sharing a house with a death omen

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

One can propose an endless series of excuses for one's behaviour,

And be terrible all the same.

---

One dreamily walked into one's great grandmother's house. One was in the past now. Immediately one intercepts a pungent musty whiff - that of unused fabrics in an old wooden and glass room which were neglected and consequently left for many years to the glare of the sun and settled over by dust. One recalled vague childhood snippets of being sat at the Christmas dinner table, allocated to the position furtherest from the tops of the heirarchy who huddled at its head joylessly in a ruminative throng, always dour. Their laughter, also it took place, was mirthless and the atmosphere was polarising and dispiriting. One could notice the presence of an insurmountable distance between one and the others.

---

One I thought to be a 'good friend' showed himself to be incapable of unaffected reassurance, itself a basic task in mental health maintenance. Another two proved themselves more than capable, eager even, to provide such a service.

Come to think of it, the 'good friend' wasn't ever truly close to me, in that as far as my recollection is reliable, he never shared with me his true struggles. He seemed always to preserve a mysterious distance; perhaps for what he deemed his own benefit. Not without awareness of my fragile mental state and tendency to project negativity do I recall he always seemed to take pity on me. If this were ever the case, then it would consequently be true that I was appraised as 'lesser' and humoured mostly out of pity.

Why? My loneliness. The consequences of my condition. Maybe the acne scars on my face. Maybe I shouldn't conjecture. But the extrapolated fact itself remains, apparently. He is not truly my friend. Unlike the other two, whose presences I've found new respect for.

---

Only place I can post
From this I'll make the most
Nobody else would understand
More - resent me, a lesser man

Heavily medicated to elicit a smile
That is, at least, just for a little while
Underneath I'm always bitter and sad
One little trigger will make me feel bad

Offended by a line of Courtney Barnett
A normal mood from me is a hard get.
Flyleaf had it right, oh and Paramore
I'm broken right down to the core

---

Only things to eat in the city at night are dirty and cheap,

---

...

There once lived in a railside apartment made of asbestos a wretched old crone. Nasty and bitter. She pretended to be 'nice' with her so called friends with which she shared petty stories and lowbrow gossip. Unbearable, insecure and vain. Yet helplessly unintelligent. Talked shit and in all her poorly disguised vanity and bold stupidity believed it to be true. 

 So horrible and nothing less than a neurotic hag who was rapidly approaching death. Of course she knew all this unconsciously and this embittered her all the more. Her hair, which grew white from its roots, fell in clumps. Postmenopausal misery and an unhealthy obsession with her cat she cringily called 'daughter'. 

She couldn't fall asleep unless in front of a blaring TV and even still could not keep hold of sleep. Boasted to her peers of status, in her delusion and mediocrity used the most sickeningly endearing terms to describe how she'd 'studied nutrition'. Despite that, had an atrociously unhealthy diet which was reflected in the appearance of her body and expressions which represented the state of her soul.

 Never failed to express contempt and used every underhanded method of spite with complete disregard for the mental health of her interlocutor in order to get a rise out of them which in turn would validate her spite. Took solace in knowing she was an informed adult, yet conditioned mercilessly by propagandistic media. Utterly controlled. A pitiful sight. Stuck forever in a horrible cycle of spite, manic fretting, anxiety and meaningless endearments, the horribleness of which she seemed not to be aware. Managed to turn chewing gum into a stressful affair for her unfortunate companion. 

Fundamentally confused, simple minded and gullible but deeply cynical so that any event that did not seem to concur with her conditioned prejudices was by her looked upon harshly and glaringly. Everything was suspect and yet nothing was enough. Hopelessly shackled to the consumption of low grade media. TV and commercial radio. Never asked why and never challenged herself but in her head she was always right.

 Extremely insecure to a grotesque degree and worse still immune to criticism so that one must suffer her neuroses without apology or hope of reformation or restituion. A sickening spectacle which never failed to unconsciously force one's face into a scowl of disgust. 

One must have endured her ungraceful outbursts at every turn, the fruits of her caprice turned sour and bitter. She'd soon forget and briefly become sentimental. Always a repulsive transformation. One can see she will soon work herself to death, for she has already somewhat taken the appearance of a walking corpse, however much laden with perfume and powder. 

One still has some compassion but is disappointed and frustrated in that one may never communicate any potential means for change to her in that she will resist any criticism by conscious stonewalling and what is otherwise sheer stupidity and gullible disingenuouaness. A master of playing dumb and of being dumb. 

 Having found an opportunity to vent her spite, she ostensibly reprimanded him. Began to put washing out at 3am in the morning while accusing him of having been ruined by video games. An insufferable nag and loathsome hypocrite held in low regard and deep disrespect for all the values she claimed yet none expressed. 


Submitted: March 07, 2021

© Copyright 2021 olive tree. All rights reserved.

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