La mia Scrittura

Here is a scene from my new novel that I'm starting...

It takes me literally twenty minutes to get ready for the date. I curl my hair to add a little volume, put on an outfit I would usually wear to work, slap on some eye shadow and lip gloss and I'm set to go. The only thing I do to spruce the whole thing up is wear my deep purple leather jacket Luke gave to me for Christmas last year that I've only been able to wear once.
Hannah and I agreed to meet at the restaurant for 7:30 so we can have a drink and talk before the guys come. Which is good because, strangely enough, I'm slightly on edge and need a nice stiff drink to calm my nerves.
As I get to the restaurant, I see Hannah sitting alone at a round table playing with her phone. I can't help but smile. As crazy as she makes me and as much as I need to come to her rescue I can't help but love her. She's a genuinely nice person and has a humungous heart.
I met Hannah my first year out of college when I worked for a horrid man that made me cry daily. On my first day, as I sat in the cafeteria crying my eyes out, she came over to console me. Didn't know me from Adam, but she sat down, put her arms around me and rocked me as I cried. I was so devastated and worn out (it took me 6 months and four years of college to land that job) that I just went with it and cried in her arms for half an hour. The rest is history.
"Ellie," she says, standing as she sees me coming. She gives me a hug and we both sit down.
Before I've gotten a word in, a waiter appears out of nowhere and offers us a drink.
"I'll have an apple martini." Hannah tells him, smiling.
"I'll have a scotch on the rocks, please."
"That's a stiff drink," she says to me as the waiter leaves.
"To be honest, Han, I'm a little nervous." Hannah is the only person in the world, well, besides Luke, which I would ever admit this to.
"You? Ms. Ellie, Vice President of a gigantic company is nervous?"
I smile. "I haven't been on a date like this before. I'm meeting two men in the span on a couple seconds. What if I don't like either of them?"
"Well, you've met Jack, haven't you? And Kane really is an amazing guy. Tell me about Jack."
"Well, you know. He has hair, eyes, a penis and he talks with a really deep voice."
"So, he's a guy."
I laugh as the waiter comes along with our drinks. "Basically. What's this Kane fellow like?"
"Well, he has green eyes, brown hair and he's about 6'2. He's really considerate and generous. He has a dog named Molly and lives uptown in a newly built home."
"And you got all this out of one dinner?" I ask, incredulous.
"He's like an open book. There wasn't one question I asked that he didn't seem to want to answer."
So, he's a liar, too.
"Well, hello, ladies."
I look up to see Jack coming towards us. He's wearing the same coat as the night before, but his hair is slightly more moulded and he's wearing an apple green shirt and black tie. He looks even more gorgeous than before, although, not in a million years would I admit that - to anyone.
"Hannah, this is Jack. Jack, Hannah."
He leans over the table and shakes her hand. "Nice to meet you, Hannah. I'm just going to get a drink at the bar; can I get you guys anything?"
Hannah shakes her head. "The waiter will be here shortly, you don't need to go to the bar."
"Trust me. I've just been in a 12 hour meeting. I don't think I can wait even thirty seconds longer for a drink."
Hannah looks up at me, her eye brows raised. "Self-sufficient?"
"Alcoholic."
She laughs. "He's cute."
I turn to look at him and he catches me looking. "He's okay."
"So, what are we talking about?" he asks as he takes his seat beside me.
"You." I reply.
"Ah." he says. "Good topic. And what are you saying?"
"Nothing you need to know about."
He laughs and looks at me. The twinkle in his eye makes me want to jump his bones right then and there. I take my drink and take a large sip to swallow my desire - and not make it too obvious.
"Oh, there he is!" Hannah says and stands up to wave him over.
I look over towards the front door, the glass still at my lips, and see him. He's standing at the reception booth talking to the host and I nearly choke on my drink.
"Are you okay?" Jack asks.
I swallow hard and cough. "I'm fine." I cough again and smack my chest. "Wrong tube."
He laughs.
"Ellie, this is Kane. Kane this is my best friend Ellie and her date Jack."
Kane shakes Jack's hand first and then leans over the table to shake mine and when he looks up at me, he stalls mid bend. He looks at me for what seems like an eternity and I shake my head slightly, so no one notices. I shake his hand and he takes his seat beside his date.

