Neglect.

———————————–
She’d left him. Again.
Why?
The scratches of blood lined the walls, echoing screams into oblivion. Obvious misnomers were presented in the form of blood. The staff were obliged, yet they did not gratify for fear of what lay behind the door of the man’s mind. Such twisted dimensions of thought were no place for a human being. Holding the only thing that he had as a remainder of the life that he once led, the life filled with love and beauty, he would scream as he used it to mutilate his own skin. Although he was consistently taking medication, it never seemed to work, since there lacks the existence of a cure for sorrow and despair.

“IMPERFECTION!” he would scream, followed by sobs. Every night, he haunted the chambers.

———————————–
She’d left him. Again.
Why?
They were happy together, living serenely as if the world outside didn’t matter. There were no ghosts, there were no skeletons. There were no fights too large. There was no blood, except for the monthly hellhole, but otherwise, they lived peacefully. They’d kept their distance, comfortable with spending the afternoons simply sitting beside each other, taking on different tasks. She could depend on him to understand her, and he could depend on her on whatever it is he depended on at home. The only regrettable note was that they never had music. The only music that ever came from the house was that of the tiny music box that was left at all times on the centre table. They rarely opened it; not even on special occasions. Most often, the people who would come by would ask as to what song it played, since nobody was allowed to open it. It was in almost every music box, and they’d never cared to check the title. Ironically, it had the same name as she who would always reply.

“Fur Elise.”

———————————–
She’d left him. Again.
Why?
Neglect.
.
.
.
(c) Anachronic Works 2011

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