London Diary 52

Up, early. Too early. Sun glistening through the windows. Need sleep. Any amount of sleep will do. Bed empty, where is she? Shit. She had to leave. Again. Miss her body. But sleepy. Want to think about her, soft hair, glistening body, nice tits. Hey, that’s why she is my girlfriend, I like her tits. So I have a one track mind, so sue me! Can’t a girl have a little fun now and then? But I need sleep. Before the baby wakes me up – again. For once he is peaceful. He is ignoring the sunshine through the window. I should be grateful, of the peace. But why can’t I sleep?

Okay, I am focusing too much on her tits…maybe if I think of counting sheep or something…

I don’t know why I can’t sleep. I guess I miss Mum. Again. I should stop thinking about her, but I can’t. I look at Dad, but he is not my Mum. And he is also missing Mum. We all do, I suppose that’s why him and my sister haven’t talked in a long while. I know my mum would have told him off for being so silly. It’s three years now, but I still remember her smile like it was yesterday. Then they took her into hospital. She still kept on smiling, but her eyes were tired. You could see that. In the end, she wanted to sleep, for it to be over. No amount of smiling could change that.

Sometimes I get angry. Like now, I think why didn’t she try harder. But she was always trying, even when her hair began to fall out. Maybe that’s why she is n longer here. Smiling. And why instead of seeping, I just lie and think of her, looking at me with her wonderful eyes, smiling. While silently, I am crying.

Sleep.

I wish it could come.

But it never does.

Not before an event.

Always the adrenaline.

Even this time, with that soft bastard opposite me.

Maybe it is not adrenaline, but guilt?

Guilty because I am taking the money.

I am going to go for it.

Because sod it, I have had enough.

Honour, hard work, a proud chin. That don’t pay the bills. That won’t look after my wife, my child. That don’t turn on the heat, or put food on the table. Only one thing does that, and when someone puts half your mortgage on the table for tripping over. Well, that’s something good. I can keep the gym open for good, keep the roof over my head for good, and not have to worry about nothing. Even if that someone is nothing but some gun toting bastard, he still pays up. cash is king, and in the end, that is what matter.

But still, sleep does not come easy.

I need the rest. No matter what, even if the fight’s per-determined, I need the strength to go through with it. Just a little sleep. It will keep me going. Maybe then, my pride won’t hurt so much…

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2 Comments

Filed under london, short story

2 responses to “London Diary 52

  1. Each sleep story here gets progressively more sad and dark.
    I liked the 2nd story the most, especially the part, “. . . While silently, I am crying.”, as it was unexpected in the narrative. Nicely written.

    • Thanks. All of the characters, while fictional, do have a piece of me inside of them, and I am glad you liked the second story. Hopefully, it will go on to become one of my more heart warming films – fingers crossed!

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