PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Time changes, like the seasons of a year. You have autumn, winter, spring and summer and then the cycle repeats again, never ending. Each one is different and you have to learn how deal and adjust to each one like life itself, cause they all bring something different then the next. But if you were stuck in such a season, u had a choice, which season would u stay in? But then again, would u want to? Each story has a beginning. You could say it all began in the winter of my life, because some of us do freeze in the cold.



Part 1



When I awoke most of the newspaper that covered me had fell of me onto the checkered tile floor.  The alcohol from last night covered my chest, and had now filled the air with a foul smell. It had also left a vile taste in my mouth, but it was something I become quite use to. My head was killing me; all I wanted to do was sleep. It was so hard though, with that one white light up on the concrete ceiling turned on.  Especially with the walls on white it made it worse and seemed to insinuate it. No matter what direction I turned in, it seemed to still pierce my eyes. Nothing worked. All I could do was pull the mildew pillow that I found in the garbage over my head. That didn’t work either; I guess it was time to get up.



I sat up and rubbed my eyes and face I then I turned my head down towards the mattress and grabbed the beer bottle that I slept with on the tile floor; I then looked back towards the mattress for anything else that littered it other then my newspapers, pillow and torn blanket. It was damp with sweat and had gone yellow from it over the years. Beer had soaked in and now stains covered it from last night, but it wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. It smelled a little but I have gotten used to it and become numb to it. None of that stuff mattered though, it was a great mattress. I found it behind a dumpster down by where I worked a couple of years back. It had been lying there for sometime so I decided take it since no one wanted it. It beats lying on a cold tile floor. You can get stiff neck or hurt your back if you sleep on this tile floor and the pain won’t go away for weeks, and who wants that.  So I’m lucky to have found it.



God was it cold in the room. I shivered hoping to warm up. All really wanted to do was sleep, but there was work to be down, and there would be plenty of sleep when I was dead. What time of the day was it? There was no light coming in through the shades, not even the sliest. I grabbed the watch from the crate next to my mattress. It was hard to focus on it but my eyes began to adjust. The watch had stopped ticking; the batteries must have been used dry. It was a great watch though, I would never through it out; my son had gotten it for me for Christmas 7 years ago, back in the good old days, back when I was someone. I laid the watch back on the crate.



As soon as I stood up though, I got a rush of pain and my body began to ache.  I felt really cold. What I wouldn’t do for some meds, anything that would my body stop aching. I then began to scourge the tile floor for those painkillers, those percites I got. I remember the first time I got them the guy told it would help ease times like these. That was 2 years ago, I have been getting them ever since. Beer bottles that littered the floor were being knocked over as I has scourged for them. Some of them breaking some hitting with a clinking sound. You may think I’m addicted, but I’m not. You see I have had this pain where my whole body aches, feels like my bones are crumbling and you don’t want to move you just to stay in bed for awhile. That’s how it feels. You understand now? That’s why I take it, I’m sure you would to if you felt it like that right? I don’t take them just to get away; I take them to get the pain away, to numb it.



I finally found three of them. There were near the one of the corners of the room covered mixed in with some glass from a bottle, and now were sticking to the floor. The first two came up with ease. The last one though tough, I tried pulling it off the floor but it was sticking to it like cement. I pushed and pulled very hard, in hopes of loosening the pill off the floor. Finally my effort paid off but not with a price. I got it unstuck from the tile, but cut my hand on the pieces of glass surrounding it. I fell away cradling my wound on my hand. I had a hard time looking at my own blood, it made me pass out, and the thought of it made sick. I stood up began to rush over to the bathroom sink. I almost trip on another bottle on the way and two of the pills went flying out of my hand when I tried to gain balance. Out of frustration I kicked the fucking thing across the room shattering it into pieces. Damn it, this roomed need to be cleaned.



