He leaves his house dishevelled. His sister didn't sleep all night again because of her... sadness. He stayed up listening to her crying. Knowing that he couldn't make her stop.
He goes to school, the teachers speaking are background noise. They ask him a question, remark about how he should get his act together.
He wonders if his sister got out of bed this morning.
Did he see her in the kitchen?
Is she eating?
No, no. He doesn't think so.
She's been too frail.
And cries. She cries so much.
The teacher yells at him.
His tired eyes blink.
He doesn't have energy to speak.
His tired eyes blink.
He slowly falls asleep. He can sleep here.
She lays in bed shivering.
There aren't enough blankets to warm her up.
Her puffy cheeks are squished between several pillows and layers of sheets.
But she's still freezing.
Her alarm is still going off, but she doesn't have the strength to raise her arm and turn it off.
Why does she still set her alarm? She knows she wont respond to it.
Her stomach growls. When did she last eat?
She can't remember. Her memory is failing.
She starts crying. She doesn't like not being able to remember things.
She can't even remember her brother's face.
The last time she really saw him, he was starting to have a shadow of stubble.
She thinks.
Did he have stubble?
Her tiredness pulls her under.
Her breathing slows.
His classes go by slowly. A few of his friends knock his shoulder, call out and joke around beside him.
He feels his fatigue lift a bit.
He eats a sandwich he bought with his change.
He gets to joke and smile with his friends.
They ask about his day and make fun of their teachers.
He thinks about how they're people too.
He didn't like mocking teachers.
A teacher walked by and calls him aside.
The teacher asks what's going on with him.
The teacher says that his grades are plummeting.
He can't tell his teacher it's because he can't do his homework.
Because he has to go straight home.
If he stays at school to do it, his sister is alone.
But when he goes home, he has to clean the entire house.
When he goes home he has to make dinner and try to feed his sister.
Sometimes she eats.
But then she goes to the bathroom.
And sleeps.
Then she will wake up and cry.
He blinks at his teacher and apologizes.
He says that he just has more important things to do.
His teacher takes it as he's lazy and doesn't want an education.
He just wants his sister to be here to have a chance at an education.
He walks away from his teacher.
Her breathing stops.
He walks home slowly.
His limbs feel heavy.
He wonders if he would have time to take a nap on the couch.
As he gets to the front door, there's an energy shift.
Suddenly he is awake and alert.
His parents aren't home.
He takes out his phone and sees that they should've been home already.
He opens the door and sees that everyone's shoes are gone.
Even his sister's.
It's odd to think they all went out.
He goes to the fridge, but freezes.
He should check his sister.
He walks upstairs, and knocks on her door.
"Amalia?"
No answer.
He swears and walks in.
Her room is a mess.
There's a pungent smell.
The bed is empty.
He heads downstairs and opens a can of olives.
He takes out some chips.
Cheese.
He microwaves the nachos.
Just as he sits down he gets a phone call.
It's his dad.
His dad tells him what happened.
His dad says his mother and himself came home.
They checked on his sister.
She was cold.
Asleep.
Shallow breath.
They took her to the hospital.
Her organs have failed.
They're doing surgery.
But she's not healthy.
She isn't okay.
They don't think she will be.
He hangs up.
He pushes away from the nachos.
He's very tired.
He looks at the couch, and slowly, slowly, slowly walks to it.
He sits down, and slides to lay down.
His eyes close.
And he falls asleep.Sleep
Showing posts with label acts of love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label acts of love. Show all posts
Monday, 7 March 2016
Wednesday, 6 January 2016
Raspberries
The snowflakes caught in her eyelashes. They seemed to make her eyes look sunken. When had she become so frail?
Her spindly arms reached out for my own, and when I took her hand I felt how dappled her skin felt.
How long had it been?
Years. Many years.
I remember running in her backyard. I use that term loosely. She had this little cottage-- very homey. Quilts everywhere. Cats. And the smell... of contentment. It was a well lived in home.
But the home itself was not the cottage, it was the garden-- or yard.
Filled with fresh strawberries, watermelon, apple trees, vegetables such as cucumbers, lettuce, turnips, onions. It was endless. But there was one favourite. The raspberries.
She would come out with us, and we would pick basket fulls. Eat them while we were picking. Then we would make jams with some of it, but eat most of them with a bit of cream.
If there is a heaven, this would be my own. She was so quiet but soulful. She always seemed to look old. I know that sounds bad, but what I mean is she looked old at sixty and she looked old at seventy. She was just ageing not so... gracefully.
She started having problems as we grew. Harder to walk. Harder to think. Harder to remember.
For years... I had not seen her.
I heard stories of how racist she was. How she had a foul mouth. But every time I spoke to her, or listened to her, it was like honey.
Sweet, sincere.
My mum started telling me she was ill. Every time she was mentioned I thought I was going to be told she had passed.
This went on for a few years.
She moved in with my grandma. She was cared for. But she slowly got worse. See, when people lose their memory they can become easily frightened or confused.
She would get severely confused and that came with severe anger.
She was moved to a home.
I visited her.
I visited her five times.
The first time I remember seeing her with tears in my eyes. She didn't say my name once. I brought up my brother but she just nodded and smiled. I knew she didn't know.
The second time we walked around. She was calling me my brother's name.
The third time was short. She was severely confused. I barely got to tell her I loved her.
The fourth time she was quite tired. She lay in bed while I read.
The fifth time, I walked in, knowing this would be the last time I visited. I didn't want to feel heartbroken every time I left. I didn't want to see her anymore.
I walked into the room and her eyes brightened as she exclaimed my name clearly, hugged me, and told me she loved me so much. How much I had grown. How beautiful I was. She asked how my brother was, and we were able to speak. I saw her drifting away, so I told her I loved her and we embraced. Then I walked back to the car with my mum and as she drove I felt cold tears fall from my face in silence.
A month or so passed.
So had she.
I didn't cry.
I haven't cried yet.
Even writing it, I feel them in the back of my eyes.
I don't feel heartless-- I did at first.
But, maybe I am not crying because she is willing me not to.
Because we are still picking raspberries.
Because I'm still a five year old little girl, naive with what is to come and what has happened.
Because the snowflakes that fell in her eyes were not in fact snow, but ashes from the fires we had.
Because the snowflakes were just my imagination, just like many other day dreams have been.
And it is okay if you don't understand what I am talking about, because I do.
I still feel her soft skin.
I see her bright blue veins.
I see how spindly she is.
I see how loving she was.
I see red.
I see raspberries.
Her spindly arms reached out for my own, and when I took her hand I felt how dappled her skin felt.
How long had it been?
Years. Many years.
I remember running in her backyard. I use that term loosely. She had this little cottage-- very homey. Quilts everywhere. Cats. And the smell... of contentment. It was a well lived in home.
But the home itself was not the cottage, it was the garden-- or yard.
Filled with fresh strawberries, watermelon, apple trees, vegetables such as cucumbers, lettuce, turnips, onions. It was endless. But there was one favourite. The raspberries.
She would come out with us, and we would pick basket fulls. Eat them while we were picking. Then we would make jams with some of it, but eat most of them with a bit of cream.
If there is a heaven, this would be my own. She was so quiet but soulful. She always seemed to look old. I know that sounds bad, but what I mean is she looked old at sixty and she looked old at seventy. She was just ageing not so... gracefully.
She started having problems as we grew. Harder to walk. Harder to think. Harder to remember.
For years... I had not seen her.
I heard stories of how racist she was. How she had a foul mouth. But every time I spoke to her, or listened to her, it was like honey.
Sweet, sincere.
My mum started telling me she was ill. Every time she was mentioned I thought I was going to be told she had passed.
This went on for a few years.
She moved in with my grandma. She was cared for. But she slowly got worse. See, when people lose their memory they can become easily frightened or confused.
She would get severely confused and that came with severe anger.
She was moved to a home.
I visited her.
I visited her five times.
The first time I remember seeing her with tears in my eyes. She didn't say my name once. I brought up my brother but she just nodded and smiled. I knew she didn't know.
The second time we walked around. She was calling me my brother's name.
The third time was short. She was severely confused. I barely got to tell her I loved her.
The fourth time she was quite tired. She lay in bed while I read.
The fifth time, I walked in, knowing this would be the last time I visited. I didn't want to feel heartbroken every time I left. I didn't want to see her anymore.
I walked into the room and her eyes brightened as she exclaimed my name clearly, hugged me, and told me she loved me so much. How much I had grown. How beautiful I was. She asked how my brother was, and we were able to speak. I saw her drifting away, so I told her I loved her and we embraced. Then I walked back to the car with my mum and as she drove I felt cold tears fall from my face in silence.
A month or so passed.
So had she.
I didn't cry.
I haven't cried yet.
Even writing it, I feel them in the back of my eyes.
I don't feel heartless-- I did at first.
But, maybe I am not crying because she is willing me not to.
Because we are still picking raspberries.
Because I'm still a five year old little girl, naive with what is to come and what has happened.
Because the snowflakes that fell in her eyes were not in fact snow, but ashes from the fires we had.
Because the snowflakes were just my imagination, just like many other day dreams have been.