The house was oddly quiet when I walked in off the school bus. I thought I remembered mom telling me she would be home all day, and I could have sworn I saw her car in the driveway, maybe she was in the garden.
My phone vibrated in my left pocket and I pulled it out. Ethan. I smiled as I opened my phone to read the text.
i had a great day today. see you tomorrow. Ethan
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and I couldn’t help feeling giddy. God, he was just so awesome. When he’d suggested writing me a note to get out school for the day, I’ll admit, I was skeptical. But when I gave in my note, signed out and left the school with no questions asked, I felt a sense of exhilaration. What a rush.
We’d spent the entire day driving around the city, parking in various places and taking walks. We ate lunch, and talked non stop. He was such a good listener, so attentive and sweet. It didn’t matter to me that he was 6 years older than me, a college drop out working as a mechanic for his father – he was the smartest man I knew, and might I admit, the best looking.
Voices suddenly floated into the front hall. I listened carefully and realized they were coming from the kitchen. As I approached, I noticed that my mother was using The Voice. We called it that because she only used it when she was really angry and when she did use it, you knew you were in for it.
But who was she talking to? Surely it wasn’t my father, she wouldn’t talk to him like that. And it couldn’t be Patrick because he was supposed to be staying after school for soccer practice. When I walked into the kitchen, I got the immediate impression that someone had died. Everyone was there, dad at the kitchen table sipping coffee, mom leaning against the kitchen counter, and Patrick standing a safe distance away from both of them. I felt a moment of intense panic and then Patrick looked at me. A look flashed through his eyes. Animosity? Hatred?
“Anna, we’re having a private conversation.” He said to me immediately.
“No, no.” Mom said, her voice firm and cold. “She should be here for this. Teach her something at the same time.”
Slowly and as quietly as a mouse, I crept to the other side of the kitchen and sat at the table with my dad. He looked at me with regret in his eyes and patted my hand, letting me know I was not the one who was in trouble.
“So, what did you do all morning? Smoke drugs?” Mom asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Mom!” Patrick cried with the same alarm as I felt. Patrick smoking drugs? Never. “You know I would never do that!”
“Pfft!” She rolled her eyes. “I thought you would never skip school either.”
“Patrick skipped school?” I cried before I could stop myself. Did they know I had skipped school, too?
Patrick turned to me with pure hatred. “Anna”-
“Don’t take this out on your sister, young man,” Mom said. “This is your doing.”
For a moment there was silence.
“Well, did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Do drugs?”
Patrick looked at dad for help, and when he got no reaction he looked back at mom in astonishment. “No I didn’t do drugs!” he cried.
“Then why would you do something so foolish as to skip school? There has to be a reason!”
Patrick looked at me, and for a split second I thought he was trying to tell me something, but then he bowed his head and studied his hands.
“Answer your mother.” My dad said after receiving a look from mom.
“I just…did. I didn’t feel like going to class.”
Why was he acting like this? Like he didn’t care? He wasn’t defending himself, wasn’t even trying to make it right. What was going on?
“Well, you’re grounded for a month. No TV, no Internet, no phone. You’re to come straight home from school and do your homework, have dinner, do your chores and go to bed. Do I make myself clear?”
Dad’s body stiffened, and for a second, I thought he was going to add to his punishment.
“But mom, what about soccer practice?”
She shook her head turning her back on him as she began washing the dishes. “No soccer. We told you that if your school suffered, you’d be off the team. I think this situation applies.”
I watched as dad gripped his mug tightly, opened and closed his mouth, but nothing ever came out. Instead, he picked up his mug, got up from the table and left the room.



