Maurice Blocker
Stories (7/0)
Findawife.com
appy 37th birthday to me and what a grand birthday it is. Divorced with two kids. A brat spoiled piss-ant for a son who doesn't want to play football because the helmet will mess up his hair. And a debutant runt for a daughter. She takes after her mother and not in the good ways, the few she has, but in the many bad. I spent the night dancing, drinking, and mingling with the grace and perfection of a trained actor. My face was sheer falseness at its greatest. A sham. A lie. A mask of happiness. My performance was worthy of an Oscar or at the least a SAG nomination. My ex was an actress or tried to be at one point, but never let the title go even after a decade of inactivity. She only auditioned twice and those were for local commercials. She didn't get either gig. She was an actress in name because she felt it carried a certain level of, je ne sais quoi, her words. She was many things by name only, good wife, great mother, loving daughter. Around others, she could weave tales of herself so grand and luxurious I'd find myself believing them too. Then we'd get home. My ex was a cheater, lazy parent, and neglectful daughter. Before her mother died she sent my ex the twenty-four beauty baskets she had gotten her. One for Christmas and her birthday for the past twelve years. The note with it read… "these took up enough space when I was alive I refuse to have them with me in death, have your thoughtless gifts back. It'll be the best thing you've ever done for me. Thanks. I already feel better. Love the woman who gave birth to you." Near the end, she stopped calling herself my ex's mother. She said it tarnished the meaning of the word. She was no mother to that woman or selfish entity with tits, lips, and a vagina. Sitting here half blitzed off wine and shots of Canadian Club I realize my ex was indeed an actress, a great one. Her stage was life, not the screen, and her greatest performance was fooling everyone that she was what she wasn't. We, her family - the supporting cast - were merely fodder for her act.
By Maurice Blocker3 years ago in Humans
Infested
Simon awakes. His eyelids slowly blinking open. He tilts his head to the right, his alarm clock flips from 8:12 am to 8:13 am. He swivels his head to his left half expecting to be surprised to see a young beautiful woman next to him, it's just his pillow. He looks up at his ceiling staring blankly at nothing. It's an hour earlier than he usually gets up, but he's up. Simon lifts himself out of bed and sluggishly totters his thin wiry frame to his bathroom, running his fingers through his short hair and it's forty-years of wear and tear. He flicks the light on, stretching his arms out wide as he yawns. He looks in the mirror, rubbing his pear shaped chin.
By Maurice Blocker6 years ago in Horror