I thought I would always remember this, but over time it has become blurred. He says now he left me but I always thought I left him. The children were so young it's hard to recall exactly. Their toys bundled up in boxes. Crying, lots of crying. There were so many tears. Yet what I can remember most is the softness of the powder pink sheets at the grand hotel. It was where I went, It was our sanctuary, no-one knew. Certainly not my husband. Jim. He always thought I'd gone to work. Certainly I'd always come back with money! Lesley was good like that, never wanting me to go without. She knew I was suffering even though I never spoke of it. They all had blonde hair, the three of them. The three children all had blonde hair and blue-green eyes. Did I really leave them? I must have. It's hard to remember now if I was made to go or if I just went. It's hard to be sure.
Those pink sheets, always pink. The coffee in the mornings, bitter, dark, rich. Always with cream! So decadent. Flaky croissants filled with strawberry jam, juicy tongues tracing the stickiness from our lips. Sun streaming through the window.
Who knows why I stopped going. They were the happiest days of my life. Why did I stop doing it? Three pillows each, feather. Quilts not blankets. She loved me, she loved me. Fingers drawing letters on my stomach, guessing messages she sent through my skin. Unaware of the world outside the door. Door so solid with proper keys, not those plastic card things you get in most hotels. Proper solid brass key with a satisfying click as the lock slid into place. After weeks of small children pawing my body, grabbing wanting, feeding off me. This sanctuary was the closest I'd ever been to heaven. Even now. The closest I've ever been to heaven was then. I wish I could tell her now. Too late. Too late.
Sunday 14 December 2008
Saturday 15 November 2008
trapped in a family home at christmas
Staring at the clock with it's resounding tick,tick,tick. Every time the cuckoo comes out the whole family cheer. I just want to smash it. I have a very clear image in my head, of them in mid 'hooray'. At this point I hurl my cut cyrstal whisky glass directly at the clock. As it arcs through the air, ice hits the wall first. Glass hits the clock. Whisky slides down the wall, a very satisfying thought. It's essential, I do this whilst the cuckoo is still cuckooing, I want to be able to hear the internall call without seeing the bird 'popping out' to say hello. It has to appear spontaneous, which or course it will be for them. Just not for me. As I can see it happening EVERY time the bloody bird shows it's little head and the cheer rises. In a way, I wouldn't mind if the clock had been a christmas present. I could put it down to novelty but they've nad the bloody thing now for 6 years now. 6 Christmases, my God. Time really does fly by sometimes.
'Top up Geoff?' Daniel standing there hovering with the whiskey. He always has to pour it, always. Can't wait for me to finish my bloody glass. It's to show ownership. I think Joyce only lets him have one bottle a year.
'Geoff?' I hold out my glass. He doesn't really need to ask me. I always have a top up.
Anyway I reckon he has to hold onto that bottle so he sees how much everyone has to drink. That way he can see how much they owe him in the pub on boxing day.
God , the dogs smell, the whole room is filled up with the smell of dogs. Maybe I could take one out for a walk later if the bloody rain stops. When was the last time it snowed at Christmas, I mean on Christmas day?
I almost can't look at mum. She looks so. I mean, look at her. She's forgotten to put her false teeth in again, don't know how she'll eat her dinner. I'm not sitting next to her that's for sure.
'Geoff, you playing? I said we we're going to play monopoly.'
My God, please not the same hell as last year.
'Err no thanks, I thought I could take your dogs out for a walk.'
'It's raining.'
'Yeah, but they need their excercise don't they.'
'Top up Geoff?' Daniel standing there hovering with the whiskey. He always has to pour it, always. Can't wait for me to finish my bloody glass. It's to show ownership. I think Joyce only lets him have one bottle a year.
'Geoff?' I hold out my glass. He doesn't really need to ask me. I always have a top up.
Anyway I reckon he has to hold onto that bottle so he sees how much everyone has to drink. That way he can see how much they owe him in the pub on boxing day.
God , the dogs smell, the whole room is filled up with the smell of dogs. Maybe I could take one out for a walk later if the bloody rain stops. When was the last time it snowed at Christmas, I mean on Christmas day?
I almost can't look at mum. She looks so. I mean, look at her. She's forgotten to put her false teeth in again, don't know how she'll eat her dinner. I'm not sitting next to her that's for sure.
'Geoff, you playing? I said we we're going to play monopoly.'
My God, please not the same hell as last year.
'Err no thanks, I thought I could take your dogs out for a walk.'
'It's raining.'
'Yeah, but they need their excercise don't they.'
Sunday 9 November 2008
Amost Lost
Hanging above me
Three mega tons of foot
I’m running again.
Still not fast enough
The shadow is cast
I’m running again.
Stamping just missed me
Extermination looming
I’m running again
Panting now sweating
Thoughts bubbling through my mind
I’m running again
Me ducking diving
Foot obliterating
I’m running again
Over my head poised
Waiting for me to start
I’m running again
Three mega tons of foot
I’m running again.
