So what if you have a little trouble navigating the stairs? Its not like youve forgotten how to walk. Its really not that bad you know. It really isnt. You are quite capable of going to the bathroom by yourself. You have been doing it for years. and nothing has really changed except for the fact that yo have a stupid cast on your leg and a pair of crutches to keep you company. but you can handle that. Youve dealt with alot worse. Remember that summer when your foot got crushed by an SUV?
But inspite of your best arguments your mother insists that if she let you go by yourself she will only worry. and she's tired of worrying. She's done enough worrying to last her a lifetime. And so letting out an exasperated sigh you let your mother act as your personal escort. Talk about a lack of privacy.
Understandabley, it takes you twice as long as usual to do your business knowing you mother- your Mother for pete's sake is standing right outside the door like youre friggin five or something.
Washing your hands and drying them on a hand towel you stare at yourself in the mirror. Almost all the swelling has gone down and your face isnt as mishapen and discolored as it was before but you know you are never going to look the same. The doctors said that they tried their best to twist your nose back into place but you can already see that it is going to heal crooked. The place where it broke as clear as a hot summer's day. But thats not the only thing. There is something else. Something in your eyes. Something that wasnt there before. Its as if there is someone else staring out at the world from them. Youre still there but so is someone else. The lights are on but youre not the only one home.
There is a knock on the door, dispelling all your thoughts.
"Is everything Okay in there?" Its your mother.
"I'm fine." you call back.
After one last lingering glance at yourself, you hop to the door and jerk it open.
Your mother's forehead kneeded with concern, she hands you the crutches without saying a word.
"I'm fine." You repeat and taking the crutches you head for the stairs with your mother in toe.
You negotiate the stairs carefully, your mother lending you a guiding hand here, a word of encouragement there and the more than occasional "almost there." in an attempt to calm your nerves. Inspite of your complaints, youre thankful she's there.
It's not long before you need to take a break and so letteing your mother know, you stop on the landing a little more than half way down to catch your breath.
As tiny beads of sweat break out on your forehead, you feel the three pairs of eyes below peer up at you. You dont have to look at the owners to know what they are thinking.
Pity. Sympathy. And in the case of your father; Guilt. And if their stares could be translated into words they would be saying something like "Poor kid, no one should have to go through that."
"But I dont want your pity!" you feel like screaming at them. But you dont. You cant and so instead you silently take in their silent stares. Trying your best to concentrate on the task at hand: catching your breath. The awkward silence of the moment however, forces you to get moving before youre ready to and so by the time youre sitting safely in your seat again youre virtually heaving.
Your mother brings you another glass of iced lemonade before you have a chance to ask. You thank her as she sets it down on the side table next to you. After a few sips you feel alot better and about ready to talk. As if sensing this Dective Gervaldi clears his throat. As if on cue his partner, a small, bird like woman with thin and drab hair, thick rimmed glasses and a suit that appears two sizes too big sets down her glass of lemonade and pulls out a small notebook.
You know what is coming next.
"Are you ready to continue?"
You exchange quick glances with your parents. They both nod their heads in encouragement. Turning to face Gervaldi you nod your own.
Consulting the notebook his partner has held out for him to read, Gervaldi is silent for a moment. Then looking up from it he clears his throat again.
"Okay. Now tell me what happened once the three of you left the party."
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
T.E.X.T.H.E.R. (Alex It Isnt Working)
After our lil talk yesterday, after reviewing the current situation, after reviewing the current situation(s) in fact (we all seemed to be going through something) I decided to try and do it Alex's way. I told myself I wouldn't call, I wouldn't text, I wouldn't even speak her name...not until and only until she made the first move. Not until I knew what I was dealing with.
“she's fucking with my head.” I remember telling them. But the thing is, I was letting her. I had always let her fuck with it. It was a fucking vicious cycle of head fucking and I never got fucking tired of it...am I saying fucking too much? cos' I kinda feel as if I am. But no, you know what? I'm not going to go back and replace all those f-bombs with something a lil more...how should I say...appropriate. I should, I know I should; we do have kids on here after all. But fuck it. They shouldn't be reading this anyway. This is all assuming of course, that the intention of writing this is to post it on Facebook...but then to be quite honest, it kinda is.
A minor deviation, forgive me. What was I saying? Oh yeah, so I'm going to try things Alex's way. Though I know from past experience that the success rate of such a venture is usually um...lemme see...um...kinda like nil. In fact, Ive felt compelled to send her a text the entire day. A few more hours and I'll be home free at least...for another day.
One day at a time, they tell all addicts, just take it one day at a time. In my opinion that's some ol' bullshit. A day at a time? You have to be fucking kidding me! That shit is eating me up second by every fucking passing second and you're telling me to take it one day at a time.
“Then fine, just be all nonchalant like.”, I tell myself. Make it look like you're doing you're thing and you've just taken a moment out of your busy schedule to find out how she's doing. Not under any circumstances is she to know that she's been weighing down your brain for days. You did that before remember? and look where that got you.
Just say hi. Find out how she is. You don't have to ask her when you can hook up. She doesn't even have to know that you're even still in town. About to close that multi-milli-shilli deal that you've been looking to close.
Deep breath. I reach for my phone but a second later pull back my hand. Not so fast. Thats only inviting disaster. Pulling yourself back in. you know that. stay on the course you've taken. Convince this other girl (she's great btw) that she's the one that you want and not just some girl whose only significance is to help you get over your overcomplicated ex.
Convince yourself.
But I cant. She has that hold on me. Just like Alex's has a hold on him. Its fucked up aint it?
“Love's a bitch.” I tell myself. It really is. I would love to say that I no longer love her but that just wouldn't be the case. And that kills me.
Just one text... just one...thats it.
“she's fucking with my head.” I remember telling them. But the thing is, I was letting her. I had always let her fuck with it. It was a fucking vicious cycle of head fucking and I never got fucking tired of it...am I saying fucking too much? cos' I kinda feel as if I am. But no, you know what? I'm not going to go back and replace all those f-bombs with something a lil more...how should I say...appropriate. I should, I know I should; we do have kids on here after all. But fuck it. They shouldn't be reading this anyway. This is all assuming of course, that the intention of writing this is to post it on Facebook...but then to be quite honest, it kinda is.
A minor deviation, forgive me. What was I saying? Oh yeah, so I'm going to try things Alex's way. Though I know from past experience that the success rate of such a venture is usually um...lemme see...um...kinda like nil. In fact, Ive felt compelled to send her a text the entire day. A few more hours and I'll be home free at least...for another day.
One day at a time, they tell all addicts, just take it one day at a time. In my opinion that's some ol' bullshit. A day at a time? You have to be fucking kidding me! That shit is eating me up second by every fucking passing second and you're telling me to take it one day at a time.
“Then fine, just be all nonchalant like.”, I tell myself. Make it look like you're doing you're thing and you've just taken a moment out of your busy schedule to find out how she's doing. Not under any circumstances is she to know that she's been weighing down your brain for days. You did that before remember? and look where that got you.
Just say hi. Find out how she is. You don't have to ask her when you can hook up. She doesn't even have to know that you're even still in town. About to close that multi-milli-shilli deal that you've been looking to close.
Deep breath. I reach for my phone but a second later pull back my hand. Not so fast. Thats only inviting disaster. Pulling yourself back in. you know that. stay on the course you've taken. Convince this other girl (she's great btw) that she's the one that you want and not just some girl whose only significance is to help you get over your overcomplicated ex.
Convince yourself.
But I cant. She has that hold on me. Just like Alex's has a hold on him. Its fucked up aint it?
“Love's a bitch.” I tell myself. It really is. I would love to say that I no longer love her but that just wouldn't be the case. And that kills me.
Just one text... just one...thats it.
Monday, January 25, 2010
The Dark: Chapter Eight
The trees shudder in the chill of the night. Towering above you like tall eerie sentinels. Their wind rustled leaves giving the illusion that they are indulging in a secret to which you are not privy to.
As the old cracked leather creaks beneath you, you shift in your seat to get a better look out the window. The moon is full and bright casting everything in an unearthly bluish light.
You appear to be at the edge of a wood. The nose of your car sniffing at its feet. How you got there you have no idea. The last thing you remember is getting into the car to go to the police station. To go and turn yourself in. but after that...nothing. Nothing but this place- at the edge of the woods. You cant help but feel you have been here before. That it holds a certain importance. A certain hold over you. You dont know how but you cant shake the feeling that this place has somehow left its smudgy fingerprint on the surface of your pitiful existence.
Reaching for the door you step out of the car not bothering to close the door behind you. You take a few steps towards the darkness of the woods, the knarled roots of the nearest tree hard under foot. you suddenly stop, however, as if you have just hit an invisible barrier. Your breath begins to come in short ragged gasps. The palms of your hands sweaty. your throat cardboard dry. You suddenly know where you are. The realisation horrifies you.
Why would you come back here?
Then as if deciding that you are privy to their secrets afterall, the trees themselves seem to answer you. As one. As if it is the spirit of the forest itself answering you. And this alone horrifies you ten times more than the realisation of where you are. Because that can mean only one of two things. that one- you are completely out of your mind or two- all of this is absolutely real. The latter certainly being the scarier of the two.
Refusing to play into your paranoia, you decide to get the hell out of there. Turning, you are about to head back to the car when something stops you. Something isnt right. It takes you a moment to place your finger on it. and then it hits you. you had left the door of your car open. Youre sure of it. You would bank your life savings on it. But unless your mind is playing tricks on you it is now closed. your eyes travel up the closed door to the open window. you feel your blood freeze in your veins.Your breath condense right there in your throat. There is someone sitting behind the wheel.
Blinking several times you make a vain attempt to will whoever it is sitting behind the wheel of your car out of it. You have no such luck. If anything, whoever or whatver it is seems to sense that you are watching them. Slowly but with the gravity of a planet, the person turns to face you. You feel your legs turn to jelly beneath you. Stumbling a few feet backwards you struggle to keep you feet under you. Its Him. Youre as certain of it as you are that you have ten fingers and ten toes.Its the eyes. Glowing as red as rubies formed in the very fires of Hell itself. Only one question belittles your conclusion: How?
Suddenly, a violent wind kicks up, clawing savagely at your clothes, tearing leaves from the surrounding trees, sucking the very breath from your lungs. and then the voice of the forest speaks. A wispy wraith that almost passes over your ears in incomprehension.
"He's waiting for you."
You glance up at the trees. At the knarled fingers of their ancient branches. Then, after a moment, beyond them, at the sky. It is rolling with dark, mean looking clouds. Clouds that threaten rain. That not only threaten rain but promise it.
Your eyes fall back to earth. back to your car.
To your empty car. With its driver side door open.
Just as you left it.
You take a step towards your car but think the better of it. He's waiting for you. God knows he's not one to toy with. Its better you find out what He wants.
And with that decision set in stone in your mind, you turn on your heels and face the woods. The dark, menacing, soul swallowing woods. The wind, changing direction, pushes at your back, urging you fowards.
Unable to disobey, unable to ignore, you take a step forwards. then another. Then another. Before long the wood has swallowed you. There is no longer any escape. There is only one direction to take.
The moon, penetrating the thick canopy above you in shards, lights your path in glimses. A thick root here, a puddle of water there. Making your procession easier but only by a fraction. You trip a number of times but somehow manage to keep your feet under you. All the while the wood has become a muted hush. As if holding its breath in quiet anticipation.
And then you see it. Just as you left it.
It is an old structure. Probably more than fifty years. Even though, it still appears sturdy, strong and if given some time and attention; inhabitable.
The old cabin sits in the middle of a small clearing. The area immediately surrounding it is strewn with gravel, discarded sticks deemed unworthy to serve as firewood by some long gone hiker as well as a number of small to medium sized boulders.
The gravel crunches under you as you cautiously make your way across the clearing to the foot of the porch steps.
The warped old wood creaks under foot as you take the first step up to the cabin. As you take the second step there is another creak. This one, however, is deeper and more prolonged. And comes from above and in front of you rather from beneath you.
You look up from your feet and find the door of the cabin swinging inwards. Opening up on a darkness that you have no words to explain. No words to describe.
You pause. But only for a second. Then gathering your wits about you, you climb up the rest of the stairs, walk across the porch and stop in front of the open doorway.
Peering into the cabin you see nothing. Then taking a deep breath you cross the thresh hold, the door of the cabin closing behind you with a deep and prolonged creak.
As the old cracked leather creaks beneath you, you shift in your seat to get a better look out the window. The moon is full and bright casting everything in an unearthly bluish light.
You appear to be at the edge of a wood. The nose of your car sniffing at its feet. How you got there you have no idea. The last thing you remember is getting into the car to go to the police station. To go and turn yourself in. but after that...nothing. Nothing but this place- at the edge of the woods. You cant help but feel you have been here before. That it holds a certain importance. A certain hold over you. You dont know how but you cant shake the feeling that this place has somehow left its smudgy fingerprint on the surface of your pitiful existence.
Reaching for the door you step out of the car not bothering to close the door behind you. You take a few steps towards the darkness of the woods, the knarled roots of the nearest tree hard under foot. you suddenly stop, however, as if you have just hit an invisible barrier. Your breath begins to come in short ragged gasps. The palms of your hands sweaty. your throat cardboard dry. You suddenly know where you are. The realisation horrifies you.
Why would you come back here?
Then as if deciding that you are privy to their secrets afterall, the trees themselves seem to answer you. As one. As if it is the spirit of the forest itself answering you. And this alone horrifies you ten times more than the realisation of where you are. Because that can mean only one of two things. that one- you are completely out of your mind or two- all of this is absolutely real. The latter certainly being the scarier of the two.
Refusing to play into your paranoia, you decide to get the hell out of there. Turning, you are about to head back to the car when something stops you. Something isnt right. It takes you a moment to place your finger on it. and then it hits you. you had left the door of your car open. Youre sure of it. You would bank your life savings on it. But unless your mind is playing tricks on you it is now closed. your eyes travel up the closed door to the open window. you feel your blood freeze in your veins.Your breath condense right there in your throat. There is someone sitting behind the wheel.
Blinking several times you make a vain attempt to will whoever it is sitting behind the wheel of your car out of it. You have no such luck. If anything, whoever or whatver it is seems to sense that you are watching them. Slowly but with the gravity of a planet, the person turns to face you. You feel your legs turn to jelly beneath you. Stumbling a few feet backwards you struggle to keep you feet under you. Its Him. Youre as certain of it as you are that you have ten fingers and ten toes.Its the eyes. Glowing as red as rubies formed in the very fires of Hell itself. Only one question belittles your conclusion: How?
Suddenly, a violent wind kicks up, clawing savagely at your clothes, tearing leaves from the surrounding trees, sucking the very breath from your lungs. and then the voice of the forest speaks. A wispy wraith that almost passes over your ears in incomprehension.
"He's waiting for you."
You glance up at the trees. At the knarled fingers of their ancient branches. Then, after a moment, beyond them, at the sky. It is rolling with dark, mean looking clouds. Clouds that threaten rain. That not only threaten rain but promise it.
