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I don't think you can hear me old man, but it doesn't matter, really. I can't spend my time with such thoughts. Time is money after all, that's what you used to tell me, remember? Remember when you gave me that little gold watch? I don't think so. Remember when you used to laugh so hard at Charlie Chaplin on TV that you had tears in your eyes? «Funny little jew» you'd call him. But those were the good days. The days when the monkey on your back hadn't gotten too heavy for you, when the chip on your shoulder hadn't pulled you under completely.

But the bad days came. And when they came, they hit us as hard as you used to hit mom. While she was buried I remember an old photography of you and her, you had an arm around her and I realized then all you had taken away from her. The gleam in her eyes that had slowly gone out with the years. Her smile you had sworn so many times «to wipe from her face». The way she'd sing and dance across the room with an invisible stranger.
In the end you had made her a lifeless robot, draining all spirit and life from her.

I'll let you in on something I'm sure must have tortured you for a long time now. Why didn't she try to fight back when you'd scream and spit at her, why didn't she slap you anymore when you'd hurt her, just like she had in the beginning? I can tell you that, now it doesn't matter anymore: She wouldn't play your game.

You were just waiting for her to hit you back, you needed her to try and scratch your eyes out, for at that moment you'd have had a reason to make her body crash even harder on the wooden ceiling.  But she knew better than playing this game with you. Even more: her deepest satisfaction, up until the moment she died, was to know she could get under the skin.

To know that you couldn't understand why she wouldn't just answer violence with violence, that somehow you still had some power over him he could never get over. When she'd be just like a puppet in your hands I'm sure it must have freaked you out, didn't it? But eventually when you'd had enough you just pushed her. I wonder, what did you think about when you were atop the stairs and you looked at her dead body?

You remember how at her funeral you put your hand on my shoulder and told me «life's frail son, get over it» and you spat on the ground. Your friends you had invited, all dressed in black, I could see them snicker like deranged hyennas in black

That was the moment I left you, I left this little shitty town of yours so I wouldn't become just like you. But though I don't have a father anymore I'm still your son. That's why I carry a picture of you and mom in my bag. So that when my girl sees what mum saw in your eyes, I can pull it out and remember who not to become.

And now you're lying in your bed, and a few tubes are the only things that keep you alive. You know what your good buddy frankie told me just a while ago? «don't worry, son, he'll make it, he's tougher than the rest» Isn't that funny?

I look at you and I remember how mum looked at me when you used to drag her up the stairs by her hair and her head hit each stair. And I try to come up with a reason not to pull the plug.
And the only reason I've been able to come up with is that I know you wouldn't have hesitated. So I sit here and look at you. But you were right, old man, time's frail. And I'm afraid it's time to stop your machine. Sooner or later. Couldn't take the risk you'd survive it, could I?
©2006-2009 =endless-one
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Submitted: August 1, 2006
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Author's Comments

this one came to me as I read a fantastic crime novel, especially one line. It just clicked and came pretty easily, which is rather scary considering the subject...
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ooooo
:O
interesting...
:D I like it, makes you feel.

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:work: And now for something completely different: :spotlight-left::bulletgreen:[link] :bulletred: [link]:spotlight-right:
:pointr:(click on the Watch This Movie Icon) :teevee:
I like this; very powerful. It's a tough subject matter, and I think you've done well with it. I just have a couple suggestions in terms of writing:

"When she was buried I remember an old photography of her and I realized all you had taken away from her."
It's unclear from the way you phrase this whether he's remembering the photograph while at his mother's funeral or looking at the photograph at her funeral and remembering both later. If the former, try changing to soemthing like "While she was being buried, I remembered..."; if the latter, try something like "While she was being buried, I looked at ..." Also, do you mean "photograph," not "photography"?

I absolutely love the second paragraph. Wonderful imagery. [You have what I assume is a typo on the word "lifeless."]

"To know that you couldn't understand why she wouldn't just answer violence with violence, that somehow you still had some power over him he could never get over."
I find this sentence very unclear -- I'm not sure who all the pronouns are referring to.