And it is okay if you don't understand what I am talking about, because I do.
I still feel her soft skin.
I see her bright blue veins.
I see how spindly she is.
I see how loving she was.
I see red.
I see raspberries.
Monday, 14 December 2015
Falling Back
The simple fluttering of eyelashes
Turn and become that of a dream;
Inescapable.
The easy going reassurance
Turn into that of a sewing seam;
Shapeable.
In a flick of the wrist,
A delicate twist,
There again
To be pulled away,
Falling back
Into the day.
Birds. Birds are singing now.
Green. The leaves are green now.
When did the season change?
How am I here?
Why is the sun setting?
My heart is holding dear.
But.. The silence is speaking.
My veins are creaking.
My thoughts are peaking.
In a moment my nails are going to my arms.
My doubt is leaking.
My words are shrieking.
Silence.
There is a warmth within now,
Full of potential.
My hands retract from my arms.
The simple fluttering of eyelashes
Turn and become that of reality;
A beauty that can't be described.
The easy going reassurance
Turned into that of a zipper;
One that is open and untied.
With a single motion,
Tugged to the ocean,
Back again
To run from sight,
Falling back,
Into the night.
Waves. Waves are crashing now.
Noise. My thoughts are restless now.
When did the season change?
How am I here?
The sun is rising.
My heart holds no fear.
Turn and become that of a dream;
Inescapable.
The easy going reassurance
Turn into that of a sewing seam;
Shapeable.
In a flick of the wrist,
A delicate twist,
There again
To be pulled away,
Falling back
Into the day.
Birds. Birds are singing now.
Green. The leaves are green now.
When did the season change?
How am I here?
Why is the sun setting?
My heart is holding dear.
But.. The silence is speaking.
My veins are creaking.
My thoughts are peaking.
In a moment my nails are going to my arms.
My doubt is leaking.
My words are shrieking.
Silence.
There is a warmth within now,
Full of potential.
My hands retract from my arms.
The simple fluttering of eyelashes
Turn and become that of reality;
A beauty that can't be described.
The easy going reassurance
Turned into that of a zipper;
One that is open and untied.
With a single motion,
Tugged to the ocean,
Back again
To run from sight,
Falling back,
Into the night.
Waves. Waves are crashing now.
Noise. My thoughts are restless now.
When did the season change?
How am I here?
The sun is rising.
My heart holds no fear.
Thursday, 19 November 2015
A Memory
A simple memory passed through his mind.
Where was he heading?
A hushed wind blew over the hills, and he saw his old self standing on the top of the grassy dune. His chest heaved.
That's right, he ran.
He had forgotten.
His eyes looked upon the rising sun, and the stark yellows being blown across the lightening sky.
Why did he come up here?
Insomnia?
Loneliness?
What made watching a sunrise make you feel content?
What made watching it make you feel in company?
He inhaled a chilled breath of air and pondered.
His thoughts dropped to Julie.
Wondered... where she was.
Wondered... what she was doing.
Just simply... wondered.
His eyes looked down below him, and he watched waves crash against the cliff.
His memories reached back to the last day.
She was tear stained.
Her short black hair was frizzy and unkempt.
Her red lips were puffy and quivering.
His legs were shaking.
He reached for her, but she stepped backwards.
"Get out."
He stepped forward.
It felt like she ripped his heart out.
She was angry.
This would pass.
She didn't mean it.
Another step.
He reached out again.
She screamed.
Why was she resisting?
Another step.
He felt defeated.
Why is this coming up?
Out of the blue?
Julie... Julie listen.
I didn't mean to.
He could hear the waves clearer now.
Her face.
Red lips.
Black hair.
He felt the wind as he grew closer to the ocean.
Red lips.
Black hair.
He was so close now.
Red lips.
Black hair.
He felt like he was flying.
Red lips.
Black hai-
Where was he heading?
A hushed wind blew over the hills, and he saw his old self standing on the top of the grassy dune. His chest heaved.
That's right, he ran.
He had forgotten.
His eyes looked upon the rising sun, and the stark yellows being blown across the lightening sky.
Why did he come up here?
Insomnia?
Loneliness?
What made watching a sunrise make you feel content?
What made watching it make you feel in company?
He inhaled a chilled breath of air and pondered.
His thoughts dropped to Julie.
Wondered... where she was.
Wondered... what she was doing.
Just simply... wondered.
His eyes looked down below him, and he watched waves crash against the cliff.
His memories reached back to the last day.
She was tear stained.
Her short black hair was frizzy and unkempt.
Her red lips were puffy and quivering.
His legs were shaking.
He reached for her, but she stepped backwards.
"Get out."
He stepped forward.
It felt like she ripped his heart out.
She was angry.
This would pass.
She didn't mean it.
Another step.
He reached out again.
She screamed.
Why was she resisting?
Another step.
He felt defeated.
Why is this coming up?
Out of the blue?
Julie... Julie listen.
I didn't mean to.
He could hear the waves clearer now.
Her face.
Red lips.
Black hair.
He felt the wind as he grew closer to the ocean.
Red lips.
Black hair.
He was so close now.
Red lips.
Black hair.
He felt like he was flying.
Red lips.
Black hai-
Saturday, 19 September 2015
The Feelings of Silence
His smile was slight, but I saw it. There was an awkwardness between us that I didn't really understand.
"It's weird," He sighed. Before I could ask what he meant he continued, "How we feel about each other." A silence hung between us and I blinked, not knowing what to say. We were walking now. "How we feel so much towards one another but we don't hold hands or hug or--" He paused for a second, "Kiss."
I felt my face burn, but I agreed. We began walking between the trees quietly, and all I wanted to do was reach out for his hand and pull it into mine. I wanted to look at his face and let his mouth draw my own in.
But I couldn't make myself do it. It seemed that even though I wanted to so badly and even to have his reassurance about how we both felt, I just... couldn't do it.
I wondered why.
Looking back, I thought about our strange relationship.
It seemed as though no matter what I did or didn't do nothing changed. It seemed like there was always an invisible wall.
I wondered if he tried to kiss me whether or not our lips would actually meet. It felt strange thinking about it.
I don't think they would meet.
But I wanted them to.
The silence seemed like a wall too. Something we couldn't really get past. It made my heart heavy not being able to.
I turned to face him and watched his lips move into words. But nothing came out. I squinted and asked his to repeat himself. I watched him laugh and 'speak' again. But again, nothing came out.
It felt like he was further than ever.
I reached forward, but the gap grew. He tilted his head in confusion and opened his mouth again.
"I miss you," His voice sounded like he was speaking under water.
I brought my hands to my face, and I felt a subtle dampness under my eyes.
I choked, "I miss you too."
The distance grew, and the trees seemed to thicken.
He spoke again.
"I can't--" My throat cracked, "I can't hear you."
His face fell with sadness. He tried again. I read his lips.
I was falling in love.
My heart broke.
"I was too," I brushed away tears, "I was too."
"It's weird," He sighed. Before I could ask what he meant he continued, "How we feel about each other." A silence hung between us and I blinked, not knowing what to say. We were walking now. "How we feel so much towards one another but we don't hold hands or hug or--" He paused for a second, "Kiss."
I felt my face burn, but I agreed. We began walking between the trees quietly, and all I wanted to do was reach out for his hand and pull it into mine. I wanted to look at his face and let his mouth draw my own in.
But I couldn't make myself do it. It seemed that even though I wanted to so badly and even to have his reassurance about how we both felt, I just... couldn't do it.
I wondered why.
Looking back, I thought about our strange relationship.
It seemed as though no matter what I did or didn't do nothing changed. It seemed like there was always an invisible wall.
I wondered if he tried to kiss me whether or not our lips would actually meet. It felt strange thinking about it.
I don't think they would meet.
But I wanted them to.
The silence seemed like a wall too. Something we couldn't really get past. It made my heart heavy not being able to.
I turned to face him and watched his lips move into words. But nothing came out. I squinted and asked his to repeat himself. I watched him laugh and 'speak' again. But again, nothing came out.
It felt like he was further than ever.
I reached forward, but the gap grew. He tilted his head in confusion and opened his mouth again.
"I miss you," His voice sounded like he was speaking under water.
I brought my hands to my face, and I felt a subtle dampness under my eyes.
I choked, "I miss you too."
The distance grew, and the trees seemed to thicken.
He spoke again.
"I can't--" My throat cracked, "I can't hear you."
His face fell with sadness. He tried again. I read his lips.
I was falling in love.
My heart broke.
"I was too," I brushed away tears, "I was too."
Friday, 10 July 2015
Birthdays.
Growing up, I used to think about my birthday always. I would watch shows and movies and be in awe about how caring and loved a person could be on their birthday. Plus there was one thing that I fantasized about.
Surprise parties.
What says 'We all love you so much and wanted to surprise you to make you feel bombarded with love' better than a surprise party itself?
And every year I would pick up hints like, "Let's go out for the day and just have a nice quiet evening at home." And of course, people not mentioning my birthday at all.
So for the entire day I would get so excited about a possible surprise party, only to feel crushed to see that there was no one.
And every year, that hope had lessened ever so slightly.