Your eyes fall back to earth. back to your car.
To your empty car. With its driver side door open.
Just as you left it.
You take a step towards your car but think the better of it. He's waiting for you. God knows he's not one to toy with. Its better you find out what He wants.
And with that decision set in stone in your mind, you turn on your heels and face the woods. The dark, menacing, soul swallowing woods. The wind, changing direction, pushes at your back, urging you fowards.
Unable to disobey, unable to ignore, you take a step forwards. then another. Then another. Before long the wood has swallowed you. There is no longer any escape. There is only one direction to take.
The moon, penetrating the thick canopy above you in shards, lights your path in glimses. A thick root here, a puddle of water there. Making your procession easier but only by a fraction. You trip a number of times but somehow manage to keep your feet under you. All the while the wood has become a muted hush. As if holding its breath in quiet anticipation.
And then you see it. Just as you left it.
It is an old structure. Probably more than fifty years. Even though, it still appears sturdy, strong and if given some time and attention; inhabitable.
The old cabin sits in the middle of a small clearing. The area immediately surrounding it is strewn with gravel, discarded sticks deemed unworthy to serve as firewood by some long gone hiker as well as a number of small to medium sized boulders.
The gravel crunches under you as you cautiously make your way across the clearing to the foot of the porch steps.
The warped old wood creaks under foot as you take the first step up to the cabin. As you take the second step there is another creak. This one, however, is deeper and more prolonged. And comes from above and in front of you rather from beneath you.
You look up from your feet and find the door of the cabin swinging inwards. Opening up on a darkness that you have no words to explain. No words to describe.
You pause. But only for a second. Then gathering your wits about you, you climb up the rest of the stairs, walk across the porch and stop in front of the open doorway.
Peering into the cabin you see nothing. Then taking a deep breath you cross the thresh hold, the door of the cabin closing behind you with a deep and prolonged creak.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The Dark: Chapter Seven
You feel awful. More than awful. Like someone tossed you into a huge trash compactor and let it run just long enough to crush every bone in your body without managing to kill you.
You try to open your eyes but the effort is more than its worth and you quickly give up. and so instead of affirming your long awaited return to the world of the living by allowing it to flood your throbbing retinas, you try to once again bury yourself in the comfort of unconsciousness.
after a few restless minutes, however, you realize the world isnt going to just sit by and wait for you to wake up when you feel like it and so you decide to brave it and hope for the best.
With a will strong enough to bend iron you manage to pry open your eyelids.
You expected the brightness to be a shock to your retinas but had no idea it would be so damn painful. It feels las if someone is poking at your eyeballs with a tiny hyperdemic needle, injecting them with a saline liquid that then pours out from the corners of your eyes in the form of tears.
The tears run down either side of your face pooling in your ears even as you try to blink them away and try your best to bring your eyes into focus.
It takes a few moments but you eventually manage to bring some clarity to the world around you.
Its unfamiliar; pristine with clear cut corners. Slowly swiveling your head from side to side trying your best to avoid giving yourself a sense of vertigo, you slowly take it in.
The bed across the room is empty but obviously occupied. The bed sheets and thin hospital issue blanket are in a tussle, the bedside table giving harbor to a number of 'Get Well Soon' cards and a conspicuous looking basket of fruit. The sight of the peaches and pears and bananas and apples sets your stomach into motion and you realize just how hungry you are. You feel like you havnt eaten in days. Like your stomach has been completely hollowed out, deserted, your body fighting to remember what its even like to have food in its system.
Trying to ignore the hunger gnawing at your insides you continue your inspection of your surroundings.
Your eyes straying from the luscious basket of fruit you notice a number of chairs at the side of your apparent roommate's bed. Only one is occupied. a withered looking woman taking up a semi-fetal position fills it; her extremities sticking out every now and then. She looks awfully uncomfortable and you wonder how long she has been like that; trying but failing you're quite sure to catch a few winks of sleep.
Shifting your gaze from the chair you find yourself wondering if anyone is watching over you. If anyone even cared enough to want to. With some sense of satisfied vanity your eyes arrive on the form sitting in a chair of its own next to your bed.
The form is not as depreciated as the one across the room, nor does it appear to have been there very long. And on closer inspection you realize you do not recognize the form filling the chair at all. The person watching over you is a complete stranger. You let out a small gasp that comes out sounding like the cough of an old dying Studebaker alerting the stranger of your return to consciousness.
The man shifts in his seat. There is no pretending you are still asleep and so you meet his gaze when he brings it to your face. His lips twist into a wry smile.
"Awake are we?"
You dont answer but ask him a question of your own.
"Who are you?"
Your voice comes out sounding like a car driving over gravel. Your throat feels as if you have swallowed some as well.
Instead of answering your question the man stands up and walks away. He's back within moments; with a nurse. She's pretty with a luxurious head of hair. Smiling, she repeats the strangers words.
"awake are we?"
But unlike when the stranger said them you do not feel threatened or the least bit apprehensive by her words. Her voice has a sing song quality to it and more than anything soothes you.
Still smiling she holds up a tumbler with a plastic spoon sticking out of it.
"You must be thirsty, how about a couple of ice chips to sooth that throat of yours?"
You manage a nod.
Leaning over, the nurse spoons a chip of ice into your mouth.
"Dont swallow it whole but let it melt on your tongue." She instructs you. You obey without a thought. After the chip melts you let the chilling water slowly run down your throat. You feel the difference almost immediately.
"More?"
You nod. This one more vigorous than the first.
She spoons in a couple more but then tells you that's enough. You can have some more later. You give her a disappointed look but she doesn't budge.
"Later." She assures you.
Then addressing the stranger, she tells him that maybe he should wait until the parents got there. They have just been alerted that you are conscious. They'll be there in no more than fifteen minutes.
The stranger nods but says that he would like to ask you a few questions before your parents arrive. Just to lay down some ground work. Nothing serious.
The nurse is obviously not sure how wise it is to leave you there with this stranger but then realizing that he wasn't going to budge no matter what she says, the nurse gives in.
"Okay," she allows, but warns him not to over strain you. you need your rest.
The stranger nods, assuring the nurse that he'll take it easy.
Then gesturing to a remote resting next to you on the bed, which you have not noticed until just then, the nurse tells you that if you need anything, anything at all, all you have to do is just press the red button and she or another nurse would be right in.
"Okay?"
"Okay."
Giving the stranger one last warning glance, the nurse walks off. carrying the tumbler of melting ice chips with her.
The stranger waits until the nurse is out of sight and out of earshot before he speaks.
He introduces himself as one Detective Gervaldi. Homicide.
"Homicide?" You repeat. This time as a question.
A puzzled look crosses the detective's face.
"You mean they havnt told you?"
Gervaldi takes your blank expression to mean that no one has.
"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this but your friend Kelly... she's dead."
The detectiive's words make your heart stop. You close your eyes. When you open them again, the sting of tears touches the corner of your eyes. This time you dont try to blink them away but let them fall uninhibited. Your best friend...gone.
"I'm sorry for your loss but I need to ask you a few questions. About what happended two nights ago. the night of," taking out a small notebook Gervaldi refers to it,
"The night of Spencer Elson's party."
You barely register the detecive's words, they are of no importance to you. Of no consequence. Only one thing registers. Only one thing matters. Kelly. How can she be dead? She was invincible. Death proof. Immortal. It just isnt possible. But deep down you know it is possible. She isnt Death proof. She isnt immortal. She's just like everyone else. Fallible. Fragile. Delicate like a dandelion, easily blown away by the slightest breeze.
After wiping away the tears and clearing your vision, a brief inspection revealing Gervaldi's serious demeanour and no nonsense attitude, makes it obvious that the detective is telling the truth. He has no reason to lie.
"H-how did it happen?"
Gervaldi raises an eyebrow.
"I was hoping that you could tell me. After all, you were there."
Your expression is a puzzled one.
Leaning in, Gervaldi tells you that you were found unconcious just a few feet from where Kelly was. So that meant that whatever happened to Kelly, you were there.
"What about Fifi?"
Gervaldi glances at his pocket notebook.
"Fifi Payton? She's alive but just barely. She was dumped in the woods two, two and a half miles from where you and Ms. Novak were found. She's still unconcious so I havnt been able to get her statement yet."
It doesnt make sense. Kelly dead? Fifi just barely alive? You in the hospital? You dont know what to make of it all. What the hell happened?
And just as youre asking yourself this question, images bombard your head. Relentless, coming in from all corners. Catching you completely off guard.
You quickly close you eyes in an attempt to block out the images but the self imposed darkness only makes the images more vivid. You open them again only to have the images sperimposed ontop of Gervaldi's face. There is no getting away from them.
"Tell me about that night." Gervaldi insists.
You shake your head. Both in refusal and in an attempt to shake it free it from those horrible images.
You close your eyes again. Not only in another attempt to dispell the sharpening memories but also to close out the presence of one Detective Gervaldi, Homicide. You cant handle this right now. Its all too much to take in.
Then as if the gods heard your private lament, you hear a familiar voice. Opening your eyes you spot a familiar face. Infact you spot two. Your parents have arrived and not a moment too soon. You have never been so happy to see them in your life.
Your mother heads straight for your side smothering you with a hundred pounds of much needed love and attention. Planting kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, nose and lips. Your father hangs back to deal with the nusance that is one Detective Gervaldi, Homicide.
Although never laying a hand on the detective, your father makes it clear that his presence is highly unwanted. After a few moments and a promise that he will be back, Detective Gervaldi, Homicide jaunts out of the room leaving you alone with your parents. Your heart swelling you feel as if you have never loved them so much.
Your father's hand on your head and your mother's lingering on your arm you finally feel safe enough to let the damn break. Your vision blurring, you allow yourself to cry in earnest.
You try to open your eyes but the effort is more than its worth and you quickly give up. and so instead of affirming your long awaited return to the world of the living by allowing it to flood your throbbing retinas, you try to once again bury yourself in the comfort of unconsciousness.
after a few restless minutes, however, you realize the world isnt going to just sit by and wait for you to wake up when you feel like it and so you decide to brave it and hope for the best.
With a will strong enough to bend iron you manage to pry open your eyelids.
You expected the brightness to be a shock to your retinas but had no idea it would be so damn painful. It feels las if someone is poking at your eyeballs with a tiny hyperdemic needle, injecting them with a saline liquid that then pours out from the corners of your eyes in the form of tears.
The tears run down either side of your face pooling in your ears even as you try to blink them away and try your best to bring your eyes into focus.
It takes a few moments but you eventually manage to bring some clarity to the world around you.
Its unfamiliar; pristine with clear cut corners. Slowly swiveling your head from side to side trying your best to avoid giving yourself a sense of vertigo, you slowly take it in.
The bed across the room is empty but obviously occupied. The bed sheets and thin hospital issue blanket are in a tussle, the bedside table giving harbor to a number of 'Get Well Soon' cards and a conspicuous looking basket of fruit. The sight of the peaches and pears and bananas and apples sets your stomach into motion and you realize just how hungry you are. You feel like you havnt eaten in days. Like your stomach has been completely hollowed out, deserted, your body fighting to remember what its even like to have food in its system.
Trying to ignore the hunger gnawing at your insides you continue your inspection of your surroundings.
Your eyes straying from the luscious basket of fruit you notice a number of chairs at the side of your apparent roommate's bed. Only one is occupied. a withered looking woman taking up a semi-fetal position fills it; her extremities sticking out every now and then. She looks awfully uncomfortable and you wonder how long she has been like that; trying but failing you're quite sure to catch a few winks of sleep.
Shifting your gaze from the chair you find yourself wondering if anyone is watching over you. If anyone even cared enough to want to. With some sense of satisfied vanity your eyes arrive on the form sitting in a chair of its own next to your bed.
The form is not as depreciated as the one across the room, nor does it appear to have been there very long. And on closer inspection you realize you do not recognize the form filling the chair at all. The person watching over you is a complete stranger. You let out a small gasp that comes out sounding like the cough of an old dying Studebaker alerting the stranger of your return to consciousness.
The man shifts in his seat. There is no pretending you are still asleep and so you meet his gaze when he brings it to your face. His lips twist into a wry smile.
"Awake are we?"
You dont answer but ask him a question of your own.
"Who are you?"
Your voice comes out sounding like a car driving over gravel. Your throat feels as if you have swallowed some as well.
Instead of answering your question the man stands up and walks away. He's back within moments; with a nurse. She's pretty with a luxurious head of hair. Smiling, she repeats the strangers words.
"awake are we?"
But unlike when the stranger said them you do not feel threatened or the least bit apprehensive by her words. Her voice has a sing song quality to it and more than anything soothes you.
Still smiling she holds up a tumbler with a plastic spoon sticking out of it.
"You must be thirsty, how about a couple of ice chips to sooth that throat of yours?"
You manage a nod.
Leaning over, the nurse spoons a chip of ice into your mouth.
"Dont swallow it whole but let it melt on your tongue." She instructs you. You obey without a thought. After the chip melts you let the chilling water slowly run down your throat. You feel the difference almost immediately.
"More?"
You nod. This one more vigorous than the first.
She spoons in a couple more but then tells you that's enough. You can have some more later. You give her a disappointed look but she doesn't budge.
"Later." She assures you.
Then addressing the stranger, she tells him that maybe he should wait until the parents got there. They have just been alerted that you are conscious. They'll be there in no more than fifteen minutes.
The stranger nods but says that he would like to ask you a few questions before your parents arrive. Just to lay down some ground work. Nothing serious.
The nurse is obviously not sure how wise it is to leave you there with this stranger but then realizing that he wasn't going to budge no matter what she says, the nurse gives in.
"Okay," she allows, but warns him not to over strain you. you need your rest.
The stranger nods, assuring the nurse that he'll take it easy.
Then gesturing to a remote resting next to you on the bed, which you have not noticed until just then, the nurse tells you that if you need anything, anything at all, all you have to do is just press the red button and she or another nurse would be right in.
"Okay?"
"Okay."
Giving the stranger one last warning glance, the nurse walks off. carrying the tumbler of melting ice chips with her.
The stranger waits until the nurse is out of sight and out of earshot before he speaks.
He introduces himself as one Detective Gervaldi. Homicide.
"Homicide?" You repeat. This time as a question.
A puzzled look crosses the detective's face.
"You mean they havnt told you?"
Gervaldi takes your blank expression to mean that no one has.
"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this but your friend Kelly... she's dead."
The detectiive's words make your heart stop. You close your eyes. When you open them again, the sting of tears touches the corner of your eyes. This time you dont try to blink them away but let them fall uninhibited. Your best friend...gone.
"I'm sorry for your loss but I need to ask you a few questions. About what happended two nights ago. the night of," taking out a small notebook Gervaldi refers to it,
"The night of Spencer Elson's party."
You barely register the detecive's words, they are of no importance to you. Of no consequence. Only one thing registers. Only one thing matters. Kelly. How can she be dead? She was invincible. Death proof. Immortal. It just isnt possible. But deep down you know it is possible. She isnt Death proof. She isnt immortal. She's just like everyone else. Fallible. Fragile. Delicate like a dandelion, easily blown away by the slightest breeze.
