Findlay sat on the edge of his pallet bed and rubbed his eyes. It was daylight...

Again...

How he wished the blackouts stayed with him. It was in that dark recess of nothingness, he could forget.

The light of day hurt his eyes. It hurt his mind and his soul.

Sarah was the sunshine and he was the night.

Without her, he didn't want to see a clear blue sky and warm rays of light. Without her, his days were dark and desolate.

It was right, that shadows should captain his life.

He pushed himself off the bed and dragged his weary body to the bathroom. Findlay put his hands on the vanity and leaned his weight on them. He hung his head, sighed, and then forced himself to look into the mirror. Bloodshot eyes stared back. He no longer recognised his face. Grey flesh was sunken into hollows, emphasising his square jaw, and made his cheekbones stand out. His stubbled chin appeared sharp and accusatory. He didn't like what he saw, but this was who he had become.

The husk of a man he once was.

A man summoning death.

He stripped off his baggy clothes, turned on the shower, let the warm water stream over his body and lapped at it as it ran down his face. His body ached. He felt like he was carrying a twenty-kilo bag of potatoes on his back. Findlay scoffed. There was a time when a twenty-kilo bag of potatoes felt like five. Now he didn't think he'd have the strength to carry that.

In the kitchen, Fin washed eggs she had collected from the hen house. He didn't speak to her. Couldn't. The shame he felt each time he looked at her was unbearable.

The kettle was full. Findlay turned it on and put a teabag in a cup. He watched Fin's hands move over the delicate shells and place them into the empty carton. He knew she sold what they didn't need to Russell, at the servo.

Findlay also knew she gave the money to him. He spent it on alcohol. What kind of father did that? Took every cent his child earned so he could self-destruct.

There were days he found it hard to settle his eyes on Fin. She was so much like her mother, that when he was drunk, he despised her for it. Hated the fact that she lived, and Sarah didn't.

He poured water into his cup, squeezed out the teabag and headed to the lounge. Findlay slumped into the threadbare armchair and stared at the blank TV screen.

Today was extra hard because it was Sarah's birthday. He took a large gulp of the hot tea. It scorched his mouth, but he didn't care. The burning sensation camouflaged another deeper pain, which was buried within the cavity of his chest.

Findlay shuddered and gasped. He filled his mouth with another blast of tea. It cut short the urge to cry but didn't vanquish it. Hot tears made their way down his sallow face, he felt hollow and empty. He knew he would make Fin drive him into Snakes. Drinking was the one way he could dull the constant ache of loneliness and blame.

Findlay studied his hand. Large and bony. Sarah had loved his hands. She said they were strong, safe and reliable. They hadn't been strong, safe or reliable the day she died. They hadn't been able to pull her from the clutches of death. If he hadn't insisted, she help him that day, she'd still be alive.

Fin would have a mother.

A better life. A happier life. Instead of the non-existence she had to endure.

He had failed her, failed Sarah.

In more ways than one.

He stood and made his way down the hall to the door of the bedroom he once loved.

The sunshine room.

Fin named it that when she was little because it was painted bright yellow with floral curtains hung in the window. The name was perfect because Sarah was like the room. Bright and cheery. She bloomed in every way possible. He had destroyed her, as he now destroyed her daughter.

Findlay knew what people said. He had ears and eyes but the drag towards darkness had a stronger pull than the light of reasoning, which flared on days like this one.

Days of meaning.

There were three.

The day he married Sarah. Her birthday and the day of her death.

It didn't matter how drunk he'd been, he always remembered those days. He pushed open the door and looked around. Findlay closed it behind him and made his way to the bed. He knelt on the floor and covered his eyes with his hands.

"Sarah... I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Please take me with you. I can't stay here anymore. Please... Help. Me..." Findlay laid his head on the mattress and sobbed. The outburst weakened him even more. He had just enough strength to climb onto the daisy-strewn quilt. He clutched his chest and curled in a ball.

Fin placed her ear against the door. He was crying again. She knew what today was. Over the years the three dates had been fixed into her head. Now that he had emptied the room of anything of worth, they were the only days he ever entered the bedroom he had shared with her mother. She walked away and went into her bedroom. Later he'd make her drive him into Snakes, and there, he would drown his sorrow.

Again...

Once again thank you all so much for reading and for your wonderful comments and encouragement.  I don't know what I'd do without you. ♥♥♥

What do you think about Findlay? Is there any hope for him?  

He's in a lot of distress because of his loss. Has he won some sympathy?

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