Afina-Rose

A Victorian Londoner, a poor man in his local, drinking his fill, stopping to berate a young lad for sneering at his sorry state.

"Mockin me are ya lad, ow bout you ere me story ay.....

many a night, I sit in vis pub, starin in to the dregs of me bitter, an i fink of ow me lovely rosey would av nagged me firerce for leavin even thuh littlest drop. Used to take er fo grantid i did, tell er 'shut er trap bloody woman, an put yourself ta betta use makin me grub for me supper' nevr noticed er shoulders slump, but me kids told me abaht it enuff times, didn't realise ow ard she worked to keep our pittance of a home clean an us fed on next ta nuffin, couldnt undastandow she could take ill, fought she was bein over dramatic with er cofin and gaspin, shoulda been less selfish, and seen more then tha me supper was late, if i ad...i wouldve sent for the doctor sooner, wouldnt av begrudged er the ost, anyfink to make my little flower better, but nah, alls i saw was a wait for me grub and snivlin kids, not ow me flower was wiltin...ow...she as palin and getin all paper skinned, she id the blood from me, i obly fahnd the soiled ankees after it were too late, consumption, it ate my little flower from the inside, wasted erm to nothin, took er away from me,

an even though i said sorry whe said it werent my fault, she still loved me, it couldnt be elped, but me art, it feels evy wif guilt and me last image is er, looking like a skeltel old gel in er very late years, not a woman of 40, erm skin ties on er bones a the ropes pullin tight on sails, an the colour of chalky ash, spots of colour on er cheeks from tha fever that ad also ravaged erm...and and..the red...the bright red of the blood she cofed up, cofed up violently, as them coughs racked er poor little body and the fever made er moan,

and then, like someone ad said, youve ad enough Rosamund, she fell back against the pillows, and went still, every last part of er, as she sighed as if relieved an that was it, she was gone, lyin there, like one of them marble statues, no colour, cept for that blood, quickly dryin on er face,

i know she werent suffrin no more, but if it werent for me, she'd never av got so bad, it's all me fault i no's it is, that's why i sit ere, drownin me sorrows, so you can stop your judgin of me boy, cause i wouldnt be ere if i werent guilty, if i were a better usband, a better father,

took me kids, ere sister did an i let er, there better off wif her, of yes lad, you can larf aul you want, but theres nuffin funny bout ow it all turned out for me...

but it looks life yerve swallowed umble pie, maybe tahtll make ya think in future ay, don't let ya self end up ere, a bitter wasted old buggar like me, even if as ow i deserves it, promise yorself that you wont go down vat path, nah go on ome, dont drink anova drop, an when youre ome sober, you'll see, it aint so bad, ya fmailys all ya need, long as your not in tha work ouse, you aint so bad off, an take nuffin for granted, buy now lad"

(Just a quick rough story I wrote in less than an hour. I enjoy reading books set in other times, especially victorian. So I decided to come up with a short tale, inspired by the books i've read to know what it would have been like)