T.V turning on when it’s not plugged in, I must be more sleep deprived than I thought.” Monroe gently patted her arm as he walked passed and headed into the kitchen. Standing in the cold kitchen Monroe lent against the silver workbench and let out several slow breaths. “It’s only going to get worse. She has to know.” Running his hands over his face Monroe could not help but feel defeated. A ringing noise filled Monroe’s ears again and he collapsed to his knees.
Her mismatched sheets jeered to one side of her bed, the curtains over the thin window still peered open, and even the water bottle she used to take the pills with still sat on her rug. She grabbed it and chucked it into the wastebasket. She hated everything about the room. She hated how the last of the wallpaper was shredding near the ceiling. She hated how it was cluttered with antiques that did... ... middle of paper ... ...you were leaving early?” Mabel asked as she set her tray down next to her.
” Her voice is light and playful and just to my side. I groan into the floor. “Let’s get you back to bed.” She hooks her arms under my shoulders and lifts me to lean against the wall. I start to slump down again and she swoops and hooks my legs up from underneath me with her right arm, her left catching my back. It’s an effortless motion for her to carry me back into the room and slides me back into the bed.
“I’ma go and check my ask.fm and Instagram.” Alicia said going into her room with her phone. I let out a disappointed huff and slumped down on the couch. After what felt like forever, the cable guy reappeared. “There’s a slight problem.” He said clapping his hands together. “And that would be?” I asked without making eye contact.
I didn't know the reason for the quarrel; I just wanted the shouting, cursing and threats to stop. I could even hear them when buried under the pillows and blankets on my bed. My father had lost his job because of his drinking. At 10, I never knew whether my father would be sober, reasonable, even pleasant - or drunk, argumentative and abusive. On one February day with four inches of snow on the ground and a freezing rain falling, I was walking home from my cousin's house in the early evening and saw my father lying on the soggy, snow-covered sidewalk.
It seemed to have come suddenly--some were dead in the water trough, as if they had been struck down while drinking. After putting on my gardening mask (I have terrible hayfever), I helped pile the corpses into a wheelbarrow and carry them off out of the town to bury them. My neighbor spit and cleared his throat a lot, and complained of a headache and said his arthritis was acting up. I gave him some aspirin, and went home for the night. Several days passed as normal, and I did not think too much of the chickens.
He was scared to touch the burners, because he had already burned his hand once, and he was to short to reach the bowls, so there he was, eating cold chicken noodle soup out of an can. Sherlock was sitting there, swinging his feet, slurping his soup and looking around the empty hall. He thought this was a strange thing for him to do, seeing that he lived in this house but he did it anyways. He then realized how large this estate was for a five year old boy.He was indeed small for his age, and the large halls of his family’s mansion nearly exaggerated that part. Suddenly, he heard a loud crash upstairs in his parent’s bedroom.
I was sorry for the frustration of forgetfulness, for every time I didn’t come to visit, and for forkfuls of Eggo waffles. The first time I thought I saw my dead grandfather was two nights after we buried him, when I saw a black mass at the foot of my bed and he was towards the front of my mind. I closed my eyes and hoped it wasn’t him, that he was at peace, finally; I hoped he had finished those waffles. When I opened my eyes again, I saw the reflection of the moon in my mirrored closet doors, and nothing more. Other times I have seen him standing in line at the grocery store, or sitting in a booth in front of a plate of ribs.
Everyone thought Billy was going into depression and that’s why he stopped coming out of his house and socializing. The basement where Billy was kept was squalid. Tim was shrewder on the inside, but looked devout on the outside. Even though Billy was acquittal, his father wouldn’t accommodate. One morning, the town sheriff went to the hospital for a bullet wound that grazed his left arm which wasn’t bleeding because he had it wrapped.