shunned away and judged for where they
came from. Caught in the middle to fend for
themselves; resenting the dogs, but never returning to the wolves.
A breeze passes through, likely carrying
the scent of sage and cactus. But I wouldn’t
know. Snot slides out of my nose and joins the
tears running into my mouth. The last breeze I’ll
feel and I can’t fully enjoy it. Taking a deep,
burning drink of whiskey, I’m reminded of this
pain being the only true and consistent part of my
life.
My life.
If it even rates to be labeled a life.
Turns out, He wasn’t done laughing at me.
A tragedy Shakespeare himself could not
dream. Enough thinking. Time to take control
and finish the scene.
For the last two weeks my taste buds felt only
tears, whiskey and cocaine.
Two weeks.
Who survives for two weeks on whiskey and
cocaine?
I do.
Why?
***
Mom comes by and pours us fresh cups of
coffee leaving the thermos at the table.
Because God refuses to take me home. He
refuses to take away the pain and laughs as each disgraceful scene of this pitiful life plays out. Sympathy
is not what I seek, so don’t feel sorry for me.
world.
diner.
I collect my thoughts and return to the
She begins to walk away, but Chamille’s
fork falls to the ground. She reaches to pick it up
and Chamille places her hands around Mom’s.
An exchange of thoughts appears to