Cruelty

 Hey everyone. This story is not about me and does not involve me. Because it was mis-interpreted and used against me, I will explain. This story idea came from a very dear friend of mine who is currently in a situation where she feels ignored on a daily basis. She feels as if whatever she does is not appreciated. I changed the sex from her to him in the story as a way to add a little privacy for her. However, because I know some people read this and think things I write are about me, I wanted to clear it up with this disclaimer.


One other thing I might add here, to calm the fears of some and the speculation of others, I am not going to commit suicide, I am not so seriously depressed that I am going to "do something stupid" and just because I write something, does not mean it is what I feel. I write what I write because my fingers tell me to write it. I am a writer who writes fiction. If you have read either of my books, you'd understand that.


Not a hand stuck him. No piece of leather slapped across his back. Nor were there bruises from fists, or prints from a boot. His hair was not mussed from being struck soundly, nor were his hands damaged from the application of unnecessary pressure. His ribs did not absorb impacts, nor did his fingers feel as if they were being torn asunder. There was no starvation, no bright lights, no tortuous thrashing about.

Still, the cruelty was there.

As real as a whip on his back, as painful as an electrical cascade on his body, as hurtful as a slap.

It was cruelty of the silent kind.

He was ignored.

Nothing he said or did registered with her. She ignored him completely like he was no longer a part of the living. If he died right now, he doubted she'd even notice.

He was gone from her.

He knew she no longer cared about anything if it had to do with him. Nothing in her life would include thoughts of him. He knew this and it hurt him.

It was cruel.

Every morning he woke to thoughts of her.

Every day he walked through his life, seeing her smile, feeling the touch of her hand, tasting the kiss of her lips.

Every night he would fall to sleep, dreaming of her face, feeling the comfort of her arms around him.

Now it was all gone.

She no longer needed him.

She found someone else.

She left his world.

It was cruel.

It hurt because they had shared so much. They had laughed and frolicked. They had joyed and they had cried. They were together and they were almost one.

He was there for her and she was there for him as they walked through the days and slept through the nights. He felt her near when they were not and he knew he would trust her with the secrets that were his.

He surrendered to her and believed she was surrendering to him.

But she was not. She was using him as a stepping stone, a crutch to assist her in healing and a tool to be used then discarded.

He was just someone on which she would stand to reach the next platform where he would not be.

She used him mercilessly and he let her because he could not see the real her.

He didn't see through the veil of secrecy where she hid her true self. He did not see that which she chose to hide. He was blind to the real her.

And the day came when she showed her true self.

It was hurt.

It was pain.

It was sorrow.

It was repeated every day.

It was repeated every night.

And it was cruel.