#38- The Alternative Extract

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Somewhere in the distance, in a room that smelt of old cigarettes and sick, a baby was wailing. He could hear it so clearly, picture the lines around her eyes, the tears that were falling upon her cheeks, the open, down-turned mouth calling for a mother that would not come. He could picture it, as if he was there.

And the TV too, next door, turned up high, was drowning out the screams of the child and the screaming inside her father's head, including these three, unforgettable words:

I hate you.

And then the voices coming from the TV would seem too loud because she left, just like that, and turned their home into a stranger's place for a man sat gripping a remote in his hand and wishing he could take it all back to before it went so, so wrong. Yes, he could picture it, as if he was there.

- Initially written years ago for a story I am still planning to write but have changed almost completely in terms of execution as I have altered the idea.

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