It’s empty in here, cold and desolate with no one to talk to. My screams of frustration and loneliness rings out and I am once again greeted by the echo of my own pain. The luminosity of the world outside of where I am currently held is the only light that barely allows me to see in this dark place. Two almond shaped windows are before me, and those that I see and love are out there. They believe that I am me, but I can’t assure them that I am not.

I sit here longing for the touch of my wife and to smell the softness of my new born son’s skin. I can’t. It pains me to know that someone else is enjoying the very things I once took for granted. Looking around, I can’t help but think back to the last time I told my wife that I love her, or held our son. These shameful tears that now ease down sullen cheeks offers no comfort. Comfort is something I’ve never found in this place.

Staring back out of the windows, I see a smile so wide upon her beautiful face. The plump lips that surround her luminous teeth makes my heart throb. She has never smiled so beautifully for me, and now more tears shed. If I am dead then this must be hell. For a month I’ve been trapped here witnessing my family’s transformation. How my sullen and depressed wife turned happy and vibrant, and how my son smiles and laughs with my replacement; it hurts.

Was my time with them such a bad one? The empty beer bottles and cans that littered the trash can are still so easily visible in my mind along with the constant nagging my wife used to do. We may have argued a lot, but at least we were happy. At least that’s what I had thought. This person is tenderer with her, and they make love almost every night. When I was around we rarely made love, especially after my son was born. Why was she so unhappy with me?

I’ve asked myself that question a number of times before my memory of what once were comes back. The black and blue bruises that use to litter her body comes into thought. The dark swollen eyes with a bleeding nose, the tears that plastered her face, and the groans of pain that I used to cause her comes back. Her shouts of no’s and the screams of my son come flooding back and I wince at the pain of it all. No, she wasn’t happy with me. She couldn’t have been. I made her life a living hell.

Maybe this is my punishment, my hell. Just sitting here looking through the eyes of another as he creates a new fulfilling life with my family leaves me broken. I wish I could leave this place of solitude and confinement to receive some relief from viewing what could have been if I were better person. I’ve tried escaping through the only openings I see, but my efforts were futile. There’s nowhere to go. There’s no freedom. This is hell. My hell. I’m trapped.

 

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