My brother's birthday and my own are a month a part, so we would go on vacation in the summer and a month after my own birthday we would celebrate both of our birthdays. But it would be on his birthday.
And my young little self always felt so defeated and sad on this day. Because it wasn't like the shows or movies.
You see, I loved seeing people picking out these heart-filled gifts for people without having to ask the question "What do you want for your birthday?"
Because when people ask that it feels like a jab in the heart.
They don't know you.
They don't care to put thought into the gift.
All of these thoughts just jumble together and make the sad day a depressing day.
I wouldn't want to get out of bed on my birthday. Not because of growing older, but because of how isolated and lonely I felt.
How I feel.
I love other people's birthday's. I enjoy picking out a gift for them and celebrating with them.
But it's never happened to me.
The go to is a dinner out.
I don't like going out for dinner.
Yet every year it's the same "Where do you want to go for dinner?"
And the worst thing about this day?
How incredibly selfish I feel.
Because saying all these things seem awful to me because that isn't who I am. Yet obviously it is because these are my feelings about it.
So it makes me feel like shit.
With telling people how I feel about my birthday, whether I say I just want something they put thought into (or even just hanging out. I really like being with my friends) or saying I don't want to go out for dinner (in which they get sad and don't know how to respond), they do comply.
They'll say, "What do you want to do then?"
And the most horrible thing is I don't know.
If I were to say a surprise party, it would 1. not be a surprise and 2. I would feel depressed then too because I brought it up. Not them.
So maybe television warped my views on birthdays.
I just want today to end and not talk about my birthdays anymore.
Surprise parties.
What says 'We all love you so much and wanted to surprise you to make you feel bombarded with love' better than a surprise party itself?
And every year I would pick up hints like, "Let's go out for the day and just have a nice quiet evening at home." And of course, people not mentioning my birthday at all.
So for the entire day I would get so excited about a possible surprise party, only to feel crushed to see that there was no one.
And every year, that hope had lessened ever so slightly.
My brother's birthday and my own are a month a part, so we would go on vacation in the summer and a month after my own birthday we would celebrate both of our birthdays. But it would be on his birthday.
And my young little self always felt so defeated and sad on this day. Because it wasn't like the shows or movies.
You see, I loved seeing people picking out these heart-filled gifts for people without having to ask the question "What do you want for your birthday?"
Because when people ask that it feels like a jab in the heart.
They don't know you.
They don't care to put thought into the gift.
All of these thoughts just jumble together and make the sad day a depressing day.
I wouldn't want to get out of bed on my birthday. Not because of growing older, but because of how isolated and lonely I felt.
How I feel.
I love other people's birthday's. I enjoy picking out a gift for them and celebrating with them.
But it's never happened to me.
The go to is a dinner out.
I don't like going out for dinner.
Yet every year it's the same "Where do you want to go for dinner?"
And the worst thing about this day?
How incredibly selfish I feel.
Because saying all these things seem awful to me because that isn't who I am. Yet obviously it is because these are my feelings about it.
So it makes me feel like shit.
With telling people how I feel about my birthday, whether I say I just want something they put thought into (or even just hanging out. I really like being with my friends) or saying I don't want to go out for dinner (in which they get sad and don't know how to respond), they do comply.
They'll say, "What do you want to do then?"
And the most horrible thing is I don't know.
If I were to say a surprise party, it would 1. not be a surprise and 2. I would feel depressed then too because I brought it up. Not them.
So maybe television warped my views on birthdays.
I just want today to end and not talk about my birthdays anymore.
Thursday, 25 June 2015
Yours Truly, Jenny
I adjusted my jacket and moved the rear-viewing mirror to check my hair. My hands smoothed down the brown spikes and I stared at my light blue eyes for a moment. With nerves in my stomach I cleared my throat and pushed open my car door.
I looked at the home in front of me and began feeling giddy. I had been abroad for the army for about six months. I told Jenny I'd be home withing seven, so she wouldn't be expecting me.
I felt my dopey smile fill my face and I adjusted my jacket once more before bounding up the stairs to our home.
I felt the small box in my pocket and I closed my hand around it gently.
With a deep inhale, I knocked on the door once. Twice. Two more times. How many times was too much? I'm not hearing anything, maybe another knock--
The door opened a crack, and I was met with a familiar pair of brown eyes. Her hair was a lot shorter than it was; no longer falling behind her. It framed her face gracefully.
"Danny?" The shock from her face drained, and I realized I was gripping the box now.
"Hey Jenny." My smile widened.
"Danny, I--" She half-laughed and fell into my arms, "I thought you weren't coming home for another month."
I inhaled the soft lilac that coated her and squeezed her against me.
"I wanted to surprise you, babe." I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her arm length away to take her in. "You're so beautiful. Oh my God, you're so beautiful." I hugged her again.
She motioned me inside, "Come in, come in, oh you must be so tired." Jenny wiped at her eyes and tugged me into our humble abode.
Upon entering, I noticed everything was still the same. The living room still had the old white leather couch, light wood coffee table and matching side tables. The pictures above the fireplace were at the same angles and it felt the same. It just felt the same. Like home.
That's when I noticed something different.
"Hey, hon, where's--" There was a excited yap and in a fluid motion a black blur whirled around the corner and into my arms, "Luna!" The black lab nuzzled under my arms and sniffed me for what felt like forever, but that dog, my god, was the sweetest thing. I played with her, letting her get out her whining and loving barks. Finally she spun in my lap (with difficulty because she doesn't realize that she's not a puppy anymore. In fact she's one of the largest dogs I've met, but she acts like a cat. It really is the cutest thing.) and rested her head on the ground.
"Danny, when you left she got so sad. She would stare out the window and just cry," Said Jenny as she leaned down to rub Luna's head. "I'm surprised she didn't come out sooner, but she was sleeping. So I think she assumed the door was just some random person."
I laughed, "What, you have a lot of random people coming over lately?"
She squinted, "Just Lina and Jeff with their boys." Her eyes widened, "They're expecting another! Lina said she hopes it's a girl because all that testosterone is just consuming her femme fatale, also, my mother wanted to know when would be a good time to visit her and dad-- when you came back, but we don't have to decide anything right now as that would be-"
"Overwhelming?" I interrupted while laughing.
She grew bashful and kissed my forehead, "Sorry, babe. I know you just came home. There's just so much to tell you and I missed you so much. You got my letters, right?"
I nodded and reached for Jenny's hand, "I got them, read them, and held onto them every time I went out on duty."
She smiled with tears in her eyes. "Good." Something caught her eye and her smile faltered, "Hon, why did you come back early?"
Luna turned on my lap onto her back, exposing her tummy. I rubbed it as I explained, "I got shot on duty. Went clean through my calf. Hurt like a bitch- excuse me, it hurt a lot." I corrected after her look of horror.
"I don't care about you swearing, Daniel, I care about whether or not you're okay. What-- how? Are you okay?"
I nodded, "I'm fine. I was shocked when it happened and didn't realize it had happened because of the adrenaline state I was in. A buddy stopped me and called in help. I had to calm him down in order to tell me what was up." I laughed again, but grew solemn, "He ah, he died while covering my ground when I was in emergency care. Grenade." My throat grew thick.
"Danny... oh my god, I'm so sorry." She pulled me against her, "I am so sorry." I put my hand on her cheek and looked at her eyes.
"It's okay. I'm okay. They discharged me and I am going to be looking for a therapist so I don't develop PTSD, or if I do have it then I can work through it." I kissed her. "I missed you so fucking much." She laughed.
"Language, Danny." We both sat there, hugging, kissing, talking, laughing, and every once in a while I ended up crying. Or she would. I told her stories about my travels and she told me about what had happened here.
And we didn't notice how late it was until we saw the sun peeking through the window.
We were exhausted physically, but mentally we were wired.
So we went for a walk by the park. See, it had this huge hill that let you watch both the sunrises and sunsets.
And when the sun was high enough to bring tears to her eyes I went on one knee and pull out the tiny box.
And when I opened it she cried.
And nodded really aggressively.
Like, I thought her head would topple off.
And I put the small little ring on her fourth finger.
And we fell asleep watching the sunrise.
Tuesday, 9 June 2015
Tragedies
She sat on the wooden stairs leading to her home.
Her small fingers tapped the dark oak wood and she began clicking the toes of her Mary Jane's together.
She was so used to this place, for she grew up here.
Or, she grew up to her age now.
Which, seeing her short stature and little limbs, a person would assume she would be roughly eight years of age.
Which would be a proper assumption.
This little girl knew every nook and cranny within and outside of this house.
She knew the dark forest green paint chipped every summer and that he papa had to repaint it.
She knew that the wooden steps that she sat upon creaked no matter how little a person weighed.
She knew that when you walked through the bright white door you were hit by the steep staircase- also old dark oak, and when you got to the second floor and made an immediate right her room would be there.
She knew that if you decided to take a left there would be a bathroom.
And if you decided to keep going left there would be her parent's room.
She knew if you walked into the kitchen there was a loose floor board exactly six steps forward and three right, and under this floorboard was enough room for a little eight year old girl to hide during hide-and-go-seek.
She knew that in the endless forest backyard there was a 'cave' made out of logs and dead trees that she never did figure out how it was made before she--- ran out of time.