Still not fast enough
The shadow is cast
I’m running again.
Stamping just missed me
Extermination looming
I’m running again
Panting now sweating
Thoughts bubbling through my mind
I’m running again
Me ducking diving
Foot obliterating
I’m running again
Over my head poised
Waiting for me to start
I’m running again
Stolen time re-write
Harsh abrasive white light, bounces off, every surface in the room. It exposes everything, no places to hide, as I lay here available to everyone. The smell of disinfectant not quite over-coming the smell of sick, permeating the bedclothes.
Piercing noise is slicing through my tender ear drums. Another alarm going off. Nobody here is coping.
I’m concerned my ears are bleeding. My eyes heavy, carrying too much information. I force them to look towards the table where my tissues had been thrown down. Hand opens, closes, opens and closes. Can’t move, can’t reach. Why isn’t anything easy? I can see him, tiny little ball of flesh, like a growth that’s been removed. I shut my eyes. I prefer the darkness. The fetid smell rising from him every time he moves. I gag. The smell is physically climbing up my nostrils, painful little hooks, forcing their way into my brain. Telling me something.
‘Oh look he’s so sweet, I’ll move him nearer to you shall I?’
The blue of her uniform reminds me of better days. Her arms so strong and full of purpose. She’s always smiling, I find that painful. How can she hold her face in that position for so long.
She pulls over the cot box with an unenviable ease. I hadn’t seen her coming, my heart pounding, my flesh crawling, My flesh is moving. Hundreds of insects crawling over my skin. My flesh is moving. I can’t touch him.
‘I’m not ready to hold him’ breathing hard, sweat beads on my forehead.
‘Of course you are. You are one lucky girl, so happy and…’ Her voice is too light. It feels like she’s singing me a nursery rhyme. Her face looks distorted as if a caricature of her was sketched quickly, harshly, on a street corner.
‘You don’t understand….’ I’m struggling to hold down a warm bile gathering in the back of my throat.
‘Look all young mums struggle at first, sooner you start, sooner you can go home.’ She picks him up, hugs him to her already slightly stained chest. Looking at him throwing his head around gummily searching for a place to latch on.
‘Look he’s hungry, let’s get you started off.’
Her smile so large She’s chirruping now, like a bird. A little black bird that spreads it’s large dark wings, pecking at my ears, at my face.
Suddenly acid pours into my mouth, pushing at my teeth. Lips parted, liquid rushing down my chest, the yellow of melted butter. Flushing away the milk dripping from my tender breasts. Sour milk, bitter, light ripping my eyelids. No sanctuary. If I could leave right now, I would. Longing for nothingness, I’ll settle for some drugs. She’s talking, I have to squint hard at her to focus on her lips.
‘Let’s get you cleaned up. Don’t worry, you’re fine. A change of clothes will do you both good.’
The rhythmic squeaking of the wheels means he’s gone. I know that sound. I love that sound, cherish it. I don’t want him, he’s not really mine. I didn’t ask for this. Legs magnets to pain, stomach grasping for something. It’s normal the nurse told me, after pains. Emptiness engulfs me. I want a drink. I‘m not supposed to be here. He’s not even mine. I didn’t ask for him. Forced upon me like this, like that. I’m not having any more men being forced upon me. Not in this life time.
It’s not right. Someone else must want him, more than me. Surely. I’ve read about women desperate for those things. I could give him away, make someone happy. I can see her. The woman who would have him. She would be knitting little booties for him and singing him lullabies. Oblivious to the making of him. Not knowing the absence of love, the dirt. The blood. I can’t understand why I’m still so confused, lost in a deep fog aching, hurting, bleeding, begging, pleading, begging for help, help, help, help, help me help me. Can no one hear me? Am I actually speaking?
She would bake warm soft cake for nourishment. She would hold him close to her heart, so he fell asleep to her inner rhythm. Cinnamon bathed beauty, rubbing nutmeg on her wrists, just to inhale the scent. Bathing herself in the soft warm ingredients of love, with plenty of room to rise. Proving herself to be queen in the kitchen, an orange glow humming around her head. The cavernous space she has to fill, no little mouth to feed. It’s the only evidence of lack in her otherwise pristine kitchen. She catches herself in the metal gleam of the kitchen surfaces, her hair perfect, silky soft. Her name is either Emma or Dianne, or Lucy, a good solid, clean woman. I’ve read about her. I could help her. She would love him. I’ve got to find her. Someone’s got to find her.
‘Take that one’
I’m screaming. My throat, ripping, red raw.
‘Feed that one’
Please. I don’t want to know about anything more. I just want him gone.
Piercing noise is slicing through my tender ear drums. Another alarm going off. Nobody here is coping.
