The Destructors



She cries with her face turned towards a slither of golden sun while passing invisibly as I sit alone in the spare bedroom drinking wine unable to write. Leaning back in my chair, I want to set the world on fire with delirious words, yet the words don’t come, so I just sit there getting drunk and looking out the window at nothing in particular. Struggling to breathe, she stifles her despair and walks the streets without taking notice of those around her. Sunday is limbo day, and even though our paths don’t cross, we share the same pain. Different reasons maybe, but pain is pain, and as the day wears on, we wish only for the end. Taking a shower, I attempt to masturbate, but there’s no passion, only indifference. I shave and brush my teeth. Drying myself off, more wine is consumed as she sits herself down in a local park. Years before, they found the body of a foreign exchange student beneath a withered tree just yards from where she rests. The unfortunate had been raped and strangled to death. Time has forgotten her, just like it has so many others. We blossom for a while, and then everything fades. We should just admit defeat, yet we can’t bear the thought of becoming ordinary faces in another ordinary crowd. There’s someone for everyone, but there are some wounds that not even love can heal. They run deeper than we dare imagine, and as the words continue to escape me, the shadows grow long, and my bones ache for something with no name. Smoking her cigarettes, she’s soaked by the rain. It drenches her clothes and gets beneath her skin, but she’s numb to everything. Flicking through the pages of a book she stole from a stranger’s bookshelf, last night’s mascara runs down her face and matches her sullen nature, but for once, she doesn’t care. Sat in silence, my fingers scuttle across the desk doing anything other than conjuring what I want them to. There used to be a time when these thoughts and feelings flowed like the wine I knock back, but doubt has got the better of me. Crippled by indecision, the bed welcomes my defeated body, and as sleep pulls me under, she walks back home to another night spent not knowing what it is she’s supposed to be doing with a life that was once so blessed.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

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31 replies »

  1. I always admire the ability to write detailed expressions of less perceived or acknowledged moments of life that make the reader take notice and identify enrich or enhance their relative experiences.
    So much we miss and I’ve noticed you give them a lovely raw stroke and texture

    • Thank you for your analysis. Your words are very kind. I like the less perceived moments; those tiny slices of life that so often go overlooked. That’s where real beauty is. So fleeting and tender, and impossibly raw.

  2. I once had a lover i remember that exact moment of turning my face crying to the wall whilst they wrote or masturbated and yes, such a terrible time you capture that agony you encapsulate ut in the mundanity and the minutia so bloody brilliantly

    • Thank you, C. It’s all in these moments, isn’t it? The memories of heartbreak, boredom; of making a mess of things and being left alone and neglected. Of causing pain when you never meant to, and of deliberately inflicting through self-disgust. It’s enough to make you want to cry, for both good and bad x

  3. For the sake of learning a style – are there any blogs that have influenced all of this? any blogs you try to emulate? Who else in the blogosphere writes these flash-fiction journal-entry blog posts? What blogs do you follow?
    My list of followed blogs is a pit of half-written coitus interruptus.

    • I feel that each and every blog offers me something different. Even those that offer content I’m not particularly keen on. I guess the trick is to react against everything. It’s all about cause and effect. Those I interact with most come from a similar background; we’re all looking for something but we’re not quite sure what that something is.

  4. “We blossom for a while, and then everything fades. We should just admit defeat, yet we can’t bear the thought of becoming ordinary faces in another ordinary crowd.”
    how lonely the world feels at times.

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