strangle-hold

If I could forget,
I would.
But I can’t
And it kills me everyday.
I wake up with it
In the back of my head
And sleep with it
In my dreams.
It’s haunting me
And it won’t let me go.
I’m locked in it’s strangle hold;
I choke and I gasp
But I don’t get any air.
It’s all I can see
And hear
And taste
And think.
It’s eating me alive.
—  This Thing by Laura Martin

thickcrskiin  asked:

"Jan has died." ~ waves middle fingers and flies into the sun

“…..has died.” finish it in my ask. aka jan turns the tables on me fu c K 

NO!

 She already knew, the moment the boys walked in the door without her. But Mary wasn’t going to wait for apologies or for them to try explaining, and she’s already made a spectacle of herself, having stood up fast enough to throw her chair backwards and make a mess of the books and papers on the table in front of her.

        This job wasn’t safe. Everyone knew that. But Jan was supposed to be okay. She had backup.

     “Mom, we    

Mary cut her eldest off with a strangled scream, unable to hold in anything at the moment, and she wasn’t sure who was more startled by her lack of control. Mary had been getting good again, had been restraining lots of her worse moods and habits, for the sake of her boys. In some fear she would ruin the image they had of her, that she would end up doing something unforgivable in their eyes.

       The young woman was torn between intense anger and even worse grief, eventually pushing past Sam and Dean to run outside. She needed to be outside, she couldn’t be surrounded by walls right now. If her emotions weren’t going to have any walls, neither would she.

    She ran too. Down the road until her muscles and lungs burned and her body was screaming for her to stop, until she couldn’t tell the difference between hysteria and trying to catch her breath. Mary eventually collapsed more than stopped, sobbing between deep gasps and still managing screams of agony over losing Jan. ( Over losing her daughter. )

                When Sam finally found her sometime after nightfall, Mary was curled into a ball on the shoulder of the road, a mess of dirt and tears, and blood where her knees and the palms of her hands had caught the ground. He had to carry her all the way back to the bunker and to her room to get her cleaned up, having not used a car in worry she would go unnoticed or unheard over the engine.

And Mary was never going to forgive God for this. All she wanted was a family, and He keeps taking them away.