Disposal

For the fourth straight night I have been woken by the sound of the garbage disposal. The grinding of slop permeated the walls of our tiny apartment.

Why does he need to do this every night?

There was never an answer to be had.

There were times when I debated whether to kick him out on the street, or maybe install a locking mechanism, blocking use during the wee hours of the morning. Alas, none such thing could be done, so I would attempt to go out and stop him.

Before I could get up and curse him though, he would be once again fast asleep and I would stare at the ceiling.

It was interesting how something so trivial could drive such a wedge between two people. But just as it's the little things that can draw us together, they can also tear us apart.

When morning comes, I am livid. Anger fills my veins and replaces blood with hate. Each second I lie awake in that cold stone slab of a bed, is another second I live in torment.

Why are you so inconsiderate?

But he doesn't hear me, he never does. He has yet to respond to my queries either.

One morning he moved his lips as if to speak, but nothing came forth. I longed for his voice, so as to acknowledge my presence.

Speak to me! I deserve an answer!

Due to lack of sleep, at least that's what I think, I grabbed a knife and began stabbing at him. With rage I would yell, "YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SCRAP!"

When the police and paramedics arrived, I became confused. They weren't arresting me, or even interrogating me for the stabbing death of my father. They just continued to ask me to calm myself.  They weren't even tending to the limp body on the sofa, so I became progressively more disgruntled.

Why won't you help??!! Help me!!

Startled, one of the EMT's removed a needle from his pack, and what must have been a tranquilizer, because within moments I blacked out.

The police and neighbours were left to clean up the mess I had made, while I was being brought to the hospital in an ambulance. They swept the drywall that had been stabbed from the walls, and threw the pillows, that were also victimized, into the rubbish bin. Finally, the picture of my father, who had passed away many years before, was placed upright...

The End