Karl (louderback) wrote,

Prose: She’s Dead

Nothing brings you back to living in a fairy tale like a good hard does of reality.
She's dead.
My wife, my redhead. My son, my beautiful boy. My father, the rock of my faith. All dead.
My job didn't last long. I didn't want to do it anymore. They took the car, they took the house. They wouldn't pay me anymore. They there's something wrong with my mind.
She's dead.
The mission was cool and all and I didn't mind sleeping there much. It was kinda dirty.
She's dead. They're dead.
I left the mission when they kept stealing my clothes while I slept. It is actually safer down by the park. Not in the park, but outside it. Usually there's a store somewheres with a big dumpster. Just push it out a little and you can sleep behind.
She's dead.
I don't feel like walking all the way to the park every night. I like the street right here downtown. I can find a door somewhere that is open or a place out of the cold. I usually get better food here too. People give you a lot. I tell them about her a lot.
She's dead.
After a while They stop looking at you. I'm pretty dirty I guess. I notice that little kids avoid me now, even the little high school types. I try to do what I can. I sleep inside most of the time now. There's a telephone building that is unlocked. It hums all night. She used to hum while she worked.
She's dead.
I'm usually hungry now. I don't move around much. People won't talk to me anymore. They don't even listen. I try to tell them something, so they'll help. So they know.
She's dead.
I don't try to talk to them any more. They don't care. Nobody cares. They should. I think they should. I need to tell them - about . . . Her.
I need to do something. I don't remember what. There's something I have to remember. It is about - them. Them . . .
I have to go somewhere. Where do I need to go? Nobody will tell me. I need to get to . . . Where, no, I mean who? I'm not sure. I need. I remember. No. I don't remember. I . . . I. You. I don't know . . .
I don't care . . .
I don't care . . .

X-posted to louderprose

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