Isyra: The Last Outpost

It was one of the most difficult decisions I've ever had to make, leaving him. I had spent the better part of my adult life with the man-child, crooning over him and feeding his vindictive, absorbent personality whenever his mental well being demanded the attention.

I'm still not sure why he snapped and did the things he did. At that point I was on auto-pilot, a zombie in the post divorce apocalypse that came from his angry, marijuana reeking maw. Which is not to say that I was not fully aware of his pain or that I was not concerned. I was, and even though there was a wriggling sense of pleasure at his lesson being learned I was left largely devastated.

The night will always haunt me.

It began in a haze, and even as I prepared myself in front of our full body mirror speckled with stickers of dragons and wizards there was not a single moment of clarity. I couldn't concentrate on if the blush was just right, or if that shade of lipstick was really something I wanted to wear on a first date or not.

He just sat there in his corner, draped in his filthy blanket with his back propped up against the corner. Furiously scribbling tables, statistics and percentages I was a void to him. Even when he got up to roll another joint and he brushed across my backside to open his cabinet stash, there was nothing.

I wasn't sure then what that meant. Was it his own feeble attempt to regain some sort of human warmth? Or was I in his way again, my "fat ass" too unavoidable?

I learned after the restraining order and the police watch that it was the latter.

When he regained his cross legged composure in his corner amongst his second edition Dungeons and Dragons books he managed to speak to be from beneath the mass of matted stubble, greasy hair and smoke that made up his being.

"....you'll be home for 8, right?"

He didn't catch my deadpan expression or my tired sigh, so lost was he in what spells to assign his new necromancer, half dragon villain.

"I don't know when I'll be home. Probably later."

I managed to croak while I fastened the earrings he bought me for my birthday. They were little oriental dragons studded with sapphires.

He exploded.

"....what? How-w-w could you be so rude?! Everyone's going to be gaming tonight! How's it going to look if my wench isn't at my side?! I've already rolled up a new character for you!"

I lost myself in the barrage of insults that followed, opting to concentrate on how worn the mirror's frame had become. There was a time however briefly when it used to bring us a lot of fun.

Those videos are probably still floating around on the internet to think of it.

It took him a full hour to grow hoarse and lose his rapid fire mouth. He muttered something about being "through trying to talk sense" into me before returning to his books. I took it as a cue and left.

All I could hear as I walked to the front door was him angrily rolling dice.

Have you ever heard someone angrily rolling dice? It sounds so weak and hollow.

It was fitting.