“Someone once said that life prepares you for what it throws at you.
Man O’ fuck! That’s a very wise and comforting thought for coping.
But what kind of a bastard would I have to be to be prepared for the death of my son? Especially from my own hand.
So I refuse to be prepared, I’ll accept the fucking pain.
…The madness is a comfort!
I don’t want to think straight. I don’t want to be able to concentrate. I refuse to cope. And I sure as hell don’t want to talk about it.
She’s left me. Who’d blame her? She hasn’t said that it’s over but I know it is. It has to be. She’ll hate me until the day she dies. There’s no point her seeing my face every day.
…My side of the family come round to see how I’m doing. Nice of them really. The conversation is a bit tricky.
How are you doing?
Awful…Thanks for asking!
But it’s worse the couple of times I have bumped into her parents. All they ask is, What were you thinking?
I sure as fuck wasn’t thinking what happened would have happened. If I had been, I hope, I mean I really fucking hope that I wouldn’t have done it.
I shake my head and apologise yet again. They shake their heads, tut and cry again. That doesn’t help me but fuck them, they’ve just lost. I have caused and lost. Trust me, there is a whole lot of difference. Their feelings aren’t in the same of my fucked-upness.
I’ve the cheek still to be drinking. I’m judged for that. I deserve the judgement. But at the time, if I’d been drinking, I wouldn’t have been driving. But I’d been sleeping after drinking. You were late for school and asked me for a lift. I told you to skip it but you had a test coming up so I drove. I don’t want to think about the rest.
…Fuck!
Jesus…It hurts.
…The lawyer says that it could go either way. Because of my loss, the Judge might go easy on me. But because of what I did, he may not be so lenient.
I don’t give a fuck. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, nothing will change. My fucking brain won’t shut up about it.
I didn’t even have the decency to get crippled – Not a fucking scratch.
No sincere or sanctimonious bastard needs to tell me what I’ve done.
…I know with bells on.
I don’t think I’d ever considered that I was capable of causing so much hurt.
When it’s not intended, you don’t truly understand the tsunami of shite and pain you can cause by simply not expecting anything other than what you set out to do.
And that’s not me looking for any form of pity. Fuck no!! I can handle the anger and the hate. I need the pain but I can’t handle any pity or understanding.
What’s the point?
…I say the same shite after about the same amount of booze every night. I get angrier and drink quicker but EVERY FUCKING TIME I mention someone having any pity for me, I break down! What the fuck is that all about it?
…It shouldn’t bother me. It’s not an issue. It’s not even a consideration. There’s no-one who will ever pity me.
And fuck that! It’s not about me.
I can only tell you every night, I miss you.
I don’t deserve to say I love you.
…Jesus fuck
…I’m toasting you with the whisky that killed you.
…I’m so sorry Paul.”
Image – Pixabay
literally stories 
Brilliant picture of a mind backed into an inescapable corner. And it is so easy to wind up that way. Only one mistake can do it.
Inching toward a 100!
LA
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Hi Leila,
It is interesting to read your observation on a ‘mistake’.
Some would argue that consequence should always be considered. Others would say that intention is what determines.
Sometimes reasons don’t matter and it is only the outcome that needs to be looked at.
If you look far enough back into anything, there is fault but when should you stop looking?
In other words – Not much is black and white and the word ‘accident’ is seldom used correctly or it is relative to a specific within a whole spectrum of events.
And regarding the 100, I am limping there with only one leg, going uphill and an itch in my head!
Thanks as always – I appreciate the time and consideration you take with my stories!!
Hugh
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A regret that sucks the life out of you is understandably hell on Earth.
On a black serious note: Great Christmas Message.
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Perhaps I mean Christmas Time Warning. I know some Army Camps put a crashed vehicle at their gates to remind people of the consequences.
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Hi James,
Thanks as always, it is a pleasure to read your comments.
I wonder if you remember the image many years back in the Scottish Press of the dead girl doubled up on the floor after she had OD’d??
There was a guy I worked with in one of the hostels who wanted to put up a few copies of this image in the common rooms. He was told in no uncertain terms by management that this was so inappropriate. Every other worker expressed their beliefs that this was actually very appropriate.
I do think for something to deter, you need time to think on it. If you won’t consider, you will do what you want (Or in your mind, need)
All the very best my friend.
Hugh
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“I’m toasting you with the whiskey that killed you.” That says it all. This won’t end well. “Christmas Time Warning, for sure, written from inside the mind of the perpetrator. Dialogue very real and clear. He’s conscious of what he has done, and now he will attempt to drink himself into unconsciousness with a substance that increases both depression and impulsiveness.
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Hi Harrison,
Thanks so much for the comments.
I appreciate you picking out that line as it is the crux of the story and also of your observation.
Excess is only two yards to get to the top of the hill and then a drop of a thousand before you hit the bottom.
It is a pleasure to read your comments my friend!
Hugh
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