Welcome To My World, Stranger
Home Sweet Home
School was alright for the rest of the day; I only got tripped twice. Plus, I slept through periods 5 and 6, but it’s OK, because we were just watching a video called:
Make Poverty History.
So I couldn’t’ve missed much. Although I did drool an awful lot on my work book, so that couldn’t have been good…
Now, I think I’ve mentioned my parents; Rhiannon and Jack?
Yes; them. They’re usually the worst part of my day. I get home and it’s always… well:
I shuffle down Main Street, stopping every five minutes to stare at everything.
Mostly the kids and their parents.
As I’m passing a small kid and his Mum, I hear a snippet of their conversation:
“Mummy, when we get home, can we play that game that we played yesterday?”
“Yes, Timmy, of course we can.”
“Mummy?”
“Mmmm?”
“I love you all the way to the moon and back.”
“Me too, darling, me too.”
My eyes actually welled up with tears.
That conversation is literally still ringing in my ears.
All the remaining happiness drains out through my feet into the footpath when I come to a stop outside the old, broken house that I know too well:
The Closest Thing to Hell…
I shamble up my cracked driveway, turn the doorknob and cross the threshold as quietly as I possibly can.
I squeeze my eyes tightly and close the door
ever
so
slowly.
I let out a sigh of relief and turn around soundlessly, coming face to face with a t-shirt which says:
Beer.
Helping people
have sex for
2,000 years.
Oh, shit.
Make Poverty History.
So I couldn’t’ve missed much. Although I did drool an awful lot on my work book, so that couldn’t have been good…
Now, I think I’ve mentioned my parents; Rhiannon and Jack?
Yes; them. They’re usually the worst part of my day. I get home and it’s always… well:
I shuffle down Main Street, stopping every five minutes to stare at everything.
Mostly the kids and their parents.
As I’m passing a small kid and his Mum, I hear a snippet of their conversation:
“Mummy, when we get home, can we play that game that we played yesterday?”
“Yes, Timmy, of course we can.”
“Mummy?”
“Mmmm?”
“I love you all the way to the moon and back.”
“Me too, darling, me too.”
My eyes actually welled up with tears.
That conversation is literally still ringing in my ears.
All the remaining happiness drains out through my feet into the footpath when I come to a stop outside the old, broken house that I know too well:
The Closest Thing to Hell…
I shamble up my cracked driveway, turn the doorknob and cross the threshold as quietly as I possibly can.
I squeeze my eyes tightly and close the door
ever
so
slowly.
I let out a sigh of relief and turn around soundlessly, coming face to face with a t-shirt which says:
Beer.
Helping people
have sex for
2,000 years.
Oh, shit.