They watched us drowning and couldn't find it in their hearts to throw even the smallest of life preservers our way. People I know. People I loved and respected. Good, loving, Christian people. People who said they'd be there for me always. But no one was there, and my heart hardened a little bit more.
"BEEEP! BEEEP! BEEEP!" The alarm screamed through the silence of the dark room. Audrina had already been awake though. Laying there under the warmth of their blanket, Aaron's arm lazily draped across her. It was cold, real cold, and...
Entwined in an entrapment of gloom, depression sinks its sharp claws into Audrina as she slowly sips her hot cup of coffee and stares out of the dining room window. The rain pattered on the window before her like the troubles beat upon her very soul.
"I'm hungry," squealed her three year old grand daughter. A chorus of echoes from her five year old daughter and two year old grand son followed. Audrina rubbed her bleary eyes, as she creaked off of the hard carpeted floor.
Out of my dining room window sits 'our field'. We call it our field when we tell the kids, "look at the deer in our field," or "check out those turkey in our field." It is not really our field though, but our neighbors. I'm sure they don't mind our possessive admiration of their field though.
A cough tickles in her throat as she sips her warm coffee in a desperate attempt to make the nagging cough disappear. Lighting a cigarette in hopes that it will miraculously cure her of this ailment too, as it lies to her about curing all the others. Gagging, it is quickly stubbed out. Desperate for nicotine, but unable to fill her desire for it, she turns her attention to the page set before her.
I struggle to write lately. Every morning I sit down and type and type and type. Before it gets to the end though, I crumple it up and toss it in the drafts folder. The problem is, everything just seems so whiny, bitchy, moany. Who wants to listen to a bunch of whiny, bitchy, moany talk?
In honor of a man who’s gone, but far from forgotten. In celebration of the fact that I can once again love fall, just as I love my dad, for all that they really are… a thing of insurmountable beauty.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Autumn Leaves.”
Autumn is a time of beautiful colors. We watch the changing leaves shift us into another season. We gather the ones that have fallen in to large piles to jump in. We hear them crunch beneath our feet as we walk to our cars, schools, and jobs.
We dig out our beloved hoodies. Sit around campfires with our friends. Soak in the gorgeous sunsets glittering across the colorful trees . For most, Fall is but another season to love and cherish.
I, on the other hand, approach Fall as lovingly as the Grinch approaches Christmas. Fall is the signal of impending doom. There is nothing beautiful about Fall. It is about as beautiful as the Black Plague, or the onslaught of Ebola. Fall, is the symbolic representation of death. The entire world is dying around us, and yet, everyone smiles…
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It's a beautiful morning. Beautiful, because I got to sleep in an entire two hours! Beautiful, because the sun slowly rises on the other side of the field glazing the world in a gorgeous orange glow, lighting aflame the warm colors of the trees around me. Beautiful, because I have a steaming cup of fresh … Continue reading The Rest of the Story
A twisted tale of twirling thoughts that are tumbling out of my mind.