Death in Life

Hello, everyone. Today, I decided to do something a little different. I combined prose and poetry, but in a different way. Now, I have three stories with different story lines and also two different connecting poems. Weird, I know. I like weird and creepy though ahaha. Anyway, the poems are fixed in-between the stories. I hope you enjoy them.

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It was almost time. The boy sat on a small stool in front of the brick house, waiting. His eyes were bloodshot, sole proof of his torment. The last few days had been long and strange. He had neither eaten nor spoken, but had waited for the faintest light of dawn. Then he would carry the same stool and sit at the same spot. Day after day, this was his ritual.

He was a beautiful child, but the pain he felt cast a bleak shadow over his features. His large brown eyes were now sunken and gone was the smoothness of his skin. His head was a tad bigger than what for normal for his twelve year old frame.

He wasn't always like this. The spell usually lasted for a couple of days and then he would return to his normal self. But these days, that journey back was becoming more and more difficult. There were days when he had to fight with himself, to not show that he was hurting, because the people he cared about the most, had refused to accept it. And now he was beginning to lose his mind.

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INTERLUDE

Have you ever thought about the quickest way to die?
Do you ever wonder how it'd be like to die swiftly, without pain?
No, not when you're old and grey
And someone you love is holding your hands
Telling you stories about your great-grand-children

I'm talking about here and now
Right this moment
Do you ever wonder?

What if I tell you that I want to tie stones to my feet
And fill my pockets with them too
Then climb into the little pool behind the house
Because I know it'd be easy
I can't swim after all

I wonder what your fingers do in the dark
All mine do is wipe the tears on my cheeks
And crack open the windows so my tired eyes could smile at the moon
All they do is refrigerate spoons
And put them under my eyes in the morning
To mask the circles that appeared from my lack of sleep
What if all I do is think about how to end it all
How to make the pain stop

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He sat at a quiet corner in the bedroom, like he always did, whenever she was in the house. His legs were stiff from sitting for too long, but he couldn’t afford to move, or he would attract attention to himself. He didn’t want that to happen. He knew he could not handle another pounding. He watched in silence as she got ready for her evening business. He was going to run away. He was going to park and run immediately she left. But he couldn’t. She had so much power over him. He pulled his knees towards his chest, buried his head between them and stifled a sob. His wife.

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Thanks for stopping by!
What are your thoughts?