After wiping away the tears and clearing your vision, a brief inspection revealing Gervaldi's serious demeanour and no nonsense attitude, makes it obvious that the detective is telling the truth. He has no reason to lie.
"H-how did it happen?"
Gervaldi raises an eyebrow.
"I was hoping that you could tell me. After all, you were there."
Your expression is a puzzled one.
Leaning in, Gervaldi tells you that you were found unconcious just a few feet from where Kelly was. So that meant that whatever happened to Kelly, you were there.
"What about Fifi?"
Gervaldi glances at his pocket notebook.
"Fifi Payton? She's alive but just barely. She was dumped in the woods two, two and a half miles from where you and Ms. Novak were found. She's still unconcious so I havnt been able to get her statement yet."
It doesnt make sense. Kelly dead? Fifi just barely alive? You in the hospital? You dont know what to make of it all. What the hell happened?
And just as youre asking yourself this question, images bombard your head. Relentless, coming in from all corners. Catching you completely off guard.
You quickly close you eyes in an attempt to block out the images but the self imposed darkness only makes the images more vivid. You open them again only to have the images sperimposed ontop of Gervaldi's face. There is no getting away from them.
"Tell me about that night." Gervaldi insists.
You shake your head. Both in refusal and in an attempt to shake it free it from those horrible images.
You close your eyes again. Not only in another attempt to dispell the sharpening memories but also to close out the presence of one Detective Gervaldi, Homicide. You cant handle this right now. Its all too much to take in.
Then as if the gods heard your private lament, you hear a familiar voice. Opening your eyes you spot a familiar face. Infact you spot two. Your parents have arrived and not a moment too soon. You have never been so happy to see them in your life.
Your mother heads straight for your side smothering you with a hundred pounds of much needed love and attention. Planting kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, nose and lips. Your father hangs back to deal with the nusance that is one Detective Gervaldi, Homicide.
Although never laying a hand on the detective, your father makes it clear that his presence is highly unwanted. After a few moments and a promise that he will be back, Detective Gervaldi, Homicide jaunts out of the room leaving you alone with your parents. Your heart swelling you feel as if you have never loved them so much.
Your father's hand on your head and your mother's lingering on your arm you finally feel safe enough to let the damn break. Your vision blurring, you allow yourself to cry in earnest.
Friday, January 15, 2010
The Dark: Chapter Six
The dark circles under your eyes betray you. You haven't slept in days. Every time you try to, every time you close your eyes your head becomes a parade of horrible images, of dismembered body parts and blood, lots of blood, gallons of the stuff. You're not eating either. You cant seem to keep anything down. and even if you could, you're even too afraid to leave your room to get anything to keep down. Afraid that anyone who would see you would know. know that you're a murderer. As clear as if it was burned into the flesh of your forehead. And so you've lost weight. your skin has lost color. You look skeletal. your face is ashen. You know that you're slowly killing yourself but wouldn't that be infinitely better? wouldn't the world be a much better place without a person as fucked up as you are taking up space in it?
You have never contemplated suicide, not even after what happened to Kelly, but you have to admit that at the moment death is starting to look like a pretty inviting destination. Of course you would never actively plan to kill yourself, you're too much of a coward, but what about just letting it happen? just sitting back and letting the waves wash over you, the tide pull you in, the current drag you under? Even a coward like you could do that.
But the question is: do you want to let it happen? Are you so sick of your life that you see death as your only viable option?
You're not and you dont and know it. at least deep down you do.
What you really want is to kill the creature living inside of you. This despicable cancer that is growing stronger by the day. Feeding on whats left of whats good in you. Growing bolder. That no longer masks its existence but flaunts it. Lets you know that its there. That its watching. And that its responsible.
The disapearences of of those people. The ones who were responsible- for what had happened to kelly. Those disapearences were not coincidence. They were not random. You had never believed that they were. You had your suspicions but you hadn't been sure.
Not until now.
Not until those images that were too real and just too fucking vivid to simply be manifestations of your imagination had started flashing through your mind. Had started keeping you up at night. Still do.
They're memories. You know they are. They have to be. You feel detached from them but somehow you know, you fucking know that the blood that was spilled, the flesh that was ripped, the bones that were broken in these flashes are real. A result of your hands. They may not have been under your control at the time but they were still yours. Still are. And that horrifies you because when everything is said and done it is you who is responsible. Because if a weapon is ever found it will be your fingerprints they will find on it. And if the blood soiled clothes that were worn during these acts of violence are ever found it will be your clothes that they will find. and if ever the dead could talk it would be your face they would say was the last thing they saw.
So what are you saying? you ask yourself. That I'm totally screwed?
Well, yes.
Then what are my options? you wonder. If indeed I have any.
You hear yourself sigh inwardly.
You could turn yourself in. Get yourself some help.
You dont know that much about that stuff except from what youve seen in the movies but it sounds like you have that personality disorder. What is it called? A split personality?
yeah, thats it, a split personality disorder.
Is that stuff even for real, you ask yourself.
Even as the thought forms you already know the answer.
You shudder.
Then I have to get help. Otherwise the body count will only rise.
You have enough blood on your hands as it is, you tell yourself.
You glance at your watch.
Its late but you cant wait until morning. Anything could happen between now and then.
Making a decision, you get up out of your chair. Grabbing the keys of the beat up Honda your parents had given you for college, you leave your room for the first time in days.
Your destination: The police station.
You have never contemplated suicide, not even after what happened to Kelly, but you have to admit that at the moment death is starting to look like a pretty inviting destination. Of course you would never actively plan to kill yourself, you're too much of a coward, but what about just letting it happen? just sitting back and letting the waves wash over you, the tide pull you in, the current drag you under? Even a coward like you could do that.
But the question is: do you want to let it happen? Are you so sick of your life that you see death as your only viable option?
You're not and you dont and know it. at least deep down you do.
What you really want is to kill the creature living inside of you. This despicable cancer that is growing stronger by the day. Feeding on whats left of whats good in you. Growing bolder. That no longer masks its existence but flaunts it. Lets you know that its there. That its watching. And that its responsible.
The disapearences of of those people. The ones who were responsible- for what had happened to kelly. Those disapearences were not coincidence. They were not random. You had never believed that they were. You had your suspicions but you hadn't been sure.
Not until now.
Not until those images that were too real and just too fucking vivid to simply be manifestations of your imagination had started flashing through your mind. Had started keeping you up at night. Still do.
They're memories. You know they are. They have to be. You feel detached from them but somehow you know, you fucking know that the blood that was spilled, the flesh that was ripped, the bones that were broken in these flashes are real. A result of your hands. They may not have been under your control at the time but they were still yours. Still are. And that horrifies you because when everything is said and done it is you who is responsible. Because if a weapon is ever found it will be your fingerprints they will find on it. And if the blood soiled clothes that were worn during these acts of violence are ever found it will be your clothes that they will find. and if ever the dead could talk it would be your face they would say was the last thing they saw.
So what are you saying? you ask yourself. That I'm totally screwed?
Well, yes.
Then what are my options? you wonder. If indeed I have any.
You hear yourself sigh inwardly.
You could turn yourself in. Get yourself some help.
You dont know that much about that stuff except from what youve seen in the movies but it sounds like you have that personality disorder. What is it called? A split personality?
yeah, thats it, a split personality disorder.
Is that stuff even for real, you ask yourself.
Even as the thought forms you already know the answer.
You shudder.
Then I have to get help. Otherwise the body count will only rise.
You have enough blood on your hands as it is, you tell yourself.
You glance at your watch.
Its late but you cant wait until morning. Anything could happen between now and then.
Making a decision, you get up out of your chair. Grabbing the keys of the beat up Honda your parents had given you for college, you leave your room for the first time in days.
Your destination: The police station.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
To Whom it May Concern...Again (An Excerpt From...)
So this is what it has come to. To writing you this letter. This letter, of which, I have no intention of seeing the light of day. This letter, of which, it is my intention to burn after saying what I have to say. And if through some miracle, through some lapse in thought or through some sort of carelessness on my part, your eyes do happen to chance upon this page, keep in mind that it was never my intention for you to read this. And that I am not writing to you but rather to some version of you that I have conjured up in my head. A version of you that will not laugh at what I am about to set out to say. A version of you that will not cringe, will not pity nor feel sorry, regretful or remorseful.
We made the right decision. Even if it was a coup on my part. Even if I did shove it down your throat.
But that is not to say that it has been easy. A depression has descended upon me like a fog. It is a battle even to get out of bed in the morning. But don't feel sorry for me. I will pull through. Today is a good day. In fact, Mo is coming over. He says he knows just what I need. No doubt a night of drunken debauchery. Anonymous women, sloppy kisses in dark corner booths and even darker corners. Probably not the best solution but he thinks he's helping. And you know Mo, when he gets it in his head to do something, he doesn't let up until he has done it. And so i'll give him his chance at bat, his day in court; even though to me the chance of success is minimal, it's just comforting to know that he cares.
Peter too. They've been incredibly understanding through this entire thing. But enough about that. Mo will be here any moment and this is the last thing I would want him to find me writing. I guess I'll get to burning you later. And when I say “you” I mean the letter, not you. Well, I have to run. It's been um...interesting conjuring you up,
As always,
Lloyd.
We made the right decision. Even if it was a coup on my part. Even if I did shove it down your throat.
But that is not to say that it has been easy. A depression has descended upon me like a fog. It is a battle even to get out of bed in the morning. But don't feel sorry for me. I will pull through. Today is a good day. In fact, Mo is coming over. He says he knows just what I need. No doubt a night of drunken debauchery. Anonymous women, sloppy kisses in dark corner booths and even darker corners. Probably not the best solution but he thinks he's helping. And you know Mo, when he gets it in his head to do something, he doesn't let up until he has done it. And so i'll give him his chance at bat, his day in court; even though to me the chance of success is minimal, it's just comforting to know that he cares.
Peter too. They've been incredibly understanding through this entire thing. But enough about that. Mo will be here any moment and this is the last thing I would want him to find me writing. I guess I'll get to burning you later. And when I say “you” I mean the letter, not you. Well, I have to run. It's been um...interesting conjuring you up,
As always,
Lloyd.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Aptitude 4 Destruction/ F.A.I.L.U.R.E
i guess this is one of those days where i hate myself. one step forwards, two steps back.
even before "the talk" i was already feeling pretty miserable...
it's happening all over again. the late nights, the hang overs, the fucking "i want a girl to go home with so who should i call?"s...
i thought i was past all of that. i thought i had graduated on to the next one.
apparently not. auntie Helen seems to think that i'm slowly killing myself. and although a lot of her garble was self-righteous and condescending there was still alot merit in her words.
there IS something wrong with me.
i'm not happy. haven't been in a very long time. i'm twenty-three, one month away from twenty-four and ive done absolutely nothing with my life. I dream, i walk, i slip, i fall, i sleep, i cry, i beat myself over the head, i tear at my clothes, i swallow and spit lie after lie trying to convince myself i'm not some sort of failure. that i'm worth a damn. that i can still turn this thing around.
but now i'm not so sure. because every time i seem to make a little head way, something has to happen. its either this or its either that.
i'm starting to feel as if i'm simply destined for destruction. like its encoded in my DNA. like its inescapable...inevitable. like a vampires lust for blood. its evil, its dark, its loathsome...it is all of these things, it is more...and because it lives in me...it is what i am.
is there any hope? who knows. all i know right now is that i haven't slept in 48 hours and i'm friggin tired. i still kinda feel like i might puke all over myself if i lie down for too long but i guess, all things considered, that i just have to risk it...
Nitey.
listening to;
"warning sign" by Cold Play
(U Kno Who U R...)
even before "the talk" i was already feeling pretty miserable...
it's happening all over again. the late nights, the hang overs, the fucking "i want a girl to go home with so who should i call?"s...
i thought i was past all of that. i thought i had graduated on to the next one.
apparently not. auntie Helen seems to think that i'm slowly killing myself. and although a lot of her garble was self-righteous and condescending there was still alot merit in her words.
there IS something wrong with me.
i'm not happy. haven't been in a very long time. i'm twenty-three, one month away from twenty-four and ive done absolutely nothing with my life. I dream, i walk, i slip, i fall, i sleep, i cry, i beat myself over the head, i tear at my clothes, i swallow and spit lie after lie trying to convince myself i'm not some sort of failure. that i'm worth a damn. that i can still turn this thing around.
but now i'm not so sure. because every time i seem to make a little head way, something has to happen. its either this or its either that.
i'm starting to feel as if i'm simply destined for destruction. like its encoded in my DNA. like its inescapable...inevitable. like a vampires lust for blood. its evil, its dark, its loathsome...it is all of these things, it is more...and because it lives in me...it is what i am.
is there any hope? who knows. all i know right now is that i haven't slept in 48 hours and i'm friggin tired. i still kinda feel like i might puke all over myself if i lie down for too long but i guess, all things considered, that i just have to risk it...
Nitey.
listening to;
"warning sign" by Cold Play
(U Kno Who U R...)
Thursday, January 7, 2010
24 is Not My Lucky Number But Thank You For Your Optimisim (InterLude)
Its been a while since I last did this. Four weeks at the very least. So excuse if I come off as a little rusty...
So wow...its twenty-ten...and everybody's talking about how this year's gonna be the year...
"I'm taking this shit to the next level homes."
Ronnie in a half drunken daze, while swinging his bottle danderously close to my head.
"Less talking and more walking, my nigga. That's how I'M goin to roll this year. So take one last look at my balls, homie, because this boy is about to blow up."
and then he proceeded to unbuckle his belt and pull down his jeans. I stopped him, luckliy, just in time.
"what optimisin.", i thought as I put him on a bajaj, paid the sour smelling dude who I was entrusting to get my boy home safely and watched, hands in my pocket as they headed away from the vuyos that is Kla on a saturday and into the night...
*cue the music (i'm thinking something like "Simple Little Melody" by B.E.P)*
P.S. lemme know if you disagree.
In any case, once they were no more than an insignificant blip on my radar, I pulled out my phone and made 3 different calls to 3 different girls and got 3 different answers. It was the third and final one that was the clincher:
"Youve got fifteen minutes." she said. She sounded tired, a lil drunk and not all that in the mood but who gave a fuck?
"i'll leave the door open."
Hanging up, I pocketed that little bitch, my sleek and sexy MTN Lite (dont hate on me if you werent able to get one), jumped on a bajaj of my own and warp speeded my ass over to buffy's place...I so had this in the bag; hook...line...and sinker...
*Ahem*
So where was I? Oh yeah, So everybody's talking about how this year is gonna be the year...but the year for what exactly? To finally bang that African Woman model? you know, The one with the rich boyfriend and the tendency to look down her nose at any homie less than 6 feet tall and any nigga who still uses a taxi as his main mode of transportation. and Marlin, dont you dare pretend you dont know who i'm talking about.