Her attention snapped away from her thoughts and she pulled the hand that was playing mindlessly with her long dark hair away from her face.
She never did find out what she looked like. Oh no, see, mama had a belief about vanity evolving from when you were a young girl, so she wouldn't let her daughter look in any mirrors.
But her parents told her how lovely and cute she looked every day nonetheless.
Because compliments don't cause vanity.
She moved her hands from her sides to her dress, which was speckled with ash for some reason.
A reason she couldn't remember. But she found it curious nonetheless.
The little girl's blue eyes looked in front of her now, as she watched a mother and father drive up to her home.
Curiosity spiked within her again as she watched the bug-looking car pull up the gravel road.
The car was a pale blue with silver trimmings.
She thought it looked rather boring.
Blue was such a common car colour at this day and age.
But maybe they'll make better cars with better colours.
Come on, Susan. The man spoke. She thought he looked rather dashing. Slicked light brown hair with what seemed to be deep brown eyes. Hm. Handsome. She had decided.
I'm coming, James. Oh my... it really is in rough shape ain't it? The little girl decided the woman was Susan.
The little girl looked up at her house. Rough shape? Never. The paint was just re-painted and everything seemed to have an unearthly pale glow to it.
She looked back to Susan and James. Susan seemed to hobble from the car, and as soon as she got on her feet she caressed her bulging stomach.
She was pregnant, the little girl decided.
She was a very pretty pregnant woman. Her dark blond hair was braided into a bun and even though the little girl couldn't see Susan's eyes due to the large bulbous glasses she was wearing, she decided her eyes were as blue as the darkest pits of the sea.
She clicked her Mary Jane's.
Well the family before us... well I told you already. It was devastating. This was James.
Susan cleared her throat, I am not too sure about this, darling. It could be haunted.
But James scoffed and held out his hand for his darling wife and led them up to the oak stairs leading to the little girl's home.
They paused, admiring the home. The little girl watched them.
Susan was much prettier up close. She had fleshy pink lips that seemed a bit too large for her face and a petite nose that kept her sunglasses up snobbishly. But she was a very pretty woman, the little girl decided.
It'll take some work hon, but my gosh will it be worth it. James was glowing now.
Susan gasped suddenly, reaching to her stomach.
What is it? What's wrong? Is the baby okay? James lurched towards her, bringing her close to his body.
Susan's sunglasses fell off.
The little girl lifted the corners of her lips. Her eyes were as blue as the darkest depths of the sea.
Black.
Yes, yes... it was just flailing. Oh James, I don't know about this. I feel really uneasy. Like someone is watching us... As Susan said this she looked at the little girl sitting in front of her.
The little girl looked at her ebony irises.
And didn't blink as the woman and the man walked up the steps through her after the man cooed her into entering the home.
But when the little girl did blink and look at her home, the dark green paint was splattered with broken windows and beams that had collapsed. The pristine exterior was black and burnt up. The roof had half fallen off, leaving a large wooden rubble pile on the side of the house.
The little girl stood up slowly.
And she looked at her home.
A bright flash crossed her eyes and suddenly she was in her light blue nightgown, sleeping in her bed with light blue bed sheets.
She was very calm.
She was wide awake.
She heard it first.
A strange crackling that was unfamiliar to her, but familiar at the same time.
It was loud.
She shuffled out of her bed after pulling the covers off of her.
She leaned her ear against her ivory door and listened.
It was loud.
Carefully, in a confused state, she opened her door.
And was hit by a thick billowing column of smoke.
Startled, she leaped back, not shutting her door fully.
She could see the bright red flames licking the wooden floor.
And she realized why it sounded familiar in its unfamiliar state.
It sounded like the fireplace at Christmas time.
The little girl smiled a bit then, thinking about Christmas.
How, she won't get Christmas this year.
But how she hoped her mama and papa would get one.
She went to the wall furthest from the door and slid down it until she had her head in her lap. She was coughing a lot now, as though her lungs were burning.
She was getting tired now, and the room was spinning.
The little girl brought her head against the wall, staring at the whirling ceiling.
It was a pretty ceiling.
A pretty home.
Her pretty home.
Then she saw a glint of something, and noticed the window.
Why hadn't she thought of the window?
She opened her mouth, only to be greeted by the smoke.
She was really warm now. She had a thick layer of sweat consuming her.
She tried to get up, placing her hands on the floor to push her up. But her arms gave and her knees buckled, and she lay on the floor. It felt so cool. She wondered if it would cool her down.
Her cheek was on the dark oak floor, and she could see the flames licking the ground around her.
She was hurting a lot now, she knew what was happening and she wanted it to end now.
She was closing her eyes now, thinking about how thirsty she was.
She tried to mover fingers. It hurt, but she still had them. They still moved.
And as she fell asleep she closed her hand around her pretty home.
Another flash crossed her vision. She parted her lips, and she noticed how she wasn't thirsty anymore.
As the couple opened the door she could see the stairs stained black from the fire that hurt her. From the fire that hurt her home.
She felt attachment, but understood what happened and understood what was to happen next.
She was closing her eyes, picturing her pretty home with the dark green paint and dark oak floors and light blue decor.
And she thought about her mama and papa and knew where they were they were okay.
...What did they do with the... bodies? Susan's high pitched voice broke her thoughts. And she kept her eyes open long enough to hear James' reply.
The mother and father were saved in time, but the little girl-- Viola, the fire damaged the way to her room. They couldn't get her in time. They say she died from carbon monoxide poisoning before she was... too injured.
Viola felt herself smile and she closed her eyes.
Mama and papa have another Christmas.
Her small fingers tapped the dark oak wood and she began clicking the toes of her Mary Jane's together.
She was so used to this place, for she grew up here.
Or, she grew up to her age now.
Which, seeing her short stature and little limbs, a person would assume she would be roughly eight years of age.
Which would be a proper assumption.
This little girl knew every nook and cranny within and outside of this house.
She knew the dark forest green paint chipped every summer and that he papa had to repaint it.
She knew that the wooden steps that she sat upon creaked no matter how little a person weighed.
She knew that when you walked through the bright white door you were hit by the steep staircase- also old dark oak, and when you got to the second floor and made an immediate right her room would be there.
She knew that if you decided to take a left there would be a bathroom.
And if you decided to keep going left there would be her parent's room.
She knew if you walked into the kitchen there was a loose floor board exactly six steps forward and three right, and under this floorboard was enough room for a little eight year old girl to hide during hide-and-go-seek.
She knew that in the endless forest backyard there was a 'cave' made out of logs and dead trees that she never did figure out how it was made before she--- ran out of time.
Her attention snapped away from her thoughts and she pulled the hand that was playing mindlessly with her long dark hair away from her face.
She never did find out what she looked like. Oh no, see, mama had a belief about vanity evolving from when you were a young girl, so she wouldn't let her daughter look in any mirrors.
But her parents told her how lovely and cute she looked every day nonetheless.
Because compliments don't cause vanity.
She moved her hands from her sides to her dress, which was speckled with ash for some reason.
A reason she couldn't remember. But she found it curious nonetheless.
The little girl's blue eyes looked in front of her now, as she watched a mother and father drive up to her home.
Curiosity spiked within her again as she watched the bug-looking car pull up the gravel road.
The car was a pale blue with silver trimmings.
She thought it looked rather boring.
Blue was such a common car colour at this day and age.
But maybe they'll make better cars with better colours.
Come on, Susan. The man spoke. She thought he looked rather dashing. Slicked light brown hair with what seemed to be deep brown eyes. Hm. Handsome. She had decided.
I'm coming, James. Oh my... it really is in rough shape ain't it? The little girl decided the woman was Susan.
The little girl looked up at her house. Rough shape? Never. The paint was just re-painted and everything seemed to have an unearthly pale glow to it.
She looked back to Susan and James. Susan seemed to hobble from the car, and as soon as she got on her feet she caressed her bulging stomach.
She was pregnant, the little girl decided.
She was a very pretty pregnant woman. Her dark blond hair was braided into a bun and even though the little girl couldn't see Susan's eyes due to the large bulbous glasses she was wearing, she decided her eyes were as blue as the darkest pits of the sea.
She clicked her Mary Jane's.
Well the family before us... well I told you already. It was devastating. This was James.
Susan cleared her throat, I am not too sure about this, darling. It could be haunted.
But James scoffed and held out his hand for his darling wife and led them up to the oak stairs leading to the little girl's home.
They paused, admiring the home. The little girl watched them.
Susan was much prettier up close. She had fleshy pink lips that seemed a bit too large for her face and a petite nose that kept her sunglasses up snobbishly. But she was a very pretty woman, the little girl decided.
It'll take some work hon, but my gosh will it be worth it. James was glowing now.
Susan gasped suddenly, reaching to her stomach.
What is it? What's wrong? Is the baby okay? James lurched towards her, bringing her close to his body.
Susan's sunglasses fell off.
The little girl lifted the corners of her lips. Her eyes were as blue as the darkest depths of the sea.
Black.
Yes, yes... it was just flailing. Oh James, I don't know about this. I feel really uneasy. Like someone is watching us... As Susan said this she looked at the little girl sitting in front of her.
