Old Man Misery has turned up enexpectedly as he always does and is expecting a warm welcome. I’m not wholly disappointed to see him and, as of yet, I have no need to fear him.
He is old and frail now and not at all like the obnoxious young man that was impossible to live with.
These days he doesn’t stay long. He creeps in a little at a time, glancing up I’ll see him sitting opposite me in a chair that he reserves for himself.
He knows his presence is weak but that he still has a hold over me and the twisted smile he wears underlines that knowledge. I can see in his face that he is waiting for an opportunity to strike.
He fades away as slowly as he comes. Over a few days the signs of his presence fade one by one and the sneaky way he chains me to my chair goes.
Little Miss Mad never leaves the house unless I do. She is an embarrassing teenager, a talented ventriloquist who puts words into my mouth. (I once told my mother that the battery operated item that my dad had bought. her for Christmas was a vibrator.) She pours out strings of words that can’t be understood and are shallow and meaningless in any case.
She gets irrationally angry in the way that only arrogant teenagers who believe themselves to be the centre of the universe do.
She will never leave home. When the old man visits she stays in the attic and I can feel her stomping around, impatient to be back in control.
Occasionally she bursts out and challenges him and he responds with viciousness. Between them I have been driven to reach for knives, scalpels and pills. They push me hoping I will seek permanent oblivion. Parasites stupidly trying to kill their host.
They won’t kill me, I’m too tough to die.