3WW (Fallow, Limit, Vocal): Vibrant Night

He sits on the faded cranberry-colored picnic table staring out at the fallow land with its dull mustard hue. Impotent memories wash over him like warm salt water. How he raped that young girl. When he stood as Godfather at his nephew’s baptism. When he shoved a knife through that poor dog’s throat. And how he caressed his beautiful wife while making love to her.

The sunset might be beautiful on another day; the pumpkin orange blending with the deep blackberry purple in the northern sky. Instead he sees his mother’s bruises against her bronze Mediterranean skin as she practices the vocal she will perform in church. He feels a tear but makes no effort to wipe it away.

His chocolate lab comes trotting across the lawn and sits beside him. There’s no limit to the abuse the dog will take. As opposed to his wife who left him 40 years ago. ‘Has it been that long?’ he wonders to himself. And shakes his head with a blend of nostalgia and disgust. He pops a few more pain killers. Takes a swig of his vodka tonic. ‘That oughta do it,’ he says to the dog. To God. To whomever might be listening.

Night falls and rinses the vibrant colors from his memory.