The little girl looked at her ebony irises.
And didn't blink as the woman and the man walked up the steps through her after the man cooed her into entering the home.
But when the little girl did blink and look at her home, the dark green paint was splattered with broken windows and beams that had collapsed. The pristine exterior was black and burnt up. The roof had half fallen off, leaving a large wooden rubble pile on the side of the house.
The little girl stood up slowly.
And she looked at her home.
A bright flash crossed her eyes and suddenly she was in her light blue nightgown, sleeping in her bed with light blue bed sheets.
She was very calm.
She was wide awake.
She heard it first.
A strange crackling that was unfamiliar to her, but familiar at the same time.
It was loud.
She shuffled out of her bed after pulling the covers off of her.
She leaned her ear against her ivory door and listened.
It was loud.
Carefully, in a confused state, she opened her door.
And was hit by a thick billowing column of smoke.
Startled, she leaped back, not shutting her door fully.
She could see the bright red flames licking the wooden floor.
And she realized why it sounded familiar in its unfamiliar state.
It sounded like the fireplace at Christmas time.
The little girl smiled a bit then, thinking about Christmas.
How, she won't get Christmas this year.
But how she hoped her mama and papa would get one.
She went to the wall furthest from the door and slid down it until she had her head in her lap. She was coughing a lot now, as though her lungs were burning.
She was getting tired now, and the room was spinning.
The little girl brought her head against the wall, staring at the whirling ceiling.
It was a pretty ceiling.
A pretty home.
Her pretty home.
Then she saw a glint of something, and noticed the window.
Why hadn't she thought of the window?
She opened her mouth, only to be greeted by the smoke.
She was really warm now. She had a thick layer of sweat consuming her.
She tried to get up, placing her hands on the floor to push her up. But her arms gave and her knees buckled, and she lay on the floor. It felt so cool. She wondered if it would cool her down.
Her cheek was on the dark oak floor, and she could see the flames licking the ground around her.
She was hurting a lot now, she knew what was happening and she wanted it to end now.
She was closing her eyes now, thinking about how thirsty she was.
She tried to mover fingers. It hurt, but she still had them. They still moved.
And as she fell asleep she closed her hand around her pretty home.
Another flash crossed her vision. She parted her lips, and she noticed how she wasn't thirsty anymore.
As the couple opened the door she could see the stairs stained black from the fire that hurt her. From the fire that hurt her home.
She felt attachment, but understood what happened and understood what was to happen next.
She was closing her eyes, picturing her pretty home with the dark green paint and dark oak floors and light blue decor.
And she thought about her mama and papa and knew where they were they were okay.
...What did they do with the... bodies? Susan's high pitched voice broke her thoughts. And she kept her eyes open long enough to hear James' reply.
The mother and father were saved in time, but the little girl-- Viola, the fire damaged the way to her room. They couldn't get her in time. They say she died from carbon monoxide poisoning before she was... too injured.
Viola felt herself smile and she closed her eyes.
Mama and papa have another Christmas.
Friday, 15 May 2015
The Chapel
She walked through the doorway, a smile lingering on her her lips.
"You're late." His calm voice echoed through the empty house.
She stepped into the kitchen, gently folding her hands in front of her. She felt the soft fabric of her dress and inhaled the smell of the forest.
"At least I showered." She replied playfully.
The man walked into the light. His jet black hair was greased back, and even though he was wearing a suit, she could see the dirt stains on his hands. They watched each other for a moment before he rose his hand slowly, and closed the space between them.
In a fluid motion he brushed a stray curl away from her face, "You look lovely, Vi."
Her smile only widened, "Are you ready, Jackson?"
He didn't reply quickly, instead he stepped back and took her in.
Vi's smile began to falter, but before she could begin to doubt herself he grabbed her hands.
"I've been ready for a long time."
In the quiet house, they held still.
Jackson led her to the door, and they walked down to their small town car. He waited for her to get comfortable in her seat before he shut the door and moved to the driver's seat.
The drive was quite. Comfortable. Vi watched the trees soar past them as they made their way to the building. She tried to count how many trees they passed, but lost count almost right away.
They didn't turn on the radio, but instead listened to one another's heart beat.
It felt like a moment, but it took them half an hour to get there.
He pulled up and they sat there. Comfortable.
He then turned to her and leaned to kiss her cheek. He paused to inhale her perfume. It was a mix of lilacs and fresh, light air.
As he pulled away he muttered, "I'll see you soon, darling."
Jackson exited the car, only to stop to pull her door open to let her out. But she waited in the car for several moments until the man was inside the white marble building.
Vi squeezed her fingers, and let her right forefinger linger on the small, thin band that wrapped around her left ring-finger.
She smoothed out her dress and stood out, into the wind.
Vi pulled her little purse out in front of her, and pulled out a small, compact mirror. She rose it to her face and began fixing minor make-up mistakes. She smoothed out her kohl eye-liner, re-applied her deep red lipstick, and pinched her cheeks for a rush of red. Then she fixed any dark stray hairs by tucking them back against her head into the already made bun.
Then she walked into the hauntingly beautiful building, and saw the man with dark slicked back hair standing at the very end of the aisle, staring at her with a slim, silent smile.
By the time she took a step forward she understood.
She was never late.
"You're late." His calm voice echoed through the empty house.
She stepped into the kitchen, gently folding her hands in front of her. She felt the soft fabric of her dress and inhaled the smell of the forest.
"At least I showered." She replied playfully.
The man walked into the light. His jet black hair was greased back, and even though he was wearing a suit, she could see the dirt stains on his hands. They watched each other for a moment before he rose his hand slowly, and closed the space between them.
In a fluid motion he brushed a stray curl away from her face, "You look lovely, Vi."
Her smile only widened, "Are you ready, Jackson?"
He didn't reply quickly, instead he stepped back and took her in.
Vi's smile began to falter, but before she could begin to doubt herself he grabbed her hands.
"I've been ready for a long time."
In the quiet house, they held still.
Jackson led her to the door, and they walked down to their small town car. He waited for her to get comfortable in her seat before he shut the door and moved to the driver's seat.
The drive was quite. Comfortable. Vi watched the trees soar past them as they made their way to the building. She tried to count how many trees they passed, but lost count almost right away.
They didn't turn on the radio, but instead listened to one another's heart beat.
It felt like a moment, but it took them half an hour to get there.
He pulled up and they sat there. Comfortable.
He then turned to her and leaned to kiss her cheek. He paused to inhale her perfume. It was a mix of lilacs and fresh, light air.
As he pulled away he muttered, "I'll see you soon, darling."
Jackson exited the car, only to stop to pull her door open to let her out. But she waited in the car for several moments until the man was inside the white marble building.
Vi squeezed her fingers, and let her right forefinger linger on the small, thin band that wrapped around her left ring-finger.
She smoothed out her dress and stood out, into the wind.
Vi pulled her little purse out in front of her, and pulled out a small, compact mirror. She rose it to her face and began fixing minor make-up mistakes. She smoothed out her kohl eye-liner, re-applied her deep red lipstick, and pinched her cheeks for a rush of red. Then she fixed any dark stray hairs by tucking them back against her head into the already made bun.
Then she walked into the hauntingly beautiful building, and saw the man with dark slicked back hair standing at the very end of the aisle, staring at her with a slim, silent smile.
By the time she took a step forward she understood.
She was never late.
Wednesday, 13 May 2015
My Star
A year ago, I found you at the store
watching your little world explode out of the water.
Because I chose you, to start a life for
and now, I can only apologize.
For, I wish I had made your life a little better
rather than sticking you in a tank.
Oh, my little Luce.
People laughed at me for naming you such a thing.
"Lucifer, the angel fish."
For-- it was irony, you see.
Because Lucifer means 'Star'.
As in the stars in the sky
that reflect off the ocean, lakes and rivers.
Star is a beautiful twinkle that floods the milky way
and brings a sense of awe through even the most intelligent people.
You were a star that stood out to me
through your little glass captor.
You made it so far, Luce.
Such a beautiful name
for such a beautiful fish.
It was an honor to sing to you,
and thank you for listening to me play my instruments.
Thank you for letting me talk to you
and thank you for being there for me and your tank
in times of need.
I wish I could do more.
I'm sorry I couldn't do more.
watching your little world explode out of the water.
Because I chose you, to start a life for
and now, I can only apologize.
For, I wish I had made your life a little better
rather than sticking you in a tank.
Oh, my little Luce.
People laughed at me for naming you such a thing.
"Lucifer, the angel fish."
For-- it was irony, you see.
Because Lucifer means 'Star'.
As in the stars in the sky
that reflect off the ocean, lakes and rivers.
Star is a beautiful twinkle that floods the milky way
and brings a sense of awe through even the most intelligent people.
You were a star that stood out to me
through your little glass captor.
You made it so far, Luce.
Such a beautiful name
for such a beautiful fish.
It was an honor to sing to you,
and thank you for listening to me play my instruments.
Thank you for letting me talk to you
and thank you for being there for me and your tank
in times of need.
I wish I could do more.
I'm sorry I couldn't do more.
