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Angela Watt, 03 Aug '12

“What’s for tea then?” she says chirpily and full of expectation. She’s only been inside the house for about five minutes and already she’s on at me.

“No idea,” I say.

“But we agreed this morning before I left for work that you’d buy stuff for dinner tonight,” she says.

“Did we?” I say. I don’t look at her face. I continue to look at the screen of the TV. I couldn’t tell you what’s on, in much the same way that I couldn’t tell you what’s been on today, despite the fact that I’ve sat on the sofa in front of it all day. I don't remember the discussion about dinner either, but then it all seems the same, each day the same, each hour the same, each minute the same. The same, more and more of the same.

She moves in between the screen and me. She’s got that despairing look in her eyes and she’s trying not to put her hands on her hips and take the high ground. There was a time when she’d arrive home from work pleased to see me. She’d kiss me on the cheek, ask about my day, tell me tales of her co-workers and who she’d helped fix. It was nice in many ways. I knew it wouldn’t last though. I knew that eventually I’d wear her down. After that came the angry stage. She’d arrive home, demand answers, scream at me seeming to believe that the loudness of her voice would surely provoke action in me. Wrong – oh so wrong. Once she'd finally realised this was not going to make a difference, she'd stopped. It took a long time though. Then we moved into the questioning stage – “Is there anything I can do? What can we do to make things better? Have you seen anyone about getting help?”

And then inevitably here we were at this next phase. The phase where she wonders what the hell she’s doing with me, what’s the point of sticking around, why is she bothering any more? I wonder how long this phase will last and what will come next, although frankly I don’t really care. In many ways, I’m surprised she’s still here. She’s stayed longer than I expected. I guess she thought she could fix me. Once upon a time I hoped that she could too.

“So what are we going to have for dinner?” she asks.

I shrug my shoulders and close my eyes. I hear her walk away, grab her keys and leave the house. I wonder if she’s gone for fish and chips or whether I'll ever see her again.

I pull the dark blanket of despair tightly around my shoulders and once again surrender.

Comments · 3

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  • Angela Watt said...

    Here's my second Burrst. Not sure what prompted it but just decided to go with it and put it out there anyway. As always I'll be grateful for your comments.

    • Posted 8 years ago
  • Jessica Cambrook said...

    This was wonderfully dark. I liked how neither of them have names and talk about normal things like what they're having for dinner. The stages of his depression are also realistic, he sounds like he's been through failed relationships before because of it. Even though he is numb, uncaring and at times quite heartless, you can't help but feel sorry for them both. I really enjoyed reading this, it was really engaging and the ending left it open for interpretation. Great :D

    • Posted 8 years ago
  • Angela Watt said...

    Thanks for your comments @Jessica Cambrook and @Liam Volk. I really appreciate you posting and your feedback :-) @Jessica Cambrook I like to write about people trying to live normal and routine lives and doing the best they can do but not always succeeding so glad that came through. @Liam Volk sorry to depress you on a Friday and thanks for the follow.

    • Posted 8 years ago