Shut Up
Revenge on a noisy neighbour
It’s so cold, this autumn that never ends…and so much colder the promise of whatever comes…
Trickles of rain run the same routes across the window panes, ticking against the glass as if thousands of crows that want in; and the pecks grow louder and my arms raise to encompass my shoulders in a hug, the only security I can afford.
Joe kicked me out last week. The job just…wasn’t for me; my hand instinctually reaches for glass whenever a monkey wants to befrienden me, but fails to understand where my head is. And last week one monkey cost me my job that, though terribly paid, was the only money my house ate.
The dirt that coats every part of my existence is such an unfriendly reminder of my failure. Failure as everything that I am expected to excell in. And that psychopath always makes sure to remind me of it.
Too bad I only love psychopaths…
My phone goes off in that melody that repeats the same word, past. The past I’m hiding from, right next the window panes.
The number, unknown; the song, too damn loud and promising to continue.
So I pick up, even though something in me cringes at the idea of a monkey being the mastermind behind this.
“Valerie?”
Oh…that damn voice. It had been such a long time and I have been so preoccupied with concealing my identity underneath piles of unwashed fragments of my existence that I had all but lost my memories of her. The girl that took away my two shields. The famished bitch that just couldn’t choose between victims…
And I answer a small “Yeah”; where has my confident voice hidden, that voice that made the eardrum retch and draw back? Does the tiny dog intimidate me?
“Valerie, Uri is…he’s in the hospital. I’m sorry for calling, but…he has no one but me beside him”
My lips fall into a scowl that hates more than the eyes could ever.
“So, what? You want me to come and see him die? Just like that bastard? Fuck off!”
And I hang up,
isolate myself from that life that doesn’t appease me. Death is so much better, as a rock bottom that promises you you won’t fall any more.
The dirt in the room moves just slightly; my boyfriend’s eyes scan the room for his forgotten pet. That would be me…
I have secluded myself from sight, wrapped in wood and metal and fabric so that nothing of the dirt that breaths and consumes beyond this point would reach me. And my scumbag boyfriend fits so perfectly with all the filth. With the eyes of a snake, he watches the hunting grounds, hunting-hunting for my image to molest.
But I’m merged with the wood and the metal and the fabric near the chilly window panes. Nothing but me knows I still live.
He digs his tobacco-eaten digits in his back pocket and pulls out his phone, with which he cheated on me.
And I close my eyes, betrayed only slightly by that betrayal that has been going on ever since the douche found out I have no eyes on the back of my head; apparently, dudes dig that decoration.
The thought of dealing with the mutt was unappetizing enough, but…
What do I have in this infested place that makes me refuse leaving it?
A rotting existence…
Wouldn’t pain mean I’d return to life?
From a cold that sheltered me from the living, I rise to leave; the eyes that take and never offer look at me with cautious love.
“Oh…Val, girl, where the heck did you hide? Geez, I guess you won this time. Next time I’ll find you for su-”
“Shut up, Jim. I’m leaving”, I say, battling the leather of a jacket that reminds me of life.
The eyes stay, unwavering, testing, then leave.
“Are you coming back?”
I smile.
I guess he’s not that dumb, the bastard.
And then I leave, taking my shell to go and fill it with life. A painful life that’s…not much better than being dead…
Trickles of rain run the same routes across the window panes, ticking against the glass as if thousands of crows that want in; and the pecks grow louder and my arms raise to encompass my shoulders in a hug, the only security I can afford.
Joe kicked me out last week. The job just…wasn’t for me; my hand instinctually reaches for glass whenever a monkey wants to befrienden me, but fails to understand where my head is. And last week one monkey cost me my job that, though terribly paid, was the only money my house ate.
The dirt that coats every part of my existence is such an unfriendly reminder of my failure. Failure as everything that I am expected to excell in. And that psychopath always makes sure to remind me of it.
Too bad I only love psychopaths…
My phone goes off in that melody that repeats the same word, past. The past I’m hiding from, right next the window panes.
The number, unknown; the song, too damn loud and promising to continue.
So I pick up, even though something in me cringes at the idea of a monkey being the mastermind behind this.
“Valerie?”
Oh…that damn voice. It had been such a long time and I have been so preoccupied with concealing my identity underneath piles of unwashed fragments of my existence that I had all but lost my memories of her. The girl that took away my two shields. The famished bitch that just couldn’t choose between victims…
And I answer a small “Yeah”; where has my confident voice hidden, that voice that made the eardrum retch and draw back? Does the tiny dog intimidate me?
“Valerie, Uri is…he’s in the hospital. I’m sorry for calling, but…he has no one but me beside him”
My lips fall into a scowl that hates more than the eyes could ever.
“So, what? You want me to come and see him die? Just like that bastard? Fuck off!”
And I hang up,
isolate myself from that life that doesn’t appease me. Death is so much better, as a rock bottom that promises you you won’t fall any more.
The dirt in the room moves just slightly; my boyfriend’s eyes scan the room for his forgotten pet. That would be me…
I have secluded myself from sight, wrapped in wood and metal and fabric so that nothing of the dirt that breaths and consumes beyond this point would reach me. And my scumbag boyfriend fits so perfectly with all the filth. With the eyes of a snake, he watches the hunting grounds, hunting-hunting for my image to molest.
But I’m merged with the wood and the metal and the fabric near the chilly window panes. Nothing but me knows I still live.
He digs his tobacco-eaten digits in his back pocket and pulls out his phone, with which he cheated on me.
And I close my eyes, betrayed only slightly by that betrayal that has been going on ever since the douche found out I have no eyes on the back of my head; apparently, dudes dig that decoration.
The thought of dealing with the mutt was unappetizing enough, but…
What do I have in this infested place that makes me refuse leaving it?
A rotting existence…
Wouldn’t pain mean I’d return to life?
From a cold that sheltered me from the living, I rise to leave; the eyes that take and never offer look at me with cautious love.
“Oh…Val, girl, where the heck did you hide? Geez, I guess you won this time. Next time I’ll find you for su-”
“Shut up, Jim. I’m leaving”, I say, battling the leather of a jacket that reminds me of life.
The eyes stay, unwavering, testing, then leave.
“Are you coming back?”
I smile.
I guess he’s not that dumb, the bastard.
And then I leave, taking my shell to go and fill it with life. A painful life that’s…not much better than being dead…