Friday, 13 March 2015
A Cigarette
I brought the cigarette between my lips, pausing for a second- a second so quick no one could notice I breathed outward, before inhaling deeply. I clenched my teeth, refusing to cough. I will not cough. He wouldn't cough. He smoked like it was as easy as breathing. He would place the cigarette against his mouth any second now, inhale, hold, exhale, laugh, inhale, hold, exhale, say something about how my sunglasses have finger prints on them, inhale, hold, exhale, offer me one. I'd say no. I always said no.
I brought the thin white paper to my face, and just held it.
A few girls walked by me, and I felt their steady gaze on the hand by my face. On the cigarette. I inhaled deeply. Do not cough. Do not cough. Jane I swear to god, do not fucking cough.
They were out of site.
I hurled over, choking up my lungs.
"God!" I slammed my hands against the wall I was now leaning against. The rough red bricks scraped my hand, I cursed while pinching the still burning cigarette.
"Is this what you wanted?!" I shouted at the wall. I could see him. His head would be tilting ever so slightly. His mouth would be slightly upturned. The black leather jacket would be crinkled as he would place his hands in his jean pockets. He'd pull out his pack. He's pull out his lighter. He'd bring both to his mouth. And then he'd pause for a second. A second no one could see. But I saw it. I saw it every time. I saw his hesitation.
"Your hesitation should have lasted longer." I spat at the wall, "You should have thrown out your pack. Taken up some activity. For God's sake--!" A sob choked my throat, "Kept your nerves calm some other way." I flicked the built up ash off the tip of the cigarette and leaned against the wall, slowly sliding down into sitting position.
I stared at the cigarette.
"Is this what you wanted?" I flicked off more ash, "This was your plan wasn't it. You do this with a lot of people. You don't have to though. You could stop this. Stop hurting people." More ash.
I didn't expect it to respond.
"You do realize that's an inanimate object, right?" For a second-- only a second-- I freaked out because I thought it was talking to me. To be fair though, I hadn't slept in the past month. But I calmed down when I realized that one, the voice was right. It was an inanimate object. Two, the voice was female. And I know this may be gender biased, but I thought a cigarette would sound kind of like a raspy old man.
I looked up, only to see a pair of green eyes and a quite noticeable chest that was being enclosed by a tank top.
I blinked.
She was brave.
She sat down next to me.
"Cancer?" Her voice did sound kind of raspy.
I didn't look at her dark red hair pulled into a very high pony tail. Or her vibrant green, spider-like nails. Or her stiletto scarlet pumps. And I didn't even notice her very short jean skirt. I brought the cigarette to my mouth, paused, inhaled. Don't cough, Jane. I swear to- well, you already know who.
"You do know you aren't technically aloud to smoke in this area, right? If you want to smoke outside a hospital, there are designated areas." Her bright pink lips popped a perfect bubble with minty gum.
I inhaled.
"You might not want to talk, but I had to speak to ya." Pop.
Inhale.
"You can't smoke here." Pop.
Inhale.
"You may not believe this, but I'm a doctor here. You can't smoke here." Chew. Chew. Chew.
I looked at her. Her green eyes seemed so bright, and that's when I noticed the laugh lines by her eyes.
"Come on." She stood up with ease, and offered me her hand. "Come on, sweets." She tugged my free hand up.
We were walking around the hospital. My limbs felt heavy. I don't like smoking. It makes my body feel gross.
We stopped suddenly.
"Here. You can smoke here." She smiled. Her laugh lines were emphasized.
"Thanks." I mumbled. Inhale.
"She speaks," She said as she rose her eyebrows in awe, "What other words do ya know?" Pop.
"Fuck." Inhale.
She let out a harsh, surprised laugh, "That was unexpected. And crude."
"Aren't you worried about second-hand smoke damage to your lungs?" I asked apathetically. Inhale.
"Sweets, I'm a doctor and I've been smoking since I was ten. I know the risks. I know how addicting it is. I'm a walking oxymoron. A doctor who smokes." She laughed more heartily. I heard the raspy again.
And for a second, while her profile was laughing, I saw him laughing. He didn't have laugh lines though. But I guess he always seemed permanently young. He was supposed to stay young with me.
"So it took you a bit to speak, I'm guessing you're the same with laughing." Her pink lips grinned.
Inhale. Flick.
She exhaled slowly; calmly.
We didn't speak for a while. My cigarette was almost out.
He would be putting it under his shoe, grinding it out. He would be pulling out another one. Pack, lighter, mouth, pause, inhale.
His hands eventually began shaking.
His hair was starting to thin.
By the time we found out, it was too late.
"Why did you say Cancer?" I asked while trying to cover my cough.
She answered while looking ahead, "You'd be surprised, but working in a hospital you see a lot of Cancer patients." Her smile was dripping with sarcasm. But she still seemed happy. Then she turned to me, "I saw you practically vomit. You haven't been smoking long. I'd say you started the past twenty-four hours. And I realize I'm supposed to respect patients privacy, but I was Wesley's doctor."
My throat closed when she said his name.
"Wesley had been smoking for a very long time."
"Don't."
"But just because he died that was, doesn't mean you should." Pop.
Inhale.
"I'm surprised you don't recognize me." She said while chewing, chewing, chewing.
I rose an eyebrow. I think I'd remember her bright pink lips and vibrant green nails. Especially her doctoral dressing habits.
Inhale.
"Let me introduce myself to you again Ms. McKinley." She lobbed her wad of gum into the trash can, pulled a tissue from her pocket to wipe off her lipstick, released her hair from the pony tail and folding her hands carefully in front of her. Her posture suddenly changed, and her voice grew serious. In my sleep deprived state, her name rushed back to me.
"Doctor Hansen." We said in unison.
I groaned, "For--"
"God's sake. I know." She pulled a slender tube from her pocket, and she tugged the cap off revealing a thick bubble gum pink lipstick-- one that was well used. She laughed, "Hey, currently I'm on a break. Losing a patient is hard, and we had to sort out paper work."
I clenched my teeth.
"Oh I'm sorry, did I offend you?" She suddenly sounded angry.
"Yes-"
"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you could taste my words with nicotine staining your tongue."
I blinked, too shocked to say anything.
"Ms. McKinley, you don't have to take up his dirty habit." She put a new stick of gum in her mouth.
I looked at the cigarette.
"There wasn't anything we could do for Wesley, Ms. McKinley. But you still have so much potential." I brought the last bit of cigarette to my lips and paused.
"He wouldn't want you to go down this path."
I laughed, "He was always offering me them. He wanted me to be like him." I frowned, "I finally am."
"Jane." Our eyes met, "Do you honestly believe he would have asked you if he knew you would have said yes?" We were silent for a moment. The ask was building up. "Well," she sighed, "My break is almost over. Think about what you want, Jane."
And she clicked away in her red pumps.
Click
Click
Click.
I stared at the burning cigarette.
And then I felt it slip out of my fingers.
And I watched the ashes crumble against the cement.
And I brought my sneaker over it.
And I crunched it.
Dr. Hansen stopped at the door and looked at me.
And she smiled.
I brought the thin white paper to my face, and just held it.
A few girls walked by me, and I felt their steady gaze on the hand by my face. On the cigarette. I inhaled deeply. Do not cough. Do not cough. Jane I swear to god, do not fucking cough.
They were out of site.
I hurled over, choking up my lungs.
"God!" I slammed my hands against the wall I was now leaning against. The rough red bricks scraped my hand, I cursed while pinching the still burning cigarette.
"Is this what you wanted?!" I shouted at the wall. I could see him. His head would be tilting ever so slightly. His mouth would be slightly upturned. The black leather jacket would be crinkled as he would place his hands in his jean pockets. He'd pull out his pack. He's pull out his lighter. He'd bring both to his mouth. And then he'd pause for a second. A second no one could see. But I saw it. I saw it every time. I saw his hesitation.
"Your hesitation should have lasted longer." I spat at the wall, "You should have thrown out your pack. Taken up some activity. For God's sake--!" A sob choked my throat, "Kept your nerves calm some other way." I flicked the built up ash off the tip of the cigarette and leaned against the wall, slowly sliding down into sitting position.
I stared at the cigarette.
"Is this what you wanted?" I flicked off more ash, "This was your plan wasn't it. You do this with a lot of people. You don't have to though. You could stop this. Stop hurting people." More ash.
I didn't expect it to respond.
"You do realize that's an inanimate object, right?" For a second-- only a second-- I freaked out because I thought it was talking to me. To be fair though, I hadn't slept in the past month. But I calmed down when I realized that one, the voice was right. It was an inanimate object. Two, the voice was female. And I know this may be gender biased, but I thought a cigarette would sound kind of like a raspy old man.
I looked up, only to see a pair of green eyes and a quite noticeable chest that was being enclosed by a tank top.
I blinked.
She was brave.
She sat down next to me.
"Cancer?" Her voice did sound kind of raspy.
I didn't look at her dark red hair pulled into a very high pony tail. Or her vibrant green, spider-like nails. Or her stiletto scarlet pumps. And I didn't even notice her very short jean skirt. I brought the cigarette to my mouth, paused, inhaled. Don't cough, Jane. I swear to- well, you already know who.
