What the fuck am I doing here? Perched sloppily on this creaky bar stool. I yelled; I remember yelling; ‘You fucking enjoy my life more than my company, you selfish bitch.’
I squint at the stained glass. It’s the only light exposing the chipped wood and silhouetted bodies. Each one of them an abandoned little island, perfectly alone.
Is that Jesus or a Hamster? I blurt out as waving down the barman. His creviced face flashes confusion at me. I slowly watch him skilfully place the cold beer and shuffle off to some unknown pointless task. ‘It’s probably Jesus.’ I mutter.
You ever hate somebody and love them? You suspect they don’t care, but you can’t help yourself. Silly question really. I hate her completely with every part of me. All that anger, but I understand. Even now, the love persists, it hangs on. I have beaten it, poisoned it, told it lies. Yet it still persists, it hangs on.
My fingers go a little numb from the cool glass. I peer up at the plaque filled walls. All those dead men. I guess none of it even matters in the end. Legends loved and revered, left to the dust. Even my cat left. I remember his stare as he backed out of the apartment.
Light suddenly illuminates us, the heavy door strains shut again. I am the only one to glance up, exposed. Is there any point in the waiting? Aren’t fantasies just that? Waiting here to be absolved or punished. I remember yelling. It’s peaceful here, I’m better off here. Why would I invite pain to have a seat? Yet it persists. So many stories on silhouetted lonely islands. Yes, I remember yelling.