Instalment One Hundred and Thirty Five

A Poisoned Life 
Tales of the high sea were the boy’s favourite escape. Pirate captains, he read, ingested small doses of poison each day to build up immunity should double-crossing crew members attempt a coward's mutiny. As he believed all pirates were double-crossing types, this seemed sound advice.

The boy did not fear poison, he sought inoculation against grief. To begin, his portions were small. A dram of anguish here, a tot of heartache there. He did not search for lost dogs, he found their owners. He quizzed teachers for childhood disappointments. He visited a sideshow alley and heard “The Saddest Woman in the World” moan. It was hard, not the sorrow but the supply. People did not want to answer his questions, they said it was for his own good but in truth, they could not confront their own fears.

He grew up to haunt corridors of nursing homes, becoming callused to misery. His answer lay in deathbeds. It’s with trust that poison is fed by spoon, and so it’s the love of family that feeds the venom of grief. Sitting close as his mother passed, the boy found a life spent wallowing in sorrow was a wasted one, grief found him.