night. Maybe if I ran fast enough I could get away. It had felt like if I could physically distance myself from myself then I would be alright. But the air beat back against me and forced me to remain. You can never let go of something that isn't there in the first place, and by the time you realise this you've probably already let go. Familiar people, after a period of time, become unrecognisable to you. The contours of their face no longer follow the trail you remember. The languishing laughs echo in the distant passages of your memory. Touches that once comforted and endeared now pulsate with the fearful weight of alienation. I had never felt that we had been able to truly connect; each day we both seemed like different people, not recognising the way we had been before. I realised then that I didn't actually care, as though inevitably it was all going to come down to this at some point. Well, it does for everyone, doesn't it? The thought had been depressing and hit me quite hard then. All this thinking had brought me to the front door. I turned the handle and took the first step into the hallway. The house was silent and the lights were dark. I took another step which brought me closer to the stairs. I trod the soft carpet and made my way up. The fourteen steps seemed like a thousand steps taken in quick succession. I reached the top and walked towards the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and there still was no noise. It was at that point I found my wife on the bed in a blanket of her own blood, a pistol loosely gripped in her hand and the chamber evidently empty. I let out a deep sigh, sat on the edge of the bed and closed my eyes. My work had been done.
Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...