"You do know you aren't technically aloud to smoke in this area, right? If you want to smoke outside a hospital, there are designated areas." Her bright pink lips popped a perfect bubble with minty gum.
I inhaled.
"You might not want to talk, but I had to speak to ya." Pop.
Inhale.
"You can't smoke here." Pop.
Inhale.
"You may not believe this, but I'm a doctor here. You can't smoke here." Chew. Chew. Chew.
I looked at her. Her green eyes seemed so bright, and that's when I noticed the laugh lines by her eyes.
"Come on." She stood up with ease, and offered me her hand. "Come on, sweets." She tugged my free hand up.
We were walking around the hospital. My limbs felt heavy. I don't like smoking. It makes my body feel gross.
We stopped suddenly.
"Here. You can smoke here." She smiled. Her laugh lines were emphasized.
"Thanks." I mumbled. Inhale.
"She speaks," She said as she rose her eyebrows in awe, "What other words do ya know?" Pop.
"Fuck." Inhale.
She let out a harsh, surprised laugh, "That was unexpected. And crude."
"Aren't you worried about second-hand smoke damage to your lungs?" I asked apathetically. Inhale.
"Sweets, I'm a doctor and I've been smoking since I was ten. I know the risks. I know how addicting it is. I'm a walking oxymoron. A doctor who smokes." She laughed more heartily. I heard the raspy again.
And for a second, while her profile was laughing, I saw him laughing. He didn't have laugh lines though. But I guess he always seemed permanently young. He was supposed to stay young with me.
"So it took you a bit to speak, I'm guessing you're the same with laughing." Her pink lips grinned.
Inhale. Flick.
She exhaled slowly; calmly.
We didn't speak for a while. My cigarette was almost out.
He would be putting it under his shoe, grinding it out. He would be pulling out another one. Pack, lighter, mouth, pause, inhale.
His hands eventually began shaking.
His hair was starting to thin.
By the time we found out, it was too late.
"Why did you say Cancer?" I asked while trying to cover my cough.
She answered while looking ahead, "You'd be surprised, but working in a hospital you see a lot of Cancer patients." Her smile was dripping with sarcasm. But she still seemed happy. Then she turned to me, "I saw you practically vomit. You haven't been smoking long. I'd say you started the past twenty-four hours. And I realize I'm supposed to respect patients privacy, but I was Wesley's doctor."
My throat closed when she said his name.
"Wesley had been smoking for a very long time."
"Don't."
"But just because he died that was, doesn't mean you should." Pop.
Inhale.
"I'm surprised you don't recognize me." She said while chewing, chewing, chewing.
I rose an eyebrow. I think I'd remember her bright pink lips and vibrant green nails. Especially her doctoral dressing habits.
Inhale.
"Let me introduce myself to you again Ms. McKinley." She lobbed her wad of gum into the trash can, pulled a tissue from her pocket to wipe off her lipstick, released her hair from the pony tail and folding her hands carefully in front of her. Her posture suddenly changed, and her voice grew serious. In my sleep deprived state, her name rushed back to me.
"Doctor Hansen." We said in unison.
I groaned, "For--"
"God's sake. I know." She pulled a slender tube from her pocket, and she tugged the cap off revealing a thick bubble gum pink lipstick-- one that was well used. She laughed, "Hey, currently I'm on a break. Losing a patient is hard, and we had to sort out paper work."
I clenched my teeth.
"Oh I'm sorry, did I offend you?" She suddenly sounded angry.
"Yes-"
"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you could taste my words with nicotine staining your tongue."
I blinked, too shocked to say anything.
"Ms. McKinley, you don't have to take up his dirty habit." She put a new stick of gum in her mouth.
I looked at the cigarette.
"There wasn't anything we could do for Wesley, Ms. McKinley. But you still have so much potential." I brought the last bit of cigarette to my lips and paused.
"He wouldn't want you to go down this path."
I laughed, "He was always offering me them. He wanted me to be like him." I frowned, "I finally am."
"Jane." Our eyes met, "Do you honestly believe he would have asked you if he knew you would have said yes?" We were silent for a moment. The ask was building up. "Well," she sighed, "My break is almost over. Think about what you want, Jane."
And she clicked away in her red pumps.
Click
Click
Click.
I stared at the burning cigarette.
And then I felt it slip out of my fingers.
And I watched the ashes crumble against the cement.
And I brought my sneaker over it.
And I crunched it.
Dr. Hansen stopped at the door and looked at me.
And she smiled.
Saturday, 21 February 2015
A Strange, Beautiful Dream
I have a lot of dreams.
Weird dreams.
Not ones that take place in the supermarket and the can I'm looking at is for fish children.
Oh no.
It's like I'm in a different life from a different universe.
I think that's why I believe my body is sleeping but my spirit goes to a different dimension.
I was packing because I was visiting a home, and it was time to leave. There was a boy there around my age who was getting on my nerves, and I knew I had to talk to him before I left. When I got to his room to get my bag (I was staying in his room seeing as there were two beds, three actually, but I'll get to that) and he was sitting on his bed reading.
When I opened the doors his eyes flicked up and went back to his book. I said meekly that I came to finish packing. He didn't respond until I started packing.
"Do things ever confuse you?" He put the book down.
"Yes, all the time, really." I was unzipping my bag to put in clothes.
"Aiya, what if something were to happen? Whether you're on the streets or not... or, here's a better example," He scooted closer to me, "If I were to kiss something, someone, or you, what would happen?" His face was getting closer and he repeated himself, "If I were to kiss something, someone or you..." My eyes were fluttering shut and dammit! I couldn't open them! I wanted to see this! Why can't I open them! I felt his breath get closer and my opened slightly enough to see his lips. I felt a soft, beautiful pressure on my cheeks, and after a moment he pulled away.
I was almost disappointed he didn't kiss my mouth, but I was so wonder-stuck I still. Couldn't. Open. My. Eyes. I was getting embarrassed. Finally I got them open and he was smiling at me.
The scene switched to us laying in bed (No, we didn't do anything, I knew that much) We were simply holding each other, sometimes kissing. But I knew I had to pack. So I told him that, and began to get up.
He asked if I had to.
"Aiya, please."
But I tilted my head and said, "When I'm done we don't have to stress about anything."
Now, I know I said my dreams get weird, and this doesn't sound weird. It sounds normal. This isn't. First off, I can't speak to guys I like. I feel like I'm annoying them, so I wait for them to talk to me- which is sometimes. Second, we haven't got to the weird part.
Suddenly there were bangs on the door, and he jumped out of bed in a fury, panic swept through me as I got so very confused as to what was happening. Two ghost girls appeared (I knew they were dead because I just knew) and hugged me. The scene changed to a train. We were all in a train, and the man banging at the door (I knew he was a man because he was banging on glass doors) was still trying to get in.
There were a lot of us now; me, the boy, the two ghost girls (Who lived in the bedroom with their brother before they died of a sickness, again, I just knew this) as well as a few of my family members and closest, oldest friends.
The boy gave us this tube and told us to put it on our teeth.
Ha. Ha. We did it without second thought.
The man was still banging, oh gosh it was scary and intense and crazy.
When we put the paste on our teeth, the green paste made our teeth- guess which colour-- Green!
We were all so confused, and the train wasn't moving but we knew we would get to our destination.
The boy who kissed me pulled me off to the side and I asked, "What's going on (I said his name, but it blurred out in the dream.)?"
He hugged me and said, "Magic and Natural power go against one another."
And then I looked at the man on the opposite side of the glass door holding a laser pen, trying to get in. And it was melting through the glass.
Ohhhh. It made sense now. The boy had some kind of power (Probably intense charisma, but I never find out) and the man uses magic! And they're enemies!
The dream ends with the boy giving us new tubes of paste to make our teeth white again, but the colour is bright, glowing white-- like when Ross bleaches his teeth.
If you've been on my blog before, you know my name is Emily. In dreams I've never told my name to anyone, and it felt like it was me. But in this dream, I not only told him my name, but I said my name was Maiya. Not only was that weird, but I was given a nickname in it-- Aiya.
This is the real reason I wanted to write down this dream, because this has never happened to me before with my memory. I thought it was incredible.
Thanks for reading, you lovely soul,
-Emily
Weird dreams.
Not ones that take place in the supermarket and the can I'm looking at is for fish children.
Oh no.
It's like I'm in a different life from a different universe.
I think that's why I believe my body is sleeping but my spirit goes to a different dimension.
I was packing because I was visiting a home, and it was time to leave. There was a boy there around my age who was getting on my nerves, and I knew I had to talk to him before I left. When I got to his room to get my bag (I was staying in his room seeing as there were two beds, three actually, but I'll get to that) and he was sitting on his bed reading.
When I opened the doors his eyes flicked up and went back to his book. I said meekly that I came to finish packing. He didn't respond until I started packing.
"Do things ever confuse you?" He put the book down.
"Yes, all the time, really." I was unzipping my bag to put in clothes.
