50 Word Thursday – Wet Knees

Image by janrye from Pixabay

 

He sat on the bench and meditated

His life was rather complicated

It sometimes felt he wasn’t understood,

The world seemed to say to him

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

And now he felt the tides of life

Rising up through pain and strife,

He sat and prayed to gain relief

somehow it failed to ease his grief,

The heavens opened, the rain fell hard

A cascade of water, a hail bombard.

The waters rose around him high

Falling from the ashen sky

And there he sat, beneath the trees,

Languishing, lonely, with wet knees.

 

This poem was belatedly written for the 50 Word Thusday Challenge, this week hosted by Teresa, the Haunted Word smith:

https://thehauntedwordsmith.wordpress.com/2019/07/24/50-word-thursday-30/

My Reality – A poem inspired by Kira’s Sunday Scribbles.

20181107_213349

 

See the link here:

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/11/11/kiras-sunday-scribbles-16/

 

Like working in the desert,

Without a drink to quench your thirst.

Stepping into a world that’s lost its colour,

With a heart that’s fit to burst.

Standing naked for everyone to see,

trying to push that heavy rock,

the one that represents me.

Or at least my mind, the way it thinks,

The problems that I feel.

You may not see the world that way,

But to me, it’s real.

 

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 12/November/2018

 

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/11/12/rdp-monday-quench/

 

In Sandra’s Shoes – A new perspective.

 

This is a parallel story to the one I wrote yesterday – Sea Foam in Skye.

See here: https://talesfromthemindofkristian.wordpress.com/2018/04/11/sea-foam-in-skye-a-short-story-of-pain-and-sorrow/

Sandra decided to have a long soak in the bath. She needed to unwind; it was all getting too stressful. As she got into the hot bath, the smell of lavender wafted from the bath salts and the bath foam. Her mind kept going over and over her current situation. She thought of her soon to be ex-husband Michael. She’d had a letter that day from her Solicitors. Michael wasn’t responding to their letters. She had worried he might try to disrupt the divorce proceedings.

She looked back on their marriage of seven years, and before that to when they’d first met.

She’d met him at Edinburgh University. She was a fresher and he was in the year above. He’d been so cute then. He was 6-foot-tall with black hair that flopped over his forehead and piercing blue eyes. He had been manning the walking club’s stall for fresher’s fair, when all the clubs and societies vied to get new members from among the new students. She had had no interest in walking whatsoever but signed up there and then, just because of him. He had been like that then. His natural enthusiasm was so strong that it swept you along, often into doing things that you didn’t want to do. Like walking. They’d started dating from the off. They were both studying medicine, he was studying to become a physiotherapist and she, a pharmacist. They’d got married just after her graduation and they’d gone to Skye for their honeymoon. She should have said that she wasn’t keen on walking. She’d rather go somewhere really hot and sit next to a pool and drink cocktails. That was the difference between him and Sean, her boyfriend. Michael had taken her to a coral beach on Skye that looked like one you’d see on a Caribbean Island. Sean had actually taken her and the kids to a Caribbean Island for two weeks last Summer. It had been bliss.

Her and Michael had started drifting apart after her first son, Angus, was born. Michael would go off walking on his own, which she didn’t mind at first. Then he’d go upstairs to his man cave and play x-box for hours on end. Gradually things had gotten worse and she began to feel alone. She had hoped that having her second child would be the thing that brought them together again, but even during the pregnancy it was like he just didn’t care anymore. Then she’d had postnatal depression and where was Michael when she needed him most? He’d gone on a walking trip with a couple of his mates from Uni.

Not long after that she had joined a gym to get rid of her baby bulge. Her therapist said the exercise would help with the depression too. It did do wonders for her depression because it was there she’d met Sean. He was the fitness instructor. She’d gone for a mixed class rather than women only. As soon as their eyes met she could sense the mutual attraction. Sean was very beefy, had curly blond hair and was in his mid to late twenties. She could tell he liked her because he spent more time with her than the rest of the group. Even the two nineteen-year-old girls she’d have thought he would have preferred. After the session he asked her out. For some reason she’d forgotten to tell him she was married. After all what harm could a little drink do?