Or how about the year to finally start that business youve been starting for the past three years but keep making excuses as to why it is nothing more than a good idea that you want to implement somday. Even if it is someday soon. Yes, Boozie, I'm talking to you. A lil less booze might actually help you with that, you know.
My point is this, everyone always enters the new year with all these resolutions, all these goals and all these expectations that only fizzle out by month three; march or there abouts. so my question is this; whats the fucking point? I mean, youre only setting yourself up for disapointment after all.
my solution? That's easy; drink...be merry...have sex...burst someones cherry (even if it IS the neighbor's daughter who's joining senior one next month and still thinks of a rubber as only a scholastic tool) and live like todays the last day of your life...
1:17 am
And NO, I dont actually think that. The truth is, I dont know what I think. My fingers simply got away from my head again. But I guess on some level, though I hate to admit it, I get a kick out of the whole Devil May Care approach to life. No responsibilities, no consequences. Boy, would that be a way to live. Unfortunately, life doesnt work like that. Not unless you wanna be a bum. And believe it or not, I dont wanna be a bum Jane.
I dont wanna be a bum...
And with that 2010 has officially begun...
listening to;
"Get Me Some" by Weezer
So wow...its twenty-ten...and everybody's talking about how this year's gonna be the year...
"I'm taking this shit to the next level homes."
Ronnie in a half drunken daze, while swinging his bottle danderously close to my head.
"Less talking and more walking, my nigga. That's how I'M goin to roll this year. So take one last look at my balls, homie, because this boy is about to blow up."
and then he proceeded to unbuckle his belt and pull down his jeans. I stopped him, luckliy, just in time.
"what optimisin.", i thought as I put him on a bajaj, paid the sour smelling dude who I was entrusting to get my boy home safely and watched, hands in my pocket as they headed away from the vuyos that is Kla on a saturday and into the night...
*cue the music (i'm thinking something like "Simple Little Melody" by B.E.P)*
P.S. lemme know if you disagree.
In any case, once they were no more than an insignificant blip on my radar, I pulled out my phone and made 3 different calls to 3 different girls and got 3 different answers. It was the third and final one that was the clincher:
"Youve got fifteen minutes." she said. She sounded tired, a lil drunk and not all that in the mood but who gave a fuck?
"i'll leave the door open."
Hanging up, I pocketed that little bitch, my sleek and sexy MTN Lite (dont hate on me if you werent able to get one), jumped on a bajaj of my own and warp speeded my ass over to buffy's place...I so had this in the bag; hook...line...and sinker...
*Ahem*
So where was I? Oh yeah, So everybody's talking about how this year is gonna be the year...but the year for what exactly? To finally bang that African Woman model? you know, The one with the rich boyfriend and the tendency to look down her nose at any homie less than 6 feet tall and any nigga who still uses a taxi as his main mode of transportation. and Marlin, dont you dare pretend you dont know who i'm talking about.
Or how about the year to finally start that business youve been starting for the past three years but keep making excuses as to why it is nothing more than a good idea that you want to implement somday. Even if it is someday soon. Yes, Boozie, I'm talking to you. A lil less booze might actually help you with that, you know.
My point is this, everyone always enters the new year with all these resolutions, all these goals and all these expectations that only fizzle out by month three; march or there abouts. so my question is this; whats the fucking point? I mean, youre only setting yourself up for disapointment after all.
my solution? That's easy; drink...be merry...have sex...burst someones cherry (even if it IS the neighbor's daughter who's joining senior one next month and still thinks of a rubber as only a scholastic tool) and live like todays the last day of your life...
1:17 am
And NO, I dont actually think that. The truth is, I dont know what I think. My fingers simply got away from my head again. But I guess on some level, though I hate to admit it, I get a kick out of the whole Devil May Care approach to life. No responsibilities, no consequences. Boy, would that be a way to live. Unfortunately, life doesnt work like that. Not unless you wanna be a bum. And believe it or not, I dont wanna be a bum Jane.
I dont wanna be a bum...
And with that 2010 has officially begun...
listening to;
"Get Me Some" by Weezer
Monday, January 4, 2010
The Dark: Chapter Five
"So, are you going to tell me what happened?"
You stare at the man sitting behind the desk. He's short and balding with a pudgy but kind face. Not that well dressed you have come to notice. His practice is not a private one but attached to the campus; the pay cant be all that good.
He stares back at you. His expression is deadpan. Like it always is.
He must be extremely unhappy, was your first opinion of him the first time you stepped into his office. I would be too, you had mused silently, if I had to listen to other people's problems the whole day. When it came to his own problems he must stack books.
This prevail ant thought had led you not to take him all that seriously. Your demeaning attitude had remained persistent through all of your school required sessions. The administration seemed to think there was something wrong with you. Even though you hate to admit it, they were right.
"'What happened?'" you ask, feigning ignorance.
Dr. Patterson gives you a look that tells you that the ignorance act isn't cute anymore.
"Yes," He says, obviously a little exasperated.
"The night of Spencer Elson's party. You've been avoiding it for several sessions now."
You give a moment of pause before you answer.
"I'm only here because I have to be, you know."
"Yes, we've already established that." Dr. Patterson allows, allowing a sigh to escape his lips.
"But we also established that as long as you are here we might as well do something useful with the time that we have together."
You can see the sense in that but to remember that night is to unearth something horrible. And even though you want to get to the bottom of what is happening to you, simply put, you are just too fucking scared. and so to shield yourself, to shield Dr. Patterson who thinks the extent of your problems are your plummeting grades, you decide to take a detour. Little do you know that that is all it is: a detour. All roads in this case lead to the same place.
"I had a dream last night."
Dr. Patterson folds his hands on top of the desk.
"Oh yeah? What about?"
"About a guy in a red jacket." You say.
"What was this guy in your dream doing?" Dr. Patterson asks you.
You take a breath.
"He was playing football. He was using a head, a human head as a ball."
Dr. Patterson seems troubled by this but tells you to go on.
"Theres a whole team of these guys. Guys in red jackets passing the ball, the head, back and forth."
"What about the other team?" Dr. Patterson asks.
"What?"
"The other team. Who's on it?"
"Oh."
You swallow.
"Umm, the person the head belongs to."
"Who else is on the team?"
You shake your head from side to side a couple of times.
" No one else. That's it."
"I see. Is it possible that these people are not playing football at all? That this person without a head is just trying to get their head back and these people in red jackets are trying their best to keep it away from him or her?"
You think about it for a moment. It makes sense. You dont know why you didnt think of that before.
"So do you have any idea who the person without a head is?"
You blink. Swallow hard. swallow fast. You consider saying "no" for a second but this guy is a shrink, of course he'll know that you're lying. You decide to tell the truth.
"It's mine. The head is mine."
Dr. Patterson doesn't seem surprised by this. He nods as if he had expected that very answer.
"So what happens next?"
You lick your lips. The mere memory of the dream makes your hands tremble. Conjuring up the courage you tell him.
"I start to kill them one by one. In horrible, horrifying ways. Soon I'm covered, head to toe, in blood. Until there are only two of them left."
Dr. Patterson doesn't say anything. His silence urges you to go on.
" Then I pick up a a hunting axe thats lying on the ground, it's covered with blood but I wake up before I can reach either of them."
Dr. Patterson does some more nodding. Then making eye contact with you for the first time since you started narrating your dream, he asks you a question.
"What do you think it means?"
You dont have to think, you know. You'd be damned if you told that seedy shrink though.
Maintaining eye contact as best you can you tell him that you dont have a clue.
"Dont have a clue or just dont want to tell me?"
You turn away. Did you really expect anything less?
"I'm here to help you." Dr. Patterson tries to assure you.
"I cant do that, though, unless you let me."
"I dont need your help." You say and make a move to stand up.
"Wait.Why dont you sit back down and we talk about this?"
You pause but only for a second. After a moment you are up and out of your seat.
"Why?" You ask defensively.
"There's nothing for us to talk about. I already told you my stupid dream. What else do you want?"
"For us to talk about the dream."
Dr. Patterson is almost pleading.
"What it means. What it means to you."
You shake your head.
"It means nothing. It was just another dream."
You head for the door.
"Then let me ask you something,"
You stop.
"If it doesn't mean anything, why are you so scared?"
You purse your lips. Consider turning around but quickly change your mind.
Your answer is the slam of the door behind you.
You stare at the man sitting behind the desk. He's short and balding with a pudgy but kind face. Not that well dressed you have come to notice. His practice is not a private one but attached to the campus; the pay cant be all that good.
He stares back at you. His expression is deadpan. Like it always is.
He must be extremely unhappy, was your first opinion of him the first time you stepped into his office. I would be too, you had mused silently, if I had to listen to other people's problems the whole day. When it came to his own problems he must stack books.
This prevail ant thought had led you not to take him all that seriously. Your demeaning attitude had remained persistent through all of your school required sessions. The administration seemed to think there was something wrong with you. Even though you hate to admit it, they were right.
"'What happened?'" you ask, feigning ignorance.
Dr. Patterson gives you a look that tells you that the ignorance act isn't cute anymore.
"Yes," He says, obviously a little exasperated.
"The night of Spencer Elson's party. You've been avoiding it for several sessions now."
You give a moment of pause before you answer.
"I'm only here because I have to be, you know."
"Yes, we've already established that." Dr. Patterson allows, allowing a sigh to escape his lips.
"But we also established that as long as you are here we might as well do something useful with the time that we have together."
You can see the sense in that but to remember that night is to unearth something horrible. And even though you want to get to the bottom of what is happening to you, simply put, you are just too fucking scared. and so to shield yourself, to shield Dr. Patterson who thinks the extent of your problems are your plummeting grades, you decide to take a detour. Little do you know that that is all it is: a detour. All roads in this case lead to the same place.
"I had a dream last night."
Dr. Patterson folds his hands on top of the desk.
"Oh yeah? What about?"
"About a guy in a red jacket." You say.
"What was this guy in your dream doing?" Dr. Patterson asks you.
You take a breath.
"He was playing football. He was using a head, a human head as a ball."
Dr. Patterson seems troubled by this but tells you to go on.
"Theres a whole team of these guys. Guys in red jackets passing the ball, the head, back and forth."
"What about the other team?" Dr. Patterson asks.
"What?"
"The other team. Who's on it?"
"Oh."
You swallow.
"Umm, the person the head belongs to."
"Who else is on the team?"
You shake your head from side to side a couple of times.
" No one else. That's it."
"I see. Is it possible that these people are not playing football at all? That this person without a head is just trying to get their head back and these people in red jackets are trying their best to keep it away from him or her?"
You think about it for a moment. It makes sense. You dont know why you didnt think of that before.
"So do you have any idea who the person without a head is?"
You blink. Swallow hard. swallow fast. You consider saying "no" for a second but this guy is a shrink, of course he'll know that you're lying. You decide to tell the truth.
"It's mine. The head is mine."
Dr. Patterson doesn't seem surprised by this. He nods as if he had expected that very answer.
"So what happens next?"
You lick your lips. The mere memory of the dream makes your hands tremble. Conjuring up the courage you tell him.
"I start to kill them one by one. In horrible, horrifying ways. Soon I'm covered, head to toe, in blood. Until there are only two of them left."
Dr. Patterson doesn't say anything. His silence urges you to go on.
" Then I pick up a a hunting axe thats lying on the ground, it's covered with blood but I wake up before I can reach either of them."
Dr. Patterson does some more nodding. Then making eye contact with you for the first time since you started narrating your dream, he asks you a question.
"What do you think it means?"
You dont have to think, you know. You'd be damned if you told that seedy shrink though.
Maintaining eye contact as best you can you tell him that you dont have a clue.
"Dont have a clue or just dont want to tell me?"
You turn away. Did you really expect anything less?
"I'm here to help you." Dr. Patterson tries to assure you.
"I cant do that, though, unless you let me."
"I dont need your help." You say and make a move to stand up.
"Wait.Why dont you sit back down and we talk about this?"
You pause but only for a second. After a moment you are up and out of your seat.
"Why?" You ask defensively.
"There's nothing for us to talk about. I already told you my stupid dream. What else do you want?"
"For us to talk about the dream."
Dr. Patterson is almost pleading.
"What it means. What it means to you."
You shake your head.
"It means nothing. It was just another dream."
You head for the door.
"Then let me ask you something,"
You stop.
"If it doesn't mean anything, why are you so scared?"
You purse your lips. Consider turning around but quickly change your mind.
Your answer is the slam of the door behind you.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
The Dark: Chapter Four
Kelly leans over and shouts something in your ear. The music's as loud as a bitch though and so all you hear are the words "think" and "hot".
You give Kelly a puzzled look that lets her know that you’re stuck somewhere between lost and really lost.
Sighing, Kelly leans over again. This time her lips brush against your ear.
"I said 'I think she's hot!'"
Kelly points in the direction of the drinks table.
Your eyes follow the length of her arm to where she is pointing. Standing next to the drinks table is none other than Fifi Payton. Tall, big breasted and beautiful.
Who also happens to be a lesbian.
People have waited for her coming out party for ages but she seems pretty determined to hold it off for as long as possible.
Well, she is sleeping with the captain of the football team. That must have some privileges, right? And it’s not like Reggie Stafford really minds. Fifi is easily the hottest chick in school. It's only more points to Reggie for hitting that.
"You do know that it’s rude to point don’t you?"
"Not if the person knows that you’re watching them." Kelly says cockily.
If Fifi is aware of an audience, however, she isn’t letting on. Holding a cup of something yellow with a few flecks of blue in it, she appears to be completely engrossed in the music. Her eyes are closed, her body slowly swaying to the thump-thump of the beat.
"She doesn’t exactly look like she knows you’re watching." you point out.
Kelly just smiles.
"Oh, she does."
You sigh. Kelly has obviously made up her mind. No matter what may, she was going to get lucky tonight.
You both watch Fifi in silence for a bit. You can understand where Kelly is coming from. Fifi is like a spell, a magical force you can’t get away from.
"Fifi's the one who invited me, you know."
Kelly says this sedately. You glance over at her. The girl is whipped.
And although you honestly doubt the truth of Kelly's admission, you still decide to play along.
"Then go over there and talk to her." you say.
Adjusting the Yankees hat sitting on top of her head, Kelly tells you that she just might.
"Go for it." you say and give her a little shove to drive the point home.
Kelly flashes you a quick smile and then sucking in some air, struts across the room.
"Get me another drink while you’re over there, will you?" You shout after her. She doesn’t hear you though and you don’t really expect her to.
Go Kelly, you think and take a sip of your beer.
You watch as Kelly approaches her swaying goddess. It takes a moment but Kelly manages to get Fifi's attention. You see Fifi's features light up when she realizes who it is. She throws her arms around Kelly and gives her a lengthy hug.
They are soon engaged in an animated conversation and it’s not long before you start to think that maybe Kelly had been telling the truth about Fifi inviting her after all.
You turn away; try not to make it look so obvious that you have nothing better to do than watch Kelly set her ball into motion. You can’t help it though and soon you find your eyes back on the couple.
