fragments, Non classé, prose, writing


She came home at 6.30, just like the other days.
She put the key in and opened the door, just like the other days. But something was different. He was usually there watching TV, reading a book or something along those lines; he should be, but he wasn’t. She didn’t say a word as she took her shoes off, and got into the living room. There wasn’t any noise. So different.
She stayed there for a second and wondered if that was life without him, without his presence. Silence? Nothingness? Someone somewhere cleared their throat and it drew her out of her reverie. Well, maybe he was here, she thought. Just not where he usually is, not like the other days.
She came into the room, blinds shut and windows closed, an eerie sense of strangeness somehow. She didn’t find him laying on the bed, reading a book. She loved when he’d do that; she’d just take a layer off and curl up next to him, and he’d ask, how’d your day go? There was none of that now. He was sitting on the ground, back against the wall. A posture she had never seen before; a posture she couldn’t read nor understand. She went near him but he didn’t move. Is he okay? she thought. Perhaps not.
She quickly realised the room smelled like alcohol. Wine most certainly. He only drank wine these days. But he wouldn’t drink wine at this hour, that’s not how the usual goes. He mostly is a usual type of guy. As he was sitting there, she stood not knowing what to do or say except, darling? To which he didn’t answer. A bottle of wine sitting next to him caught her eye and she felt guilty. But why, she thought. I don’t even know why. He raised his head and stared straight ahead, as if trying to break the wall with his eyes. Or trying to escape. I failed, he said.
She had come home to her man, like the other days. But this day wasn’t just the usual. The man she used to come home to, now felt he was less than one. A failure, a loser, a soon-to-be-bum. There wasn’t much to say anyway, he said and she thought. She knew why he’d say that, and although always being supportive, she knew this particular day was coming. Sooner or later. He wept, or so she thought. And she felt pity. But not in the way you would when you come across a three-legged dog on the street. I have nothing left anymore he said, while she was again the victim of another  whiplash of guilt. I’m done.
She sat down, next to him, silently. They remained, next to each other for the time being, not really knowing when they would eventually be together. She was there, and yet she had left her home at 7.


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