Raivh
Old dog
- Joined
- Jul 21, 2011
Blue and white lightning cracked through the clouds that concealed the moon and stars in the night sky, illuminating the earth and reflecting off puddles that pooled on the road. Thunder followed, growling menacingly at the town below, and ending in a series of loud booms that shook the foundation beneath homes and buildings. The howling of distressed dogs sounded in the night as sirens blared, emergency vehicles rushing to the scene of a suicide. A woman had been found lying cold and dead in a tub full of water. Her wrists were slit open and blue eyes stared vacantly at the open door, where her fiancé had walked in only minutes ago and frozen in place. Fear had consumed him first, and he’d shouted her name, shaken her to try and get her to wake from her eternal slumber. However, she was long gone, her heart and that of the child that had been growing within her for the past three months no longer beating.
Sitting on the couch in his living room, tufts of his short-cropped brown hair clasped between his fingers, knuckles blanched, he stared down at the floor. The police and emergency crew were kind to him and didn’t ask any questions about his deceased fiancée, or why she might have killed herself. Later, it the reason would be deemed psychosis, manic depression. Her mind, despite her body’s preparedness, hadn’t been ready for a child, but he’d insisted she keep their baby, that he would help her care for it. She’d seemed perfectly fine, happy about his reassurance when she’d come to him sobbing and scared of rejection, of what would happen to her.
“Brad,” his mother said quietly, then a bit louder, firming her tone to get his attention. “Bradley. Are you okay, son?” Taking a deep breath, Brad sat up and settled back against the couch. He shook his head, letting her know that he was just the opposite. There were no tears in his grey eyes, though both were red, as though he had been crying when he hadn’t been able to shed a single, salty drop for his dead fiancée.
“No, mom,” he breathed, closing his eyes. “But I’m very tired.” Sitting in the silence of the house, long after everyone but his mother and father had gone, the man finally got to his feet. “You dad go ahead and head home. It’s late, and I’m going to bed.” Kissing his mother on the cheek, he drifted off down the hall and pulled the bedroom door shut behind him.
With a heavy sigh, he sank down onto the end of the bed and kicked his shoes off. His eyes were glued to the window across the room, staring at the drops of rain that ran in rivulets down the pane. For a long moment, he sat like that, unblinking, before he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. A picture of his fiancée and himself set on the nightstand, and when he lay back on the comforter, he furrowed his brow, looking over her face. She was so beautiful, her blonde hair and blue eyes shining brightly, laughing in the picture because of something he’d said a moment before the photo had been snapped. Reaching out, he turned the picture around and laid it flat so that the image was facing the wooden surface, closed his eyes, and slipped into a restless slumber.
Sitting on the couch in his living room, tufts of his short-cropped brown hair clasped between his fingers, knuckles blanched, he stared down at the floor. The police and emergency crew were kind to him and didn’t ask any questions about his deceased fiancée, or why she might have killed herself. Later, it the reason would be deemed psychosis, manic depression. Her mind, despite her body’s preparedness, hadn’t been ready for a child, but he’d insisted she keep their baby, that he would help her care for it. She’d seemed perfectly fine, happy about his reassurance when she’d come to him sobbing and scared of rejection, of what would happen to her.
“Brad,” his mother said quietly, then a bit louder, firming her tone to get his attention. “Bradley. Are you okay, son?” Taking a deep breath, Brad sat up and settled back against the couch. He shook his head, letting her know that he was just the opposite. There were no tears in his grey eyes, though both were red, as though he had been crying when he hadn’t been able to shed a single, salty drop for his dead fiancée.
“No, mom,” he breathed, closing his eyes. “But I’m very tired.” Sitting in the silence of the house, long after everyone but his mother and father had gone, the man finally got to his feet. “You dad go ahead and head home. It’s late, and I’m going to bed.” Kissing his mother on the cheek, he drifted off down the hall and pulled the bedroom door shut behind him.
With a heavy sigh, he sank down onto the end of the bed and kicked his shoes off. His eyes were glued to the window across the room, staring at the drops of rain that ran in rivulets down the pane. For a long moment, he sat like that, unblinking, before he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. A picture of his fiancée and himself set on the nightstand, and when he lay back on the comforter, he furrowed his brow, looking over her face. She was so beautiful, her blonde hair and blue eyes shining brightly, laughing in the picture because of something he’d said a moment before the photo had been snapped. Reaching out, he turned the picture around and laid it flat so that the image was facing the wooden surface, closed his eyes, and slipped into a restless slumber.