Stories in Short #21 (Red wine and arterial fluid)


You’re just a blur, a smudge. Something that used to be. Faded wallpaper between cracked plaster. It’s green wallpaper and sometimes I see your face in it. I see your face in everything. When I dream, I dream about your shape, your figure. You are indiscernible. You are just a shape. There’s no definition, I can’t remember what you feel like. How can I sculpt your form in my mind if I can’t touch you with my hands?

People say that there’ll be another you. No. That’s not fair to say. Not another you, but another. I think that you were the only one. In time I might find another but their shape won’t fit the mould of you I’ve got in my head. It’s gone too far. Driving my car I look out of the window, sometimes because I want to crash, sometimes because the people I pass look like you, smudged, and blurred. I think that I’ll see you out of the window one day.

Or I’ll crash.

On balconies I think about jumping onto the heads of the people below me. They might be eating dinner. A bottle of wine on the table. I think about jumping onto them. The bottle of wine will slice open my neck and I’ll spray them with my arterial fluid. These thoughts come often, and thick. I can’t stop them coming. Even if I think of you. Even if I think of you I want to spray people with my arterial fluid. The red wine and the arterial fluid will soak into the black tablecloth.

I don’t remember ever having these thoughts when you were here. When we drank lots sometimes I’d think that it was a form of suicide, but we were in it together. The cigarettes and the alcohol. The incessant drinking. Was it because we were young, or because we wanted to die? Do we all want to die? Was it youth telling us that our time living like this was up, was it the youth in my head, a tiny, whimpering voice, telling me to stop it? To grow up and leave it alone?

When you went, you took a part of me into the next place. I don’t know if you’re waiting for me, but I know that without you, I’m just a blur, I’m just a smudge.

via the Daily Prompt: blur

8 thoughts on “Stories in Short #21 (Red wine and arterial fluid)

  1. Pingback: Stories in Short #22 (The glittering senselessness of alcohol) | Seal Matches

  2. I’ve not really read any of your stuff in a while. I forgot how good a writer you are.

    This was great. I think you use the repeated theme of lacking definition to great effect. Smudges, blurs, out of focus shapes of what once were… it’s horribly sad how we forget specific details about people so easily, and too often only retain the taunting, out of focus shapes of those who we don’t want to forget.

    Powerful piece. I really like it. Keep up the hard work, Harry.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks so much, glad you came back to check out my recent writings and that you’ll be back for more! These thoughts go through my mind a lot. I’m still young, but there are so many people and things and faces that I can’t remember. These blanks grow immeasurably larger the older you get, and the things that were once so present fade ever faster into that murky memory box.


      Liked by 1 person

      • Um hum. You keep writing, my friend, and I’ll keep reading.

        “Dang murky memory box! Give me back my memories! There’s some really good shit in there that I want back!

        …no, no. /That/ one I repressed. You keep that. No, don’t give it back. No!”

        Liked by 1 person

  3. Pingback: Stories in Short #25 (The Hotel Notorious) | Seal Matches

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