He was a little taken aback when she told him about her Husband and two sons, but he told her he loved her, and ‘love would find a way’, he’d said.

Michael, by that stage, was barely talking to her. He’d put on his smile in the mornings and go off to work in the physiotherapy unit. She’d only found out much later that he hadn’t been going to work. He’d been walking up Arthur’s Seat, the hill that overlooked Edinburgh. Eventually he’d lost his job because of it.

When she’d told Michael about Sean and told him she wanted a divorce he barely said a word. He’d looked at her with cold and indifferent eyes. Or at least that is what they’d seemed.

Going over everything in her head she’d realised that she had been too harsh on Michael. She had demanded sole custody of the children and that had upset him a lot. At their last meeting with the solicitors he had broken down and cried. She’d never seen him like that before. She realised that part of what was making her feel so stressed was the feelings of guilt from having an affair. She’d been making things far harder than they needed to be. She resolved that tomorrow she was going to go around to the flat Michael was renting and tell him she was sorry and she’d agree to joint custody.

Feeling slightly better she got out of the bath and dried herself off.

Her two boys were fast asleep in their room. Angus in the top bunk looked so much like his father. His little brother, Connor, just turned three was sound asleep in the bottom bunk. He took more after her side of the family.

She could hear Sean snoring away in her bedroom but he woke up when she entered.

“What’s up babe? I thought you were never coming to bed?” Sean said yawning.

“I was just feeling a bit tense, so I had a bath. I was thinking about Michael.”

“Not thinking of a reconciliation, are you? You do still love me, don’t you?”

“Of course, silly. I love you very much. I realised long ago that Michael and I were not compatible, but still I don’t think I have been fair to him. He wasn’t a bad husband or father. He didn’t hit me or anything.”

“Neglect is a form of abuse though, Love.”

“Yes, but I don’t think he’d meant it that way. I am going to go around there in the morning and tell him I am not contesting joint custody. I don’t want to fight any more.”

Sean turned over in bed and the covers fell away. He never did sleep with anything on in bed. Sean kissed the remainder of her concerns away and she fell asleep in his arms.

She woke up early, as usual. She heard her phone next to the bed chime to say she’d received a text. Who would be texting her at six in the morning?

She looked at the phone, Michael had sent her a message, it just said one word. Sorry.

She started to panic. Quickly she got dressed and left for Michaels flat.

As she got there, the Landlady met her at the door.

“Morning Mrs Atherton, you have just missed your husband. He’s just paid me for the rent he had owing and driven off.”

“Can you let me into his flat please Mrs Campbell I need to leave him a note.”

When she entered the room, she found the note she had half expected sitting on the table next to an old video cassette.

It read.

Dear Sandra,

I am so sorry for everything. I can fight this no longer. I have left this video to explain everything to our boys, please show it to them when you think they are old enough. I have gone to a place where we were happy once. You won’t hear from me again.

Love

Michael

She knew where he’d gone, that little stretch of beach on the Isle of Skye that they had gone to on their honeymoon. They had made love there, out in the open, so exciting. The memory made her blush.

Quickly she telephoned the police and then the Samaritans. Then she phoned Sean to tell him what had happened. He said he’d look after the kids until she got home, not to worry about anything.

She got in the police car with Lucy the Samaritan and they sat in silence as they drove across the highlands. The roads were so narrow it was difficult to go very fast. She kept thinking, come on faster, faster, it might be too late. What if we don’t get there in time?

After a couple of hours, the car pulled up. She saw Michaels car parked in front.

“Quickly, follow me, I know where he’d have gone.”

They pushed through the bushes and she called out his name.

“Michael, Michael!”

Then she saw him standing naked on the beach. She’d never seen him look so desolate.

“Thank God you’re still here. I was so frightened we’d be too late. I knew you’d come here, as soon as I read the note. I had gone to see you to tell you I don’t want to fight anymore, that I’ll agree joint custody.”

Michael collapsed crying at her feet. She felt so ashamed that here was a man who had loved her and she’d driven him to this. She didn’t love him but she cared for him; he was the father of her children. She vowed she would do more to help him in future.

