Somehow this reminded me there was somehow this other life and this side was madness I had to leave and go to University. Memories are the things which makes us human and there are so many things one choses to forget and there are thoughts of failure and the success which comes to the world when if we work.
Life is about small meanness.
He thought his wife the bone of his life was now his only friend. He said so over and over again as this was their only remark when they had nothing in common before as he had asked for a divorce waited to serve her the notice and when the papers were to be signed, she said they had been at it like rabbits. What now daddy dead and gone and we somehow to figure out what to say to the kids. The children left behind the ones who we now had to protect in case they went the same way. When we were at the pretence game, we had no gains we lost all the time. Something like this in there and here we are not the right family to know not very nice and dad said having turned a corner not rich enough.
“We wore ourselves out being the beasts who came not out.”
“Our tongue in cheek.”
“We love to talk.”
“Someone showed daddy his bum. Dad was so frightened he did not go there to smoke anymore.”
“Dad afraid of men.”
“When he in imprisoned he got raped silly.”
“Mother said they had been shagging forever and he had served the divorce papers.”
The other dad came instead saying he now so spent.
They did mimes together.
“Drinking whiskey adding to the traffic jams.”
“We have to get along in life and she barring my way over here there and here I am doing the slits while you standing there wasting away when you can have me.”
She is rejected by someone like me why asked father concerned. A rich lady like that.
That with hard work and preference we can do and undo ourselves. That in our beginning is not our end. The deeds to the house where are it? Went to her head I want the deeds so we can cremate her in peace. Pest control here and there when did dad come bring with him his luckless draw.
No one pays me a penny because you do not write hard enough it is all first draft. It is indeed Mrs dear and where did the whole thing end in a pot a pot without the society having a clue to what it has done to me. This is me here with the mark of death and there are not enough calendars left to see the workload for nothing I can do.
“It is all nothing?”
“No rewards are required we deserve all that there is.”
“Here is it then to the deserving rich.”
“Would you say I am being silly?”
“No, I am at deaths door and they come and take from me as if I am a little piece of something that has no doors or the wit to see through it.”
“What did we take?”
“My style and ideas.”
“The whole thing is a sham there has to be a copyright protecting the underprivileged writer who has the privileged writer at their backs stealing making off with the wit and the banter and going the rounds to the publishers because they can sell more books. It is all commerce it is all about money she can earn more for a book than me.”
“Her sales pitch is perfect.”
“We love her style of addressing the publicity platform.”
“You are not able.”
“I can write though.”
“So today it is not about writing but the sales pitch?”
“Stealing is what it is.”
“When one has a day job and has to commit ideas to paper one needs the nerd to write the first draft.”
“That is when writing dies?”
“Well it does not we have the internet.”
“I am calling the hit squad to see what we can do about that.”
“Spreading herself or themselves too fine?”
“Yes, because they needy.”
“We can write better than you do.”
“There is no question you do but my work although half baked.”
“When I suggested a solution, you suggested a threesome.”
“No in bed.”
House of publishing bustling with trade.
“No writers allowed in and all the best on offer have agents.”