7.5 'I thought I'd always remember'

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.

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.'

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

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.

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.

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.