I had come home early, as requested, to have a nice afternoon with my wife, and within minutes the whole thing had gone bust. It’s amazing how one phone call can turn a woman from a beautiful sunflower to a menacing serpent.
That’s the way it had been with Lucy t he last couple of years. One minute she was lovely and great to be with and the next minute you wanted to slit your wrists to get away from her. Okay, maybe slitting your wrists is a little drastic, but you know what I mean. But in the last couple of years, it hadn’t been quite right in our relationship. We rarely had anything to talk about, nothing in common. We went from being best friends to practically strangers in 15 years.
She’d made a wonderful late lunch; roast beef sandwiches, potato salad, and some homemade warm apple pie. It looked delicious and my mouth watered when she pulled the pie out of the oven.
Just as we sat down at the kitchen table, the telephone rang. We both jumped, the phone interrupting the silence between us.
“Hello?...this is she…he what?...did he now?…oh, I will…yes, thank you for calling…goodnight.” She hung up the phone with such force I thought the entire thing would detach itself from the wall.
“What is it?” I asked with a mouthful of potato salad.
She looked at me with dangerous eyes, if I would have known it impossible, I would have sworn her eyes had turned red. “Our son got caught skipping school today.”
I swallowed hard. “Are you sure?”
“What kind of question is that? Am I sure? Well, the teacher just called, that should make me damn sure.”
I said nothing. I knew what would happen next, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to say or do anything that would provoke it.
With speed and ferociousness, Lucy started gathering the dishes, whether they had food on them or not and made trip after trip, depositing them into the sink. I wanted to tell her that she should dump the food first, so as not to clog the sink. That was a bill I didn’t want to have to pay again. But, as usual, I remained quiet, even when she grabbed my plate that was not yet empty and practically threw it in the sink, the dishes clanging together.
She turned on her heels, and bolted out of the room.
Quietly, I went to the coffee maker and poured myself a cup of coffee. I did so quickly, so that I could be sitting when she returned to the kitchen. When she was in a mood like that, you didn’t want to get caught in her way.
As I sat at my seat, I heard the front door open and close, the sound of a schoolbag hitting the floor and footsteps coming towards the kitchen.
He came into the room looking somewhat guilty but smiled at me nonetheless. I was about to warn him when she came back in the room.
“How was school today, sweetheart?” Lucy asked in her most pleasant, motherly voice.
He shrugged. “Well, you know.”
And just like that, her voice changed. It was as if a dark cloud had perched itself above our home. “Oh, I know.”
Patrick placed his snack down on the counter and looked at his mother. He knew that she knew.
The front door opened and closed again, the same sounds emanating from the front foyer, followed by my cheerful daughter entering the room.
When Patrick saw his sister, his body stiffened, but I couldn’t see the look on his face as he had his head turned away from me. “Anna, we’re having a private conversation.”
Lucy jumped on him like a hawk. “No, no. She should be here for this, teach her something at the same time.”
Aware of what the tone in her mother’s voice meant, Anna crossed the kitchen and sat beside me at the table. I looked at her with the softest expression I could muster, and put my hand over hers, telling her that I felt for her, felt for both of them.
I tried to drone out the rest of the conversation. That point was probably the point where I really truly thought about my future with my wife. How could I continue on like this? My children living in fear, so miserable and lost. It just wasn’t fair.
When I heard the words; “You’re grounded,” I wanted to jump up and protest. Yes, I agree it would be beneficial for Patrick to lose privileges, it would teach him to be more responsible but I didn’t think that the extent of his punishment was necessary. Especially when she denied him his access to his favorite sport. At that moment, I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. When Lucy and I first had children, we had promised one another to always back each other up, never undermine the other. Well, I was the type of person to keep my promises and it wouldn’t benefit anyone, least of all my children, to undermine her at this point, what with her being on the warpath and all.
But at that moment, the moment when I got up with my coffee mug and left the room, I knew that it was over. I could no longer be with someone whom I despised as much as I did her.

I knew something was wrong the minute I walked in the door. Dad was home and mom wasn’t cooking. Mom was always cooking. The weirdest part, the part that tipped me off, was when I walked into the kitchen as dad was sitting at the kitchen table with this drawn out look on his face. He opened his mouth to say something when mom crept up behind me with that mock cheerfulness. My skin began to crawl and I had to work at not wincing at those words. Sweetheart, she should know by now that that word gave it all away. She never used that word and she was definitely never that nice.
I debated on letting it all out the minute she asked me how school was for I knew they both knew. But there was still a slight chance that none of them knew, and that I was in trouble for something else.
Just as the battle had begun, my sister walked in the door. My darling, sweet sister who was the cause of this situation.
I gave her a look, trying to tell her that I knew, I knew all about her and her 22 year old boyfriend. Despicable! She was 16 for God’s sake! All week, since I’d heard it from my best buddy, I’d felt sick to my stomach. I had to know, and I had to see it for myself to believe it. I skipped my last two periods, even knowing that if I didn’t attend a full day of school, I wouldn’t be able to go to soccer practice.
At first, they just seemed like friends, walking around talking and laughing. But when they got into his car and I saw the way he kissed her, I thought I would lose my breakfasts from the past week. The worst part was that I knew him. I knew about his reputation for being a bad boy, a ladies man. Ha! A bad boy! Sure, a guy like him who couldn’t even finish high school and had to work for his father, who paid him minimum wage, could be considered a bad boy. I called him a loser.
Anna didn’t notice the look.
I didn’t listen to a word mom said; I just stared into her dark face, those unfamiliar eyes. She’d changed so much in the past couple of years, mostly so in the last year. She used to be warm and patient. Now she was this monster none of us recognized.
He didn’t think we noticed, but I saw the way dad looked at her. Like she was a stranger, someone who had taken up his wife’s body.
“So, what did you do all morning? Smoke drugs?”
I had to fight back the urge to laugh. Smoke drugs. If she knew what I had actually been doing, she would have wished it was that simple. I looked at my father and sister with mock protest and denied the allegations. Smoke drugs. Ha!
“Mom!” I cried. “You know I would never do that.”
“Pftt.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you would never skip school either.” Just then, I thought I saw something in her eyes. Guilt? Regret? Then, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone and I didn’t feel the least bit remorseful. She deserved all the heart ache she got, considering the way she’d been treating us these past months. I debated telling her about Anna, knew it would feel like a swift kick in the ass, but I didn’t want to do that to Anna. Plus, I think my talking to her would have more of an impact than if she were to be grounded for the rest of her life. It would just cause more turmoil, and Anna wasn’t the type to just sit and take it.
Mom went on to ground me and deny me of my soccer practice but all I saw was that slimy, grease monkey fondling my sister. I looked over at her again, watching this whole spectacle with wide eyes. Again, I tried to tell her, but she had no idea. She had no idea about of any of it. What he would do to her, that he would hurt her, humiliate her. She better not be sleeping with him because I heard he already had a couple shit monsters crawling 0around somewhere. She didn’t know anything about anything.


