Ring-A-Fucking-Roses (1134 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: fiction
Rating: 1.95 on 34 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Flash Harry (View user info) at 2009-01-13 07:14:13 EST
This is the worst time. - At night, on your own, and everything's off: the telly, the washing machine, the tumble dryer. Even the angry whine of the freezer that's usually comfortably irritating has packed in. - Typical. I spend at least twenty minutes a day booting the bastard, shouting my face off and cursing it for the noisy piece of shit that it is. Now that I could actually be doing with its racket, it's conveniently gone into an electric coma.
Silence.
You wouldn't have thought such a lively street was capable of being so deathly quiet, especially if you witnessed the traffic during the day. When I say traffic, I mean people, not buses and cars. People, weans, dogs, cats, and that.
It's the kind of street your granny might live on: working class, dependably social, everyone looking out for everyone else, while getting secret pleasure from exhausting the details of each others' misfortune. I've affectionately nicknamed it 'Single Mother's Row', as almost everyone is exactly that. In fact, I am one of the only folk in the street who hasn't got a wean. No prizes for guessing why.
The reason the street is so quiet is that it's three o'clock in the morning on a weekday, and most of my neighbours are in bed, as they need to get their weans up for school in the morning. Mind you, that didn't stop one of them chapping me up at two in the morning last week for a wee drink and a blether. Like I said, dependably social. Normally I would have ignored it, or went to the door and told her to fuck right off. - But as I was desperately trying no to greet my face off, I didn't particularly want to be alone.
Like me, she's a chronic insomniac, with problems of her own. She stayed till it was getting light, helping me take my mind off things by regaling me with tales of her pregnancies, the complications that arose during each of them, and the different methods of contraception she'd tried. It was informative to say the least, but I did lose count of the times I had the urge to cross my legs and wince. Her being there was a comfort though, even if she is completely fucking nuts.
Aye, between them my acquired family of single mothers have compiled quite an anthology of horror stories on the subject of childbirth. Should I ever experience a temporary lapse in judgement, or even the onset of madness, and decide that I want a child, I think I'll have information on just about every possible fuck-up I could face. Swelling, bleeding bursting, dilating, caesareans, stitches, lapsed placentas, and fuck knows. Bunch of fruitcakes. It's enough to scare you shitless. It's not that I don't like weans, I do. But whenever I feel broody I tend to just borrow one of the wee bastards, and by the end of the day I'm more than happy to hand them back, safe in the knowledge that I won't have to deal with the implications of parenthood for a good while. If ever.
I used to say I used the best method of contraception there is: I don't sleep with women. I would say it in jest. Now I really am on the best method: I don't sleep with anyone.
The street is definitely dead tonight. It's ironic how loud silence can be. It surrounds me, like poisonous gas seeping into my lungs. No wonder I can't stop coughing. It hurts my ears, making them feel like they're full of invisible wads of cotton. It's fucked up.
I cannae believe how numb I feel, and yet so sore. It's as if the pain is so intense that it robs you of your senses, leaving you free to go about your daily business with an empty ache. - As opposed to the more extreme sensation of having just had your heart ripped out. Strange isn't it? The coping mechanisms your mind will call upon to protect itself.
It's been five days. It doesn't feel that long, or maybe that's just cos I'm no used to it. Yet.
The pain becomes more concentrated at night, cos that's when His absence is more apparent. I feel the need to ache, to grieve for my loss. Loss is loss after all, and death or dumped, my pain's just as sharp as the next person's.
All that time, and barely a night spent apart. My days spent with him, in body or in mind. My nights spent with his arms around me, my eyes closed, my face in the curve of his neck, breathing in his smell.
I'll miss his smell the most. It was the first thing I used to do when I saw him, throw my arms around his neck, pull him close (on tiptoe of course. - The curse of the short-arse) then close my eyes and breathe in his scent, his essence. Fresh, manly, outsidey, with faint traces of vanilla. Now I've had to strip all the bed sheets for fear of snatching at pillows in darker hours, frantically searching for the scent that was so familiar to me, so dear. Inhaling the last of him away while looking for the dent of his head, perhaps finding a discarded golden hair, left abandoned and growing dull.
