A dark and stormy day
Stone-walled house and creaky floorboards
Rain tapping all the windows, streaking them,
As the windows shudder in their housings
A high, keening wind
Clap of thunder and a drawer being opened
The cutlery inside rattling
As the drawer comes to rest
A roving and admiring eye
So wet, reflecting the dull silver sheen
Sizing up the pain within
And the size of the blade to release it
A lightning bolt outside the window
Causes him to look up, through the pelting rain
At his own reflection, to the dark hair
And those sad, sad eyes
He tilts his head a little, wondering
Just how good a scar would look
To beautify what is the exact opposite
And decides, for the time being, against it
The front door bangs open,
Footsteps in the hall
Resisting that encompassing impulse,
He drops the blade, the butcher knife, back in
The drawer
"You need any help, Mother?"
A story, not about me (for once, you self-centred so-and-so) but just a story. Let me know what you think of it. Please, any and all criticism is welcome