Today was going to be the day that I told my family. I took the day off of work, asked my husband to come home for lunch, maybe even take the afternoon off and made a wonderful lunch. Yup, today I would do it. I knew it was time; it was time to end all of the secrets, all of this misery.
Although, what I had to tell them would surely bring them more misery, but at least we would be united in the pain, and not separated as it was at present. I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t live with this secret, do this all on my own. I needed more strength than I had, and I knew my family could give it to me.
The medication was really getting to me these past couple of months. Insane mood swings, paranoia, nausea. I could see the look in my children’s faces when I would yell and scream at them, enraged at them for not knowing and enraged at myself for not being able to control my emotions.
When I got the phone call, I was feeling confident. I hadn’t yet spoken much to my husband, so caught up in thoughts of what I would say. I just knew, though, that as soon as I said it, things would be okay again. The phone call got in the way of that.
“Mrs. Harrison?”
“This is she.”
“Mrs. Harrison, this Mr. Carter, I’m Patrick’s principle.”
I froze. Principle? Why would Patrick’s principle be calling? Patrick must be sick! Oh, my gosh. What happened? Was he injured?
The principle continued when he realized I wasn’t about to respond.
“I regret calling you at this time to tell you that Patrick failed to show up for his classes this morning.”
I mustn’t have heard right. Patrick, skip school? That had to be a mistake; he hadn’t done anything wrong his entire life. “He what?”
“He wasn’t in his morning classes, but he attended his afternoon classes which makes me believe that he skipped.”
“Did he now?” The rage that was building in me was so strong. He’d had me worried, petrified that something bad had happened. It’s funny how worry can so quickly turn into anger.
“Surely, you will be speaking with him when he arrives home this afternoon.”
I clenched my fists and attempted to avert the curious gaze of my innocent husband. “Oh I will.”
“Perfect. Well have a good evening Mrs. Harrison.”
“Goodnight.” I attempted to put the phone back on the receiver gently, but was sure I heard a crack in the plaster.
At this time, rage completely took over my body. I don’t even remember the moments between the phone conversation and the conversation with my son. I do remember, however, that at some point, I raced upstairs to take a pill that I hoped would calm my nerves.
As I belted out harsh words, erroneous accusations and unjustified punishments, I caught the looks from my family.
They hated me. Each and every one of them absolutely hated my guts – they couldn’t stand the sight of me. I waited too long. For too long I’d been keeping this secret from my family, attempting to shield them from the pain, only to cause them more pain. There was an enormous gulf between us now, and I wasn’t sure it was something that I could fix, no matter what I tried to do.
When I was diagnosed with the cancer three years ago, I had done the same treatments. I was doing now, and I had been “cured” within months. Things definitely weren’t the same after that, though. I saw things in a different light, different perspective, but I tried really hard. When it came back around Christmas time last year, I knew this time was different. I could feel it. This time, I wouldn’t make it through. I received great support from my doctors who told me that it was possible for me to beat it this time, and that was why I chose to keep it a secret. But as the months got longer, and pain got worse, I knew that they were wrong.
But I waited too long. Too much damage had been done to my family. They will never forgive me. It will never be the same now, no matter how much time I give it. It’s over, it’s all over.

