Thursday - Wk 2 Chp 1 - Our Gentleman

Ok, so, i have some making up to do. I'm sorry. My January has been JAM-PACKED with things going on. It's been ridiculous. But, after this weekend, I'm totally free and clear for two whole weeks, so you'll be seeing a lot more of me ;).

Anyway, to make up for last week, I will be bringing you 10 chapters this week.

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His eyes followed the topless concrete box, which held the closed casket, as it was slowly and mechanically lowered to the flat dirt floor of what seemed to him an endless, bottomless, dusky room inside of which his short life's love was to be locked in an abrupt, sudden occurrence of solitude, which would last indefinitely. Thunk, as the concrete hit the floor, a clod of dirt shaken loose fell to the surface of the casket. The concrete lid, her name and their daughter's etched in a fine cursive, was lowered to shut the box and forever seal his young bride and unborn child away from the terrors of this world.
When the ceremonious procession finally ended, he found himself surrounded within his home by a gaggle of persons not belonging. All still clad in their black mourning garments, but smiles flashed often on their faces to expose their white teeth. He wanted to pull each tooth out individually so that they wouldn't smile at him. Worse were the frowns, which were aimed at him more often than the smiles.
He went to his cabinet, struggling with the baby lock she had installed prematurely. He thought about the lock for a moment, a tear building on the edge of his lower eyelid. He let the tear drop as he broke the lock clean open, a spring clinking as it bounced on the tile, and took hold of his new best friend by the neck in her thin, purple and velvety dress. He shut the cabinet and carried his friend up to the unfinished nursery.

He shut the door behind him and took in the pink walls, the white dresser, the ivory crib and the antique rocking chair, which he hadn't yet painted his wife's desired egg-shell color. A large painting his cousin had done for the baby was leaning against the wall, the window coverings were still in their boxes, the closet doors were off their hinges and laying flat on the floor. He sat in the rocking chair, off half of which he'd managed to sand the cherry stain. He slowly removed the violet gown from his shapely friend, still gripping her by the neck. He lifted her golden crown to let her hair down and pressed her mouth to his as he tilted his head back and let the amber fluid glide over his tongue, stinging the back of his throat as it made its way into his stomach. When he was finished with her he stood, opened the door and sat her down outside of the room and shut the door back. He turned on the dainty pink stereo his wife had found in an odd little shop in Austin and let play the classical station she'd left preset. He picked up the mobile from inside of the crib and held it over his head as he sat back in the rocking chair. He leaned back as far as he could and watched the rabbits spin slowly overhead.

One week ago, a man reached a similar condition to that in which our gentleman currently was. This man was exiled from an establishment, which had expedited his condition until he could no longer pay. He sat himself on his motorcycle and wove his way bitterly and clumsily through traffic before confusing an off-ramp for and on-ramp and bobbed between oncoming vehicles until he finally met one head-on. That vehicle belonged to our gentleman, but this drunkard missed our gentleman as he interrupted our gentleman's wife as she told her husband an anecdote about her great grandmother in a last-stitch attempt to convince him that Harriet was a lovely name. This wino lost his life, while stealing that of this generous young beauty as well as that of the child within her womb. Our gentleman died that day, too, but his body still haunted around.