Shattered

There we sat in a cold, dark room that had obviously seen better days. The stale air offending our senses as we paced. My head was heavy with pain; like a spike had been driven through my eye sockets. The reflection from the moon certainly was not helping.

He always knew how to push my buttons at the wrong time too, following me around while spouting off his sickening remarks. I had had enough of them but what can I do about it? Kill him? If only it was that easy. If only I was that kind of man to begin with.

I sat down on the old wooden chair; it creaked under my weight but held. I put my head in my hands and breathed heavily. The headache was coming on stronger now.

“Look at you. You’re pathetic.” He exclaimed. He was always such a charmer.

“Just go away.” I pleaded.

“Go away; if only I could just go away. If only you just accepted being the man you were meant to be then I could just go away. But you’re not and here I am. You think it’s always so easy being around you too? The overly polite and joyful human being they all know and love? If only they knew the real you eh? I don’t mean this pathetic excuse in front of me but the real you. I know the real you.” He said, making a point to raise his voice, causing the throbbing in my head to intensify.
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Necessary Evil

I am broken.

There is no better way to describe me than that. I sometimes sit outside the local school and watch the little children play in the playground, laughing, running around, pulling hair, falling over and crying. I watch them not because I am some sort of weird paedophile but because I envy them.

I envy them because they are at the age of not knowing what stress is. They don’t know worry, they have no concept of depression. I sit there and I watch their innocent faces and while I envy them, I sometimes can’t help but pity them. The things I have been through not just physically but mentally; I wouldn’t wish on anyone. At the moment the only thing they have to worry about is the amount of homework they are given. I remember at that age I used to fear detention. Having to sit quietly in a class room for 30 minutes as punishment? At this point in my life I would love nothing more than 30 minutes of quiet.

I watch these children and they have a whole life ahead of them. They will be around long after I am dead, they will have their own lives, wives, husbands, heart-break, mishaps. These children have at least 14 years before life even really begins. Some will be able to handle it, some won’t.
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