I’m concerned my ears are bleeding. My eyes heavy, carrying too much information. I force them to look towards the table where my tissues had been thrown down. Hand opens, closes, opens and closes. Can’t move, can’t reach. Why isn’t anything easy? I can see him, tiny little ball of flesh, like a growth that’s been removed. I shut my eyes. I prefer the darkness. The fetid smell rising from him every time he moves. I gag. The smell is physically climbing up my nostrils, painful little hooks, forcing their way into my brain. Telling me something.
‘Oh look he’s so sweet, I’ll move him nearer to you shall I?’
The blue of her uniform reminds me of better days. Her arms so strong and full of purpose. She’s always smiling, I find that painful. How can she hold her face in that position for so long.
She pulls over the cot box with an unenviable ease. I hadn’t seen her coming, my heart pounding, my flesh crawling, My flesh is moving. Hundreds of insects crawling over my skin. My flesh is moving. I can’t touch him.
‘I’m not ready to hold him’ breathing hard, sweat beads on my forehead.
‘Of course you are. You are one lucky girl, so happy and…’ Her voice is too light. It feels like she’s singing me a nursery rhyme. Her face looks distorted as if a caricature of her was sketched quickly, harshly, on a street corner.
‘You don’t understand….’ I’m struggling to hold down a warm bile gathering in the back of my throat.
‘Look all young mums struggle at first, sooner you start, sooner you can go home.’ She picks him up, hugs him to her already slightly stained chest. Looking at him throwing his head around gummily searching for a place to latch on.
‘Look he’s hungry, let’s get you started off.’
Her smile so large She’s chirruping now, like a bird. A little black bird that spreads it’s large dark wings, pecking at my ears, at my face.
Suddenly acid pours into my mouth, pushing at my teeth. Lips parted, liquid rushing down my chest, the yellow of melted butter. Flushing away the milk dripping from my tender breasts. Sour milk, bitter, light ripping my eyelids. No sanctuary. If I could leave right now, I would. Longing for nothingness, I’ll settle for some drugs. She’s talking, I have to squint hard at her to focus on her lips.
‘Let’s get you cleaned up. Don’t worry, you’re fine. A change of clothes will do you both good.’
The rhythmic squeaking of the wheels means he’s gone. I know that sound. I love that sound, cherish it. I don’t want him, he’s not really mine. I didn’t ask for this. Legs magnets to pain, stomach grasping for something. It’s normal the nurse told me, after pains. Emptiness engulfs me. I want a drink. I‘m not supposed to be here. He’s not even mine. I didn’t ask for him. Forced upon me like this, like that. I’m not having any more men being forced upon me. Not in this life time.
It’s not right. Someone else must want him, more than me. Surely. I’ve read about women desperate for those things. I could give him away, make someone happy. I can see her. The woman who would have him. She would be knitting little booties for him and singing him lullabies. Oblivious to the making of him. Not knowing the absence of love, the dirt. The blood. I can’t understand why I’m still so confused, lost in a deep fog aching, hurting, bleeding, begging, pleading, begging for help, help, help, help, help me help me. Can no one hear me? Am I actually speaking?
She would bake warm soft cake for nourishment. She would hold him close to her heart, so he fell asleep to her inner rhythm. Cinnamon bathed beauty, rubbing nutmeg on her wrists, just to inhale the scent. Bathing herself in the soft warm ingredients of love, with plenty of room to rise. Proving herself to be queen in the kitchen, an orange glow humming around her head. The cavernous space she has to fill, no little mouth to feed. It’s the only evidence of lack in her otherwise pristine kitchen. She catches herself in the metal gleam of the kitchen surfaces, her hair perfect, silky soft. Her name is either Emma or Dianne, or Lucy, a good solid, clean woman. I’ve read about her. I could help her. She would love him. I’ve got to find her. Someone’s got to find her.
‘Take that one’
I’m screaming. My throat, ripping, red raw.
‘Feed that one’
Please. I don’t want to know about anything more. I just want him gone.
Saturday 8 November 2008
Embarressment (swearing in this one)
Blatent pig headed stupidity drove him to expose himself so repeatedly. He couldn't think of any other reasoning or excuse. He felt red and raw from the tip of his hair right down to the last toe nail clippings that now lay on the floor. The laughter still rang in his ears. Even though it all began in his own mind. The pain that felt so fresh and clean bore down upon his neck, as heavy as a freshly sharpened knife.
He could hear in the next room, yelling;
'He's never coming in here again, fucking idiot'
His skin crawling as if flesh coloured ants were the surface of his skin.
'He's so fucking stupid, I am pregnant. AND I'm getting married. He should know when to keep himself to himself. Fucking twat. '
He felt his cock twitch at the though of her swollen belly round and magnificent. She couldn't see how beautiful she had become to him.
He could hear in the next room, yelling;
'He's never coming in here again, fucking idiot'
His skin crawling as if flesh coloured ants were the surface of his skin.
