UNTITLED
“My name is Kimberly, and im an alcoholic”
Those 3 words, those 3 little words. Recited with ease by most people, not for me. For me, these words were a harsh reality, a reality that took a lifetime to say, but an eternity to bear.
The old man sitting next to me, dressed in that stupid tartan coat that only farmers wore, applauded like I had just given a speech to become president.
Today was a new start, a start to become the old me, the one that cherished life, the one that lived for every minute, the one that people actually remember in the street. Today was my day.
Sitting crossed legged on the cold attic floor J pulled his eyes from the pages before him. A sly glistening tear hugged his left cheek, perching itself on his top lip.
As he looked around, J could no longer see the bright pinks and purples, or the beautiful butterflies, or the flowers that he always associated with Kim. Instead he was faced with two damp cardboard boxes, filled with ragged, worn out garments that contained more holes than he dared count.
It was in this first box that he had unearthed a familiar looking object. Wrapped in a distained silk scarf sat the box J had been rummaging through just moments before.
The rich mahogany box stood beautifully in the dim light of the attic. Its ornate birds and vines, intersecting with elegantly crafted butterflies. J stared solemnly at the box.
He had given it to Kimberly the previous Christmas. That day had been the last time he had seen her and guilt now penetrated his entire body. .
He had been in China that year, working on securing a major contract. As soon as he seen the box gracing the market stall he knew he had to have it. Kim had to have it. It was the least he could do after practically ignoring her for 6 months. She loved it but J couldn’t understand why it was now placed in the musty attic amongst disused furniture
. “I’m sorry” he said aloud, “I’m so sorry baby girl”
Questions began ravishing his already confussed mind as he slowly folded over the book that delicately sat in his hands.
He lovingly caressed the book between his hands and held it close to his chest.
A small whimper left his mouth. Salted drops fell to the floor.
Why didn’t he know.
Why didn’t he see? He should have seen. A father is supposed to protect and nurture their children. But J had been more concerned with work. Always had been. Now it was too late. Regret filled J’s heart. Why had he ignored her? He would have known if he had spent some time. In the space of two minutes, he had discovered she was in need of his help. But he was no where to be found.
As he walked towards the stairs, a light wind hustled through the tiny window of the attic, caressing his greying hair. No longer did he have his natural dark locks, instead they were ravished by the grey ones now protruding from every angle.
How could he have let all this happen?
One question raced round J’s head more than any of the others. Even if his life had depended on it J couldn’t understand what it was that had made Kim turn to alcohol. Was it school, was it friends? Was it me?
Blake, the descrptions are very well descriptive for a reason.
Im trying to portray the old kim to the new. The light to the dark?
“My name is Kimberly, and im an alcoholic”
Those 3 words, those 3 little words. Recited with ease by most people, not for me. For me, these words were a harsh reality, a reality that took a lifetime to say, but an eternity to bear.
The old man sitting next to me, dressed in that stupid tartan coat that only farmers wore, applauded like I had just given a speech to become president.
Today was a new start, a start to become the old me, the one that cherished life, the one that lived for every minute, the one that people actually remember in the street. Today was my day.
Sitting crossed legged on the cold attic floor J pulled his eyes from the pages before him. A sly glistening tear hugged his left cheek, perching itself on his top lip.
As he looked around, J could no longer see the bright pinks and purples, or the beautiful butterflies, or the flowers that he always associated with Kim. Instead he was faced with two damp cardboard boxes, filled with ragged, worn out garments that contained more holes than he dared count.
It was in this first box that he had unearthed a familiar looking object. Wrapped in a distained silk scarf sat the box J had been rummaging through just moments before.
The rich mahogany box stood beautifully in the dim light of the attic. Its ornate birds and vines, intersecting with elegantly crafted butterflies. J stared solemnly at the box.
He had given it to Kimberly the previous Christmas. That day had been the last time he had seen her and guilt now penetrated his entire body. .
He had been in China that year, working on securing a major contract. As soon as he seen the box gracing the market stall he knew he had to have it. Kim had to have it. It was the least he could do after practically ignoring her for 6 months. She loved it but J couldn’t understand why it was now placed in the musty attic amongst disused furniture
. “I’m sorry” he said aloud, “I’m so sorry baby girl”
Questions began ravishing his already confussed mind as he slowly folded over the book that delicately sat in his hands.
He lovingly caressed the book between his hands and held it close to his chest.
A small whimper left his mouth. Salted drops fell to the floor.
Why didn’t he know.
Why didn’t he see? He should have seen. A father is supposed to protect and nurture their children. But J had been more concerned with work. Always had been. Now it was too late. Regret filled J’s heart. Why had he ignored her? He would have known if he had spent some time. In the space of two minutes, he had discovered she was in need of his help. But he was no where to be found.
As he walked towards the stairs, a light wind hustled through the tiny window of the attic, caressing his greying hair. No longer did he have his natural dark locks, instead they were ravished by the grey ones now protruding from every angle.
How could he have let all this happen?
One question raced round J’s head more than any of the others. Even if his life had depended on it J couldn’t understand what it was that had made Kim turn to alcohol. Was it school, was it friends? Was it me?
Blake, the descrptions are very well descriptive for a reason.
Im trying to portray the old kim to the new. The light to the dark?