~Disclaimer--Silent Hill and its characters belong go Konami. Sometimes, when people aren't looking, I eat the parsley, too.~

Block Mind

What I do everyday now is the same thing: I wake up, shower, maybe jerk off while I'm in there, dress, then go to work. I had stopped visiting her. It became too hard to look at her anymore. She isn't my wife; I don't know who she is anymore. It isn't just her looks, it's just what she says to me, if anything at all. Most of the time, she just stares out of her window and looks at the park across the street at all the kids, as if waiting for me to say that everything was going to be alright.

I used to say it; it used to make her smile. But, now, we both know that those words mean nothing. And saying goodbye is too difficult. I had never been a man to act out on my emotions. I guess that makes me a fucking pussy, I guess that's why I stopped going to see her. I don't like when she lashes out on me. I don't like to see her angry. Of course, she has every right to be. God just decided to take her life away. No, our lives.

I remember the things we did when we had just got married, the walks in the park, the long talks at night. All the talk about children. I never wanted kids. It's not that I hate kids, it's just I don't know how much patience I'd have for them. I knew I'd just tune them out if they bothered me for awhile. That's how I handle everything. If I know it's going to upset me, I ignore it. Avoiding the inevitable, she always says when she yells at me when I do work up the nerve to visit.

I'm not going to lie, it's true.

When I was a kid, my older brother would punch me on the shoulder whenever he passed me by. I never said anything. I just ignored him and kept doing whatever it was I happened to be doing. Homework, watching tv, watching this girl that lived across the street from us. I thought I was in love then. She was beautiful, the kind of girl that only existed in movies. The kind of girl that would wake me up in the middle of the night to put my hand down my boxers. My brother knew that I liked her, and every chance he got, he teased me about it. I ignored him, though. But that day, that day had to be different.

It was the summer before he left for college, I was around fourteen then, and was sitting outside on the front porch. My brother, he walked by and hit me, as usual. I didn't flinch. He did it again. Didn't move. He did it a third time. This time, I turned around, grabbed his hand, and started screaming at him. I yelled a lot of things, things I didn't know I was capable of saying. Things I wouldn't ever imagine myself saying, and all the while I was hitting him back with my fists closed. Mom was the one to pull me off of him; she was crying and hugged me. I hadn't noticed that I had been strangling him and bashing his head into the ground. The thing I remember the most wasn't the fact that my brother was bleeding all over the porch and calling me all sorts of names, like "fucking lunatic" or "goddamn cocksucker". But it was the face of that girl. I can't describe exactly what it was, but she never spoke to me again or looked me in the eye.

I get afraid that people would look at me like that again. I didn't want Mary to look at me like that. That's why I stopped going to see her. That's why I didn't want kids. I didn't want anyone to think of me as some kind of monster. I'm above that, and...

So, today, she comes home. It's probably going to be the last time she gets to see the house. I moved her bed to the window, just like she likes, and I made her favorite dinner. She asked about that tape we made on our honeymoon the last time I called. It was the only thing I wasn't able to give her today. Maybe I'll find it. Maybe not. I'm not sure if I'd want to watch it anyway. I'm not sure if she'd really want to either. It's small talk, avoiding the inevitable.