Part One
Monday

She awoke to the sounds of chirping birds, rustling leaves and the sun shining through the curtains. But when she looked outside, she saw a darkened sky, lifeless leaves clinging to a rotted tree, brown grass and nothing but a sea of crows.
Today was the day.
The first thing she did was take a shower. She vigorously washed her hair, clumps of it falling out. It had been so long since she’d washed her hair that the bottom of the tub was dark brown. She used lilac scented shampoo, lathered her body in lilac scented body wash – a gift from her youngest daughter for Christmas.
When she got out of the shower, she stood in front of the mirror for what felt like hours, brushing her hair, blow drying it, curling it. She put rouge on her cheeks, mascara on her eyelashes and a little bit of ruby lipstick.
She dressed herself in her best dress. It was a dress she’d bought years ago for her oldest daughter’s wedding. It was olive green, a wrap around that showed more neck than she’d like, but she’d been complimented on it more than once. She was told that it brought out her green eyes. And the sleeves were short – perfect.
On her way to the kitchen, she stopped at the linen closet and dabbed on some old perfume she hadn’t worn in years, probably since before her husband died in 1984.
In ten minutes, she’d cooked up some bacon and eggs for herself, and sprinkled some sugar on the eggs and syrup on the bacon. She made the table using her best linen and place mats. She put her breakfast on her best dishes.
Once she was finished, she washed her dishes, and put away the table settings. For a moment, she contemplated cleaning the rest of the kitchen; wiping off the dried food from the counters, sweeping the floor that was once yellow tile but was now dark brown. She even considered opening a window, but changed her mind. She had done what she had set out to do.
The next thing on her list was her bedroom. She walked down the dark hallway to her bedroom and locked the door behind her. She thought about keeping it unlocked, but the notion of locking it made her feel safer.
She briskly cleaned her bedroom. She made her bed, vacuumed the carpet, and polished the furniture. The window was open, but she decided to keep it that way, the fresh air was somewhat refreshing.
As she sat on her chair in the corner of the room, she took a deep breath. For a millisecond she thought she may feel fear, maybe hesitation, but she knew this was what she needed to do.
Bending over, she retrieved her tin box from the drawer of the side table, placing it gently on the tabletop and emptying it of its contents. She took the time to place everything properly. The elastic band, the rusted spoon, the lighter, the note and the syringe. She ripped off a piece of tinfoil and closed the box, pushing it aside. She unfolded the note and placed it neatly under the lamp.
She turned on the light, and stared at her work. This would be the last time.
Loading it up, she licked her lips, her heart beginning to race. She could feel the back of her neck beginning to perspire, her hands becoming shaky and clammy.
Taking a deep breath, the needle paused just above the inside of her elbow, she smiled. Putting her head back and closing her eyes, she felt the prick, the fluid surging through her body and she smiled once more.


Part Two
Friday

It started with a few flies but as the smell went from bad to worse, so did the flies, the muscles in my throat contracting as I attempted to hold back the vomit that threatened to crawl up the walls of my stomach. I had to put my hand against the wall to steady myself, something that I had been advised against back at the academy, for evidence purposes. But I was sure they would rather my fingerprints on the wall than my vomit on the floor. As soon as I regained my composure, I pulled out my latex gloves from my back pocket, something you learn to have on you at all times, and slid them over my trembling hands.

I’d received the call from dispatch just as I had been finishing up my lunch with my partner, Graham. They’d received a call from an anonymous neighbor who smelled an odor emanating from the house. He or she hadn’t said anything more. All I needed to know at this point was that the smell was worse than anything I had ever smelled in my life and I wanted it to end.
I knew that before I could continue, I needed to get some fresh air. Turning back towards the front door, I left the swarm of flies and stepped out into the crisp fall sunshine. I took a few deep breaths and lit a cigarette. I know this isn’t considered ‘fresh air’ but when you’ve been on the force for as short a period as I have, you have your vices to cope with the stress and long hours.

I’d only been on the force a couple of months, freshly graduated from the academy. Since then, I’d been doing traffic stops and patrol, but they sent me to the house because normally a bad smell meant a dead animal. Nothing to worry about, but they thought someone should check it out just to be sure. Normally, Graham would have come with me, as he’d been on the force much longer than me, but he had his daughter’s dance recital. It was flattering in a way, to know they trusted me enough to do something like this on my own. It could have also been my initiation to the force – send him on a wild goose chase and bury him in paperwork to his ears, then he would be a real cop. Also, it is rare that a call like this was anything but that – a call.

But, as I stood there, I knew that what was coming was bad. It wasn’t experience that told me this, it was my gut. Instinctively, I knew that what I was about to find would not be pleasant. I butted out my cigarette on my boot, spit on the tip and put it in my pocket.

I noticed then that the neighborhood was eerily quiet. No honking horns, no backfiring engines, screaming children or barking dogs. I could tell by the fallen roof shingles, peeling paint, and bent and tattered metal fences that this neighborhood was one that preferred to stay off the radar.

I popped a piece of Trident gum into my mouth before I reluctantly turned back towards the house. I walked with a purpose to the back of the house, where I found nothing but a dirty kitchen, flies and a staircase.

The staircase looked like it was well used, and probably hadn’t been repaired since the house had been built decades earlier. There was a rug that travelled the length of the staircase, the middle of it worn out from years of use.
Placing my left foot on the step, I slowly put my weight on it, praying I wouldn’t fall through the floor. When it proved sturdy, I travelled up the remainder of the stairs, making sure to keep my hands off the railing. Although I was wearing gloves, I still felt dirty simply thinking about touching the rotting wood.