I can mock my own sentimentality just now, but only with a creeping dread that the worst is yet to come.
So far it's hit me in stages, crashing over me like the waves of a turbulent storm, blow then impact, blow then impact.
Whoooosssssshhhh.
He still loves me, I'm sure. He's just pissed off at me, trying to teach me a lesson. It's not over. - It can't be.
Whoooosssssshhhh.
Well fuck you! You want to split up with me? Fine! You were getting on my tits anyway.
Whoooosssssshhhh.
Oh my god. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. He's dumped me. He's actually dumped me. Oh. My. God.
Whoooosssssshhhh.
Yeah, He's right. It's for the best. I'm not even that bothered. In fact I was gonna do it anyway.
Whoooosssssshhhh.
No! It's not fair! You never even told me what was wrong! You never gave me a chance! How the fuck can you do this?
Whoooosssssshhhh.
I can't believe we're over. What am I gonna do without him?
Whoooosssssshhhh.
It's really over. He's made his mind up. I'm gonna have to get over this. But how the fuck do I do that?
I've been trapped on this mind-boggling merry-go-round of misery since it happened, going around and around, but never quite reaching the end.
I went on a complete bender for the first two days, successfully managing to remain so fucked that I don't recall a thing. A mature decision, I know, but as I said - coping mechanisms. Fuck, I don't know how I would have managed if I hadn't. At this point, two of my 'mothers' took me under their wing. They listened patiently to my drunken shite, supervised my trip into self-destruction with motherly concern, and probably saving me from getting stabbed. Then telt everybody on the whole street about it. - Now that's what you call true friends.
The second two days I spent recovering, lying under a duvet with the curtains drawn, trying no to boalk whilst greeting my face off at the telly, the radio, magazines. The dog.
It was only on the fifth day, when my clothes reeked so bad that I could barely stand to breathe through my nose, that I noticed I still had an ink stamp on my hand from the dancing, four days before. That was when I knew. I'd become pathetic.
A severe slap about the face, a shave, shite and shower followed, and on that same day I started wearing make-up again.
On my way out for milk I saw him coming out of a neighbour's house and felt my heart drop into my gut like a stone. Naturally I had to have chosen that day to wear an ugly grey tracksuit, and I was so loaded with the cold that my face was covered in snot, but at least I didn't cry. In fact it was the first day that I hadn't, so I guess that's progress. Although it's at roughly the same speed as coastal erosion.
The thing is, deep down, beneath my layers of grief, I do know it's for the best. Although admitting this to myself is too painful for a daft poof like me to be able to handle.
I think the trap you tend to fall into in a gay relationship is that you start to rely on each other as best friends as well as partners. In heterosexual relationships, a boy's still got his mates for down time, and a bird keeps her girlfriends for that complex emotional shite. When you're two poofs though, you've got yourself a best-pal/lover/partner hybrid. You start to rely on your friends less because you're getting all you need and want from your boyfriend. Then, once he's had enough of you and fucked off to greener pastures, you realise how isolated you've become and how much you relied upon him for all your socialising. Not to mention what a fucking bastard it all is.
I know all I can do is stay positive, look to the future. - And all that bollocks. It's just a pity the future is as uncertain to me as a blind man's way across the main road. I'm trying to keep myself busy and I think I'm doing all right. If another one of my friends tells me that 'time is the greatest healer' though I will deliver her a swift kick to the snatch. Hopefully in a few months I'll be ready to go on the pull again, although the thought is frankly terrifying. My head is so far up my arse right now that I couldn't get myself off, never mind anyone else.
Still, it's like I've always said. There's plenty more mermaids in the sea.
User Reviews
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2009-01-22 08:37:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-01-13 19:42:18 GMT (#)
Ranking: 2
I am so bloody tempted btw
~~~~~~~
Aye.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-01-22 08:12:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
hahah apollo did it anyway :)
Submitted by coley (user info) at 2009-01-16 02:27:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by firefly (user info) at 2009-01-15 17:36:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2009-01-15 03:59:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I didn't have the mental capital to actually read this yesterday.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2009-01-13 20:09:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
NICE GOING, Hymie!
