Archive for the ‘Family Life’ Category

The Box

September 12, 2018

The Box

I open the box—I open it just a little bit. I’ve heard so much about the contents of the box! There are beautiful things in it, incredibly exciting things that I’ve never seen before. The colors are bright and alive—blue, yellow, red and pink. There is no black. There would never be anything black inside the box. There would not be anything grey; grey is dreary and drab. I stare at everything; my mouth is open. I can’t believe what I see. From nowhere, someone’s hand slaps my hand. My fingers hurt and I quickly pull them away. I want to cry, but I can’t. When will I see what is inside the box again? Passion—I love the passion the box inspires in me. I enjoy life because of the box.

 

 

 

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Drama!

August 17, 2018

Drama!

Drama—it’s the drama. The drama keeps me going. The drama gives me whatever life I have left. I need to stand out, to have people see me and point their finger at me. There! There I am! Look at me! I need you to look at me! I get a kick out of the stress of the moment. There are many moments of stress in my life, one after the other. They never stop. I feel like a God. I am Somebody. I am not nothing; the nothing I’ve become. I am an important person again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beer Feet

July 23, 2018

Beer Feet

He stumbled; he fell on the floor. I am alright, he told her. Everything’s fine. She looked at him and shook her head. She helped him sit on the cushion. Her bare feet felt something. She bent over with a paper towel and wiped the floor. Beer! It’s beer! The floor is all full of beer. The cans were empty. I fell because of the water, he said. No, it’s the beer; I can smell it a mile away, she answered. He put his head on the cushion by the wall. He grabbed the blanket and covered his face.

 

 

 

Planes

June 7, 2018

Planes

Long ago—it was long ago. All those days of rushing from plane to plane, from city to city happened years and years ago. There was the need to do something, to be somewhere. There was the need to be somebody, somebody important, a person who got things done. Fatigue did not exist then. The word was nowhere near the vocabulary. The eagerness to be with the ones I loved, the ones I truly loved—all that is gone now. It is done.

 

 

 

 

Wait Game

May 22, 2018

Wait

She sat there, under something or other. Water kept coming down. The protection offered by the thing wasn’t enough. She was getting wet. The street was busy. People walked down, they walked up the street. No one saw her. If only someone! If only someone could. I can’t. I don’t know how anymore. Where is it—the food, the whatever that is needed? It is cold here. It is not comfortable.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Horror Floor

May 22, 2018

The floor—the floor is your home. The floor is your refuge. It is where you spend your time, whatever is left of your life. You consume—you drink that liquid thing out of the can. You drink a lot of that liquid. It goes down your throat; you want another and another and then one more. The cans put you to sleep. Because of the cans you are not you. You are not the intelligent man you once were; you are hardly a person. You have become that can.

 

Rubio’s River

April 18, 2018

It was all over—the great big puddle. It went from one end of the kitchen to the other. He didn’t mean it; he didn’t do it on purpose. It was his body’s fault. The yellow liquid inside him couldn’t be repressed any longer. Out it had come with a need never before known. The dog looked up at his owner, his brown eyes open and guilty. She took off her shoes. “It is fine. It is fine.” She walked over to him in the middle of the kitchen. “You are ill. The doctor will make you better again. You’ll see.” She didn’t believe a word she was saying. The dog’s illness had progressed too far for that. “Nothing can hurt you. I will not let that happen.”

 

The Robe

April 7, 2018

The Robe

A harsh to the touch robe—it is dark red and too big for her. Somebody gave it to her as a gift long ago. It is wrapped around her toothpick body like a kind protector. She sits by the stove, the electric stove in the tiny kitchen. The robe is her friend. She looks down at the pockets, at the belt. Wearing the robe makes her feel she has a home—a real home at last.

 

 

 

 

Imperfect

February 28, 2018

Imperfect

However imperfect the woman is, she is there for you. You are not alone. But you are too set in your ways to realize it. You are too much you to acknowledge her help. She cares. Deep down or not so deep down, you know that. You’ve known that all along. In your past, maybe people have done things for you to get something. She doesn’t get anything besides sadness when she sees how unwell you are. She accepts you as you are, grumpiness and all. You want her to change. She cares for you. Your illness almost forbids you to see anything except how it is affecting your life.

The Beautiful Soul

February 6, 2018

Beautiful Soul

A beautiful soul—you once said I had a very beautiful soul. I thought you treasured that; I believed you’d take care of it, that you’d appreciate kindness and good will towards you. Your life before I met you must have been a rough one. You probably had to battle demons inside and out. Your battles with life must have stunned and shaken you. Many of them you could not shake off. Picking up your body and mind must have been a great effort. We met too late for you to change. All you can now do is to be lucid sometimes now and then. The rest of the time you are simply not there for anyone.