Lamb to the Slaughter – Patricks View
My eyes began drifting around the globular clock, the modest crimson red needle rocketing into the elfin black pupil, closer and closer. Each washed out tick zoned into the trivial mind of my own. The mind I used to think of nonentity, the mind I misplaced after the death of my own daughter Susanna-May.
Mary, she had always been the stallion of the pack within the household, the hero to the defeater and the juvenile with the reminiscence of an aptitude monkey. She was the only thing keeping me from hurdling off the nearest cliff into the pools beneath. Although Mary was all these things, she was not exactly going to bring back the daughter I once had, I knew that, I always did, but never the less; she was still the one for me. She has the overall considerate temperament of one human being, a reason to wake up in the morning with a beaming smile upon the face of my own. But today, today seemed different…
Slunk back into the leather padded work chair, my mind began to work its regrets, after formally breaking up with my beloved wife after the assaulted sexual attack I was pressured into staying for the sake of Susanna-May, the daughter murdered by her own mother, the mother herself portraying as the living devil. It was just last week I retrained my dominance over the Maloney household, the same week I received a bigger monthly cheque and she begged me to stay with a ‘changed’ servile housekeeping plead … guilt. That was the problem, guilt, guilt and more guilt.
One chime, two chimes, three chimes, four chimes, an hour to spare, an hours grafting of pen actions and globed thoughts, is it worth it? It was the choice between another job promotion leading to a better life miles away from the home I now live upon or a chance in forgetting the past and focussing on the future, leaving another ones unborn child in the womb of the beloved wife, a fatherhood figure? Fathering was not for me anymore.
As my feet preached the footpath in a stride equivalent to a snail without the trail I made myself over to the devils lair. The door was wide open in its stride, like always she was awaiting my return, a return in which many consequences occurred both in which myself or Mary have not expected…
“Hullo darling” her innocent child voice echoed.
“Hullo darling” I repeated with no emotion or status.
My coat was taken from my back, and a tall glass filled with yellowed crystal ice cubes was placed into the sweated palms of my own, ‘I could not do this, this woman has dedicated her life to myself, how can I leave her now?’ my mind was back to playing its own tricks again, the overall ‘guilt’ trick. The room was quiet, quiet enough to gather extra thoughts on why I should leave this woman, no man should be raped within his own household, males are dominant figures, she did it once and I am sure she can do it again.
Gulp.
Whiskey.
Gone.