When I got to the top of the stairs, the smell enveloped me like a cloak. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe, and I knew that my lunch was ready to visit. I ran into the closest room and threw open the window, spewing the contents of my stomach, watching as it fell to the pavement, making a splattering sound when it landed.

I reached to the back of my uniform and ripped out a piece of my shirt and placed it in front of my mouth like a mask. Taking a deep breath, I walked back into the hall.
The hallway was dark; all the doors except for the one I’d just walked out of were closed. The carpet on the stairs continued the length of the hallway, stopping just outside the door of the last bedroom. There were cobwebs in every corner, and the walls seemed to have a thick layer of dust. The yellowing wallpaper was peeling at the corners and baseboards. There was water damage on most of the walls, evidence of a leaky ceiling.

Procrastinating, I walked down the hallway and opened each door as I passed, every room an exact replica of the one before. Empty. Barren walls, floors stripped of any carpet or flooring, and the windows were covered with painted cardboard.

When I finally reached the last room, I could hear a buzzing sound coming from the other side of the door. Putting my ear to the door, I strained to hear what it could be. It was seconds before I realized it was flies. Swarms of them. With that, I knew what I would find on the other side of the door.

As a precaution, I unclipped my piece from my holster, cocked it and held it to my side as I tried the doorknob. Locked. Whoever was behind that door either didn’t want to be found or hadn’t meant to die.

I took a few steps back, held my gun in position, and with all my force kicked open the door. The door flew open, the entire frame coming with it. Just as I’d expected, a swarm of flies flew out, wrapping me in a black cloud as they hurriedly exited the room, looking for a point of exit.

At first, I didn’t see anything. Through the darkened curtains, sunshine attempted to force its way through, filling the room was an eerie, heavenly glow. Dust and particles became evident in the light, and it took a couple of seconds for my eyes to adjust.

The room was immaculate. Clean, spotless even – its furniture shiny from polish, the bed made as if in a hotel. There was no dust, no clutter.

Somewhat disappointed that there was nothing there, I began to turn around and head out of the room to find the cause of the smell. I wasn’t about to take off my mask and follow the smell though, I would find it in time.

That’s when I saw her. She was sitting, slumped in her chair in the back of the room. Her eyes were closed and her head rested heavily against her shoulder. One hand lay carelessly in her lap, the other one straightened along the armrest of the chair.

Slowly I walked over to her, noticing the deep lines in her face, the bones protruding from her skin. Her hair was thin and dry as straw. She wore a lovely olive green dress, ironed and pressed. Her face was made up, with just enough make up for her to appear somewhat lively. Then I saw the cause of the death - the needle sticking pointedly out of her arm. On the lamp table beside her lay a spoon, a lighter and a baggy with a white substance – most likely heroin, and a note.

Shaking my head sadly, I picked up the note.

To whoever finds me,

I am not a pathetic woman. I am not the type of woman who wants to give up on life. Life has given up on me. I have been suffering from addiction for 35 years. It has taken hold of me by my soul and I cannot seem to fight the demon.

To my children,

Anna, John, Alice and George, I love you. I want you to know how very much I appreciate you and love you. I sincerely apologize for the pain which I have caused you in my lifetime. I wish I could sufficiently express to you how horrible I feel for burdening you for all these years.

After all these years, I am done. I am tired, sick, and old. Over the years, I have tried everything, but I was never able to get away. It has attached itself to me like a plague. There is no hope left. I just want to be free from this.

Please don’t worry; I am with God now, dancing with the angels.

- Mom


I returned the note to its original place and smiled to myself as I noticed for the first time that her mouth was in the form a smile. She looked so peaceful, so at rest.

She was finally free.

