The storm breaks

May 16, 2011 § 1 Comment

Today has seen the collapse of our house. I have tried to visit Indie in hospital but the big cast for correcting the muscles in my legs makes it difficult to travel, I wish I could sit there with him today, listening only to the sounds of lives spared and not spared. The fierce industry of hospitals, their many denziens scarred by the process of living.

I became drunk last night and have had the terrible row with Penny, in the kitchen, there was much shouting as I told her we all are knowing that her boyfriend is not nice to her, is maybe even hitting her. She threw things. Jette hear us arguing and comes downstairs, and is horrible and tells Penny the truth that I am hating her man because I am in love with her. I stammer, and wool is suddnely thick in my mouth and I cannot deny the thing. It is as though a cloud above my head has split in two, and rain is now pouring upon me in a shower of little needles. A creeping horror steals into me, raising the hairs on my skin, a cold shadow falls across my heart even though my face burns with anger and misery.

The air that has gone still, full of tension, like a heatwave. Penny’s face has closed up like a prison door, and I feel my heart being locked out of her forever by something as solid and impersonal as iron. She turns on Jette like a little lioness, and shouts things that have long been kept silent in her; Jette is a jealous bitch who has no happiness, who is a ghost of a person, who has no emotions or lasting love because she cannot handle them, she is immature and stupid and selfish, she has no real thoughts or art of her own and so must scorn the work of others even though she could never in a hundred lifetimes hope to create its equal. Jette recoils as though lashed by a whip; her face is so proud, but it falls horribly like a landslide, and everyone runs out of the room in tears but me.

So, there is silence, there is water on the floor, and china shards. The people next door were having a barbeque but have gone curiously silent to listen to us ruin ourselves; slowly, their voices begin to carry again through the window, and I pick up the broken things and wipe the floor, as though I am robotic. Penny’s room, next to the kitchen, is quiet. Jette is blasting out loud music from upstairs, and I left the house and walked slow and painfully down the road to the little cafe that keeps my paintings on the walls, to still the furious beating in my chest and drink some more.

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