The New Shoes (4)

img-alternative-textThe landing has a familiar air that the other rooms have not. I know there’s a picture of Helen and myself looking right at me even if I can’t see it. The picture is yet another bane; it is of our wedding day, a constant reminder of my shackles.
I sneak towards our bedroom: first door on the left. At last, the moon has deigned to show its face and shines a weak light under the door, the first to be closed in the way I expect. This angers me as what’s the good of closing a bedroom door if every other is wide open? A riddle for when I’ve slept.
I open said door in silence. The hinges I regularly oil are as quiet as I wish the stairs had been. I shut it behind me with a slight click that sounds more like an explosion in the midnight morgue.
Our bedroom curtains are thin, although tonight they seem thinner than usual, the moon pouring in from a newly unveiled night. I hate thin curtains! They stop me sleeping. I am and always have been a terrible sleeper. I might as well not bother. The absence of darkness only furthers this issue and again I curse my wife. Everything I do is for her, nothing is for me. I grow angry as I trip on a pair of large, male shoes. I am wearing my only shoes?

To Be Continued…

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