The Mercy Seat
“Amanda, his wife. Georgie, eight, and Rosie, five. Could imagine Amanda’s body next to him, the kids jumping on the bed, laughing and hugging them both, the Saturday-morning lie-ins that he always treasured when he was home.
He imagined their faces sick with worry, their lives incomplete, and sighed in exasperation as rage, long fermented with fear and helplessness, bubbled within. Embryonic tears tickled and stung the corners of his eyes.
He grabbed his right hand with his left, began to pull.... Hard. And again. Grunting, growling as he did so. The chain links held. The pipe remained firmly planted in the wall and floor. The cuff dug into him, dredged deep into badly bruised flesh, rubbed and worked open wounds barely healed from his last attempt.
He ignored the pain, kept pulling. Willed the iron pipe to come away from the wall. Rattled, tugged, groaned, screamed.
And eventually lay, anger spent and new pain piling on old, panting on the floor.
‘It’s no good … you’re better off conserving your strength …’ Gary opened his eyes.MoreLess
He imagined their faces sick with worry, their lives incomplete, and sighed in exasperation as rage, long fermented with fear and helplessness, bubbled within. Embryonic tears tickled and stung the corners of his eyes.
He grabbed his right hand with his left, began to pull.... Hard. And again. Grunting, growling as he did so. The chain links held. The pipe remained firmly planted in the wall and floor. The cuff dug into him, dredged deep into badly bruised flesh, rubbed and worked open wounds barely healed from his last attempt.
He ignored the pain, kept pulling. Willed the iron pipe to come away from the wall. Rattled, tugged, groaned, screamed.
And eventually lay, anger spent and new pain piling on old, panting on the floor.
‘It’s no good … you’re better off conserving your strength …’ Gary opened his eyes.MoreLess
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