Happy Birthday

The rats dig through the walls. Their wretched hands grope and comb the inner linings of the wall. Of my home. I used to live here, you know. Back before everything fell apart. The mice, they have only exemplified the nightmare I've been cast to. Insomnia makes sure that my soul finds no solace in itself. I come home from working all day only to be pestered by these incessant mice. In the kitchen they eat all my food. Not like it matters, as a day in the filth lined kitchen brings rot and mold no matter my attempts at storage. Like the air itself is polluted. As a child this place was bright and beautiful. Mother made such work of the building, turning house into loving, living home. Then she left me. At 10 years old she abandoned me to social workers and therapists and degenerates looking to use me for money. In the guise of foster care they stole what was left of my innocence to feed their hungry, hungry pockets.

Once I outgrew the title of child and emerged a shell I was released to the wild. I inherited the house. Without love it died. Withered. An inanimate object just as emaciated as the living owner. Fitting, i believe. It’s been two years since then and both of our states have declined. The rats tear at the walls, then they tear at my heart. At least the cockroaches make no noise when they stalk the night. Tonight though, I know I can sleep easily. I rack the double barrel and place it’s cruel mouth against mine in the most loving act I've felt in my life. I smile for the last time, but before I went to bed I let my final thoughts dwell on my only gift this year.
“Happy birthday..” I whisper, and then I blew my candles out.