Slimy's Tales

Look At All The Lonely People

Word Count: 990

Warnings: Victim Blaming, Implied Ab*se/S3xual Ab*se, M*rder, S*icide Attempt (mentioned), Neglect, Talk about nobody mattering, Objectification

➼ This is heavily inspired by the song Eleanor Rigby by The Beatles, the version i listened to while writing this was the one by Cody Fry.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ☠ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ☠ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ☠ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ☠ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

It was funny, how my life had fallen apart, and built itself back up into a cinematic drama. I'd concluded all of this was too much to not be a form of entertainment, perhaps when I move away from this godforsaken town, I could make millions off of a movie of my life, I'd heard people enjoy over the top dramas, and my own life seemed to me, that it would fit the bill quite well.

Of course, there was my sister, Eleanor. An admittedly dim-witted girl, although no one appreciated it when I mentioned it. She'd merely been a fool, tripping into her demise, tragic, but deserved. She'd been unaware her whole life, unaware of our father, unaware of our mother, blinded to everyone around her, the world merely a landscape for her tomfoolery. And she'd paid her price. It was a boy, of course it was, it always was. She'd faked her way into an abusive relationship, then blamed anyone but herself for her own predicament. She wore the face of a beautiful woman with the skills of providing to a home, that's what the boy saw, that's what she wanted him to see, for no one would desire just a fool of a girl, had they known what lay beneath the façade. He never once questioned the performance of a girl she could never be, and perhaps that was a mistake. In his eyes? She was just like all the other women. Which is never good. She was just another person who wasn't a man, forever a burden no matter how useful, that's what he saw, and she was treated accordingly. The news had reached me the next day. I believe not once she would have let the mask drop, she lied until she could lie no longer, almost poetic, and what a waste at that. Something fit for a novel, shovelled into the life of a waste of a woman. A young woman so lost in her world, she watched the world with a sparkle in her eyes. Was she capable of anything more than being used? Such a question was honestly stupid, she was lonely and dumb, she was born to be used and thrown away at a moment's notice. To be ignored when not causing issues, an inconsequential girl, a fool enough to get herself into a situation where she had no hope, and still stayed. Eleanor's life, was completely lacking in purpose.

And then, father. Mackenzie stumbled through life, in a way that made you think he was successful, just always running late. None of which was quite accurate. One could say the old, dishevelled man, aspired for recognition, he never shut up about his dreams of writing, how one day he wanted to sell his books across town, humble fame, within a place that he held dearly. Almost heart-warming, almost. If he weren't a neglectful rat. He would've been fine, an average man with above average dreams, which is to be expected, but no. He really believed he had what it took for greatness, which seemingly meant, entirely neglecting your family for weeks on end, in false hope of success. When I was much younger, Mackenzie walked off in the middle of the night. He'd been suffering from cabin fever, it was evident in his eyes. And so he and mother set off to the river, as the night sky danced above. My mother merely held onto little hope of saving the man she married from himself. Mackenzie denied. Mackenzie was a fool, a man so hungry for recognition. This man, the one who had married my mother, made her raise two children, only one garnering any consequence, all on her own. Not a cent was sent her way, she worked, she raised us alone. Those who knew judged her harshly, those who didn't admired her for raising me, and silently praised Eleanor's innate beauty, even if I knew it hid an idiot behind those eyes. A mother who only wanted her life the way she'd planned, was killed that night. The stars, I recalled, were far too bright for a night of such malice. My mother, who carried herself like a woman of higher stature would, drowned that night, at the hands of Mackenzie. And oh how excited he was, 'It was like he was living his own novel!' he'd yelled as he came home. He was proud, he was ecstatic, the joy in his voice unnatural. I would've joined my mother, were it not for stupid Eleanor who just happened to come across me standing by the riverbed. She talked my ears off about how she thought 'maybe something was wrong with Mackenzie', a fool even at such a young age.

When Eleanor fell, Mackenzie was uncertain, it appeared. I was locked out of the house, I could hear him writing, for hours on end. At one point he exited the front door and told me of his work, he mentioned his lost traction in the novel about my mother's death. And the eulogy he wrote for 'our dear Eleanor, beloved and not forgotten', his words stirring inside me.

I made sure no one heard that eulogy. The sooner Eleanor was wiped from history, the sooner the world could forget someone not worth remembering. She didn't belong here, neither did the scumbag Mackenzie. No one would ever believe him though, I could already hear the answers to his pleads dance through my head. His own daughter? Hadn't the girls been raised well? She, a woman, would never even be capable of such a thing'. "The poor man is just grieving, he's lost", they'd said, everyone had agreed, while I was 'graciously left to grieve'.

I'd lived my life surrounded by lonely people. I was never meant to be surrounded by such attention hungry wastes, but I was never destined for more, I suppose. I hadn't belonged, no one ever did. 

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