With a stray glance, Kelly catches your eye. Then getting Fifi's ear, you watch as she points in your direction. After a moment Fifi nods and then collecting a couple of fresh drinks they walk over to where you are.
Kelly pulls you in for a hug.
"Be nice." She tells you and gives you a warning pinch just in case you didn’t get it.
You give her a grimace that lets her know that you got it loud and clear.
Then all smiles again, Kelly asks Fifi if you two have met before.
Fifi shakes her head saying that she's seen you around but doesn’t think that you’ve actually ever met.
"Well in that case...” Kelly goes on two introduce the two of you.
"Pleasure." Fifi says, beaming over at you.
You smile briefly.
"I'm sure it is."
The smile on Fifi's face fades considerably. Shooting you a warning look, Kelly makes a move to kick start a conversation. One that after only about thirty seconds you realize does not interest you. Your mind begins to wander. So do your eyes.
After a moment they lock onto a red jacket.
You know he's going to come over even before he takes a single step. Working the room, he steadily moves towards the three of you. Kelly and Fifi don’t notice him until he's no more than a foot away.
"Hey."
Fifi flips her hair out of her face, over her shoulder. Only slightly glancing over at the new arrival.
"Hey Reggie...what are you doing here?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing."
Fifi turns and gives Reggie her full attention for the first time. Looks him up and down as if she she's trying to decide on something.
"I'm talking."
She cocks her head to the side.
"Your turn."
Reggie smirks. Glances over at you and Kelly.
"With them? How much have you had to drink, Phee?"
You’re used to such slights and so you just ignore it. Kelly, however, was part of the in-crowd once and so still finds it hard to swallow such insults which she thinks are reserved only for the likes of you. Not that she would ever say that to your face
Kelly speaks up to say something but Fifi grabs her arm and digs her nails into it, quickly cutting Kelly short.
Raising her cup Fifi waves it in front of Reggie's face.
"Obviously not enough to leave with you, Regg. Now beat it."
Reggie shrugs, his smirk seeming to say something like "You'll be back".
"Suit yourself," he says, turning to leave.
"All I'm trying to do is do you a favor." He throws over his shoulder
"Save you some embarrassment."
With a swagger that makes you want to break your bottle on back of his head, Reggie saunters off.
"You okay?" The question is directed at you.
You nod.
"I'll live."
"You?" Fifi asks Kelly.
"I will be as soon as you get your nails out of my fucking arm." Kelly breathes through clenched teeth.
"Oh my God, sorry!" Fifi exclaims letting go of Kelly's arm.
"Baby, are you okay?"
Baby? You think. Okay...
"I'll be fine. Just never, ever do that again." Kelly says rubbing her arm. The nail marks look nasty. Like they were about thirty seconds away from breaking skin. That must hurt like a bitch, you say to yourself.
"How about we go outside?" Fifi offers.
"I’ve got a car. Some wicked tunes too."
Kelly looks at you pleadingly. This is her chance.
Sighing, you tell the two of them to go ahead.
"What about you?" Fifi asks.
"I'll be fine." You tell her.
"I'll just...drink some more beer or something."
"You can do that in the car." Fifi insists.
"Now come on."
You shrug in resignation.
"Okay."
Turning, you give Kelly a look that says ' at least you can’t say that I didn’t try'.
Rolling her eyes, Kelly let's Fifi take her by the hand.
"Let's get out of here." Fifi says and pulling Kelly by the hand, heads for the door.
You give Kelly a puzzled look that lets her know that you’re stuck somewhere between lost and really lost.
Sighing, Kelly leans over again. This time her lips brush against your ear.
"I said 'I think she's hot!'"
Kelly points in the direction of the drinks table.
Your eyes follow the length of her arm to where she is pointing. Standing next to the drinks table is none other than Fifi Payton. Tall, big breasted and beautiful.
Who also happens to be a lesbian.
People have waited for her coming out party for ages but she seems pretty determined to hold it off for as long as possible.
Well, she is sleeping with the captain of the football team. That must have some privileges, right? And it’s not like Reggie Stafford really minds. Fifi is easily the hottest chick in school. It's only more points to Reggie for hitting that.
"You do know that it’s rude to point don’t you?"
"Not if the person knows that you’re watching them." Kelly says cockily.
If Fifi is aware of an audience, however, she isn’t letting on. Holding a cup of something yellow with a few flecks of blue in it, she appears to be completely engrossed in the music. Her eyes are closed, her body slowly swaying to the thump-thump of the beat.
"She doesn’t exactly look like she knows you’re watching." you point out.
Kelly just smiles.
"Oh, she does."
You sigh. Kelly has obviously made up her mind. No matter what may, she was going to get lucky tonight.
You both watch Fifi in silence for a bit. You can understand where Kelly is coming from. Fifi is like a spell, a magical force you can’t get away from.
"Fifi's the one who invited me, you know."
Kelly says this sedately. You glance over at her. The girl is whipped.
And although you honestly doubt the truth of Kelly's admission, you still decide to play along.
"Then go over there and talk to her." you say.
Adjusting the Yankees hat sitting on top of her head, Kelly tells you that she just might.
"Go for it." you say and give her a little shove to drive the point home.
Kelly flashes you a quick smile and then sucking in some air, struts across the room.
"Get me another drink while you’re over there, will you?" You shout after her. She doesn’t hear you though and you don’t really expect her to.
Go Kelly, you think and take a sip of your beer.
You watch as Kelly approaches her swaying goddess. It takes a moment but Kelly manages to get Fifi's attention. You see Fifi's features light up when she realizes who it is. She throws her arms around Kelly and gives her a lengthy hug.
They are soon engaged in an animated conversation and it’s not long before you start to think that maybe Kelly had been telling the truth about Fifi inviting her after all.
You turn away; try not to make it look so obvious that you have nothing better to do than watch Kelly set her ball into motion. You can’t help it though and soon you find your eyes back on the couple.
With a stray glance, Kelly catches your eye. Then getting Fifi's ear, you watch as she points in your direction. After a moment Fifi nods and then collecting a couple of fresh drinks they walk over to where you are.
Kelly pulls you in for a hug.
"Be nice." She tells you and gives you a warning pinch just in case you didn’t get it.
You give her a grimace that lets her know that you got it loud and clear.
Then all smiles again, Kelly asks Fifi if you two have met before.
Fifi shakes her head saying that she's seen you around but doesn’t think that you’ve actually ever met.
"Well in that case...” Kelly goes on two introduce the two of you.
"Pleasure." Fifi says, beaming over at you.
You smile briefly.
"I'm sure it is."
The smile on Fifi's face fades considerably. Shooting you a warning look, Kelly makes a move to kick start a conversation. One that after only about thirty seconds you realize does not interest you. Your mind begins to wander. So do your eyes.
After a moment they lock onto a red jacket.
You know he's going to come over even before he takes a single step. Working the room, he steadily moves towards the three of you. Kelly and Fifi don’t notice him until he's no more than a foot away.
"Hey."
Fifi flips her hair out of her face, over her shoulder. Only slightly glancing over at the new arrival.
"Hey Reggie...what are you doing here?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing."
Fifi turns and gives Reggie her full attention for the first time. Looks him up and down as if she she's trying to decide on something.
"I'm talking."
She cocks her head to the side.
"Your turn."
Reggie smirks. Glances over at you and Kelly.
"With them? How much have you had to drink, Phee?"
You’re used to such slights and so you just ignore it. Kelly, however, was part of the in-crowd once and so still finds it hard to swallow such insults which she thinks are reserved only for the likes of you. Not that she would ever say that to your face
Kelly speaks up to say something but Fifi grabs her arm and digs her nails into it, quickly cutting Kelly short.
Raising her cup Fifi waves it in front of Reggie's face.
"Obviously not enough to leave with you, Regg. Now beat it."
Reggie shrugs, his smirk seeming to say something like "You'll be back".
"Suit yourself," he says, turning to leave.
"All I'm trying to do is do you a favor." He throws over his shoulder
"Save you some embarrassment."
With a swagger that makes you want to break your bottle on back of his head, Reggie saunters off.
"You okay?" The question is directed at you.
You nod.
"I'll live."
"You?" Fifi asks Kelly.
"I will be as soon as you get your nails out of my fucking arm." Kelly breathes through clenched teeth.
"Oh my God, sorry!" Fifi exclaims letting go of Kelly's arm.
"Baby, are you okay?"
Baby? You think. Okay...
"I'll be fine. Just never, ever do that again." Kelly says rubbing her arm. The nail marks look nasty. Like they were about thirty seconds away from breaking skin. That must hurt like a bitch, you say to yourself.
"How about we go outside?" Fifi offers.
"I’ve got a car. Some wicked tunes too."
Kelly looks at you pleadingly. This is her chance.
Sighing, you tell the two of them to go ahead.
"What about you?" Fifi asks.
"I'll be fine." You tell her.
"I'll just...drink some more beer or something."
"You can do that in the car." Fifi insists.
"Now come on."
You shrug in resignation.
"Okay."
Turning, you give Kelly a look that says ' at least you can’t say that I didn’t try'.
Rolling her eyes, Kelly let's Fifi take her by the hand.
"Let's get out of here." Fifi says and pulling Kelly by the hand, heads for the door.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
The Dark: Chapter Three
Its your senior year in high school. A few months before graduation. The night of Spencer's party. You're not popular but you've still been invited. Well, sort of. You find a flyer plastered to your locker. Bright pink, it is hard to miss. After reading it you start to crumple it up. So what if it's going to be "The wickedest shit this side of hell", its not like you're going to feel welcome there. They'll probably just shut the door in your face anyway.
Something, however, stops you from throwing it away. You don't know what, maybe it was fate and so instead of tossing it in the trash can like you know you should have, you uncrumple it, smooth it out on the thigh of jeans, fold it nicely and stuff it in your pocket.
When you get home you go straight to your room. Do your homework. Try to forget about the flyer that is burning a hole in your pocket. Its a losing battle, however, and so after reading the same line about fifty times you pull out the flyer. Smooth it out on your desk.
"The wickedest shit this side of hell!!!" it proclaims. Something about that riles you. Makes you want to turn up just so that you can dare them to shut the door in your face.
And what if they do? you ask yourself. What then?
You try not to think about. Try to force the stupid notion of going for some stupid party out of your stupid head.
Crumpling the flyer you toss it in the general direction of the wastepaper basket without really aiming. It bricks. you're not really surprised.
Swiveling in your seat you plan to crack the books in earnest when the sound of your name barrels up the stairs and slams into the bedroom door. Getting up you walk over to the door and jerk it open.
"Whaaaat?"
"Phooone!"
Shit, it's probably Kelly, you think. You already have some idea of what she is going to say and have no desire to hear it.
"Tell who ever it is I'm not home!"
"Its Kelly. She says its pretty urgent!" is the prompt reply.
You roll your eyes. "Urgent" to kelly is a night out without a new outfit. she probably wants to come over and get that white Yankee fitted she has bugging you about. But whatever.
You tell your mom that you'll take it.
Swiping the handset from where it sits on the small table in the corridor you put it to your ear.
"Have you heard about Spencer's party?" Kelly asks without preamble.
"And hello to you to." you say.
"Shut up and answer the damn question."
You walk back into your room and shut the door behind you. Briefly catch a glimpse of the bright pink ball sitting next to the wastepaper basket.
You lie.
"No." you say and sit down on the edge of your bed.
"You're kidding me, right?"
"No."
"God, you're such a spaz." Kelly says,
"Anyway, we sooo like have to go."
"We're not invited." you point out, even if it isn't necessarily true.
"I am." Kelly counters, who seems to have an answer for just about everything,
"And I'm taking you with me."
You sigh. Tell Kelly that you're doing homework. That you have an assignment thats already two days late, that-
"Shut up." Kelly says cutting your feeble explanation short.
"I'm coming over, you're dressing up and we're going for that fucking party. Kapeesh?"
You know there's no wriggling your way out of this one and so you reluctantly agree. Resign yourself to the inevitable.
Fucking Kelly, man, you think. The queen bitch of the strong arm.
As you hang up the phone, you try to shake the queer feeling that you have. Like something is about to go seriously and horribley wrong. Its just nerves, you tell yourself. It's just your mind trying to play tricks on you.
You toss the phone onto your bed. Walk over to your closet.
Trying to ignore the tremor in you hands, you look for something to wear
Something, however, stops you from throwing it away. You don't know what, maybe it was fate and so instead of tossing it in the trash can like you know you should have, you uncrumple it, smooth it out on the thigh of jeans, fold it nicely and stuff it in your pocket.
When you get home you go straight to your room. Do your homework. Try to forget about the flyer that is burning a hole in your pocket. Its a losing battle, however, and so after reading the same line about fifty times you pull out the flyer. Smooth it out on your desk.
"The wickedest shit this side of hell!!!" it proclaims. Something about that riles you. Makes you want to turn up just so that you can dare them to shut the door in your face.
And what if they do? you ask yourself. What then?
You try not to think about. Try to force the stupid notion of going for some stupid party out of your stupid head.
Crumpling the flyer you toss it in the general direction of the wastepaper basket without really aiming. It bricks. you're not really surprised.
Swiveling in your seat you plan to crack the books in earnest when the sound of your name barrels up the stairs and slams into the bedroom door. Getting up you walk over to the door and jerk it open.
"Whaaaat?"
"Phooone!"
Shit, it's probably Kelly, you think. You already have some idea of what she is going to say and have no desire to hear it.
"Tell who ever it is I'm not home!"
"Its Kelly. She says its pretty urgent!" is the prompt reply.
You roll your eyes. "Urgent" to kelly is a night out without a new outfit. she probably wants to come over and get that white Yankee fitted she has bugging you about. But whatever.
You tell your mom that you'll take it.
Swiping the handset from where it sits on the small table in the corridor you put it to your ear.
"Have you heard about Spencer's party?" Kelly asks without preamble.
"And hello to you to." you say.
"Shut up and answer the damn question."
You walk back into your room and shut the door behind you. Briefly catch a glimpse of the bright pink ball sitting next to the wastepaper basket.
You lie.
"No." you say and sit down on the edge of your bed.
"You're kidding me, right?"
"No."
"God, you're such a spaz." Kelly says,
"Anyway, we sooo like have to go."
"We're not invited." you point out, even if it isn't necessarily true.
"I am." Kelly counters, who seems to have an answer for just about everything,
"And I'm taking you with me."
You sigh. Tell Kelly that you're doing homework. That you have an assignment thats already two days late, that-
"Shut up." Kelly says cutting your feeble explanation short.
"I'm coming over, you're dressing up and we're going for that fucking party. Kapeesh?"
You know there's no wriggling your way out of this one and so you reluctantly agree. Resign yourself to the inevitable.
Fucking Kelly, man, you think. The queen bitch of the strong arm.
As you hang up the phone, you try to shake the queer feeling that you have. Like something is about to go seriously and horribley wrong. Its just nerves, you tell yourself. It's just your mind trying to play tricks on you.
You toss the phone onto your bed. Walk over to your closet.
