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being2nosey

being2nosey

10/7/2009 4:53:27 AM
It was much like any other day. Of course, that's how these things come about. It's always the monotonous details that make the difference. Another morning sick from drowning out the screams of the past; another step towards the future I was aware of, yet understandably uncomfortable with. You could say I'd dreamed of this, if you would call it a dream. The pessimist would call it a nightmare, but my life has always called for me to think of the positive, for anything else would render me emotionally and physically useless. In my mind, this denial of sorts was the best approach. The morning began with the daily note that I coaxed into my daughter's backpack. It was a custom of ours. I only wished that she understood their truth, and that somehow this wouldn't be the last. She is beautiful. She turned 11 the following winter, and part of me heavily regretted that I wouldn't be there for the party. She had but two things in common with her mother- her deep auburn hair, and her erratic mood swings. I never was much on religion, never had the time for it. When I met Mary, she was living with her family who were hard-pressed to convert me. It never bothered me because it never seemed to bother her. She was always waiting outside, smile intact, change of clothes hidden in her purse. We never went anywhere important; how could someone without a mode of transportation? Our time usually consisted of simple laughs and people watching. She insisted that observing others revealed to us our own faults. I just liked hearing her get all philosophical. It was my own reminder that she could do so much better than me. It was autumn then, just a few months after we'd discovered that we were going to have a child. Shock, glee, and creeping uncertainty all flooded my mind. This was natural, we were told. Her parents were strangely understanding. I think they realized how much I desired to care for her and our child, no matter how incapable I might be. I digress. I exited my home, or at least the building that served as a home. My tin heaven, I call it. Mary preferred I refer to it this way. Said something about bright thoughts equaling a bright day. My bank account disagreed, but therein lies the rest of my story. This had been my backup plan since Paula's birth. I never truly considered it an option until this point. Our family needed greatly. Most of all, they needed me in the greatest and least way possible. Unknowingly, they counted on me, and I could not disappoint them. They would know me as a traitor. I had splurged our life's savings on a drunken night to the local casino. Gotten in deep with the sharks, or so they'd hear. They'd sent some goons out to snag me before I could utter a moment's protest. My family would know no different. The local news covered it as a missing person's case at first, of course. I watched the coverage as much as I was emotionally able. It was fourteen days before I was labeled deceased. I cringed in anxiety until I heard confirmation of their financial aid. Mary had inhuman skills with money; the fact that we had a warm meal for every night of the past eleven years was proof enough to that end. She would be wise with what she was given. I was sure of it. It was then that I disappeared. I had sat in the shadows awaiting my family's security, and felt truly justified in my actions. I had provided for them. ---------------------------------------------------- My life has consisted of very little since it perpetually ended. I find myself smiling more often in old age. Mary would have it this way. I cannot allow myself to regret anything I've done. This....was a good thing. [quote][b]I spent about the last hour on this. I honestly just started typing. The final result changed about ten times. I was bored. It's probably littered with grammatical errors and plot holes, but I had fun writing it. I am prepared for all the ignorant responses; hopefully, someone will read it and get some pleasure out of it. Thanks a lot doods.[/b][/quote] [Edited on 10.07.2009 11:25 AM PDT]

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