The intro to a 20ker, and so it is not complete. 20,000 is a lot to post in one thread, I think. Merry Christmas. Don't read if you are the sensitive type.
The fire warmed them all. Mary saw the glow it lent her husband’s face, and her love for him returned with reluctant force. When he saw her gaze, the smile he wore seemed one size too small; the lips curled in on themselves, reflected the coldness in his eyes.
Mary looked to her parents. Older than even her recent memories allowed them to be - and both seeming smaller - her eyes wandered to their wine glasses. Sitting isolated upon the wooden table, the glass shined with the darkness of lights and bright embers. The conversation of her parents, joined by the witticisms of her husband, faded into whispers as she regarded the two drinks. Mary imagined the fat threads swirling within them, slithering and falling.
She thought about them for a moment longer before her mother retrieved them both, passed one to her father. Mary made a move to rise, to knock them from their hands and watch them break against the wall. Jack stood first. He was so much taller, so much bigger. And she loved him so much.
‘I’ll see if there’s anymore wine, folks,’ he said. ‘Sit back down, Mary. I won’t be long.’
Her father swirled the glass in his hand and frowned. He was so very small, now. So very, very small. His shoulders seemed childlike, and his neck barely able to support his head. The hands were so thin, too; not the strong, working hands they used to be. For all those reasons and more, Mary said nothing.
Her mother drank first, and soon her glass was empty. She looked to Mary’s father. ‘Drink up, you old dog,’ she laughed. ‘Jack’s getting more – drink while you can, and fall when you can’t, that’s what I say!’
Mary gave a small laugh. As her father raised his own glass, knowing her husband was preoccupied, she stood. ‘Dad, maybe you should give it a miss this time? You know what the doctor said – have some water instead? Would you like me to get you some water?’
‘Doctors know nothing.’ Her father made a face and sipped at the drink. Mary sat again, and the helplessness flooded her gut. ‘Doctors shmoctors, that’s what I always say. Those fancy degrees don’t hold their weight in tree bark, if you ask me. People got on fine before all those medical books and PHDs came about. All the big cheeses in history done fine without the monthly check ups and people yapping on at them to take two blue pills then three red pills, and to never ever take the red pills before the blue pills, and to take three blue pills then two red pills only if they’re prepared to fall down dead.’ He paused, admiring his own wisdom. ‘It’s those Jews that need the diagnoses. They brought all the diseases from where ever it is they lived and killed Jesus, took everyone’s money. I’m not saying the Holocaust was right, but you’ll not see me going back in time to fix things.’
‘Oh, be quiet, Arthur, you old goat!’ her mother said. ‘Always with the Jews. You just leave them alone now, you hear? You should have seen him the other day, Mary! Mary – are you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Good.’ She continued. ‘When Harold came to the house and accused your father of stealing the morning paper, you should have seen him howl! He threw the paper down and I swear it, I’ve never seen him move from his chair so fast. He stuck his finger into Harold’s face—’
‘Harold is a “shmuck”,’ he sulked. Mary hoped Jack would just get the wine, that maybe he couldn’t do what he wanted. ‘Saying I stole his paper. I tell you, Martha, I didn’t steal that Jew’s paper! I don’t want anything to do with him and his circumcised equipment, let alone live next door to the man.’
Arthur finished his glass, and slammed it on the table with indignation. The disgust shivered down Mary’s back, made her muscles tense. She leapt from her chair – ‘I have to check on something’ – and scurried to the kitchen.
The light in the kitchen came solely from one window, even on opening the door. She heard a ragged breath, a stifled groan, a whispered 'Don't scream while I do you, bitch'. Mary’s eyes failed to adjust to the light, and she wondered if she willed it so. With a shaking hand, she reached for the light switch. The figure breathed hard in the darkness, like some waiting death, and the light switch seemed to her to be further away than usual, so that she must stretch to reach it.
The light came on. Mary recoiled a step in fear of her husband’s retribution, but there was none. He failed to notice the detonation of light, for his eyes were clenched shut, and his concentration intense. His face showed no sign of pleasure, but a deep determination.
In a shivering right hand, he held two wine glasses, filled three quarters of the way. In the other, Mary’s husband gripped his penis, and worked it rigorously. At his feet, a discarded photo of herself as a child.
Mary’s head felt light, and she regretted her impulse. In a moment, he would see her, and then she would get it. As she turned to flee the room, she heard his gasp. He aimed his penis as one wine glass, switched.
When his eyes flashed open, they filled with a fire that commanded Mary to remain as she was. Jack walked to the sink - his thing still jutting from an unzipped fly - wiped the drips from the rim of the glasses, and stirred them with a spoon as one would make tea.
dont quote me!!