"Aiya, what if something were to happen? Whether you're on the streets or not... or, here's a better example," He scooted closer to me, "If I were to kiss something, someone, or you, what would happen?" His face was getting closer and he repeated himself, "If I were to kiss something, someone or you..." My eyes were fluttering shut and dammit! I couldn't open them! I wanted to see this! Why can't I open them! I felt his breath get closer and my opened slightly enough to see his lips. I felt a soft, beautiful pressure on my cheeks, and after a moment he pulled away.
I was almost disappointed he didn't kiss my mouth, but I was so wonder-stuck I still. Couldn't. Open. My. Eyes. I was getting embarrassed. Finally I got them open and he was smiling at me.
The scene switched to us laying in bed (No, we didn't do anything, I knew that much) We were simply holding each other, sometimes kissing. But I knew I had to pack. So I told him that, and began to get up.
He asked if I had to.
"Aiya, please."
But I tilted my head and said, "When I'm done we don't have to stress about anything."
Now, I know I said my dreams get weird, and this doesn't sound weird. It sounds normal. This isn't. First off, I can't speak to guys I like. I feel like I'm annoying them, so I wait for them to talk to me- which is sometimes. Second, we haven't got to the weird part.
Suddenly there were bangs on the door, and he jumped out of bed in a fury, panic swept through me as I got so very confused as to what was happening. Two ghost girls appeared (I knew they were dead because I just knew) and hugged me. The scene changed to a train. We were all in a train, and the man banging at the door (I knew he was a man because he was banging on glass doors) was still trying to get in.
There were a lot of us now; me, the boy, the two ghost girls (Who lived in the bedroom with their brother before they died of a sickness, again, I just knew this) as well as a few of my family members and closest, oldest friends.
The boy gave us this tube and told us to put it on our teeth.
Ha. Ha. We did it without second thought.
The man was still banging, oh gosh it was scary and intense and crazy.
When we put the paste on our teeth, the green paste made our teeth- guess which colour-- Green!
We were all so confused, and the train wasn't moving but we knew we would get to our destination.
The boy who kissed me pulled me off to the side and I asked, "What's going on (I said his name, but it blurred out in the dream.)?"
He hugged me and said, "Magic and Natural power go against one another."
And then I looked at the man on the opposite side of the glass door holding a laser pen, trying to get in. And it was melting through the glass.
Ohhhh. It made sense now. The boy had some kind of power (Probably intense charisma, but I never find out) and the man uses magic! And they're enemies!
The dream ends with the boy giving us new tubes of paste to make our teeth white again, but the colour is bright, glowing white-- like when Ross bleaches his teeth.
If you've been on my blog before, you know my name is Emily. In dreams I've never told my name to anyone, and it felt like it was me. But in this dream, I not only told him my name, but I said my name was Maiya. Not only was that weird, but I was given a nickname in it-- Aiya.
This is the real reason I wanted to write down this dream, because this has never happened to me before with my memory. I thought it was incredible.
Thanks for reading, you lovely soul,
-Emily
Sunday, 8 February 2015
Calling
I thought I would try to write you a poem
because I could never explain how I felt
but my throat always tightens from sadness
at the cards that I’ve been dealt.
So I can’t tell you that my knees feel like they’ll give
or that my face is burning away
just because you acknowledge me
and leave me with nothing to say.
So I thought that I could try
to bring these to words
but I’m falling
but I’m falling
but I’m falling.
Your simple smile towards me
makes my heart jump into my throat
making my mind explode in euphoria
and escape from my emotional boat.
I get so shaky that I can’t tell if I’m cold
or if it’s just from passing you
and I think so quickly that I can’t see
I can’t see if the sky is blue.
So I need to feel your soul
I need you to hear
that I’m calling
that I’m calling
that I’m calling
you
Monday, 5 January 2015
Amen.
It seems like humanity is lost.
That's heard pretty often from people, yeah?
But every once in a while something will happen that will make your heart feel like a bit of gold is shining on it.
Like there's so many good people out there.
A year or so ago, I wasn't feeling great. None of my friends were at school that day, I felt alone, depressed and hopeless. It was cold outside, and air helps calm my mind, so I decided I'd go outside in the cold to cry, since no one would be out there.
I was contemplating ditching out the rest of the day, just go home. Don't even grab my bag, just go. That's what I was thinking. And I was going to.
I don't necessarily believe in a god. I'm spiritual. And before you glare at your computer screen, whip out the holy water and spray this technology while verbalising the Holy Bible and chanting what a sinner I am, hold up. Just, fucking stop for a second.
When I was in such a state of despair, I kid you not, a shadow fell across my feet.
Empty field.
Empty courtyard.
Just me.
And as I looked up, clearly upset, I see a dark figure with the sun beams wrapping its edges so clearly she looked like an unearthly being.
I tried to stop crying.
I feel embarrassed crying in front of people.
But this girl, as she bent towards me, sitting down next to me, didn't speak.
I knew her vaguely, she was a yer ahead of me and in my drama class. I also knew her sister, and I knew that both of them moved from Nigeria a year prior- for her sister and I got along in the classes we had together. I didn't know either of them though. But these girls... I can honestly say I've never met two purely whole people that cared so deeply about others. I consider myself a caring person, but to plants, animals and a few people who I feel deserve it. This is why I always carry change when I take the train, so if someone needs some, I can say yes.
I'll call this girl Renee. Yeah... that's pretty, like her soul. She didn't say anything, but turned her head to me and asked quietly, "Is it okay if I pray?"
I'm not against religion. I love it. I love hearing about it.
I loved that she asked this. I nodded and tried to smile. She bowed her head, her black hair covering her face, and I can hear what she's saying.
"Dear God, I am praying to you for this beautiful heart, for she is feeling ill right now. And I'm going to tell you why she deserves to feel better. She deserves to feel better because she has had the sorrow for more than any person should feel. I know this may be needed of her, but please, please take the pain away for a bit. Please let her feel healed for a long while before she has to face what is hurting her so. If you've truly seen her as everyone has, you'd see how she needs a break. Just a break. Amen."
And she sat with me for a bit, before she tugged at her scarf and put her hand on my shoulder.
"Emily, please know that you'll be in my prayers."
And she left.
I think that's one of the last times I saw her.
But my gosh, that is one of my most treasured moments.
So when you see a homeless man or woman on the street, and they're asking for change- or they're not- either way, maybe give them what you have, no matter what they use it to buy, just giving them something can make them feel that same glow, that same love and thanks.
It's an idea.
But maybe,
humanity isn't as lost as we think it is.
Maybe we're just looking in the wrong places.
That's heard pretty often from people, yeah?
But every once in a while something will happen that will make your heart feel like a bit of gold is shining on it.
Like there's so many good people out there.
A year or so ago, I wasn't feeling great. None of my friends were at school that day, I felt alone, depressed and hopeless. It was cold outside, and air helps calm my mind, so I decided I'd go outside in the cold to cry, since no one would be out there.
I was contemplating ditching out the rest of the day, just go home. Don't even grab my bag, just go. That's what I was thinking. And I was going to.
I don't necessarily believe in a god. I'm spiritual. And before you glare at your computer screen, whip out the holy water and spray this technology while verbalising the Holy Bible and chanting what a sinner I am, hold up. Just, fucking stop for a second.
When I was in such a state of despair, I kid you not, a shadow fell across my feet.
Empty field.
Empty courtyard.
Just me.
And as I looked up, clearly upset, I see a dark figure with the sun beams wrapping its edges so clearly she looked like an unearthly being.
I tried to stop crying.
I feel embarrassed crying in front of people.
But this girl, as she bent towards me, sitting down next to me, didn't speak.
I knew her vaguely, she was a yer ahead of me and in my drama class. I also knew her sister, and I knew that both of them moved from Nigeria a year prior- for her sister and I got along in the classes we had together. I didn't know either of them though. But these girls... I can honestly say I've never met two purely whole people that cared so deeply about others. I consider myself a caring person, but to plants, animals and a few people who I feel deserve it. This is why I always carry change when I take the train, so if someone needs some, I can say yes.
I'll call this girl Renee. Yeah... that's pretty, like her soul. She didn't say anything, but turned her head to me and asked quietly, "Is it okay if I pray?"
I'm not against religion. I love it. I love hearing about it.
I loved that she asked this. I nodded and tried to smile. She bowed her head, her black hair covering her face, and I can hear what she's saying.
"Dear God, I am praying to you for this beautiful heart, for she is feeling ill right now. And I'm going to tell you why she deserves to feel better. She deserves to feel better because she has had the sorrow for more than any person should feel. I know this may be needed of her, but please, please take the pain away for a bit. Please let her feel healed for a long while before she has to face what is hurting her so. If you've truly seen her as everyone has, you'd see how she needs a break. Just a break. Amen."
And she sat with me for a bit, before she tugged at her scarf and put her hand on my shoulder.
"Emily, please know that you'll be in my prayers."
And she left.
I think that's one of the last times I saw her.
But my gosh, that is one of my most treasured moments.
So when you see a homeless man or woman on the street, and they're asking for change- or they're not- either way, maybe give them what you have, no matter what they use it to buy, just giving them something can make them feel that same glow, that same love and thanks.
It's an idea.
But maybe,
humanity isn't as lost as we think it is.
Maybe we're just looking in the wrong places.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)