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orangefizzpop

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A man, after yet another dragging, toiling day at work,
leaves his office, noting yet again that he is the last one left
He flicks the light off on his way out.
Slowly he walks down to the company garage where his car is.
The man rubs his bloodshot eyes, sore from the machinery
He wonders what his wife has made for him,
for his hungry stomach that has not eaten for the whole day grumbles.
He wonders if his kids have gone to bed yet.
The man soberly climbs into his car
barely awake for the dark, silent, 300 mile drive home.

In front of his house, he pulls up and cuts the engine.
He allows his eyes to droop for all of ten seconds,
then unlocks the car door, climbs out as solemnly as he did climbing in,
and walks with rising hope up his front steps.
He pauses at the door with the key in his hand
No, his kids are still up; the lights are on inside,
he can see though the window beside the door.
Slowly, this man puts his key in the lock, turns it, and opens the door..

He looks in.
There is music playing- a soulful singer mourns of broken trust and stolen love and little white lies, the volume set to low.
Two seperate rooms, two seperate daughters.
There is no happy chatter, and they do not turn to see their father,
nor do they run to him with cheerful smiles and say with glee,
   "Daddy, you're home!"

The man, he remembers clearly of a time when they would do all three, and his shoulders sag.
He is wistful in his mind.
Still, his girls, now old enough to talk back, do not acknowledge his prescence.
He takes off his shoes and drops them on the shiny tile foyer floor
   (a floor he had created on hands and knees, dirty as he got and money he calculatingly spent)
The shoes thunk loudly - maybe they didn't hear him come in? - he looks up.

Nothing.
He sighs quietly, his shoulders lowering even more.
Disappointed and nostalgic, he takes a stack of mail by the door
and trudges into the kitchen, closing the door behind him
so he will not bother his daughters doing their homework so intently.
The man sweeps his eyes across the small room for his wife,
who would be there with his late-night dinner and warm smile,
but she isn't there.
A quick peek into their bedroom shows she has gone to sleep.
The digital clock reads 1:51am.
He softly shuts the door close behind him,
and returns to the now seemingly cold kitchen.
Dinner leftovers are in the fridge.
He heats them up and brings the plates to his seat and eats alone.

A clock above him on the wall ticks sadly.
The lonely man sighs heavily.