Lonesome Evening

My ear presses against the main, and once again, I can’t catch any outside noise. No matter how much want or try is put in for any sound like the neighbour's children playing outside as they played in the late evenings after school. What were that they played? They played… they played football. The only thing. White noise: The sharp rustle of the wind sounds like a distorted scream. A sound that seeps into my body and into my bones. It makes me shiver all over; it touches the back of my neck. Eventually, it will run into my brain, but a person ought to delude themselves that one day they will hear something again as they did. Am I right? My hand runs across my sweaty forehead. I detach myself from the door. In need of sitting for a moment, I stroll through the living room. Then, stand in front of my velvety maroon couch; now that I have spent all that much time with it, what got into my mind when I chose this colour?

Looks like dried-out stain is the colour chosen. Rather than resembling Tony’s, the one I often snick at more than necessary each time; I go to her house and sit on it every time we talk. That’s what I get for trying to replicate her sophisticated tastes and be all about the ‘expensive’ and ‘boogie look,’ how much I miss her, and her stupid sophisticated couch. I kick the couch for making me retrieve the memory of her, my usual luck in these disastrous times.

When my skin contacts the velvety feel, I so enjoyed at Tony’s house; mine instead irritates like tiny pinpricks on the skin like when you sit on a comfortable spot for too long, and then the skin is repulse by it. I sigh; I’ve been sitting here for much too long.I get up and try to take a walk in circles around the little table in the middle of my living room; my head pounds with each steps. After 10 rounds around the table. I just give up and sink on the damn sofa.

The remote is right there on the coffee table;I give glimpses to the remote control. Its outline appears in my peripheral view, so I turn my head to the other side, but there it is again, a stored inprint in my mind.

I close my eyes didn't sleep well tonight anyway, and focus on my breathing. Maybe this way, I’ll be able to ease my nerves at least for a bit. One or two minutes go by. Oh! For heaven’s sake, what am I doing? Why am I playing games with myself? I just grab the remote and turn on the TV.

And the channel is still all static. As I knew, why did I even try? I turn the TV off. All that’s left to do is try the radio. I stroll to the radio on the kitchen counter. pull up a stool and rest my head on the counter surface; my head throbs. I close my eyes and fiddle with the radio knob, my favourite way to kill time. Maybe I’ll manage to get some sleep too, maybe.

I tinker with it for a while, ten minutes or so. The radio cackles; something more distinct comes from it. A voice? A woman’s voice, about her sixties, with a warm voice like Mum’s. I don’t lift my head to the station my eyes they heavy and ache.For the moment, I'll stay with the voice.