Trying to ignore the tremor in you hands, you look for something to wear
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
The Dark: Chapter Two
"Don't look at me. Just don’t look at me. Just look right through me like you always do. Get someone else to answer your stupid question."
But she does look at you. Her gaze piercing like she can see right into the depths of your soul. You sink lower into your seat.
"How about you," she says. gazes down at her class register. After a moment, however, she frowns, she cant seem to match your face with a name.
With a dismissive wave of her hand she gives up.
"You, sitting behind Miss Tanner. Would you like to give us an explanation for this phenomenon?"
Several heads swivel in your direction. Your face starts to feel hot. Your mouth suddenly dry.
The entire hall is suddenly quiet. everyone is waiting for you to answer. To hear what the class weirdo has to say.
You mutter your answer. The hall is so quiet that it carries easily.
"No? You don’t even want to try?"
You catch a few people snickering. Not openly but one of those hand over mouth numbers. Beads of sweat pop up on your forehead like a rash of pimples.
Dr. Stevens seems rather amused.
"What's your name?" She asks. Crosses her arms in fashion that let's you know that the lecture was not going anywhere until you answered her question.
There are more snickers. These ones more open. you are turning into a freak show.
Dr. Stevens holds up a hand. Tells them to let you answer.
Trying your best to ignore the snickering and the sweat running down your back, you manage to.
Opening a file, Dr. Stevens begins to rummage through some papers. After a moment she finds what she is looking for and straightens up. She reads out your name and then a percentage: %93. Your paper was the most impressive she had read in years. Which, to her, seems quite odd seeing as you have just been placed on academic probation. You did write this paper, didn’t you?
She waits for a few moments but then realizing that you’re not going to give her a forthright answer, Dr. Stevens flips through the term paper. Finding the place that she's interested in, she begins to read from it. first one paragraph, then another. She doesn’t stop until she reaches the bottom of the page.
"I couldn’t have written it better myself." She says looking up from the paper. And according to her, you have already answered her question. And then some.
The queer looks you are getting make you sink even further into your seat.
Dr. Stevens gives the paper to someone in the front row. Tells them to pass it to you. She wants to see you once the lecture is over.
You glance at your watch. That was in about half an hour.
When the paper finally lands on your desk it is fairly crumpled and a number of cruel comments have been scribbled in the margins by the people whose hands it has passed through.
You peer at it. The hand writing is definitely yours but you have no recollection what so ever of writing it.
Catching the person sitting next to you peering over your shoulder in an attempt to look at your paper, you crumple it into a ball and let it fall to the floor.
The paper scares you.
Because, to you, the paper asks more questions than it answers.
One thing was for certain, however, he was becoming stronger. Bolder. There was no way to control him.
You think of what he did to Jason. No, what you did to Jason.
You have to stop it, you realize. But to do that you have to go back to the beginning. To where it all began. And that's what scares you more than anything. Even more than knowing what it is capable of. Because when all is said and done, going back will only lead you to one place. To the place where you would have to come face to face with your worst enemy, your worst fear...yourself.
But she does look at you. Her gaze piercing like she can see right into the depths of your soul. You sink lower into your seat.
"How about you," she says. gazes down at her class register. After a moment, however, she frowns, she cant seem to match your face with a name.
With a dismissive wave of her hand she gives up.
"You, sitting behind Miss Tanner. Would you like to give us an explanation for this phenomenon?"
Several heads swivel in your direction. Your face starts to feel hot. Your mouth suddenly dry.
The entire hall is suddenly quiet. everyone is waiting for you to answer. To hear what the class weirdo has to say.
You mutter your answer. The hall is so quiet that it carries easily.
"No? You don’t even want to try?"
You catch a few people snickering. Not openly but one of those hand over mouth numbers. Beads of sweat pop up on your forehead like a rash of pimples.
Dr. Stevens seems rather amused.
"What's your name?" She asks. Crosses her arms in fashion that let's you know that the lecture was not going anywhere until you answered her question.
There are more snickers. These ones more open. you are turning into a freak show.
Dr. Stevens holds up a hand. Tells them to let you answer.
Trying your best to ignore the snickering and the sweat running down your back, you manage to.
Opening a file, Dr. Stevens begins to rummage through some papers. After a moment she finds what she is looking for and straightens up. She reads out your name and then a percentage: %93. Your paper was the most impressive she had read in years. Which, to her, seems quite odd seeing as you have just been placed on academic probation. You did write this paper, didn’t you?
She waits for a few moments but then realizing that you’re not going to give her a forthright answer, Dr. Stevens flips through the term paper. Finding the place that she's interested in, she begins to read from it. first one paragraph, then another. She doesn’t stop until she reaches the bottom of the page.
"I couldn’t have written it better myself." She says looking up from the paper. And according to her, you have already answered her question. And then some.
The queer looks you are getting make you sink even further into your seat.
Dr. Stevens gives the paper to someone in the front row. Tells them to pass it to you. She wants to see you once the lecture is over.
You glance at your watch. That was in about half an hour.
When the paper finally lands on your desk it is fairly crumpled and a number of cruel comments have been scribbled in the margins by the people whose hands it has passed through.
You peer at it. The hand writing is definitely yours but you have no recollection what so ever of writing it.
Catching the person sitting next to you peering over your shoulder in an attempt to look at your paper, you crumple it into a ball and let it fall to the floor.
The paper scares you.
Because, to you, the paper asks more questions than it answers.
One thing was for certain, however, he was becoming stronger. Bolder. There was no way to control him.
You think of what he did to Jason. No, what you did to Jason.
You have to stop it, you realize. But to do that you have to go back to the beginning. To where it all began. And that's what scares you more than anything. Even more than knowing what it is capable of. Because when all is said and done, going back will only lead you to one place. To the place where you would have to come face to face with your worst enemy, your worst fear...yourself.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
The Dark: A Short Story
Prologue
There is a place I sometimes go
Where the river of time does not- can not flow
Where there is no yesterday, today or tomorrow
but only the present-
Only now.
There is a place where I sometimes stroll
A place void of all presence but my own
A place where my angels and demons no longer battle for control
for my demons are the lords of the domain.
Where is this place?
This place where I lose myself
Where I find myself
Where I feel free to be the creature I fear to be anywhere else.
This place is a space deep within-
Deep within myself
But not only a place but an entity
An animal, A savage
A living breathing thing that lives to feed on my weakness
Swallowing it whole
filling the hole that it creates
So this place, this entity
this...this savage
what does it call itself?
If it does indeed call itself anything.
You know it well
Do not pretend as if you don't
It calls itself...
The Dark.
ONE
The blood on your hands frightens you. Its as red as a beacon. It seems to scream "I did it! I did this to him! It was me!"
You close your eyes. Try to block out the memory of Jason's screams, his pathetic pleading as you plunged in the knife again and again.
You start to shake. you're going into shock you know you are. but you also know, however, that you cant allow yourself to. The course of events that have been set into motion; that you have set into motion will soon lead someone to the small cottage that you now stand in. You had to make sure that when that happened you wouldn't be there. Nor could the body. You had to get rid of it- and fast.
Steadying yourself, you force yourself to take a step towards him.Careful not to tread in the river of blood that acts as your guide.
You tip toe around the bed. You're barefooted and so when the heel of you foot catches the bank of Jason's blood you slip. almost fall but catch yourself with flaying arms before you splay face first into it.
A few more steps and he comes into view. His face is unrecognizable. Swollen and coated in a layer of blood. You had pounded his face in pretty good. The butt of the knife acting as your bludgeon. The two gaping holes that had been his eyes are aimed at the ceiling. As if in his last moments Jason had prayed to the God he had always claimed didn't exist.
The bludgeoning had come before you had taken out his eyes. before you had taken the sharp end of the knife to him.
Your still perfectly functioning eyes avoid Jason's empty sockets. veer down to the remains of jason's stomach. You had opened him up like he was a can of sardines. Pulling at his insides like you had been tugging on a rope. You had done it while he had still had breath left in him. so that he would feel it.You had wanted him to hurt, to scream out, to beg for mercy. He had done all three.You had made sure of that.
Your eyes move again
Jason's legs, you notice, are splayed out in utterly impossible directions. the stumps where his feet are meant to be still oozing blood. The main source of the crimson river that surrounds you.
As you take in the scene you retch. Double over and retch again. After a second, you vomit all over your feet and jeans.
catching your breath, you straighten up.
The sour stench of you vomit mingles with that of Jason's exposed stomach acids and you wrinkle your nose in disgust. You wipe your mouth on the sleeve of you shirt. wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. A single bead of sweat trickles uncomfortably down the small of your back.
The sound of the moving second hand of the clock that sits a few feet away explodes in your head like a hammer against an anvil. The seconds are passing, The Dark no longer keeping them at bay, no longer blocking their passage for you.
I can't do this. you tell yourself. I cant fix this...I cant.
But you must, you know you must and as you spot the axe lying abandoned a few feet away, its tip kissed with blood, you know what you have to do.
There is a place I sometimes go
Where the river of time does not- can not flow
Where there is no yesterday, today or tomorrow
but only the present-
Only now.
There is a place where I sometimes stroll
A place void of all presence but my own
A place where my angels and demons no longer battle for control
for my demons are the lords of the domain.
Where is this place?
This place where I lose myself
Where I find myself
Where I feel free to be the creature I fear to be anywhere else.
This place is a space deep within-
Deep within myself
But not only a place but an entity
An animal, A savage
A living breathing thing that lives to feed on my weakness
Swallowing it whole
filling the hole that it creates
So this place, this entity
this...this savage
what does it call itself?
If it does indeed call itself anything.
You know it well
Do not pretend as if you don't
It calls itself...
The Dark.
ONE
The blood on your hands frightens you. Its as red as a beacon. It seems to scream "I did it! I did this to him! It was me!"
You close your eyes. Try to block out the memory of Jason's screams, his pathetic pleading as you plunged in the knife again and again.
You start to shake. you're going into shock you know you are. but you also know, however, that you cant allow yourself to. The course of events that have been set into motion; that you have set into motion will soon lead someone to the small cottage that you now stand in. You had to make sure that when that happened you wouldn't be there. Nor could the body. You had to get rid of it- and fast.
Steadying yourself, you force yourself to take a step towards him.Careful not to tread in the river of blood that acts as your guide.
You tip toe around the bed. You're barefooted and so when the heel of you foot catches the bank of Jason's blood you slip. almost fall but catch yourself with flaying arms before you splay face first into it.
A few more steps and he comes into view. His face is unrecognizable. Swollen and coated in a layer of blood. You had pounded his face in pretty good. The butt of the knife acting as your bludgeon. The two gaping holes that had been his eyes are aimed at the ceiling. As if in his last moments Jason had prayed to the God he had always claimed didn't exist.
The bludgeoning had come before you had taken out his eyes. before you had taken the sharp end of the knife to him.
Your still perfectly functioning eyes avoid Jason's empty sockets. veer down to the remains of jason's stomach. You had opened him up like he was a can of sardines. Pulling at his insides like you had been tugging on a rope. You had done it while he had still had breath left in him. so that he would feel it.You had wanted him to hurt, to scream out, to beg for mercy. He had done all three.You had made sure of that.
Your eyes move again
Jason's legs, you notice, are splayed out in utterly impossible directions. the stumps where his feet are meant to be still oozing blood. The main source of the crimson river that surrounds you.
As you take in the scene you retch. Double over and retch again. After a second, you vomit all over your feet and jeans.
catching your breath, you straighten up.
The sour stench of you vomit mingles with that of Jason's exposed stomach acids and you wrinkle your nose in disgust. You wipe your mouth on the sleeve of you shirt. wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. A single bead of sweat trickles uncomfortably down the small of your back.
The sound of the moving second hand of the clock that sits a few feet away explodes in your head like a hammer against an anvil. The seconds are passing, The Dark no longer keeping them at bay, no longer blocking their passage for you.
I can't do this. you tell yourself. I cant fix this...I cant.
But you must, you know you must and as you spot the axe lying abandoned a few feet away, its tip kissed with blood, you know what you have to do.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
One. Two. Twenty-Six.
It's been one year, two months & twenty-six days since i killed my father. Motivation- revenge, for all the years of neglect. For turning up one morning (it was hot & dusty, i remember that much) expecting me to be his buddy.
I stabbed him. 13 times. Not that day, no, the anger didnt come until much later. Months later. It may have even been a year later. But it did come. Suddenly like an ejaculation youre not yet ready for- without any warning.
When he invited me over dinner, i had already decided that i was going to do it. I didnt know how but i remember that even then a knife had seemed particularly inviting. I had always thought that if i ever had to kill someone, that would be the way to do it. It made things personal. & as sure as blood runs red, this was definitely personal.
I waited until he was in the shower. He told me to keep an eye on the rice for him. I was thirsty for blood & jumped at the oppotunity to be in the kitchen amongst all those knives.
I found the perfect blade. The perfect length. The perfect shape. I remember thinking to myself that, "if there really is a god, he must be the devil."
I didnt have to wait long. He was a man. & a practical one at that. He got in, did his business & got out.
He passed me on his way to the bedroom. My eyes following him every step of the way. I'm sure that if he had taken the time to look in my direction, he would have known instantly that i had murder on the brain.
The door closed softly behind him. I waited a moment & then removing my hand from where it rested beneath the cushion in my lap, the handle of the knife already plastered to my fingers, i got up..
I stabbed him. 13 times. Not that day, no, the anger didnt come until much later. Months later. It may have even been a year later. But it did come. Suddenly like an ejaculation youre not yet ready for- without any warning.
When he invited me over dinner, i had already decided that i was going to do it. I didnt know how but i remember that even then a knife had seemed particularly inviting. I had always thought that if i ever had to kill someone, that would be the way to do it. It made things personal. & as sure as blood runs red, this was definitely personal.
I waited until he was in the shower. He told me to keep an eye on the rice for him. I was thirsty for blood & jumped at the oppotunity to be in the kitchen amongst all those knives.
I found the perfect blade. The perfect length. The perfect shape. I remember thinking to myself that, "if there really is a god, he must be the devil."
I didnt have to wait long. He was a man. & a practical one at that. He got in, did his business & got out.
He passed me on his way to the bedroom. My eyes following him every step of the way. I'm sure that if he had taken the time to look in my direction, he would have known instantly that i had murder on the brain.
The door closed softly behind him. I waited a moment & then removing my hand from where it rested beneath the cushion in my lap, the handle of the knife already plastered to my fingers, i got up..
Friday, November 13, 2009
What More Can I Say?
“Welcome back to E! News. Before the break we told you that we had the latest installment in the scandal that has rocked the entertainment world to the very core; Hip Hop’s most powerful couple in trouble after just a few months of marriage.
It was just over two weeks ago when stripper and mother of two, Sabrina ‘Lollipop’ Lockwood came out and announced that her second born, four year old Castor was hers and ‘Jigga man’s’ lovechild and had been conceived in a Brooklyn apartment bedroom nearly five years ago.
DNA tests confirmed this early last week, confirming that not only was this boy Mr. Carter’s son but also that Mr. Carter had in fact cheated on then girlfriend, now scorned wife, Beyonce Knowles.