Recently, my boyfriend and I went to see a movie. Once the previews had ended and the lights had been completely shut off, I saw two girls come into the theater. I watched as they searched, practically blind, for a seat in a theater that was packed to the gills. I remember thinking, what happened to that man? The man who used to show you to your seat with a flashlight? The man that was polite enough to help you out, make sure you found a seat and weren’t hurt in the process.
It ended up being a great movie, great plot, great characters, excellent storyline. At the end of the movie, I was so touched, I wanted to get up and clap, a sort of standing ovation, if you will. I waited until the credits started rolling and just as I was about to gear up and give it my all, the lights went on and everyone started getting up. Suddenly, I thought to myself, when did this happen? When did we turn into these people? I started thinking about all the other things that have changed in our lives, things that have been pushed aside and forgotten.
I’ll give you another example. Halloween. When I was a kid, which wasn’t too long ago, I remember people gearing up for Halloween weeks and weeks in advance. Houses were decorated, candy was bought, people made an effort. Moms would stay home from work or come home early to prepare their children for the big night, the night they’d been waiting 365 days for. Candy would be served in class, it would be one day out of the whole year where classes were focused primarily on learning and teaching, and we could dress up and play games.
Today, it’s a whole different ball game. Not only does that not seem to happen in schools anymore, but teachers are serving healthy snacks and promoting active living on a day that should be reserved for witches and ghouls. Nowadays, moms are too busy with their work to come home early and help their children prepare for their special night. Kids are rushed into their costumes, rushed around the neighborhood and then sent home, where their parents go through their candy and pick out the ones rich with sugar. And don’t get me started on the neighborhoods. Since when did people decide that it wasn’t worth decorating anymore? That it wasn’t worth seeing the looks on the children’s faces when they came knocking at your door to say those three special words? Is it because now that you’re all grown up, you don’t care about what people did for you, you don’t care about giving back to your community?
During the Christmas season, there were coat checks, where you could put your coat while you shopped so you didn’t die of heat, and it was free. Now, you have to pay to have someone hold your coat. These days, the word free is a terrifying word. When you hear free, you think something is up, that there’s a catch. And more than likely, there is.
And Christmas! Oh, I’m sorry, I mean – the holidays. When in God’s name did that happen? Why did we have to abandon the name of our holiday? Because it’s politically incorrect? Who decided it was politically incorrect? Who decides what is offensive and what isn’t? Is it offensive because the Jewish celebrate Honnika and the Chinese celebrate The Chinese New Year? Well, as a catholic, I think it’s offensive that I have to stop using the name of my celebration because it is deemed “politically incorrect”.
Back when I was a kid, things were so much simpler. People were so much nicer. When you went into a store, you were greeted with a friendly smile; you knew the sales people were there to help you. If a sales person approached you, you didn’t look for the nearest exit, and they didn’t follow you around the store to ‘make sure they were there if you needed help’. People genuinely cared about whether or not your shopping experience was pleasant. Now, it’s all about making a quick buck. No one cares about your shopping experience, no one cares about your concerns. As long as millions of people are still shopping at their stores, they couldn’t care less about some Jack who wasn’t treated right. And sales people only care about themselves, and what they can get out of you. They don’t care if they sell you what you’re actually looking for, if the clothes look good or fit right, they just want to make the sale so they have a bigger paycheck at the end of the month.
When did we become these money hungry, anti-tradition, effortless people? When did we forget about the simplicities of life? When did life become so hectic? So boring?
Maybe it’s my age, maybe it’s just that I’m getting older and things are changing in perspective, but there are some things in life that you shouldn’t let go of. Things you shouldn’t take for granted. And I think these days all people care about are making money, making money and making more money. No one cares about tradition, no one cares about the children or the people you are paying for their services. Customers aren’t appreciated – we’re being treated like they’re doing us a favor.

Maybe that’s life. Maybe that’s the evolution of things. But I think it’s sad. Sad that things are the way they are, and sad at how fast it happened. To think about the fact that 10 years ago, people clapped in theaters and decked out for Halloween, I hate to think about what it will be like ten years from now. Will traditions like Halloween be completely forgotten?
What about the theaters? Will we even have people to take our tickets and direct us into which screening room we go to?

I hate to think about it, I hate to think about the type of people we will be by then. I hate to think about the things our children won’t have, what we had, just because people got lazy and greedy.

A little cubicle - a rectangular box carrying people. No one knows anyone, yet we sit side by side. Your neighbour doesn't look at you, nor do you look at her, as you desperatly try not to touch each other. People sit randomly, avoid sitting next to another person until absolutely necessary. No one looks into the eyes of the other but we are all united in some way. We all mindlessly follow the same rules - elderilies, children and the disabled sit up front. The one inhabiting the front seat gives it up for the children. Is this generosity or the undeniable need to follow an order?

Eyes are an organ. They are vital organs that allow us to see. We see objects, we see circumstance, we see people. Seeing creates emotion, and without emotion we are not people. We use them to speak to people, to see where we are going, to eat, to feel. When we close them, we fall asleep, when we open them, we awake. We absorb information through reading and watching TV and movies - all with our eyes. If we didn't have eyes, it would be more difficult to assess people, to dress, to read, to understand. Eyes are important to human kind -to live and survive.
In caveman times, eyes were used for the ultimate survival - to find and catch food, and to see danger. Without eyes, they wouldn't have lived very long.
When you think about it, eyes are very important. They help you live everyday life - to me, they are vital.
It's mind boggling to know that something that can be so important to daily living can be so beautiful? Eyes are the focal point of the face, they are different colours, different shapes and sizes. For a lot of people, eyes are their primary feature. Eyes can attract, distract, turn on, turn off, judge or love. Eyes show emotion, show the depths of your soul. How are we so perfectly formed? All our features are used for a vital function, however, they serve to make us more beautiful. Perhaps it is a creater larger than us, or perhaps it is society, and the develoment of human kind. To those scientists out there, who would believe that it just happened this way, that there is a scientific explaination for it all. However, I believe that it is just a peice of the puzzle. A puzzle bigger than me, than you, than everything.

