Hard to Say
Lacrymosa
Sun filters through the slatted blinds as he lay, curled on his oversized bed. Currently asleep, but not for long. In precisely one minute, the shrill scream of the alarm will disturb his rest, leaving him with a scanty two hours sleep, and one more to be awake and ready for a day at work.
Sun floods the room as you drown
He will trail through this day as per usual, barely dragging his tired self through, wishing he were dead; or so he assumes. Never does the thought cross his mind that this one day may be different. Why would it be, he thinks. Without her, it’s all the same. Meaningless.
Bert’s POV
It took a few seconds for the annoying screech of my enemy filling my ears to register, my brain slow and tired, having only received an inadequate two hours of unconciousness; the rest of the night spend on thoughts, feelings, tears and songs. My enemy: my alarm clock; continued to pierce the air with its irritating call, demanding me to awaken.
I sighed, sitting up. Another day; another struggle.
‘Just five more minutes,’ I thought, throwing my alarm to hit the opposite wall, where it cracked and bounced to the floor. ‘Five more minutes.’
I sank back into my soft duckfeather pillows, my smooth satin sheets and comfortable double bed, red and black; the colour scheme of her choosing; so warm, so inviting. It wasn’t long before the waves of slumber carried me off again.
--
Bursting through the door, laughing loudly and laden with groceries, I stumble through the apartment and dump my shopping on the breakfast bar in the kitchen, squinting at the expensive lighting. I’d just seen the funniest sight; a group of ducklings and their mother had decided to take a break- midway across a road, causing a huge traffic jam.
Noticing the apartment was strangely quiet, I wander around, looking in the various rooms for her. Calling out her name, like the cry of a bird. No answer. I decide that she is asleep; being eight months in to the pregnancy, she must be tired. I decide not to disturb her; she needs her rest. It must be exhausting, which is why I do as much as I can to help her; I learned to cook, clean and work the washing machine. I do the shopping with no grudge nor grumble, however much I hate to shop for groceries.
She means the world to me. I can safely say that I love her.
After hours of waiting for my lover to emerge from the bedroom. I grow tired of the constant droning of the television. I miss her. I decide she must have had enough rest to last her for a couple of hours, at least, so we can spend time together.
I walk into the bedroom, to confirm that she is indeed unconscious on the bed.
‘Kate, baby?’ I touch her arm. It’s colder than usual, but maybe that’s just me. ‘Kate, Wake up, baby.
No answer.
‘Kaaaaate! Wakey wakey, darling! I smooth her hair.
No reply.
‘Oi! Wake up!’ I call into her ear, and giggle. I wait.
No reply.
‘Kate?’
‘Kate! I shake her arm. It’s definitely colder than usual. I get scared.
‘Kate, honey, sugar, babe, wake up!’ Her arm is abnormally cold.
‘Please, honey, wake up, you’re scaring me, babe’ I plead.
I clutch at her, shaking her body violently. She’s freezing and limp. I panic.
‘Oh my god! Oh my god, what’s wrong?’ I shriek.
And then I see it. Pulling back the covers, I spy not one, not two, but three empty pill bottles. I read the label.
Anti – depressant
--
I woke up, gasping, my sheets drenched in what I hoped was sweat. That dream. That flashback. That nightmare. Again and again, night after night; it was the same one.
I sniffed; not realising until now that I was crying. Bitter trail down my complexion, obscuring my features. Tears. Strange things, tears.
Finding her dead.
The worst thing is knowing I could have prevented her death if I’d decided to be selfish and go wake her up instead of wait.
Sun floods the room as you drown
He will trail through this day as per usual, barely dragging his tired self through, wishing he were dead; or so he assumes. Never does the thought cross his mind that this one day may be different. Why would it be, he thinks. Without her, it’s all the same. Meaningless.
Bert’s POV
It took a few seconds for the annoying screech of my enemy filling my ears to register, my brain slow and tired, having only received an inadequate two hours of unconciousness; the rest of the night spend on thoughts, feelings, tears and songs. My enemy: my alarm clock; continued to pierce the air with its irritating call, demanding me to awaken.
I sighed, sitting up. Another day; another struggle.
‘Just five more minutes,’ I thought, throwing my alarm to hit the opposite wall, where it cracked and bounced to the floor. ‘Five more minutes.’
I sank back into my soft duckfeather pillows, my smooth satin sheets and comfortable double bed, red and black; the colour scheme of her choosing; so warm, so inviting. It wasn’t long before the waves of slumber carried me off again.
--
Bursting through the door, laughing loudly and laden with groceries, I stumble through the apartment and dump my shopping on the breakfast bar in the kitchen, squinting at the expensive lighting. I’d just seen the funniest sight; a group of ducklings and their mother had decided to take a break- midway across a road, causing a huge traffic jam.
Noticing the apartment was strangely quiet, I wander around, looking in the various rooms for her. Calling out her name, like the cry of a bird. No answer. I decide that she is asleep; being eight months in to the pregnancy, she must be tired. I decide not to disturb her; she needs her rest. It must be exhausting, which is why I do as much as I can to help her; I learned to cook, clean and work the washing machine. I do the shopping with no grudge nor grumble, however much I hate to shop for groceries.
She means the world to me. I can safely say that I love her.
After hours of waiting for my lover to emerge from the bedroom. I grow tired of the constant droning of the television. I miss her. I decide she must have had enough rest to last her for a couple of hours, at least, so we can spend time together.
I walk into the bedroom, to confirm that she is indeed unconscious on the bed.
‘Kate, baby?’ I touch her arm. It’s colder than usual, but maybe that’s just me. ‘Kate, Wake up, baby.
No answer.
‘Kaaaaate! Wakey wakey, darling! I smooth her hair.
No reply.
‘Oi! Wake up!’ I call into her ear, and giggle. I wait.
No reply.
‘Kate?’
‘Kate! I shake her arm. It’s definitely colder than usual. I get scared.
‘Kate, honey, sugar, babe, wake up!’ Her arm is abnormally cold.
‘Please, honey, wake up, you’re scaring me, babe’ I plead.
I clutch at her, shaking her body violently. She’s freezing and limp. I panic.
‘Oh my god! Oh my god, what’s wrong?’ I shriek.
And then I see it. Pulling back the covers, I spy not one, not two, but three empty pill bottles. I read the label.
Anti – depressant
--
I woke up, gasping, my sheets drenched in what I hoped was sweat. That dream. That flashback. That nightmare. Again and again, night after night; it was the same one.
I sniffed; not realising until now that I was crying. Bitter trail down my complexion, obscuring my features. Tears. Strange things, tears.
Finding her dead.
The worst thing is knowing I could have prevented her death if I’d decided to be selfish and go wake her up instead of wait.