the weariness
By benafim
The Weariness Uphill she slowly walked carrying plastic bags full of food stuff and beer. The middle-aged and tired housewife paused, looked up at the tall block of flats, she lived on the fourth floor and hoped that the lift worked to day. The beer was for her husband who, since he lost his job at the factory never left the house, but spent his days endlessly watching T.V. in life denying silence. She sighed and wished things could be the way they used to when he was a proud man who took her out twice a week to the pub and sometimes even to a restaurant for a meal. When she came in, he wasn’t sat in his chair, the bathroom door was ajar she looked in, he sat in the tub blood still dripped from his wrists. Dark brown eyes pleading for her understanding. She closed the door walked into the kitchen and made herself a nice cup of tea. Written December 14th, 2001 © on Dec 14 2001 10:47 AM PST 0 • 10
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"The Weariness ..."