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 Miserable At Best

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Angel McDaniels


Posts : 219
Join date : 2011-08-10

PostSubject: Miserable At Best   Thu Jul 26, 2012 5:57 am

Trever sighed softly, his eyes dropping down to the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels in his slackened hands. It was a dark night, the outside sky was crying, crying for him he felt. He had given Toni to Barry tonight, he hadnt given a reason, just because he needed a night away from the irritation of dealing with the boy and his two sons.
His sons.
Trever gave a small smile, moving the bottle to his lips and taking another swig of the burning liquid inside. It was satisfying as he felt it moving down his throat, warming his stomach and making more and more of his memory fade.
He did this every year, every year on this date. It never failed. July twenty sixth rolled around and Trever wanted nothing to do with anyone. He wanted his house empty, and he wanted to be left with his thoughts, his memories.
His own personal tragedy, and his day of reflection on life and past.
He felt tears welling in his eyes as he heard voices, voices in his head, so empty and lifeless except for that one, the one voice that sang to him.
"Trever dont cry, I know, your trying your hardest"
"Fuck'n b-Bastard..." Trever croaked out to no one, his face lit up only by the fire he had burning in the fire place that centered his living room. Every thing in the home was so purely white, unlike Trever himself who was stained and tainted beyond repair.
He heard it again, the daunting voice filling his head, so loud but not even existent.
"The hardest part is letting go of the nights we shared."
Trever felt a small noise escape his lips as anger rose inside him like a fire, a fire that was feeding off of the words, all so true that the man had said to him.
" You know its haunting but compared to your eyes, nothing shines quite as bright."
Trever grit his teeth, yes his eyes were bright, alight with fury, the blue orbs so large and wide, only a small speck of black serving as his iris. Flinching as he heard the shattering of glass against the rock hard wall of his living room.
The man got a strange feeling of satisfaction at seeing the droplets of liquor dripping down the wall, and the small shards of glass that landed on his tile floor, spreading out in a spray of small clear bullets,
"N-Nothing feels like h-home anymore..." The man sniffled, he had not felt safe for so long, since he was so young...Younger than six years old.
Standing, he stumbled over to the mess he had made, dropping to his knees in the remains of the shattered glass. He pressed his hand down on the floor, feeling around until he finally felt a small stinging sensation. He had been cut by a small piece of glass that had been waiting for him to find it. A small smile graced his lips.
He fingered the small shard, bringing it in front of his face to examine it. Trever just hiccuped, closing his fist around the clear object and basking in the feeling as the glass entered his skin from several different angles.
Yes it was so nice, intoxicating...
Or was that the vodka?
He was unsure, but which ever one it was, it felt so nice to be so lost. He leaned himself back against the wall, biting his lip as several more small splinters of glass stabbed themselves into his back as he got comfortable.
He sat, and he just stared at the picture he had in a frame beside the chair he had been sitting in.
Such a beautiful baby boy he had been...
Trever wondered what he looked like now, older...
Or if he was still around to be seen.
"O-Oh god...." Trever pressed a hand to his face, the palm of it covering one of his eyes, blood shot and still oozing salty reminders of his pain. The man took the piece of glass he had found, sticking it hard into his rib cage for later as he pressed both hands to his face, hiccuping once more as he cried to no one.
"I-I hate you...I-I hate life..."
He heard it again, the voice reminding him..."The hardest part of living, is taking breaths to stay.."
The man let his finger nails dig into the skin on his face, dragging his hands down ward, hissing slowly as he felt his nails ripping his skin.
How nice.
He let one hand find the piece of glass, tugging it out of the skin of his chest, he then rested it on his forearm, and with a small silenced sob, he slid the glass down his arm, moaning as he felt his skin splitting.
And he remembered more...
"No! Shut up!" Trever, nothing but a small six year old child squealed at the larger, sixteen year old man.
Perry just rolled his eyes, moving closer to the child and ripping the tiny new born from his arms, the baby was still slick with fluids from its mothers stomach.
"Give it up brat, your not good for anything, never will be. Your a waste of space, only reason your still around is because you are your fathers slave and my little toy." The man smiled, covering the tiny babys mouth with his hand.
Trever screamed louder, reaching for the tiny baby, his stomach still not fully stitched up.
"I-I know im good for S-Something! I-I just havent f-found it yet!" The child stammered to him, reaching for the baby again only to be shoved back, and back handed hard across the face, not by Perry, but by his father who then snatched the baby away from the teenager.
"Your a failure at life, you will be a failure at parenting." His father growled at him, looking over to the small trembling women in the corner of the room.
"Deal with your son bi*ch." The man ordered, hitting Trever one more time, hard enough to knock him unconscious and leave him with a throbbing concussion.
"GoodBye Ballet." The man stepped over to the tiny pregnant women, holding her by her chin. "If your smart, you will get rid of these Bas*ard kids of yours." He let the women go, glaring at Perry as he stalked out of the home, and out of their lives for good, taking the not even an hour old new born with him.
Perry sighed lightly, watching the man go before he lifted Trevers limp body, placing him back on the small blood stained bed.
"Later Mrs.B." He winked to the women, stepping from the home and also disappearing into the night.
Trever's heart broke as he relived the memory in his head, his tears falling faster.
The man sliced harder on his arm, feeling as he nicked bone with the small piece of glass, he reveled in the feeling of his slashed veins spewing blood onto a floor that had once been so white.
And he slowly faded away.
Trever lived without the child, he lived without family and without sanity, but without it, he is only miserable at best.
Just like every year, every ear on his first baby's birthday.

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