'He's so fucking stupid, I am pregnant. AND I'm getting married. He should know when to keep himself to himself. Fucking twat. '
He felt his cock twitch at the though of her swollen belly round and magnificent. She couldn't see how beautiful she had become to him.
Fat freewrite
Rippling surfaces, small cascades, my eyes keep focusing on the way the freckles are bouncing up and down when she talks. There's one little freckle just by her right eye, that is like a teetering smartie on a mound of jelly at a childrens party. Yellow jelly, that's been out of the fridge too long and is slightly watery. I have no desire to touch her. I am simply fascinated by the rise and fall of her voluptuous body. The expanse of it makes her breathless every time she stands up. Which I must say is not often.
New shoes
I love my new shoes, so red and shiny. So high and noisy. I feel like a whole new person. I feel like a whole new woman. Like a woman from a film, like a woman I've only seen pictures of before. Now, with my shoes I am her. Even if it's only whilst I'm walking. As soon as I sit once more my stomach bulges, my t-shirt sags and I sigh into my too tight jeans.
1.4 they didn't care
They didn't even care that i was freezing cold and exhausted. The baby, my baby, crying, crying, crying in my arms. It was like they were looking at me as if watching television. Like I wasn't really there. I found myself crying but without making a sound. Tears dripping onto my childs head, merging with the rain and his own snot. They barely heard me talk, I think they simply didn't want their house to get cold. Or the comfort to be disturbed. I can see that now. Now I know what comfort is.
Activity 1.2 playing
1. The truth is I never told him. Not even once; he always knew there was something. He could sense it, smell it on me, I'm sure. Yet i never once told him.
2. I wish I had said 'i love you'. Before it was too late. i always felt the time wasn't right. there was always something holding me back. My dress wasn't flattering enough, he looked too tired to hear me in the way I felt he should. So many excuses so many words shared and yet not those,
3. I went outside and the sunlight hit the clouds so unexpectedly it made me gasp outloud. I stood still for a full five minutes noticing little things that usually pass me by. The rainbows enclosed with the raindrops held by the spiders web. The slow steam rising from the grass. The grass so rampently sprawling accross the stones where I could have walked. Little things, little things..
Activity1.3
1. Walking through dense high walled passages. Brushing against plesently sharp leaves. The heat of the sun massaging the flowers scent into the air so it hangs in clouds around our heads. Leaning close together, necklaces of sweat glistening playfully as we breathe together. Bravely reaching out our fingertips to feel what's coming next.
2. Her feet were dragging against the stones EVERY step. She deliberately scraped the toes of her new leather shoes against the concrete every chance she got. 'Muuuummmmm' could be heard from accross the street. The piercing noise emenating from her mouth made my head split in two but I refused to let it show.
2. I wish I had said 'i love you'. Before it was too late. i always felt the time wasn't right. there was always something holding me back. My dress wasn't flattering enough, he looked too tired to hear me in the way I felt he should. So many excuses so many words shared and yet not those,
3. I went outside and the sunlight hit the clouds so unexpectedly it made me gasp outloud. I stood still for a full five minutes noticing little things that usually pass me by. The rainbows enclosed with the raindrops held by the spiders web. The slow steam rising from the grass. The grass so rampently sprawling accross the stones where I could have walked. Little things, little things..
Activity1.3
1. Walking through dense high walled passages. Brushing against plesently sharp leaves. The heat of the sun massaging the flowers scent into the air so it hangs in clouds around our heads. Leaning close together, necklaces of sweat glistening playfully as we breathe together. Bravely reaching out our fingertips to feel what's coming next.
2. Her feet were dragging against the stones EVERY step. She deliberately scraped the toes of her new leather shoes against the concrete every chance she got. 'Muuuummmmm' could be heard from accross the street. The piercing noise emenating from her mouth made my head split in two but I refused to let it show.
word thief
This is a focused freewrite (I think) which came from a cluster of letting go.The cluster led to a character of a counsellor that feeds on other peoples words.
Steam spiralled upwards catching shafts of sunlight as it rose towards the custard cream coloured ceiling. She shifted her backside slightly on the chair and it complained loudly. Sighing she checked the clock before calling for the next person to enter her office.
Sid sat opposite, regular man, same time, same place every week. Same problem every week. Variations to the theme - yet essentially the same problem. She licked her lips slowly, anticipating the feast that was to come. His lips parted and closed, opened and shut, toungue moistening lips but silence still hung in the air.
'Come on Sid, we only have an hour and you know you can talk to me, come on..'
She slid her fat arse to the edge of the chair so she could reach her hand over to pat his arm. Soft sweat beads lay hand shaped on his sleeve, he stared at her.
'Listen Chloe, you. You...' he coughed. 'You. Look you've, I mean'
'Come on Sid...' her piggy eyes gleaming with hunger.
'Chloe, you've helped me a lot. O.K and I ,you know, we were only supposed to have 6 sessions and, well, this is my 10th. You are expensive.'
