A Brokoen Man

A Broken Man
By Pip Toia-Johnston




Perched atop a crow infested hill.
Coloured in greyscale and shadows. White light from the moon, dressed the roof tops.
A weeping tree protected the house, its fruits blackened and long discarded. Wooden toys, no longer a sense of joy, but disgust. Decaying along with the memories attached to them. Depression fogged the windows from the inside.


A pair of eyes could be spotted far above head height, as if they were superior, vain but saddened. A howl of fresh wind caused the eyes to disappear, back into the blackness. All black, except for a dim orange glow.

Fire. Live flames.

A figure of a man his hand firmly clasped around a glass full of alcoholic poison. He swirled the concoction in the glass. It was then tipped down his gullet and the glass shattered in the fire place. This caused the glow to illuminate furiously, forcing the man back. His wrath grew. Shouting, he crashed his arm across the mantel, shooting the contents of a jewellery box and dead flowers across the parlour.

A scream of frustration.

Suddenly he stopped but his panting continued. His heartbeat slowed and he pushed his shock blonde hair back to its normal style. He straightened his posture, brushed his vest and corrected his scarf.

Breathe.

His long and powerful but slightly unbalanced strides brought him to the door. He greeted it with a twisted smirk, loosened the latch, and left the room, shutting the door and the window and his sanity along with it.

His steps, still slightly staggered, carried him down the hall. Mirrors painted the walls. He was on every wall. In every direction, there was his face, just him, no one else. The pride he once carried in his appearance gone. His eyes cyan and narcissistic darted from mirror to mirror, looking at every reflection and every reflection looking back. His panting began again, his spine arched and his hands clawed. He used them to mask his face.

Laughter and screaming

‘You did it.’

‘It’s all your fault.’


‘I hate you.’


The voices of children, his children echoed
‘Why didn’t you help us?’
‘Why didn’t you save us, Daddy?’
‘We thought you loved us.”

LOUDER

Their images appeared in the mirrors.

Panic set in. He thrusted his head back and forth. A sickening feeling grew in his stomach. He collapsed to his knees, and then…

He snapped.

He lashed out like a scared animal. The colour dropped from his eyes. He snarled and bared his teeth. His claws ripping the mirrors from there hanging sleep. Shards of reflective rain drenched him. The force was harsh and overwhelming, it pinned him down on the tarnished wooden floor.

He blacked out.

Timidly he opened his eyes, his pupils dilated and his irises dull and lifeless. He flinched as he stretched his legs out from their foetal position that they had been cramped in for what seemed like hours. Alas the sky was still pitch black, the moon still frosted, and the stars still dusted around, like small twinkling lights.


He placed his hands on the glass covered ground, pushing himself up, he was now sitting. He pulled himself to the wall and rested on it.

Breathe.

He looked down at his fists, all cut and bloody. Cold sweat drowned his face. He continued his attention down to his legs, he discovered a large shard of mirror imbedded in his thigh. He reached his hand down and took a tight grip, and ripped it out.

Scream.

The pain was excruciating. The blood trickled out, like the juice of a freshly cracked pomegranate... fresh fruit, that’s something he hadn’t enjoyed for a long time.
He hadn’t felt joy in such a long time. His health was at the depth of depths, gloom and depression had hovered him for a quite a while.


The house was quiet, empty... cold. There was no one to help him. He just lay there and didn’t move. His blood began to pool. He was becoming weaker and weaker. He remained seated against the wall, his eyes diming. Until...


His body shocked. His heart wrenched and suffered an attack.


He died right there. No one to help him. He was alone. He died a broken man, of a broken heart. All because he couldn’t save the ones he loved, cherished and needed the most......





Breathe.

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