Hope
It invades your mind like cancer. It takes up residence, whether or not you have vacancy. It makes you crazy. It makes you think. It makes you wonder. It makes you hold on, even if there's nothing to cling to. Hope is a terrible thing Some things you can never forget. They are forever burned into your mind, and try as you might to repress them - those memories will creep through your subconscious like a virus. Infecting you.
She always saw them as married, one day. Even though she never wanted to BE married, she saw them there.
She saw them laughing on the couch, on the road, under the covers. She was positive nothing would ever come between them, as they had already been tested so many times - and always came out the other side better & stronger. But it seems all that happiness, all that laughter was only hiding what lies beneath. Fear, spite, annoyances. These things could not be cured by laughter, but surely they could be cured by love? Surely they both loved enough to make it through this storm.. She did. She loved enough. He stopped loving enough a long time ago. She is left hoping she loves enough for the two of them, but she wonders how long will it last before she too must give up. The sun sets on another day.
She is still alive, she still breathes. She still has faith. Everything happens for a reason. It isn't over, its not the end. The sun will rise tomorrow, and even if it doesn't - she knows she will be ok. I open my eyes. I can her him calling my name, begging. My eyes dart back and forth.. I close them. 'Assess the situation' I tell myself silently.
Ok. What hurts? Everything. Be specific. Where are you? Who are you? I know those answers. Arms? Ugh - don't move that one. Legs? Toes? Ouch. Wiggle goddammit... Good. My breathing is laboured. Impossible to take more than a shallow breath. Slowly. Control it. "I'm ok" I call, to answer more cries and pleas for a response. Grass is in my eyes. Bugs are chewing at my face. I smell exhaust. Someone is leaned over me, crying. I hear sirens in the distance... The BigGuy begs me not to move. I open my eyes. The grass on my face slowly turns into blankets. The sirens fade to the faint music of the television. The trees turn into almond coloured walls. My breathing slows as my dreams fade into reality and I wake up. “There’s something wrong with you!” My 4 year old step son tells me. Good to know. Millions of people pay for metal help, and I’ve got the youngest therapist living right here in my house.
I wake up to screaming, high pitched inaudible sounds. Dogs hear this and accumulate outside my front door. I grab my housecoat and run down the stairs. I think that my feet only make contact with 3 of them. My youngest step son is sitting on his brothers bunk-bed hitting his brother in the head with a toy. Not just any toy, a lights and sound robot complete with flashing lasers. I let him know that his behavior is not acceptable and that he should be in bed since it is 5 in the morning. He smiles. I coax him back down the ladder of the bunk bed, convincing my oldest step-son that he won't die from the thrashing to his skull. I ask for the killer-robot, he tosses it across the room. Lasers still flashing, sirens still wailing. I perform a living autopsy and remove the batteries. I've killed the robot. He pouts. |
365 Storieschallenge
The Challenge: Write something everyday, for 365 days. Original entries posted on Instagram @sarahhashtags Archives
May 2016
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