Now in the latest twist, witnesses have claimed that Mrs. Carter, as of this morning, is no longer a resident of their Upper East Side penthouse…”
Looking up from the medical form clipped to the board sitted on her lap, the young woman sitted in the virtually deserted waiting area turned her gaze towards the 17 inch talking box perched in one corner of the room.
“…neither Jay-Z’s nor Beyonce’s people have confirmed this apparent change of address but someone close to them who has requested to remain anonymous has said that ‘This is not true. Bee is exactly where she is supposed to be. They are trying their best to work it out…”
The waif of a smile settled onto the young woman’s perfectly glossed lips; as if to say “uh-huh, yeah…right.”
“Good job Diana.” She muttered, her voice dripping sarcasm as she continued to stare up at the screen. Diana was her publicist. Obviously trying to do some recon.
There was the slight jingle of jewelry and the soft touch of a hand on her shoulder. The young woman shifted her attention, just barely, from the tv to the person sitted next to her.
They had known each other for years. Had grown from girls into women together. They knew each other better than they knew anyone else on the planet. They were more than just friends, they were sisters.
“Are you okay?”
The concern in Kelly’s voice was obvious.
The young woman cleared her throat.
“I’m fine.”
She knew Kelly would know it was a lie even as she said it but something inside her needed her to appear strong. Like everything was okay. Like nothing that was going on around her had her fazed. It had always been like that. Bee had always been the strong one. Or had always appeared to be.
Standing up, Kelly told her that she would be right back. With the jingle of jewelry hanging from her wrists, from her neck, from her ears and from her ankles, and the clop-clop-clop of her super high Manolo heels, Kelly walked over to the reception desk.
“Excuse me,”
The girl sitted behind the desk, who couldn’t have blown out more than 17 candles continued to stare up at the screen as if Kelly wasn’t even there. Kelly reluctantly followed her gaze.
“…I’ve been running the numbers Sal and for the fifth day in a row Jay-Z’s now infamous “What more can I say?” apology has taken the crown for most Youtubed video. And for those of you who haven’t watched it yet (what the heck are you doing?), here’s a quick look…”
Flash!
A sea of reporters clutching cameras, notebooks and tape recorders foaming before a podium behind which, accompanied by some of his closest friends including the ever egocentric Mr. West, stands the man of the hour. Three piece pinstriped suit and somber expression. Bending his six foot four inch frame over the bank of microphones, he is talking.
“I will not make excuses or try to deny the current allegations. They are indeed true. It was a mistake I regret ever making and I am truly sorry. To everyone who I’ve hurt and most of all to my wife, I am sorry and will do everything in my power to make this right. I really don’t know what more I can say...”
‘What more can he say indeed, Catt. For the apology in its entirety, you can log onto-‘
“EXCUSE ME.”
This time the receptionist reluctantly turned to look at Kelly. It was quite obvious she did not appreciate being interrupted.
“Do you mind changing the channel? My friend’s having a hard time concentrating on filling out her forms with that garbage on.”
The girl looked past Kelly to the woman sitted in the stylishly furnished waiting area, clipboard in lap, pen in hand but both obviously forgotten. Even with a Yankee fitted, baggy hoodie and baggy sweats it was obvious who she was.
Sympathizing, the girl grabbed a remote from under a pile of paperwork, pointed it at the tv and with a click switched off Kelly’s best friend’s life and replaced it with 10 grown men in shorts chasing after a ball, trying to put it through a hoop.
Kelly thanked the girl and went back to her place next to her best friend.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Bee said as Kelly sat back down.
“Of course I did. Now let me have a look at that form.”
Bee resisted at first but after some insistence, she finally gave up the clipboard. She seemed nervous as Kelly looked it over.
“Honey,” Kelly started, looking up from the clipboard, “You can’t use a false name on these forms.”
“But I don’t want the press to find about this.”
Bee’s voice was a near whisper. She was obviously worried that the receptionist would overhear their conversation.
“It’s a medical facility Bee, they can only release your records to immediate family and/or by court order. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Everyone has their price Kelly. How much do you think someone would be able to buy off that receptionist? You saw how hungrily she was watching that screen.”
Kelly sighed.
“I have to honest Bee, I think its mistake that we’re even here. I’m not sure you should do this.”
“I thought you had my back.” Bee said. This time her voice was a whisper.
“I do.” Kelly tried to assure her, “I just think you might be rushing into this. You’re reacting Bee. This is your child we’re talking about here. This is a big deal.”
Bee shook her head.
“I can’t have this baby, Row. I just can’t.”
She was near tears.
Kelly put a hand over one of Bee’s.
“You’re angry with him, I get that. So am I. so is the entire world. But your child doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of that anger Bee. Your baby hasn’t done anything wrong. Don’t punish for something HE did.”
Bee seemed to mull on this for a moment or two. Then removing her hand from under Kelly’s and taking back the clipboard, she continued to fill out the medical form.
Kelly sighed.
“Bee…”
“I’ve made my decision. You can either be on board with this or you can leave.”
Kelly watched Bee for a number of seconds then making a decision of her own, she stood up.
Bee looked up from the forms, scoffing.
“You’re actually leaving?” She couldn’t believe it, she had been calling Kelly’s bluff.
“It’s not like you’ve left me much of a choice Bee…leave with me.” Kelly said making one last ditch attempt.
For a split second Bee seemed to consider this but then,
“I’ll need someone to come and pick me up Are you a friend enough to do that?”
Knowing a lost cause when she saw one Kelly shook her head.
“No Bee. Find someone else.”
And with that Kelly turned on her heels and without looking back, walked out of the office.
The girl behind the desk waited a full sixty seconds before picking up the phone. She had USWeekly on speed dial.
It was just over two weeks ago when stripper and mother of two, Sabrina ‘Lollipop’ Lockwood came out and announced that her second born, four year old Castor was hers and ‘Jigga man’s’ lovechild and had been conceived in a Brooklyn apartment bedroom nearly five years ago.
DNA tests confirmed this early last week, confirming that not only was this boy Mr. Carter’s son but also that Mr. Carter had in fact cheated on then girlfriend, now scorned wife, Beyonce Knowles.
Now in the latest twist, witnesses have claimed that Mrs. Carter, as of this morning, is no longer a resident of their Upper East Side penthouse…”
Looking up from the medical form clipped to the board sitted on her lap, the young woman sitted in the virtually deserted waiting area turned her gaze towards the 17 inch talking box perched in one corner of the room.
“…neither Jay-Z’s nor Beyonce’s people have confirmed this apparent change of address but someone close to them who has requested to remain anonymous has said that ‘This is not true. Bee is exactly where she is supposed to be. They are trying their best to work it out…”
The waif of a smile settled onto the young woman’s perfectly glossed lips; as if to say “uh-huh, yeah…right.”
“Good job Diana.” She muttered, her voice dripping sarcasm as she continued to stare up at the screen. Diana was her publicist. Obviously trying to do some recon.
There was the slight jingle of jewelry and the soft touch of a hand on her shoulder. The young woman shifted her attention, just barely, from the tv to the person sitted next to her.
They had known each other for years. Had grown from girls into women together. They knew each other better than they knew anyone else on the planet. They were more than just friends, they were sisters.
“Are you okay?”
The concern in Kelly’s voice was obvious.
The young woman cleared her throat.
“I’m fine.”
She knew Kelly would know it was a lie even as she said it but something inside her needed her to appear strong. Like everything was okay. Like nothing that was going on around her had her fazed. It had always been like that. Bee had always been the strong one. Or had always appeared to be.
Standing up, Kelly told her that she would be right back. With the jingle of jewelry hanging from her wrists, from her neck, from her ears and from her ankles, and the clop-clop-clop of her super high Manolo heels, Kelly walked over to the reception desk.
“Excuse me,”
The girl sitted behind the desk, who couldn’t have blown out more than 17 candles continued to stare up at the screen as if Kelly wasn’t even there. Kelly reluctantly followed her gaze.
“…I’ve been running the numbers Sal and for the fifth day in a row Jay-Z’s now infamous “What more can I say?” apology has taken the crown for most Youtubed video. And for those of you who haven’t watched it yet (what the heck are you doing?), here’s a quick look…”
Flash!
A sea of reporters clutching cameras, notebooks and tape recorders foaming before a podium behind which, accompanied by some of his closest friends including the ever egocentric Mr. West, stands the man of the hour. Three piece pinstriped suit and somber expression. Bending his six foot four inch frame over the bank of microphones, he is talking.
“I will not make excuses or try to deny the current allegations. They are indeed true. It was a mistake I regret ever making and I am truly sorry. To everyone who I’ve hurt and most of all to my wife, I am sorry and will do everything in my power to make this right. I really don’t know what more I can say...”
‘What more can he say indeed, Catt. For the apology in its entirety, you can log onto-‘
“EXCUSE ME.”
This time the receptionist reluctantly turned to look at Kelly. It was quite obvious she did not appreciate being interrupted.
“Do you mind changing the channel? My friend’s having a hard time concentrating on filling out her forms with that garbage on.”
The girl looked past Kelly to the woman sitted in the stylishly furnished waiting area, clipboard in lap, pen in hand but both obviously forgotten. Even with a Yankee fitted, baggy hoodie and baggy sweats it was obvious who she was.
Sympathizing, the girl grabbed a remote from under a pile of paperwork, pointed it at the tv and with a click switched off Kelly’s best friend’s life and replaced it with 10 grown men in shorts chasing after a ball, trying to put it through a hoop.
Kelly thanked the girl and went back to her place next to her best friend.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Bee said as Kelly sat back down.
“Of course I did. Now let me have a look at that form.”
Bee resisted at first but after some insistence, she finally gave up the clipboard. She seemed nervous as Kelly looked it over.
“Honey,” Kelly started, looking up from the clipboard, “You can’t use a false name on these forms.”
“But I don’t want the press to find about this.”
Bee’s voice was a near whisper. She was obviously worried that the receptionist would overhear their conversation.
“It’s a medical facility Bee, they can only release your records to immediate family and/or by court order. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Everyone has their price Kelly. How much do you think someone would be able to buy off that receptionist? You saw how hungrily she was watching that screen.”
Kelly sighed.
“I have to honest Bee, I think its mistake that we’re even here. I’m not sure you should do this.”
“I thought you had my back.” Bee said. This time her voice was a whisper.
“I do.” Kelly tried to assure her, “I just think you might be rushing into this. You’re reacting Bee. This is your child we’re talking about here. This is a big deal.”
Bee shook her head.
“I can’t have this baby, Row. I just can’t.”
She was near tears.
Kelly put a hand over one of Bee’s.
“You’re angry with him, I get that. So am I. so is the entire world. But your child doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of that anger Bee. Your baby hasn’t done anything wrong. Don’t punish for something HE did.”
Bee seemed to mull on this for a moment or two. Then removing her hand from under Kelly’s and taking back the clipboard, she continued to fill out the medical form.
Kelly sighed.
“Bee…”
“I’ve made my decision. You can either be on board with this or you can leave.”
Kelly watched Bee for a number of seconds then making a decision of her own, she stood up.
Bee looked up from the forms, scoffing.
“You’re actually leaving?” She couldn’t believe it, she had been calling Kelly’s bluff.
“It’s not like you’ve left me much of a choice Bee…leave with me.” Kelly said making one last ditch attempt.
For a split second Bee seemed to consider this but then,
“I’ll need someone to come and pick me up Are you a friend enough to do that?”
Knowing a lost cause when she saw one Kelly shook her head.
“No Bee. Find someone else.”
And with that Kelly turned on her heels and without looking back, walked out of the office.
The girl behind the desk waited a full sixty seconds before picking up the phone. She had USWeekly on speed dial.
Monday, November 2, 2009
December 4th
Ma always told me, from the moment that I could sit up by myself and probably even before that, that I was born special. Born to be different and that no matter what happened in life, good or bad or ugly, I was to never forget that one fact.
She told me that she had known it from the moment she had laid eyes on me. From the second she had held me in her arms. I was destined for greatness. As sure as night follows day. And for the longest time, I believed her…
“Yo Bitches,”
The tap-tap-tapping of the keyboard ceased as Samuel turned away from the laptop and looked over his shoulder. His expression perfectly mirrored his feelings about his appointed name.
“I thought I told you not to call me that.”
He was reed thin, boasted an afro that spiked out at least six inches in every direction and a bass that made most bitches, sorry ladies, shiver at the knees.
They called him Bitches (his boys, not the bi-*ahem* ladies) because he loved ‘dem bitches. And boy did the bitches love him.
“You still answered didn’t you?” that was Reckless. He had a tendency to break things. That and for getting on Bitches’ nerves. He took pride in it even. Thought it fun.
“Fuck you.” Bitches barked, he wasn’t in the mood to put up with Reckless’ shit. Not then. He had enough on his mind as it was.
“No fuck you, man.” Reckless shot back. “Where…are...the bitches?”
“They’ll be here.” Bitches muttered through gritted teeth though he was wondering the same damn thing.
“Yeah, that’s what you said an hour ago.” Spat Blackberry, not looking up from his, yes you guessed it, blackberry.
“Why don’t you guys leave the poor guy alone?” Carter interjected, coming to Bitches’ rescue. “It’s not his fault they’re not yet here.”
Carter was stretched out on the couch, lightly wagging his feet to Jay-Z’s “Reasonable Doubt”
“Thank you Carter.”
“You’re very welcome Samuel.” Carter answered, stretching out an arm and tapping some ash into the small tray on the coffee table. “You shouldn’t let these guys push you around. If the girls come, they come. And if they don’t…well then they don’t. It’s really not that big a deal.”
Carter uncrossed and re-crossed his legs, taking a hit of that high end variety Ntinda-Kisaasi reefer.
Through, he held it out to Blackberry who was closest to him but who briskly waved it off saying that it would mess up his concentration. He was writing the Great African Novel, you see- on his blackberry.
Shrugging, Carter took another hit then passed it to Reckless who took it gladly.
It was December 4th, Carter’s birthday and the boys, wanting to do something different had all agreed to hire Carter a couple of strippers. Bitches, claiming that he had all the right connects, had set it up for nine. It was now coming to eleven and the boys were clearly getting agitated.
“I told you Bitches would fuck it up.” Reckless exhaled, his voice a mild croak, just managing to avoid a coughing fit.
“I didn’t fuck it up,” Bitches blurted out defensively.
“Then where are they?” Blackberry asked. They were ganging up on him like they always did. And that annoyed the hell out of him.
As if in answer to Blackberry’s question, bitches’ phone, resting next to the laptop suddenly came to life.
“That’s them.” Bitches mouthed, holding up his phone.
He took the call and after a few moments of “Uh-huh’s” and “Okay’s” he hung up, walked out of the room, into the kitchen and out the back door.
Reckless, Blackberry and Carter all exchanged bewildered glances. What the hell was Bitches up to?
After what couldn’t have been more than 45 seconds, Bitches walked back into the room with two pairs of high-heels in toe.
