Sanity is a State of Mind
Death Do Us Part
I suppose for me it was the end of the world. Not just because she left me, but because of the chain of events that followed her harsh move. I remember that day so clearly I can play it back in my head like a movie.So I will. And you can watch it through my words…The sun slowly crept through the sky, its pure white light shinning through the gap in my curtains. I felt my self wake up peacefully from a gentle slumber. Jesus lay on the ground beside my bed. His black hair was getting long; it hung around his head like a greasy mop. His tanned skin, his rich chocolaty brown eyes. He lay there sleeping with a look of peacefulness on his face. I gently shook him awake. His eyes flew open, with a startled look on his face.
“Holy cow! Do you always have to wake me so early?” He gasped.
“Yes, I do, or you’ll lie there sleeping all day.”
“Nah. No-one can sleep THAT long.” He chuckled.
“You need a shower.” I said plainly.
“Thanks, your nice aren’t you?” He replied good heartedly.
“Yup, and I’m REALLY modest. It’s quite sickening” I said in a matter of fact tone of voice.
He giggled and plodded off to have a shower.
Then I was left alone.
I heard the shower start.
I heard it, because it was the only noise in the house.
I slowly climbed down the stairs. It was too quiet. The only noise was my feet scraping along the worn carpet and the constant beat of the shower. First I checked their bedroom.
It was empty. Empty of any living thing. It had all the dead things, like the worn out yellow carpet, the droopy curtains that smelt musty, the lumpy bed which had a old fashioned looking flower pattern on it, that Mummy got from the gala. It had the real big desk that I wasn't allowed to play on cos I might break it and the clothes cupboard's, one for mummy, and one for dad. It was so cold in there.
I walked up to the bed.
I slipped my hand under the sheets.
It was cold on both sides. No one had slept there. I ran to the kitchen.
“Mummy? DADDY?” My small clear voice echoed off the walls.
I searched each room, my voiced getting more and more frantic. Tears spilled down my cheeks. Something was wrong.
“What’s up?” Jesus asked. Running down the stairs, two at a time.
His voice worried, his hair still half covered in shampoo. His clothes sticking to his wet body.
The look of concern of his face was heart braking.
“I can’t find them!” I sobbed.Then out of the corner of my eye I saw it. A small white piece of paper.
I picked it up.
I’m sorry.
I can’t take it anymore!
It’s just too much, the stress, the pain.
I can’t handle it anymore!
I’m sorry I had to end it like this. I’m sorry I have to go. Please don’t hate me. But living with you is too painful.
I just don’t love you anymore.
Tell Gemma I love her.
Tell her I miss her.
And that was all she wrote. And she was gone.
All that way left of her was a couple of yellowed photographs, and her tear stained excuse of a farewell. I hated her for it, and I hated me for hating her.
“Lets find your dad!” yelped Jesus, not trying to hide the panic in his voice.
And when we found him I knew I had lost him too.
Jesus and I ran earnestly through the dewy grass, our feet growing numb from the chilly dew, and our bodies shivered from the icy winds.
“Try the garage!” Cried Jesus. So I did.
I walked out onto the road and rushed towards the garage door. Cars drove past, the sun was shining, and the rest of the world was moving on.I pushed the rusty door open. The paint was peeling off it. Daddy was meant to have painted it, but he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. At first as I peered into the garage all I could see was shadow. Black. Then I saw something. A long white rope, gleaming in morbid fantasy. Then I saw it all. My daddy standing in the garage on a chair. Around his throat was that pale white rope, coiling around his neck like a hungry python.
I ran towards him.
Screaming.
Yelling.
Crying.
Tugging at his clothes.
Begging pleading with him.
“DADDY!!! DON’T GO! DADDY! STAY! DON’T JUMP!” I scream hysterically.
But it was pointless.
I stopped painting for breath.
Then I heard him say something.
He was so calm.
So sure of himself.
I could see his heart breaking in front of me.
I could hear it ripping apart.
And his famous last words were:
“Death do us part.”
He jumped and his feet never touched the ground again
Thoughts, keen to share?
“Holy cow! Do you always have to wake me so early?” He gasped.
“Yes, I do, or you’ll lie there sleeping all day.”
“Nah. No-one can sleep THAT long.” He chuckled.
“You need a shower.” I said plainly.
“Thanks, your nice aren’t you?” He replied good heartedly.
“Yup, and I’m REALLY modest. It’s quite sickening” I said in a matter of fact tone of voice.
He giggled and plodded off to have a shower.
Then I was left alone.
I heard the shower start.
I heard it, because it was the only noise in the house.
I slowly climbed down the stairs. It was too quiet. The only noise was my feet scraping along the worn carpet and the constant beat of the shower. First I checked their bedroom.
It was empty. Empty of any living thing. It had all the dead things, like the worn out yellow carpet, the droopy curtains that smelt musty, the lumpy bed which had a old fashioned looking flower pattern on it, that Mummy got from the gala. It had the real big desk that I wasn't allowed to play on cos I might break it and the clothes cupboard's, one for mummy, and one for dad. It was so cold in there.
I walked up to the bed.
I slipped my hand under the sheets.
It was cold on both sides. No one had slept there. I ran to the kitchen.
“Mummy? DADDY?” My small clear voice echoed off the walls.
I searched each room, my voiced getting more and more frantic. Tears spilled down my cheeks. Something was wrong.
“What’s up?” Jesus asked. Running down the stairs, two at a time.
His voice worried, his hair still half covered in shampoo. His clothes sticking to his wet body.
The look of concern of his face was heart braking.
“I can’t find them!” I sobbed.Then out of the corner of my eye I saw it. A small white piece of paper.
I picked it up.
I’m sorry.
I can’t take it anymore!
It’s just too much, the stress, the pain.
I can’t handle it anymore!
I’m sorry I had to end it like this. I’m sorry I have to go. Please don’t hate me. But living with you is too painful.
I just don’t love you anymore.
Tell Gemma I love her.
Tell her I miss her.
And that was all she wrote. And she was gone.
All that way left of her was a couple of yellowed photographs, and her tear stained excuse of a farewell. I hated her for it, and I hated me for hating her.
“Lets find your dad!” yelped Jesus, not trying to hide the panic in his voice.
And when we found him I knew I had lost him too.
Jesus and I ran earnestly through the dewy grass, our feet growing numb from the chilly dew, and our bodies shivered from the icy winds.
“Try the garage!” Cried Jesus. So I did.
I walked out onto the road and rushed towards the garage door. Cars drove past, the sun was shining, and the rest of the world was moving on.I pushed the rusty door open. The paint was peeling off it. Daddy was meant to have painted it, but he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. At first as I peered into the garage all I could see was shadow. Black. Then I saw something. A long white rope, gleaming in morbid fantasy. Then I saw it all. My daddy standing in the garage on a chair. Around his throat was that pale white rope, coiling around his neck like a hungry python.
I ran towards him.
Screaming.
Yelling.
Crying.
Tugging at his clothes.
Begging pleading with him.
“DADDY!!! DON’T GO! DADDY! STAY! DON’T JUMP!” I scream hysterically.
But it was pointless.
I stopped painting for breath.
Then I heard him say something.
He was so calm.
So sure of himself.
I could see his heart breaking in front of me.
I could hear it ripping apart.
And his famous last words were:
“Death do us part.”
He jumped and his feet never touched the ground again
Thoughts, keen to share?