She gave a sharp intake of breath. He gathered speed,
'I mean it's not that you're not, I mean the service you offer is not, I mean.' He sighs.
'Look Sid, Sidney.' She rocked the chair back, he glared at the wooden legs for somewhere to rest his eyes.
'Sidney, I see many clients and I decide how long you need to see me. What we have here is a classic avoidence technique, we are getting close to something, you need to relax more, tell me more, befor you are free to go, really. Or the weight you carry. The emotional weight you carry will still be on your shoulders. You do understand that don't you? We have been making progress....'
Steam spiralled upwards catching shafts of sunlight as it rose towards the custard cream coloured ceiling. She shifted her backside slightly on the chair and it complained loudly. Sighing she checked the clock before calling for the next person to enter her office.
Sid sat opposite, regular man, same time, same place every week. Same problem every week. Variations to the theme - yet essentially the same problem. She licked her lips slowly, anticipating the feast that was to come. His lips parted and closed, opened and shut, toungue moistening lips but silence still hung in the air.
'Come on Sid, we only have an hour and you know you can talk to me, come on..'
She slid her fat arse to the edge of the chair so she could reach her hand over to pat his arm. Soft sweat beads lay hand shaped on his sleeve, he stared at her.
'Listen Chloe, you. You...' he coughed. 'You. Look you've, I mean'
'Come on Sid...' her piggy eyes gleaming with hunger.
'Chloe, you've helped me a lot. O.K and I ,you know, we were only supposed to have 6 sessions and, well, this is my 10th. You are expensive.'
She gave a sharp intake of breath. He gathered speed,
'I mean it's not that you're not, I mean the service you offer is not, I mean.' He sighs.
'Look Sid, Sidney.' She rocked the chair back, he glared at the wooden legs for somewhere to rest his eyes.
'Sidney, I see many clients and I decide how long you need to see me. What we have here is a classic avoidence technique, we are getting close to something, you need to relax more, tell me more, befor you are free to go, really. Or the weight you carry. The emotional weight you carry will still be on your shoulders. You do understand that don't you? We have been making progress....'
My first Haikus
1.Pen, ink, hovering
mind wandering, away, fast
paper, waiting, blank.
2.Slimeing down the path
Shell gleaming, both eyes searching.
Shoe crunching, squashed, end.
3. Eyelashes blinking
enquiring face, eyes stare,
gentle emotion.
4.Hungrily he stood
masticating over food
stomach grumbling.
mind wandering, away, fast
paper, waiting, blank.
2.Slimeing down the path
Shell gleaming, both eyes searching.
Shoe crunching, squashed, end.
3. Eyelashes blinking
enquiring face, eyes stare,
gentle emotion.
4.Hungrily he stood
masticating over food
stomach grumbling.
A moment
Holding hands
Offer out, palm open fingers out stretched. Outstretched in an un-natural way, almost bent backwards. and yet not quite. A desperate attampt to show emptiness, a place that is available to accomodate another hand. Warmth fleeting as the air passes through fingers. fingers wilting, twitching needing the electricity of touch.
A balled up fist - fist as tight as a rubber ball stubbornly held down. As if garvity was sitting on it, jumping on it, dragging it, enticing the hand to the floor. In that moment a subtle shift - the out streched hand gently curls inwards as if to offer a cave to hide. Yes. Yes. Shelter is taken.
Offer out, palm open fingers out stretched. Outstretched in an un-natural way, almost bent backwards. and yet not quite. A desperate attampt to show emptiness, a place that is available to accomodate another hand. Warmth fleeting as the air passes through fingers. fingers wilting, twitching needing the electricity of touch.
A balled up fist - fist as tight as a rubber ball stubbornly held down. As if garvity was sitting on it, jumping on it, dragging it, enticing the hand to the floor. In that moment a subtle shift - the out streched hand gently curls inwards as if to offer a cave to hide. Yes. Yes. Shelter is taken.
4.3 back in time
A smokey haze, warm light
floating on led zeppelin notes.
Stamping para boots, black hard
steel toe capped. Shouting 'back
to the planet'. 'Say no to Poll Tax'.
Brigh pink hair, matching my
cider and black - pint of - cheers George.
Helen dancing blue eyes staring at me.
I look through a smokey haze of warm light
Think of protesting but not quite.
Dancing hard, spinning, deep drags
of a smokey haze
bathed in a
warm light.
floating on led zeppelin notes.
Stamping para boots, black hard
steel toe capped. Shouting 'back
to the planet'. 'Say no to Poll Tax'.
Brigh pink hair, matching my
cider and black - pint of - cheers George.
Helen dancing blue eyes staring at me.
I look through a smokey haze of warm light
Think of protesting but not quite.
Dancing hard, spinning, deep drags
of a smokey haze
bathed in a
warm light.