I opened my hand to see the wound. It cut was pretty deep, not that bad though. The more I looked at it the more blood seemed to fill the palm of my hand. The blood seemed to rush out, engulfing the pill that lay in the center. I was getting dizzy and light headed. I couldn’t stare at my hand any longer. I dropped the pill on the counter and turned on the fussiest and began to run water over my hand. The water was coming out light brown; I didn’t care a bit, just as long it did the job and cleaned the wound. The pain was excruciating. Last time I saw a cut like this was when my son came back from playing in the woods. He came in the house fast shrieking like a banshee. Turns out he had a cut his leg because he fell from a tree branch he climbed. He was 10 at the time. I told it him it wasn’t that bad, and he will be ok. But it did look pretty bad, I couldn’t tell him that though. I mean what else can you tell a kid who is 10 and has a huge imagination. The goal is you got to keep them calm. So I took him to the hospital, caused daddy just wanted his little boy to ok. Turns out he was going to need stitches. He got really scared and gripped my hand hard and said crying “Daddy promise you will watch over me, promise everything will be ok, promise you never leave my side, and promise me, I’m so scared.” So I promised and I stayed with him while he got his stitches in the operating room. But I don’t think that promise was still in effect when I left home 2 years later. It doesn’t count two years later right? Even if it did, it was the best for him.

I don’t know how long had held my hand under the water but my fingers were numb and prune. My hand had stopped bleeding to. I twisted the knobs on the sink off and looked for something to dry my hand and bandage it. After looking through my pile of unwashed clothes scattered underneath the bathroom sink and found a sock. I grabbed it and dried my hand with it. After that I proceeded to rap and tie it around my hand. Once it was done I just seemed too starred blankly in the broken mirror on the wall. Had I done the right thing I thought?  I was not a good role model, but I was his father. I still though I was loser Imagine me around the time I left, let me help you with it. Me, a dead beat dad, who lost his job, Me, who was paying the bills with credit card, Me, a wonderful husband, who’s wife at that point wanted nothing to do with him, but was staying with me for the kid.  I tried so hard, to make things right but it didn’t work out. The only thing I had was my shame left. Maybe I could have tried harder or asked for help. I tossed this thought of my mind. I did the right thing. I did.



Then pain my body seemed to pulse louder, I grabbed my sides cringed. I looked down at the pill on the counter.  It seemed to gleam up at me the little flat circle, my hope from this pain. It was now covered with dried blood, White with red spots. I wanted to take it but the blood that was on it held me back. The pain seemed to pulse louder; flashing white sparks filled my vision, along with haunting images of the past. I had to take before it got worse. I put in my mouth and gagged but I ended up swallowing. It would only be 45 minutes now before it kicked in, I could deal, I just need to sit down and wait. I grabbed some clothes off the bathroom floor; I had to change for work before I could sit on the mattress and relax though, I had to get something done.

Once I was changed I sat down on the mattress and let my back hit against the window. The back of my head hit the shades making them shake back and forth. I closed my eyes, and tried to calm myself. Everything is going to be ok. I then opened my eyes. I felt a little better the pain was still there but not as strong. I looked around my room, when I got back today from work I would straighten this place up. I leaned forward and grabbed an already open beer bottle off the floor and brought it to my lips. It was half full. A little bit of it seeped into my mouth, and then I stopped. I pinched my lips together and pulled it away from my lips. Things are going to be different from now I thought no more beer. I then set the bottle on the ground. This is it, from now on I’m going to save up enough money from begging and get a reel job. I leaned back against the shades again. I’m going to start my life again. I want to see my son again. But I won’t until I am financially stable so he can be proud of his daddy. The last week I was there, I just played with him everyday. His smile was what kept me happy, and that’s why I had to leave. I promised him soon everything would be ok. That’s why I had to leave I couldn’t see him frown; it would break my heart for him to know what his dad what his daddy was turning into. That’s why I had to go; I didn’t want him to take on my habits. I didn’t want him look up to me because there was a chance he would turn out like this, that’s why I couldn’t be a part of his life anymore, because if there was the slightest possibility, I couldn’t chance it. I love him to much. I just wanted to best for the boy, and I felt like that was the right choice. I would do whatever it took to make sure he never turned out like me. That’s why I left; it was the best for him understand? Soon he will see me again and he will be proud of me, and ill take care of him forever.



At that moment, black hands bursted out form between the white shades and began to grab at me, scratching my body. I let out a scream and tried to struggle out of there hard grip. There ebony hands were ice cold, and there touch felt like there were burning my skin as they pressed down on me. I managed to get free and crawled into the opposite corner of the room. The beer bottles that littered the floor were crushed under my knees and went into my flesh.  Shrills of pain and fear crept from my mouth, and tears were flowing down my cheeks.  I was curled up in a ball in the corner of the room in horror as the hands seemed to reach outward with such desire as the blood trickled for the cuts and gashes. I grabbed a beer bottle at my feet and threw it at the sable hands. They broke against the wall shades. It didn’t scare them away or injure them. It didn’t stop them, they kept reaching for me. There hands seemed to stretch outward, to me in my corner, and getting closer with each second of complete terror, until they were in inches of clutching me. Then they went flying back, from which they came, behind the shades. The shades were still rocking back and forth from where they came threw, until they calmed. After that all was still. All that you heard in that small room, in that dark corner where I lay, was my teeth chatter.



My eyes darted from corner to corner; from up, to down. I lay there very still encompassed such fright. What was happening? Was that just my imagination, had I lose a screw? I didn’t know. I waited there for what seemed hours in horror, until I calmed. I came to the conclusion it must have been my imagination. That’s all, just my imagination. I got up slowly. Then the white shades began to be tossed furiously around as if the wind was blowing them. I then ran to the bathroom and slammed the door shut and locked it. I then sat on the bathroom seat, and began to rock back, and forth. This isn’t rite. This cant be happening. Had I lost my sanity, had this room really come alive with such evil?



I then pulled my hands away from my face and began to stare blankly at the wall. You dim wit, you haven’t had any food today, and maybe that’s why you’re seeing things. Or maybe you’re just really tired. You got to get a grip. A grown man doesn’t act like this. There is probably nothing there. Get up, be strong, don’t be a coward. I then began to stop breathing heavily and grab a control of myself. I looked at my knees. There were no cuts. There was no blood, or pieces of glass imbedded into my skin. So there for it had to be my imagination. I imagined the whole thing. I then began to laugh loudly, my voices echoed off the walls and ceiling.  How childish of me. I feel so embarrassed. Thank god no one was here to see that. I then stood up and wiped the sweat that was beading down my face with my bandage hand. I reached for the door and pulled away. Stop your being a child. Grow up, and act like a man. I twisted the knob and opened the door.



I was back in the bedroom now. Nothing had changed no broken bottles littered the area he thought he crawled to, no blood in the corner. See there is nothing to be scared of. Wait the shades, they had changed. They were originally were blocking the outside, make sure no sunlight was coming into the room or making sure prying eyes didn’t know he took up residence in this old abandoned motel in the industrial part of the city.  I probably turned shades while I was hallucinating, or maybe they were already turned and I didn’t notice, yea that’s got to be it, they were already turned and I didn’t notice. The one white light began to flicker off and on. My eyes jumped to it. Then the light stabled and stayed on. I walked to the shades so I could turn them back they way I liked them, so no one could peer in.



Just as I was about to turn the shades my eyes. Darted to the outside. My eyes widen with confusion and discomposure filled me. What in the hell happened. Where the tall buildings, the street, and the trash are littered everywhere, where the hell is the CITY? There was nothing but a blanket of pale white snow as far as the eye could see outside the window., get a grip, just open the door and it will all be there, the lights, the buildings, the street, everything. I then reached for the door next to the window and opened and took a step outside. It was gelid outside, and the snow crunched under my feet as I walked out. This really isn’t right, just close your eyes really concentrate and it will all go away. So I closed my eyes and then opened them, but it didn’t all go away. The snow was still there, and coming down harder.



If this is suppose to be fake how come I could feel cold enwrap me. How come I could feel the snow from the heavens hit my face and hand’s. I then began to wonder out, looking, searching, screaming for anything or anybody to respond and aid me. The farther I got though, the more snow began to fall. I decided ill just turn back and go back to the room. There is food and water back in the room, that mite help me survive, and if this wasn’t real and was just a dream then hopefully I would awake from it soon. When I turned around though there were an extra pair of footsteps, one was mine, just plain old imprints of my foot in the snow. The other though, the other were foot imprints in blood snow and they were moving closer to me. It didn’t make sense though. There was no one making those imprints but they were still coming at me though, faster and faster. The blood in them seemed to get darker. I ran deeper into what seemed to be a storm. The farther I got the more snow fell down around me. The bloody imprints tricked me; it led me right where it wanted me to be, right into the heart snowstorm. The storm of snow then enclosed around me and enveloped me. Then all I could remember was darkness fading in. my last thought was that of my son and how I wished so much that I did the right thing; that he wouldn’t turn out like me, that he wouldn’t fade to nothing.



Part 2:



It was the mid summer and Detective Banks, showed up at the abandoned motel building around 2 o’clock in the afternoon, right after he just had lunch, at Chippys. Chippys was a burger joint down the street. They already had one unit there since 11 o’clock this morning quarantining the scene, and investigation the room and the building.



The ambulance and fire engine were parked on the side walk as Banks pulled up on the scene. He then parked the car and got out of his jet black Lincoln town car and closed the door, and pushed the alarm button.  He then approached the man in charge that seemed to have been smoking a cigarette outside against the wall. Banks walked up to the man, it was his lower ranking officer John Griffin. Griffin put out his cigarette once he noticed Banks.



Banks then said “report.”



Griffin reply” we believe him to be caucasion 6’4” tall, between the ages of 30 and 50, its hard to tell with all the decomposition.”

“Is it a homicide?”

“No, forensics say it’s a suicide”



” another dumb bastard gone off his wits end. How long he it been there?”



” it’s hard to tell, they say it decompositions ranges 3 weeks to could possibly a 4 month”



” was there anything that would identified the man?’



” yes, his license, turns out this guy has been missing for sometime, his name is Grant Peterson, his family filed a missing report about 7 years ago.”



” has anyone contacted the family yet?”



” yes they were just notified”



” who found him? ”



” old women sitting on the cop car, would you like to talk to...?”



” just let me see the body.”



They walked down the outside hall, there steps echoed off the walls. They finally came to the door, it was open, and people were scurrying around taking pictures, marking evidence, and dusting the room. The body was now in a body bag being zipped up by paramedics as he walked in.



Banks then walked up to one of the forensic detectives on duty and asked ” Have you guys figured out how he did it?”



The forensic detective then said” yes, turns out he smashed a glass beer bottle and sliced his wrists, he bled till he passed out and then died. There was this in his hand lying on his chest”



The forensic detective then handed over a picture. It was of the man and his family. It had had some blood droplets on the image but you could still make it out. Banks then turned it over. There was something written on the back. “The top said to William, my little boy, I just wanted the best, forgive me for...” There were some smudges in the ink with blood. You couldn’t really make it out the man was probably drunk when he wrote this. Then the rest of it said” Just don’t turn out like me, Make me proud boy. I love you. Grant Peterson,”



Banks then muttered under his breathe” his secrets will be our dreams…”



Griffin then said” what you are you saying boss?”



Banks then said” nothing. Nothing at all, throws this with evidence.”



Griffin then said” Yes sir.”



Griffin took the picture from Bank’s hand, and put in a plastic bag, then into an envelope. He then took the pen out of his pocket and jot down the evidence number on it 143.



Part 3:



It was raining outside the day the funeral took place. Everyone Grant Peterson knew was gathered in the graveyard. They all held solemn faces and umbrella over there heads. It was hard for everyone. A great man who had aspired to a lot had given up all hope when he thought there was none left, when really there was, all because he let his pride get in his way of finding help, and reaching out for aid to his family and friends. They wept for his wrong choices, and there loss of a great comrade and family member they loved. The son and mother stood at the side with fallen head, the mother blamed herself for all of this. But it really wasn’t her fault.  She still loved the man, and had waited for him to return, and he had at last.



His son William stood next to his mother with is head bowed and tears streaming down his face. His held her shoulder in hopes to comfort her. He was now 19 years old and was filled with spite, hatred. He loved his father but yet he would forever hold a grudge against him till the end of his days. The suicide note his father wrote out was never given to the boy and was lost amongst evidence of his death. The Echoes of the  day he had fallen from the tree were now repeating in his head, he was remember what his said to his father before was brought into the operating room for his stitches” “Daddy promise you will watch over me, promise everything will be ok, promise you never leave my side, and promise me, I’m so scared.” And his dad did promise him. But his dad broke that promise, A child’s grudge was still held in a young adults heart, and had ate away from him that his time.  As the casket was lowered the boy said” I will never turn out like you ever, I promise.”