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2009-01-13 19:24:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
oops
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2009-01-13 19:24:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
what was that shlongy?
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2009-01-13 19:03:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2009-01-13 18:40:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I won't ruin this streak- that's a first for Shlongy - but please note that I SURE WANTED TO.
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2009-01-13 17:35:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
pfft. love.
Submitted by Lib (user info) at 2009-01-13 16:07:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Sorry for your loss.
To bad men don't go through menopause, really you end up not caring a lick (hehe) about sex.
Nor do you have those annoying PMS times.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-01-13 14:42:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I am so bloody tempted btw
Submitted by St_Jimmy (user info) at 2009-01-13 14:28:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by DeathJester (user info) at 2009-01-13 13:04:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Choose to watch Trainspotting one more time.
_______________________
Oh believe me, I'm gonna. I just found out that Tommy in Trainspotting is the same guy who played Lucius Vorenus on HBO's Rome. I did not know that.
You can really learn stuff from imdb.com
Submitted by Replen (user info) at 2009-01-13 13:10:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by DeathJester (user info) at 2009-01-13 13:04:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Choose to watch Trainspotting one more time.
Submitted by St_Jimmy (user info) at 2009-01-13 12:44:47 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life...
Submitted by DeathJester (user info) at 2009-01-13 12:16:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Bugger, forgot my obligatory superfluous space after my rating.
Here, have two.
Submitted by DeathJester (user info) at 2009-01-13 12:16:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Now, I don't mean to get away from the sensitivity of the piece, but they call it a tulip, not a rose.
Submitted by Sidivan (user info) at 2009-01-13 12:00:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Well written.
I was trying to figure out if you were a chick or a gay dude all the way through it. I kept going back and forth.
You have a really good point at the end there with the friend/lover hybrid comment. I have a friend (not gay) who does that in all of his relationships with women. He spends every waking moment with her and pretty much abandons his friends. Then, when they break up, he's completely lost. I asked him if he wanted to see a movie 2 weeks after his last breakup and he was like, "I haven't seen a movie with anybody except her in 2 years... no... I can't go to a movie".
Submitted by Wuzi (user info) at 2009-01-13 11:43:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Couple things....
This was well written for the most part. So good job on that.
Second, I don't know if you are gay or if this is just written from a gay guy's perspective. But that might have been what made it so intriguing. I'm not gay, and I'm not really a fan of gayness. However, this piece gives one a glimpse of that psyche which shows that gay & straight folk are not too different when it comes to lost loves. That is interesting to me.
So kudos.
Submitted by Banjo (user info) at 2009-01-13 11:32:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
hahaha, serves you right! Teaches you to go creeping in backdoors now doesn't it you silly little fag.
Submitted by Chroniclysm (user info) at 2009-01-13 11:19:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by SgtHartman (user info) at 2009-01-13 11:05:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
damn FJ
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2009-01-13 09:29:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by sage104 (user info) at 2009-01-13 09:28:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2009-01-13 08:55:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by FALLEN (user info) at 2009-01-13 08:44:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I dont think FJ is gay, he is just showing his range by writing from another POV.
or he loves the cock.
I dont know.
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2009-01-13 08:40:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Oh, you're gay. That's news to me.
Definately a dependable form of contraception, though I prefer making my wife take the pill.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-01-13 08:39:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I lost your phone number.
:(
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-01-13 08:38:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I think it's fascinating how hung up we are on knowing what gender a person is in order to know how to relate to them.
Some of this was lovely, some of the language was a little too alien (to me) to work; what does greeting your face off mean? Crying? No is not, yes? What's boalk?
Submitted by FALLEN (user info) at 2009-01-13 08:33:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
needs more gay.
and could be just a bit longer.
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2009-01-13 07:36:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Weans are children.
http://sco.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wean
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2009-01-13 07:29:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
People, weans, dogs, cats, and that.
------------
"Weans"!? What is "Weans"?