“I’ve brought help with me Michael, you will need help to get better again. I promise I won’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be in future. It will be easier from now on.”

At least, she hoped it would be.

The End.

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 12/April/2018

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/disrupt/

 

via Daily Prompt: Disrupt

Sea Foam in Skye – A short story of pain and sorrow.

Michael Atherton stood on a lonely stretch of beach looking out to sea. 

It was a cold March day on the Isle of Skye and so not many people were prepared to brave the chilly winds, despite the clear skies.

The beach was a relatively unknown beauty spot. The sand was composed of creamy white pieces of shell and coral. It was like a beach you could find on a Caribbean island, although without the tourists enjoying the sun and drinking rum cocktails. In this lonely part of the world, it was only what you could call busy on an August Bank Holiday weekend, and only then if it didn’t decide to rain. 

He had chosen this spot because of its remoteness. He had come here on his honeymoon with Sandra. They had been so happy then. They had stayed in Portree, the capital of the island. They had explored the island, mainly on foot, during the day and each other at night. 

Now seven years later he was back; the spot looked exactly the same, but his life was now totally different. Sandra was now living with Sean and they were in the middle of an acrimonious divorce which included a custody battle for their two boys, just six and three years old. How had it all come to this, when it had started out so well? 

As he contemplated his life he watched the sea rolling up onto the beach, bringing with it some froth, like the top of a cappuccino. He stood there staring for some time wondering whether, now he was faced with it, he would have the courage after all. 

He’d left the note in his flat in Edinburgh, not far from the home he’d been thrown out of. The lovely Victorian terrace in Morningside, near the hospital where both Sandra and he worked. Or had until he’d lost his job. 

The plan had seemed so good last night. It would guarantee something for his sons when they were old enough. He’d left them a video recording and a letter explaining everything. 

There wasn’t anything left to do now. 

His clothes were piled neatly folded under a gorse bush.

He thought how life and happiness was so much like that froth the sea brought in. Here one minute, then gone the next.

Then he heard the sound of a car pulling up by the road. The car doors slamming as people got out and the sound of the bushes as people pushed through them.

Then someone calling his name. Unbelievably it was Sandra.

“Michael, Michael! Thank God you’re still here. I was so frightened we’d be too late. I knew you’d come here, as soon as I read the note. I had gone to see you to tell you I don’t want to fight anymore, that I’ll agree joint custody. The Landlady said I’d just missed you.”

Michael collapsed into tears. Laying naked on the beach, he cried at the thought of what he had planned to do. He cried at the thought that he had been stopped and the pain of life will continue. 

“I’ve brought help with me Michael, you will need help to get better again. I promise I won’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be in future. It will be easier from now on.”

A large man in a police uniform came forward and covered him in a foil blanket.

A lady with a soft voice spoke to him. “Mr Atherton, my names Lucy, I’m from the Samaritans, we’ll look after you. Come with us.”

As Michael was led away he looked out to sea once more. Strange how one location could be the site of so much happiness and also so much sorrow, he thought to himself.

The tide was ever flowing onto the shore and just like life, it goes on.

 

The End

Copyright Kristian Fogarty 11/April/2018

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/froth/

 

via Daily Prompt: Froth

Take the train to nowhere – Lyric Poem

Take the train to nowhere, 

Anywhere but here is fine

Don’t care what the fare,

Or how long, i’ve got the time.

 

On the train to nowhere,

With all the people no one wants.

Away from hate and despair,

All the hurtful cries and taunts.

 

Can’t take this life no more,

Can’t bare this hurt and pain,

I’m taking my chances.

No more false romances

I’m getting on the train.

 

Catch the train to nowhere,

Leaving her behind me now

In the dank and dark air,

I want to breathe, but how?

 

Can’t take this life no more,

Can’t bare this hurt and pain,

I’m taking my chances.

No more false romances

I’m getting on that train.

 

I’m on my way to nowhere

the painful feeling numbs

I have doubts that I will get there,

But Nowhere always comes….

 

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty