Guilty

Every action has a reaction

 

GUILTY

            Have you ever been in the back of a policecar?

            Well let me tell you, it’s not a place you want to be, all leather and dark, made out like a fascist stormtrooper’s pleasure palace.

            I remember her face just before we left, fluttering eyelashes, I bet she got his number. They’ll be screwing before long, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were screwing now.

            At least the back of the car was better than where I am now. Four stark walls stared back at me, echoing their derision back at me; small etchings of graffiti bear evidence of the previous occupants. A metal door straight in front of me, an occasional pair of beady eyes stare at me through a slat that sends a shiver up my spine when it’s clattered shut. My back aches from sitting on the wafer thin mattress that covers the laughable excuse for a bed and the smell of urine comes from one of the corners, I don’t even want to know.

            Okay so I hit her, we have arguments all the time, it’s what we do.

            It’s not as if I’m the only one to blame, she’s hit me with a frying pan before; I was in casualty for hours. Hers was the first face I saw when I came round, her eyes all red and puffy, mascara streaking her cheeks. A nurse told me later she’d been crying for hours.

            Begged me for forgiveness she did, it was like a broken record, I kissed her just to shut her up.

            Like I said, it’s what we do. I can’t remember a time when we didn’t argue, but hit her? I’m not the sort of person to hit a woman. But I must be. I hit her. That’s something I can’t escape, I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life.

            The slat in the door slid open and I nearly shat myself, I could hear a snort of disgust from the other side of the door. I could imagine what they’re thinking, woman beater, coward, gimme five minutes alone with him. I’d think exactly the same thing if it were me on the other side of the door.

            A metal tray of food was passed through the slat and is quickly shut.

            The silence in the cell was deafening, my heart sounded like a cannon, my footsteps explosions. I woz ere, Ere I woz, Woz I ere, Yes I woz. The words screamed out at me from their scratchings on the wall.

            I’m in here ‘cos I hit her.

            The tray of food flew across the cell, crashing and splattering, mash, coffee; peas all dribbled down the wall.

            I just lashed out.

            Like I did with her.

            My reflection stared back at me from the metal tray, my eyes sunken and dark, no tears, just red and sore. The pronounced nose that I’d always been embarrassed about, the overly bushy eyebrows and five o’clock shadow. The small circle of gold in my left ear that she’d persuaded me to get. The floppy fringe pushed back from my face, I couldn’t see any of that.

            All I could see was a woman beater.

Reviews

[Clarisse Nanoit]

Wow. I love this snippet. Good stuff. Kind of makes me wanna know more, but if you'd written more, I think it would've been too much. At any rate, love this!
KH

[Natalie C]

This was interesting taking the whole story from a completely different angle. Usually we get to read it from the woman's point of view, however, and I am not saying it's ok, cause there is never a reason good enough to do something like that but sometimes a person is pushed to such lengths that for that one slit second, one looses control, for only that one time, which will always stay with them the rest of their lives. The stigma of being classified as a woman beater�

Great story Alistair, I just loved the imagery and the way the story progressed

[Dan Bullock]

I want more rawness, I want your character to be more torn up, mixed with anger and regret, like his two sides fighting over his mind. He knows he's there because he's done something wrong, but I don't think he regrets it enough, he wanted to do and he knows what he's capable of, get deeper and darker and see where it takes you.

[Dead Angel]

very good story, but i think you should write about why he hit her, just a minor detail i'm sure the reader would like to know. i like the ending, self reflection can be a b***h, this was an enjoyable read, thanx for sending it to me. :)

[J. Hampton]

Alistar ....
yet another Canlin dose of perspective
You are the Toluse le' Trec of short story
wonderfully mysterious and dark....with frightening honesty
this pulls the reader...in...way into the recesses of the unhealty relationship
of abuser and the abused/enabler.

there's an old soft rock song from the seventies...by I believe Jackson Browne ...or Loggins and Messina
**** the lyrics go somethin' like this
" Down in the canyon,when the smoke starts to rise...when faced with the past, the strongest man cries...the strongest man cries" < --------- the only lyrics I recall ...pretty impressive after nearly 30 years...no ?

you really staged that inner ugly "coming to terms"...Bang-up job as usual !
Blessssssss

[Amanda Crandall]

My it would be nice if that was how it worked.

[Angelheaded Hipster]

Nice morality play here....I could see him in prison, which is a bit harsh...maybe a jail sure....but either way...that's where he needs to be.

Did he learn his lesson? Perhaps...but I really don't think so....

[Gary H]

Really good stuff. Thoroughly enjoyed this and the way you brought me into the story so I could see things through the characters eyes, especially when the tray was thrown in the cell.

As you say, 'All actions have a consequence', and I hope in writing this one, people will read and take notice of your words.