The Haunting of Harold Hemmings

To write for exactly, and only, ten minutes every day, as exercise. Helped by daily prompts by “M“. Today I wrote from 14:02 to 14:12 with the prompt …..

The Haunting of Harold Hemmings

Waking up again. Another morning, another day. The initial trained burst of optimism, “Today will be good; I will have a good day” is soon gone; evaporated quicker than the purest alcohol, the alcohol Harold has eschewed now for so many years.

Thoughts. The thoughts come.

He lets one or two in, I can handle these, I can think about this, surely? After all this time. And briefly he feels he can. By the time his feet are on the floor, however, he is licking over these painful thoughts as one might flick one’s tongue against a rotten tooth; yes the pain is still there.

In the shower it is all he can think of. “Why? Why? Why?” a million times the same questions, the same hard rock of the same answers, the same circle.

Harold Hemmings cannot recall the taste of morning tea without fresh tears in it. By the time he leaves the house he is on the floor. His head is stretching to hold all these circular never-ending miseries in them. Time will help, yet his haunted head continues to ache and burst at the seams as he never can seem to lay these things to rest. He never can exorcise the disappointments, the humiliations, the pain and the despair.

Finally at the end of the day – a good day, his brain was only on fire for most of it – he takes his pills and he can sleep. The haunting nightmares will not begin again until morning.

My other writings are on Dead Deer Blog.