Stolen time
Stolen time
Harsh abrasive white light,
Bounces off,
Every surface it exposes.
Piercing noise,
Slices through,
My tender ear drums.
I’m concerned my ears are bleeding. My eyes reddened, heavy, carrying too much information. I force them to look towards the table where my tissues had been thrown down. Hand opens, closes, opens and closes. Can’t move, can’t reach. I can see him. I shut my eyes. I prefer the darkness. Pungent, sickly sweet. The fetid smell rising from him every time he moves. I gag. The smell is physically climbing up my nostrils, painful little hooks, forcing their way into my brain. Telling me something. I look. Drawn to a pulsating red button. I want to press it.
‘OOhh look he’s soooo sweet, I’ll move him nearer to you shall I?’
The nurse pulled over the cot box with an unenviable ease. I hadn’t seen her coming, my heart pounding, my flesh crawling, My flesh is moving. hundreds of insects crawling over my skin. My flesh is moving. I can’t touch him.
‘I’m not ready to hold him’ breathing hard, sweat beads on my forehead.
‘Of course you are. You are one lucky girl, so happy and…’ Her voice is too light. It feels like she’s singing me a nursery rhyme. Her face looks distorted as if a caricature of her was sketched quickly, harshly, on a street corner.
‘You don’t understand….’ I’m struggling to hold down a warm bile gathering in the back of my throat.
‘Look all young mums struggle at first, sooner you start, sooner you can go home.’ She picks him up, hugs him to her already slightly stained chest. Looking at him throwing his head around gummily searching for a place to latch on.
‘Look he’s hungry, let’s get you started off.’ She’s chirruping now, like a bird. A little black bird that spreads it’s large dark wings, pecking at my ears, at my face. Always wanting something.
Suddenly acid pours into my mouth, pushing at my teeth. Lips parted, liquid rushing down my chest, the yellow of melted butter. Flushing away the milk dripping from my tender breasts. Sour milk, bitter,, light ripping my eyelids. No sanctuary. If I could leave right now, I would. Longing for nothingness, I’ll settle for some drugs. She’s talking, I have to squint hard at her to focus on her lips.
‘Let’s get you cleaned up. Don’t worry, you’re fine. A change of clothes will do you both good.’
The rhythmic squeaking of the wheels means he’s gone. I know that sound. I love that sound, cherish it. I don’t want him, he’s not really mine. I didn’t ask for this. Legs magnets to pain, stomach grasping for something. Emptiness engulfs me. I want a drink. I‘m not supposed to be here. He’s not even mine. I didn’t ask for him. It’s not right. Someone else must want him, more than me. Surely. I’ve read about women desperate for those things. I could make someone happy. She would be knitting little booties for him and singing him lullabies. She would bake warm soft cake for nourishment. She would hold him close to her heart so he fell asleep to her inner rhythm. Cinnamon bathed beauty, rubbing nutmeg on her wrists. Proving herself to be queen in the kitchen, an orange glow humming around her head. The cavernous space she has to fill, no little mouth to feed. I’ve read about her. I could help her. She would love him.
‘Take that one’
I’m screaming
‘Feed that one’
Harsh abrasive white light,
Bounces off,
Every surface it exposes.
Piercing noise,
Slices through,
My tender ear drums.
I’m concerned my ears are bleeding. My eyes reddened, heavy, carrying too much information. I force them to look towards the table where my tissues had been thrown down. Hand opens, closes, opens and closes. Can’t move, can’t reach. I can see him. I shut my eyes. I prefer the darkness. Pungent, sickly sweet. The fetid smell rising from him every time he moves. I gag. The smell is physically climbing up my nostrils, painful little hooks, forcing their way into my brain. Telling me something. I look. Drawn to a pulsating red button. I want to press it.
‘OOhh look he’s soooo sweet, I’ll move him nearer to you shall I?’
The nurse pulled over the cot box with an unenviable ease. I hadn’t seen her coming, my heart pounding, my flesh crawling, My flesh is moving. hundreds of insects crawling over my skin. My flesh is moving. I can’t touch him.
‘I’m not ready to hold him’ breathing hard, sweat beads on my forehead.
‘Of course you are. You are one lucky girl, so happy and…’ Her voice is too light. It feels like she’s singing me a nursery rhyme. Her face looks distorted as if a caricature of her was sketched quickly, harshly, on a street corner.
‘You don’t understand….’ I’m struggling to hold down a warm bile gathering in the back of my throat.
‘Look all young mums struggle at first, sooner you start, sooner you can go home.’ She picks him up, hugs him to her already slightly stained chest. Looking at him throwing his head around gummily searching for a place to latch on.
‘Look he’s hungry, let’s get you started off.’ She’s chirruping now, like a bird. A little black bird that spreads it’s large dark wings, pecking at my ears, at my face. Always wanting something.