“Gentlemen,” Bitches announced, full with arm gestures, he was obviously relieved that the paid entertainment had finally arrived, “Nicolette and Sabrina. Ladies, Blackberry, Reckless and the birthday boy.”
Reckless scrunched his face into an expression of obvious skepticism. They sure didn’t look like strippers. Sure they were hot in an “I met this girl in church” kind of way but t-shirt and jeans didn’t exactly scream sex siren.
“Hey guys, sorry we’re late.” Said the one who was supposed to be Nicolette, “Sabrina had a surprise DOD meeting.”
“DOD?” Reckless asked.
“Daughters Of Destiny.” Blackberry said finally looking up from his beloved phone. “Watoto church. Don’t ask me how I know something like that. I just do.”
Sabrina lightly blushed.
“Um, is there somewhere where we can change? Obviously we’re not going to do this dressed the way we are.” Still Nicolette, she seemed to be their spokeswoman.
“Yeah,” Carter said, “Bitches show them where.”
Both girls turned to look at Bitches.
“Bitches?” Sabrina asked. “They call you bitches?”
“Yeah, I don’t like it any more than you do, trust me.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sabrina said, “I think its friggin’ awesome. Blackberry, Reckless and Bitches? You guys are crazy.”
“Yeah, I guess we are.” Bitches said indulgently and showed the girls to one of the bedrooms.
He walked back out a couple of moments later, a CD in hand.
“What’s that?” Carter asked.
“Their music,” Bitches answered, “I wonder what’s on it.”
“Stripper music, obviously.” Reckless at it again.
“By the way,” Reckless continued, “How legit are they?”
“What do you mean?” Bitches asked not quite getting the question.
“I mean, do they fuck?”
Reckless put special emphasis on the last word, almost whispering it in reverence.
Bitches’ phone picked the perfect time to ring and he quickly answered it to avoid answering Reckless’ question.
He hung up a moment later.
“Showtime.” He said, stuck the CD into the laptop and pressed play.
Moments later a juggernaut of a hip hop beat came typhooning through the speakers, the door to the bedroom opened and the girls, completely transformed, strut into the room.
It didn’t take long for the guys to admit that the girls were worth every single shilling they were going to pay them. All 300,000 of them.
“Best…birthday…ever.” Carter thought as Nicolette dipped impossibly low and seductively crawled into his lap.
“So what do they call you when it’s not your birthday?” Nicolette asked as she ground against him. She had already dropped her panties and carter swore he could feel her wetness through his jeans.
“God,” Carter answered trying his best to sound unfazed. “But you’re pretty good at what you do so I’m going to let you call me Shawn.”
Nicolette laughed.
“Thanks…Shawn. And just for that I’m going to give you a little than your money’s worth. Happy Birthday.”
And leaning over, Nicolette (which obviously wasn’t her real name as Shawn would later find out) gave him a kiss.
She told me that she had known it from the moment she had laid eyes on me. From the second she had held me in her arms. I was destined for greatness. As sure as night follows day. And for the longest time, I believed her…
“Yo Bitches,”
The tap-tap-tapping of the keyboard ceased as Samuel turned away from the laptop and looked over his shoulder. His expression perfectly mirrored his feelings about his appointed name.
“I thought I told you not to call me that.”
He was reed thin, boasted an afro that spiked out at least six inches in every direction and a bass that made most bitches, sorry ladies, shiver at the knees.
They called him Bitches (his boys, not the bi-*ahem* ladies) because he loved ‘dem bitches. And boy did the bitches love him.
“You still answered didn’t you?” that was Reckless. He had a tendency to break things. That and for getting on Bitches’ nerves. He took pride in it even. Thought it fun.
“Fuck you.” Bitches barked, he wasn’t in the mood to put up with Reckless’ shit. Not then. He had enough on his mind as it was.
“No fuck you, man.” Reckless shot back. “Where…are...the bitches?”
“They’ll be here.” Bitches muttered through gritted teeth though he was wondering the same damn thing.
“Yeah, that’s what you said an hour ago.” Spat Blackberry, not looking up from his, yes you guessed it, blackberry.
“Why don’t you guys leave the poor guy alone?” Carter interjected, coming to Bitches’ rescue. “It’s not his fault they’re not yet here.”
Carter was stretched out on the couch, lightly wagging his feet to Jay-Z’s “Reasonable Doubt”
“Thank you Carter.”
“You’re very welcome Samuel.” Carter answered, stretching out an arm and tapping some ash into the small tray on the coffee table. “You shouldn’t let these guys push you around. If the girls come, they come. And if they don’t…well then they don’t. It’s really not that big a deal.”
Carter uncrossed and re-crossed his legs, taking a hit of that high end variety Ntinda-Kisaasi reefer.
Through, he held it out to Blackberry who was closest to him but who briskly waved it off saying that it would mess up his concentration. He was writing the Great African Novel, you see- on his blackberry.
Shrugging, Carter took another hit then passed it to Reckless who took it gladly.
It was December 4th, Carter’s birthday and the boys, wanting to do something different had all agreed to hire Carter a couple of strippers. Bitches, claiming that he had all the right connects, had set it up for nine. It was now coming to eleven and the boys were clearly getting agitated.
“I told you Bitches would fuck it up.” Reckless exhaled, his voice a mild croak, just managing to avoid a coughing fit.
“I didn’t fuck it up,” Bitches blurted out defensively.
“Then where are they?” Blackberry asked. They were ganging up on him like they always did. And that annoyed the hell out of him.
As if in answer to Blackberry’s question, bitches’ phone, resting next to the laptop suddenly came to life.
“That’s them.” Bitches mouthed, holding up his phone.
He took the call and after a few moments of “Uh-huh’s” and “Okay’s” he hung up, walked out of the room, into the kitchen and out the back door.
Reckless, Blackberry and Carter all exchanged bewildered glances. What the hell was Bitches up to?
After what couldn’t have been more than 45 seconds, Bitches walked back into the room with two pairs of high-heels in toe.
“Gentlemen,” Bitches announced, full with arm gestures, he was obviously relieved that the paid entertainment had finally arrived, “Nicolette and Sabrina. Ladies, Blackberry, Reckless and the birthday boy.”
Reckless scrunched his face into an expression of obvious skepticism. They sure didn’t look like strippers. Sure they were hot in an “I met this girl in church” kind of way but t-shirt and jeans didn’t exactly scream sex siren.
“Hey guys, sorry we’re late.” Said the one who was supposed to be Nicolette, “Sabrina had a surprise DOD meeting.”
“DOD?” Reckless asked.
“Daughters Of Destiny.” Blackberry said finally looking up from his beloved phone. “Watoto church. Don’t ask me how I know something like that. I just do.”
Sabrina lightly blushed.
“Um, is there somewhere where we can change? Obviously we’re not going to do this dressed the way we are.” Still Nicolette, she seemed to be their spokeswoman.
“Yeah,” Carter said, “Bitches show them where.”
Both girls turned to look at Bitches.
“Bitches?” Sabrina asked. “They call you bitches?”
“Yeah, I don’t like it any more than you do, trust me.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sabrina said, “I think its friggin’ awesome. Blackberry, Reckless and Bitches? You guys are crazy.”
“Yeah, I guess we are.” Bitches said indulgently and showed the girls to one of the bedrooms.
He walked back out a couple of moments later, a CD in hand.
“What’s that?” Carter asked.
“Their music,” Bitches answered, “I wonder what’s on it.”
“Stripper music, obviously.” Reckless at it again.
“By the way,” Reckless continued, “How legit are they?”
“What do you mean?” Bitches asked not quite getting the question.
“I mean, do they fuck?”
Reckless put special emphasis on the last word, almost whispering it in reverence.
Bitches’ phone picked the perfect time to ring and he quickly answered it to avoid answering Reckless’ question.
He hung up a moment later.
“Showtime.” He said, stuck the CD into the laptop and pressed play.
Moments later a juggernaut of a hip hop beat came typhooning through the speakers, the door to the bedroom opened and the girls, completely transformed, strut into the room.
It didn’t take long for the guys to admit that the girls were worth every single shilling they were going to pay them. All 300,000 of them.
“Best…birthday…ever.” Carter thought as Nicolette dipped impossibly low and seductively crawled into his lap.
“So what do they call you when it’s not your birthday?” Nicolette asked as she ground against him. She had already dropped her panties and carter swore he could feel her wetness through his jeans.
“God,” Carter answered trying his best to sound unfazed. “But you’re pretty good at what you do so I’m going to let you call me Shawn.”
Nicolette laughed.
“Thanks…Shawn. And just for that I’m going to give you a little than your money’s worth. Happy Birthday.”
And leaning over, Nicolette (which obviously wasn’t her real name as Shawn would later find out) gave him a kiss.
Interlude
So this is supposed to be an interlude of some sort. Although I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to be interluding exactly since nothing that has come before this has anything to do with what is going to follow…if that makes any sense at all. And in case it doesn’t…just pretend that it does.
* A slight pause to gather my thoughts*
Okay, you know what? How about we call this a prelude…an introduction, if you will. Because for all intensive purposes, that’s exactly what it is.
To what? A little idea that has been rolling around my noggin for a ‘lil bit. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to make it work (and to be quite honest- I still don’t) but after Streetsider said that I needed to mix it up a little I thought, “to hell with it. If it sucks…well, I cant be fly all the time.” So Streetsider, consider this an ode to you…the whole friggin’ thing. And questions later about why I didn’t make it to last Thursday’s BHH.
Now, to this lil idea that I’ve got. No anyone who listens to an ounce of hip hop would have to agree with me that Jay-Z’s “retirement album” (who really believed that anyway?) “The Black Album” is up to date, one of his finest. Of course it comes nowhere near his hungry debut “Reasonable Doubt” or the hard knocking “Hard Knock Life Vol. 2” but it is the album that made me, and a whole lot of other Hov fans that I know, fall in love with his music. It’s the first Jay-Z album I listened to all the way through and at the end was able to say, “Damn. That was a good album.” And in light of the recent release of “The Blue Print 3”, in all honesty, it was his last truly good album.
So this is what I have set out to do. To take this album so ingrained in my mind and all of its greatness and throw my own twist on it. A rendition or reinterpretation if you will.
I believe this is one of those things that can either turn out incredibly good or truly, exceptionally bad. Here’s to it being the former.
And so without further ado, I present to you…The Black Album.
* A slight pause to gather my thoughts*
Okay, you know what? How about we call this a prelude…an introduction, if you will. Because for all intensive purposes, that’s exactly what it is.
To what? A little idea that has been rolling around my noggin for a ‘lil bit. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to make it work (and to be quite honest- I still don’t) but after Streetsider said that I needed to mix it up a little I thought, “to hell with it. If it sucks…well, I cant be fly all the time.” So Streetsider, consider this an ode to you…the whole friggin’ thing. And questions later about why I didn’t make it to last Thursday’s BHH.
Now, to this lil idea that I’ve got. No anyone who listens to an ounce of hip hop would have to agree with me that Jay-Z’s “retirement album” (who really believed that anyway?) “The Black Album” is up to date, one of his finest. Of course it comes nowhere near his hungry debut “Reasonable Doubt” or the hard knocking “Hard Knock Life Vol. 2” but it is the album that made me, and a whole lot of other Hov fans that I know, fall in love with his music. It’s the first Jay-Z album I listened to all the way through and at the end was able to say, “Damn. That was a good album.” And in light of the recent release of “The Blue Print 3”, in all honesty, it was his last truly good album.
So this is what I have set out to do. To take this album so ingrained in my mind and all of its greatness and throw my own twist on it. A rendition or reinterpretation if you will.
I believe this is one of those things that can either turn out incredibly good or truly, exceptionally bad. Here’s to it being the former.
And so without further ado, I present to you…The Black Album.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Track Listing (Table Of Contents)
1. Interlude
2. December 4th
3. What More Can I Say
4. Encore
5. Change Clothes
6. Dirt Off Your Shoulder
7. Threat
8. Moment Of Clarity
9. 99 Problems
10. Public Service Announcement
11. Justify My Thug
12. Lucifer
13. Allure
14. My 1st Song
2. December 4th
3. What More Can I Say
4. Encore
5. Change Clothes
6. Dirt Off Your Shoulder
7. Threat
8. Moment Of Clarity
9. 99 Problems
10. Public Service Announcement
11. Justify My Thug
12. Lucifer
13. Allure
14. My 1st Song
Friday, October 30, 2009
What Kelly Rowland Said
I’m falling in love with my ex and there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t really think there’s anything I really want to do about it. And that’s even assuming I ever stopped loving her in the first place. Which, if truth be told, I don’t think I ever did. What I did do however, is put my feelings on a top shelf somewhere. Somewhere high up, where I needed some kind of industrial ladder just to get to them.
Behind pretty distractions and a consuming job and friends who weren’t really friends but only people I could get drunk with. And for sometime it worked. I was oblivious to her existence. She hardly crossed my mind.
And then we started talking again. Started having those long conversations again. Started sending messages back and forth again.
And in the beginning, I was understandably cautious. I couldn’t help but wonder just what it was she was up to.
That old familiarity was beginning to creep back in and I wasn’t sure I liked it.
But I played along all the same. Just to see where it would go. But not only that. But because I missed her just as much as I suspected she missed me.
And then I saw her again and it was great. And in that moment, it all came crashing down.
In love with my ex- Kelly Rowland
Behind pretty distractions and a consuming job and friends who weren’t really friends but only people I could get drunk with. And for sometime it worked. I was oblivious to her existence. She hardly crossed my mind.
And then we started talking again. Started having those long conversations again. Started sending messages back and forth again.
And in the beginning, I was understandably cautious. I couldn’t help but wonder just what it was she was up to.
That old familiarity was beginning to creep back in and I wasn’t sure I liked it.
But I played along all the same. Just to see where it would go. But not only that. But because I missed her just as much as I suspected she missed me.
And then I saw her again and it was great. And in that moment, it all came crashing down.
In love with my ex- Kelly Rowland
Give Me Something to Believe In
So over the last couple of days I have been trying to gather as much information as I can on the much talked about Pay It Forward Foundation Uganda. And over the last couple of days I haven’t been able to come up with that much apart from a page on Wordpress and another on Blogger. and that’s after googling it.
Someone please get me some concrete info! Something more than just a mission statement. I want to get involved!
But (and this is realistically speaking) before I can do that I need to see something practical. Something I can bank on. I have the seeds of a great idea burning a whole in the bottom of my left pocket but I need something more than a mere ideal to plant it in.
So please, please, please; Baz, Rhino, anybody…hit me up and let me know what beez going down!
Much Appreciated.
Listening to:
“One”- U2
Someone please get me some concrete info! Something more than just a mission statement. I want to get involved!
But (and this is realistically speaking) before I can do that I need to see something practical. Something I can bank on. I have the seeds of a great idea burning a whole in the bottom of my left pocket but I need something more than a mere ideal to plant it in.
So please, please, please; Baz, Rhino, anybody…hit me up and let me know what beez going down!
Much Appreciated.
Listening to:
“One”- U2
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