One practical/plot suggestion -- it's pretty clear that his father murdered his mother, yet there's absolutely no mention of police investigations or lack thereof. There are several options. First, the boy never told the police that he knows his mother was murdered, and there were no further investigations -- in which case I would imagine some amount of guilt on his part, or at least an attempt to excuse himself. Second, he told the police, but there wasn't enough evidence. Third, he told the police and his father did time -- not necessarily that much; it's absolutely sickening how little time men get for murdering their wives. But it needs to be addressed.

"Your friends you had invited, all dressed in black, I could see them snicker like deranged hyennas in black"
The second "in black" is unnecessary and repetitive; I think this would be a better sentence without it.

"So that when my girl sees what mum saw in your eyes, I can pull it out and remember who not to become."
I think this is a very powerful sentence, although I think you could make it a tiny bit clearer that you mean what I assume you mean, which is that he fears that his girlfriend will see the same look in his eyes that his mother saw in his father's.

The last paragraph is great.

Overall, nice job!

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Look, then, at how since the discovery of printing architecture has gradually dried up, atrophied, and been stripped bare.
omg :+favlove: I'm having my mother read this. It could have been about her parents, except the murder part. This could have been me - I mean to say, that I suffered emotional/mental abuse that would have taken the light out of my eyes over time as well. :S this is amazing - you IMAGERY!!!! :omg: :faint:

I'd like to see this expanded a bit, like, what was the monkey on his back? alcoholism?

Her smile you had sworn so many times «to wipe from her face». The way she'd sing and dance across the room with an invisible stranger.
In the end you had made her a lifeleses robot, draining all spirit and life from her.


THAT hit me hard. That could have been me. I was threatened like that, and my dad used to say that too, about the smile. I used to dance around a lot, and by the end of my marriage, not so much. but its back, now that I'm free.

I'm so impressed with this woman who wouldn't use violence back against her husband. That's commendable, and really like my grandmother.

"So that when my girl sees what mum saw in your eyes, I can pull it out and remember who not to become." - THAT is powerful.


I agree with the above commenter's critiques, tho, so like, clean that stuff up a little? this is an amazingly intense and well written piece. :hug: NICE job!

:heart:

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"I'm not gonna say anything inspirational; I'm just gonna fucking swear a lot." Billie Joe Armstrong
:clap: Most of the tweaks I would have suggested have already been addressed, so I'll leave you with a nicely done!! :aww: You know, it amazes me how well you write in English, considering it's not your first language. :hug:

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Founder of *ExiledPoetry - Staff in *The-Last-Stanza - Member of *Apophysis and ~TheWord

"Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see..."
The Beatles, "Strawberry Fields"
I always appreciate your comment sweetie :) :hug: actually I've been racking my brain to find a suitable monkey, I just feel alcohol isn't strong enough.... I've been thinking about a post-war trauma or something... or maybe a war injury he needed morphine to heal and didn't get off. What do you think? Anyway, I'm glad you can dance :hug:

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The rose is the key....There are other worlds
thanks, but I have much to improve yet, it's a long way :) :bite:

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The rose is the key....There are other worlds
Oh, but you'll get it. :D :biteback:

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Founder of *ExiledPoetry - Staff in *The-Last-Stanza - Member of *Apophysis and ~TheWord

"Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see..."
The Beatles, "Strawberry Fields"
wow, I like your idea of like, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or something from war, but make it something that is totally - or at least partly - his own fault, because he's such a bastard, and I don't think you want your readers feeling bad for him. Bipolar and won't take meds? I dunno. I think the war thing is easiest to explain tho. hmm. :sherlock: I'm excited to see what you do to this piece! :excited:

:heart:

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"I'm not gonna say anything inspirational; I'm just gonna fucking swear a lot." Billie Joe Armstrong
that's the very problem with traumas, people tend to sympathize with a guy like that and I absolutely don't want that. Maybe he pretends to have some fake injury gets on morphine and can't get away from it or doesn't want to. Or if he's alcoholic he might have had chances to get rid of the addiction but chose not to take any. I'm not sure yet :shrugs: But yeah, somehow I guess this story has the potential to develop to something even better and I gotta thank you and :duchessdemedici: for making me realize it :hug:

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The rose is the key....There are other worlds

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