Suddenly acid pours into my mouth, pushing at my teeth. Lips parted, liquid rushing down my chest, the yellow of melted butter. Flushing away the milk dripping from my tender breasts. Sour milk, bitter,, light ripping my eyelids. No sanctuary. If I could leave right now, I would. Longing for nothingness, I’ll settle for some drugs. She’s talking, I have to squint hard at her to focus on her lips.
‘Let’s get you cleaned up. Don’t worry, you’re fine. A change of clothes will do you both good.’
The rhythmic squeaking of the wheels means he’s gone. I know that sound. I love that sound, cherish it. I don’t want him, he’s not really mine. I didn’t ask for this. Legs magnets to pain, stomach grasping for something. Emptiness engulfs me. I want a drink. I‘m not supposed to be here. He’s not even mine. I didn’t ask for him. It’s not right. Someone else must want him, more than me. Surely. I’ve read about women desperate for those things. I could make someone happy. She would be knitting little booties for him and singing him lullabies. She would bake warm soft cake for nourishment. She would hold him close to her heart so he fell asleep to her inner rhythm. Cinnamon bathed beauty, rubbing nutmeg on her wrists. Proving herself to be queen in the kitchen, an orange glow humming around her head. The cavernous space she has to fill, no little mouth to feed. I’ve read about her. I could help her. She would love him.
‘Take that one’
I’m screaming
‘Feed that one’
5.1 character developed through objects
Fiona was sick of being poor - well what she considered poor. Earning £16,000 just didn't keep her in designer clothes, that's for sure. Catching her relection in her brand new lap top screen, she noticed her long blonde hair catching the sun-light. Her hair so silky and soft she enjoyed running her hands through it as the light bounced off each strand. She knew she was beautiful. Slim, tall a lot of people had told her she should be a model.
She leaned over, smiling to herself as she picked up the business cards she had just had printed. She knew she could pull this off. 'Madame Bovia - fortune teller' - Steve had them designed for her. Twisting back her lusious locks she pulled her hair into a stylish knot and clipped it in place. She would wear a hat today, it was just a prctice. On the day though, the actual day, she was going auburn. More the part. She pictured herself short auburn hair, long beads draped over her neck, plenty of black eyeliner. Today was a practice however, she repeated to herself. She would do a reading for Steve, her boyfriend and two of his business partners. If this was successfull, which it would be. She would be given a spot at the casino where big money lay.
She'd gone over the basics but was now slightly nervous, hands sweating as she ran them down her black silk blouse. She rearranged her clothes, un-doing a button so they would be able to see more clevege. Spraying her favourite perfume between her breasts she smiled to herself. Let this begin.
She leaned over, smiling to herself as she picked up the business cards she had just had printed. She knew she could pull this off. 'Madame Bovia - fortune teller' - Steve had them designed for her. Twisting back her lusious locks she pulled her hair into a stylish knot and clipped it in place. She would wear a hat today, it was just a prctice. On the day though, the actual day, she was going auburn. More the part. She pictured herself short auburn hair, long beads draped over her neck, plenty of black eyeliner. Today was a practice however, she repeated to herself. She would do a reading for Steve, her boyfriend and two of his business partners. If this was successfull, which it would be. She would be given a spot at the casino where big money lay.
She'd gone over the basics but was now slightly nervous, hands sweating as she ran them down her black silk blouse. She rearranged her clothes, un-doing a button so they would be able to see more clevege. Spraying her favourite perfume between her breasts she smiled to herself. Let this begin.
old fasioned elderly person distorted stereotype
Looking at the magazines she glanced up with distain at the young mums passing by. 'Why can't you say excuse me.' Muttering under her breath. 'Young people these days'. Her hand touched her hair, aware it needed a good cut. Sighing she qued up to pay.Surprisingly there were two people ready at the counter before her. This was unusual. This shop was normally empty. She glanced around, body relaxing more as she saw the rows of black rubber suits hanging up. Wondering to herself why people enjoyed them so much. She was more of a naughty nurse herself. Although her husband had always fancied squeezing into the rubber. She had always discouraged him - not wanting to see the rolls of fat sweaty and shiny against the material. She shuddered. Holding tight onto her whips calculating how of much pension this would cost her, although it didn't really matter as she had plenty of savings. 'Excuse me madame. Everything o.k?' The young sales assistant stared nervously at her.
5.4 Character conflict
'It's upstairs where you fucking left it.' thrown from the voice box like bullets from a gun. ' You do this every fucking morning. You make me sick. Stop fucking crying.'
'But Mum. i can't do up my buttons.' Silent tears falling. Voice matches the violence of the example she has to follow.
'Shut the fuck up. You are old enough to do it yourself. Jesus come on you're nearly six.'
Doors slam, walls shaking, rocking slightly, slowly with anger.
A slow whine, building, winding up and up as if a familiar siren is turning a corner into the road.
