I could see it in her eyes. Hatred dominating the woman�s thoughts and her very existence. I looked deeply into her eyes and they appeared the darkest black that I had ever seen. Like two cess pools held by overly large sockets and filled with a bottomless pit of her own selfish human waste.
She looked back at me. I asked myself what I had done to make her look at me with such disdain. Nothing. I had done nothing to her. So why did she look at me that way?
I could find no reason and so I didn�t take it personally. She looked at everyone in the same way. She hated everyone yet strangely, no-one hated her. Pitied her yes, but not hated. She was disliked and shunned, but certainly not hated. Even I could not hate her. She figured so low in my life now that hating her would be a waste of time and energy. She simply did not matter any more. At least that was what I told myself.
So I broke the stare, turned away and looked in the opposite direction. The waitress brought my coffee so I sipped it carefully as I watched the people passing by, complete with their shopping bags and worried faces, most of them with kids in tow. They were the lucky ones. I had been denied a partner and children.
But I could feel her still looking at me. Her eyes burrowing into the back of my head like she was trying to invade my thoughts. I tried to ignore her and I continued to people watch. As usual, she was so insistent and I began to get one of those headaches, her stare felt like a myriad of acidic ants burning their way into my brain, devouring my normal thought processes on its way.
�Leave me alone� I heard myself scream at her �go away.�
The waitress cast me a sharp glance, disapproval written all over her face. Tears started to burst from my eyes. I couldn�t take much more. For years I had taken care of her, fed her and watered her. I had got her up in the morning and put her to bed at night. Changed her clothes and wiped her backside. I could take no more.
I screamed at her again. The waitress made towards me, but she must have seen something in my eyes that she didn�t care for, changed her mind and ran into the kitchen. Still she stared at me, her eyes even more intense. I lifted the cup of hot coffee and I threw it at her. It missed.
Anger filled me as I screamed at her over and over; my face just an inch or so from hers. I wanted to kill her. I wanted to feel her scrawny, wrinkled neck as I squeezed the life out of her. I wanted to see her eyes pleading for mercy as her life force faded into oblivion leaving me with the satisfaction of knowing that she could see me no more. But I couldn�t, so I ran�
�and ran. From her, from me, from everything.
Eventually I stopped running. I gave up. As God is my witness, she had won and once again, I was the loser. I am okay with that now, thanks to the drugs. The staff are nice too and I have a lovely room. The walls and floors are nice and soft and it�s warm. Sometimes when I am good, they take me for a walk in the garden.
She still comes to stare at me, but I can cope with her now. She wants to take me away with her, but I won�t let her. I don�t want to go. I like my room too much, and the garden. The nurses try to tell me that she is not real, but I know differently because I used to be sort of a nurse myself. I had nursed her, and that was real; all too real.
She had begged me to end it for her and I wouldn�t. The disease had eaten into her for too long, and I remember her pain and how it lingered. I suppose I could have upped her medication but I didn�t, and she hated me for not helping her. Maybe she hated me for what I didn�t do, instead of loving me for what I did. I watched her die and I felt the death rattles vibrate up my arm while I mopped her brow. I still hear her last dying exhalation of air as her soul left her body when I try to sleep at night.
So I know she will never go away, unless I go with her. But where would she take me? As I ponder this, I can feel the eyes again, then the headache begins but now I have nothing to throw, and nowhere to run.
It�s just her, me, the acidic ants and not even a waitress to hear me scream.
READER'S REVIEWS (2) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"this is a wonderful little tale...I completely enjoyed it and thought your style in developing characters was superb. Continue the fine work." -- e. rocco caldwell.
"Wow, this was a great story. Very eerie, I laughed when he first yelled out at her, and continued to yell at her in the restaruant. Great job once again." -- Moses M Constable.
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