Hemingway. (ernestoic) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2013-10-27 22:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed, !plot |
Who? Ernest & Rhonda
Where? Their apartment
When? After his latest net post
What? Hemingway wrestles with his depression
Open? No- well, maybe to a doctor later.
Rating/Warnings Moderate- warnings for talk of suicide, post-natal depression, mental illness etc
Ernest had placed his phone aside, intending to walk away and do something to clear his mind, but he did not move. There was a tight lump in his throat, the feeling right before crying, holding it in, holding it in-
Patricia was crying, the sound echoing through the room, but Ernest really couldn't hear it. He was staring at the wall, pale and sickly looking, his shoulders slumped. He would be better off just getting it over with. Sure, he wasn't meant to die for decades yet, but maybe it was better this way. This wasn't his life anyway. He didn't belong here, on this island, with this baby, with this wife, in this year. And he was no good. He was a terrible father. He would end up smashing the babies skull in. It was safer if he was dead, he shouldn't be trusted with a child.
He was not a good person. He had tossed Hadley aside like she was nothing. He knew he would marry over and over never committing to anyone. Rhonda might want him now, but she would cast him aside eventually, once she realised what a useless, horrible person he was.
His mind was dark. There was a pain in his chest. He wanted to scream.
He needed a gun. Now. He needed a gun.
Patricia cries continued, and he didn't move except for a slightly tremble.