Rotten

Friday
Please, do NOT reply! How many times I have to tell you to keep your mouth shut! I couldn’t remember opening my mouth to say anything. The last time I had said a word was years ago. I had already decided back then that it was a waste of words to speak to a deaf man's ears.
I stared at the spit that dripped down the left corner of the mouth along the chin. I had long since stopped flinching from the spit that splattered my face when he shouted. I stared at the madman who came at me like a wild bull with his hand raised.
A step to the side. He slammed his head against the tea buffet. The cups rattled and with a dull thud he lay stretched out on the parquet. Diary, I couldn’t help but let out a cry of joy, it sounded like a laughter, when I saw how easy it was to defend myself. I put my hand over my mouth when I heard a deep sigh but he didn't get up and I waited... the chains didn't jingle and I didn't move a step. The bunch of keys stuck out of his back pocket and was just out of reach. I stared in fascination at the blood that flowed in a stream across the floor. It glistened in the light of the kerosene lamp. Accidents always happen unexpected.

Saturday
Thanks for ordering, said the delivery man as he put the package in the hallway, would you like to sign here? He looked at me uncomfortably from the corner of his eye but I didn't care. It was on the tip of my lips to say: What are you standing there staring at, never had a beating or seen bruises?
He didn't say anything and I saw through the crack in the front door how he drove away quickly before I closed the door. The street looked scary I hadn't been outside in years. The basement is my standard residence the place he is now allowed to occupy. The box was the path to a better life. I picked up the potato peeler and cut the tape. It was just as I had expected. Potato sacks always came in handy. I vaguely remembered the sack-walking and sliding down the hill during the winter when I sat on a similar sack. Funny how memories come flooding back after a long time.

Sunday
The smell in the cellar made me gag. How could I have spent so long in there and still be alive? Not that I had a choice. The bag of rotten potatoes was sickening. Why had they been bought and never eaten? Had he gotten them at a big discount? He had always been crazy about discounts.
For the time being he could keep the rotting potatoes company, like attracts like, with a bag over his head, duct tape wrapped around his head and hands and feet tied together. Just to be safe I also put on the ankle bracelet. No one will hear or look for him here, dear Diary. No one has ever seen or missed me.

Monday
It isn't my mistake, Diary. It said to read on to find out more, and that is exactly what I did. The instruction encouraged me to do it and to practise, which I did till the rain fell, the world turned grey and was covered by a curtain of rain. I found an old magazine with pictures. Are they like me, searching for a friend? There were too many, so I decided to let the bottle decide. I watched the bottle turn around and the neck pointed towards the front door. Today was the day.

Tuesday
The clock is ticking. There is no second hand and before a hand jumps a long time has passed. The world is still wrapped in a grey veil How to colour my world, how to colour your world when there isn't even a pencil in the house? I never liked colouring pictures and especially not the ones where the plate is set and the cutlery is laid out. I don't colour anything, I don't need colour in my life. In the distance I see the river, how long has it been since I saw it? What I'm looking for is a friend. Someone just like me. With a splash I throw the bottled message into the water and watch it sink. As if there aren't enough disappointments already. I make a hard fist and the blade of the Swiss army knife cuts into my hand. Time to go home.
Have a nice women's day, says a young man. I ignore him. I don't feel the need to talk. What I want to say is written on paper and lies at the bottom of the river. I am handed a flower that is more life than death. I stare at it before I take it. That flower looks exactly like me.
It looks as if you Diary will be my listening ear for longer.

Whatever the deed - All rights reserved

_8.3.25

_{Prompts
Monday - Read on to find out more
Tuesday - Colour Your World
Thursday - All rights reserved
Friday - Please do not reply
Saturday - Thanks for ordering
Sunday- Discounts}