Hell is a contextual manifestation

catwalk

 

My name is irrelevant, yet I am 40 something years ancient.

 

War broke me fifteen years ago, and now I am incapable of working.

 

The people at the end of my street are fighting again. There are at least twenty of them. On reflection there are more likely twenty five men and women yelling and screaming; a stubby has just shattered the street facing window of a house; a rock has just hit a man on the side of his head. He is not moving.

 

This is all happening, escalating if anything, even though it is two in the afternoon and it is the most glorious day. A Willy-Wagtail is chasing cabbage moths across my green, lush, and about due for a mow front lawn; the big white gum across the road has just exploded into an eruption of white winged and squawking Corella’s. If it weren’t for the carnage at the end of the street, it would be the perfect day.

 

One, only one, and quite a magnificent ‘one’ at that, thing keeps me here. Living in a place I so heartily detest, detesting it specifically because of the deplorable actions at the end of the street. She is five feet six inches short, with reddish brown hair and a ‘strawberries and cream’ complexion; her eyes, light grey to light blue, have held me captivated since the fourth of July, 2008. My wife is the most beautiful, magnificent, person I have ever met, and as a result, this is where we dwell.

 

Here.

 

In this rural hell, with nothing more to offer than flies, and dust, and heat, and an overpowering level of antisocial carry on that would not be tolerated anywhere else in this wide brown land. If I knew a word more descriptive than ‘loathing’, I would use it to describe my hatred of this vile, town tainting, behaviour. Turning a fantastic place into a hell I would not thrust upon my worst enemy.

 

And yet.

 

And yet this is the town my fabulous wife hails from. Her mother, brothers, sister, nieces, nephews, friends, and enemies are all here. Each and every day I force myself to endure this pitiless miasma of a berg, and like the ‘Hotel California’, she will never leave. She wears those she loves like the heart wears a beat, and never could I force her desertion of this, my very hell. So she is here, and I love her. I love her so deeply, with such passion, that I could never envisage a moment without her. When we are apart I miss her like sleep and I need her like air. To be without her would be the murder of my soul.

 

And now.

 

And now, as she is here, so am I; loving her, hating all else, and I could never live without the love of my life.

 

My beautiful, beautiful wife.

 

Apparently Christmas is coming.

 

 

Fin

 

Roughly a year ago this post drew greater attention  than I anticipated. Not only as a direct response to all that I viewed around me at the time, but from those that thought it to be a racially motivated slur. How the latter became the interpretation of more than one individual still saddens me no end, as at no time have I mentioned the cultural background and identity of those that behave with utter disregard to all those around me. Either way, here ’tis, and the very best to all. Click the above picture, as is the norm, here, now. It is worth the look.

 

 

N.

 

 

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4 Comments Add yours

  1. Hey, thanks for the comment groover. Everything in that story is not a work of fiction, but rather my own observations as seen from my front veranda, and my take on life, and where and why I continue to live there. That people would read into it something of a racist nature is quite tragic to put it mildly. How the actions of a nameless/faceless few can perceived as a racist slur on my part either says an aweful lot about people making unfounded assumption, or, that I have more people reading my work than I could have imagined. Regardless, thank you so much for your comment, it does my heart good to know there are those out there with a good head on their shoulders that see my story for what it is, the love I have for my wife. N.

    Like

  2. lmkling says:

    Really enjoyed this post. I can’t believe how some people get triggered and say this is a “racially motivated slur”. No where do you mention what race the people at the end of your street were. They could be anyone. That being said, I did just remove the word “white” from my latest post.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Quite tragic putting it mildly. Aside, cheers for your comment, is really appreciated. N.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Grim's Crypt says:

    I’m unsure as to where they got this to be a “racially motivated slur” from, but I’m sure it has something to do with them as individuals personally and that they themselves need to look in the mirror if that’s their take on your story. It’s amazing what we go through for the ones we love. That’s what you call unconditional love. Even in this hell he describes, he is still quite content because of her.

    Liked by 1 person

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