Hey there world!
I’m still having social media issues, all I can hope is that this particular tale eventually makes it further than just the WP site. Aside, I am not entirely certain if this yarn will ever go to print, a result of the very nature of it. Your opinion is very much desired with this.
Anyway, read on.
“Aggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Head in hands seated at the local pub. The stained wooden bar top being incapable to do anything more than return his stare.
Forty, fat, broken, and no longer of use to anyone.
Bloody ‘if only’ he thought. I would have been better off never meeting and marrying it. Twenty three and went off and married to a woman that had no right to wear white down a matrimonial aisle.
“Bloody ‘if only’ I had gone through with Medicine at Uni as soon as I was accepted, and got out of the Services then and there.
Bloody ‘if only’ the correct lass had of actually slapped me around the ear and told me I was “waiting until we were thirty” and then we would marry, instead of me not paying attention to everything she so wisely said. The degree would have been complete; I would have been far better off to put a ring on her finger.
Bloody ‘if only’ the warzone I found myself stuck inside hadn’t been the place I inhabited for a year. ‘If only’ I hadn’t gone there my head would be right and I wouldn’t have decided to take the path I did.
Bloody ‘if only’ the bloody old man hadn’t sold our farm, leaving me no choice other than to join up, purely because I wasted my education. That bloody life that I love but cannot live.
Bloody love. Bloody love. ‘If only’ I had got the head and heart to work as one. Not as bloody opposing forces.
Bloody life. ‘If only’ I wasn’t broken. ‘If only’ I had of followed the heart properly. ‘If only’ I didn’t live in this shit hole town. ‘If only’ the life I missed.
“If only you would shut the hell up!” She said. As a barmaid she was brilliant. Being Irish only proved to strengthen her position.
“You’re pissed, and after that rant, you’re cut off. Get the hell out of the pub, go home and cry yourself ter sleep. God, what is it with middle aged men these days?”
He stood, leaving a half finished pint on the bar behind him, and stumbled through the corner hotel door. Two or three minutes later, the muffled rifle crack eliciting from the lowered front window of his old car, was heard by no one.
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