'It's not fair, I don't want to be doing this. You were an accident. I'm fucking stuck here now. How long do I have to do this for? For fucking ever. That's what. I want my mum. Where is she?'
Her head snaps round as if a lightening bolt has hit her. Eyes red to match her hair, nails bitten, yet still pointing at the girl. The girl standing there, now breathing softly ready for school.
'It's time to go, You've got school.'
'Mum, I've got my lunch and everything, I just need..'
'NO TIME NOW. COME ON.'
The sound of the front door slamming. Two pairs of feet running up the road. One stamping and one scampering.
Another day has begun.
'But Mum. i can't do up my buttons.' Silent tears falling. Voice matches the violence of the example she has to follow.
'Shut the fuck up. You are old enough to do it yourself. Jesus come on you're nearly six.'
Doors slam, walls shaking, rocking slightly, slowly with anger.
A slow whine, building, winding up and up as if a familiar siren is turning a corner into the road.
'It's not fair, I don't want to be doing this. You were an accident. I'm fucking stuck here now. How long do I have to do this for? For fucking ever. That's what. I want my mum. Where is she?'
Her head snaps round as if a lightening bolt has hit her. Eyes red to match her hair, nails bitten, yet still pointing at the girl. The girl standing there, now breathing softly ready for school.
'It's time to go, You've got school.'
'Mum, I've got my lunch and everything, I just need..'
'NO TIME NOW. COME ON.'
The sound of the front door slamming. Two pairs of feet running up the road. One stamping and one scampering.
Another day has begun.
5.5 a bored gifted student
I wonder how long it would take to truly be noticed. If I didn't turn up for a day, a week, a month, who would really feel the absence of my presence?
Trying on another pair of glasses, black this time, sally turned to her friend. Anna stood blatantly yawning.
'You're always so self obsessed sal. Who cares whether you're there or not. Do the work, put in your time, get your marks - ticket out. job done' Anna reached for the bright red square glasses placing them firmly on Sallys face. In total contrast to Sallys outfit, they made her quizzical green eyes appear enclosed and cold.
'You don't understand. I want to know who feels my presence, my energy. Who is affected when I talk to them. Whose chemistry is disturbed when I stand near them.'
Sally removing the red glasses with a grimace, placing them back on the rotating stand. Anna leans forward and spins the whole display, slightly.
'Sal, if you just want sex, lets go out tonight and we'll look for, you know.'
'You just don't get it.'
Trying on another pair of glasses, black this time, sally turned to her friend. Anna stood blatantly yawning.
'You're always so self obsessed sal. Who cares whether you're there or not. Do the work, put in your time, get your marks - ticket out. job done' Anna reached for the bright red square glasses placing them firmly on Sallys face. In total contrast to Sallys outfit, they made her quizzical green eyes appear enclosed and cold.
'You don't understand. I want to know who feels my presence, my energy. Who is affected when I talk to them. Whose chemistry is disturbed when I stand near them.'
Sally removing the red glasses with a grimace, placing them back on the rotating stand. Anna leans forward and spins the whole display, slightly.
'Sal, if you just want sex, lets go out tonight and we'll look for, you know.'
'You just don't get it.'
A disillusioned nurse
Time was when I would enjoy chatting to the patients. I took pride in that part of my job. Now. Now, well, now it's not part of my job. I'm expected to see too my whole ward in under two hours. No time for chatting there at all. Anyway if they're really sad, I'm supposed to refer them on to a counsellor or a social worker. That's a joke in itself. Refer on. Refer on. That means file in 'pile of forgotten people'. It means you take too much of our time, so we will cross you off our list. It means. Oh god. Do you know what. I simply have not got the energy any more. I'm so tired. Maybe one day I'll just get into bed with one of them to have a rest. Oh no! Not in that way! Maybe I'll choose an empty bed. A few of those nowadays. It's so complicated to get a bloody bed that some of them are actually empty. I think that's criminal. I really do.
5.7 present a character in 5 different ways.
His long black hair hung in rats tails down his back. Light dulled as it hit the greasy lengths. Business associates always doubted his abilities on first meeting. The hair took responsibility for these first impressions. Lenny didn't help himself by wearing the same black jacket to every meeting. The jacket limp where it once held shape and creases. Cloth stole away hope of expectation from the deals handshake.
He checked his laptop was secure and crossed the car park. Silently counting his steps as he crunched gravel. The door opened before he could raise his hand to the handle.
'Hey Larry, it's been ages come in, come in. Hey Dulcie, Larry's here, get him a drink. You know how he likes it - double no ice. Come in, come in.
in that instant Larry knew his host was nervous.
He checked his laptop was secure and crossed the car park. Silently counting his steps as he crunched gravel. The door opened before he could raise his hand to the handle.
'Hey Larry, it's been ages come in, come in. Hey Dulcie, Larry's here, get him a drink. You know how he likes it - double no ice. Come in, come in.
in that instant Larry knew his host was nervous.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