Mind’s Eye
By Samantha Hardy


It’s three in the morning and he’s finally left. I’ve been lying here, waiting for this moment. I’ve been pretending to sleep so I wouldn’t have to have a conversation. Everyone probably thinks I have some kind of sleep disorder - falling asleep right after sex. If guys were smart, which I get the feeling this guy is, they would get up, get dressed and get out when they are supposed to.
I wait with my eyes closed tight, my body still, until I hear the front door snap shut. I can still smell his cologne – he put way too much on. For a second I lay there, my eyes open, staring at the moonlight leaking through my window. I’ve officially lost count.
Sitting up in bed, I rest my feet lightly on the ground and hold my head in my hands. Another sleepless night, I know. Originally, I’d gone to the bar to drink myself to sleep, but that didn’t turn out like I’d planned, which nothing ever really does.
Across the room, I pour myself some brandy and light a smoke. I lean against the gray walls of my bedroom, staring up at the ceiling, taking long, satisfying drags. A drink and a smoke after sex, this is probably as close to perfect as it can get.
I have to admit though, it was pretty good. I might even consider calling this one back – maybe. Probably not. Yeah, right.
Four hours. Four hours until I have to get up and go to work. Four hours until I have to spend eight hours behind some cubicle editing letters and speeches that are so terrible, the writer should just go and off himself before his career does it for him.
Brute comes over and nudges my leg with his nose.
Oh, Brute. You’re the perfect man, you’re obedient, you’re sweet and kind, and you don’t have any mommy issues. Too bad I can’t tell my mom about you. If she found out my perfect “man” was a boxer, she’d have an aneurism.
I open my night table drawer and search through it looking for something that will knock me out. Tylenol, Advil, Valium, Lunesta, Sonata, Clamazapan– gotcha! I pop two Clamazapan into my mouth, wash it down with the last of my brandy and crawl back to bed.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing I know, I’m being awoken by a choking sensation. I literally feel like I’m being strangled. I wake up, gasping for air and feel for my neck. There’s something wrapped around it! I tug and tug, yank and yank, and finally I’m set free, just as I’m sure I’m about to pass out. For a minute, I gasp for air. As I rub my neck, I look down at the red and blue striped tie in my hands. How the hell did that get wrapped around my neck? John must have forgotten it when he left. Or was it Jack?
I get up and go to the bathroom for a drink of water. I put the tie down beside the sink, making a mental note to put it in the drawer with all the other things they’ve forgotten.
I take a few sips of water and decide it’s not worth going back to sleep. Although I feel groggy and half dead, I will have to get up in about an hour to go to work. Maybe I should call in sick.
I light a smoke while I run the toothbrush through the water and smother it with toothpaste. I rest my smoke on the side of the sink while I brush my teeth. Toothpaste and cigarettes - my favorite breakfast.
Deciding to dress before I indulge in yesterday’s coffee, I grab the tie. Without warning, a surge of electricity courses through my body and flashes of light fill the room. Suddenly, I can’t see. It’s dark. All I can see is a figure, a large figure, about three times my size. The figure smells like moth balls and like the stuff mom puts on my ears when they’re infected. I feel sick to my stomach. Hands come out of nowhere, wrapping themselves around my neck. The hands are strong…and thick. I can’t get them off. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I think I’m lying down. It feels like there is an elephant lying on top of me. I’m suffocating. I know what is going to happen, deep down I know, but I don’t know. I don’t know anything.
With another surge of electricity and bright lights, I’m back in my bathroom, the lights above the mirror blinding me. I look down to the see the tie on the floor, crumpled and dilapidated.

I return from work that day more worn out than ever. I can barely keep my eyes open, my head is pounding and my body feels like it’s been shoved in a shredder. I throw myself into my Lazy Boy, Brute joining me on my lap. Although I tell him over and over that he’s not a lap dog, he doesn’t seem to take notice. That’s okay, today I don’t mind.
I lean my head back on the headrest and close my eyes. I don’t mean to fall asleep, and I don’t feel myself doing it, it just seems to happen out of nowhere.
I wake up, what feels like minutes later, my face wet from drool, my mouth like cotton. Slowly, I wipe away my saliva, and as I get up to go for a drink, I notice something in my hand. In a haze, I raise my right arm onto my lap and open my hand. It’s a small pink ballerina, like something out of a child’s jewelry box.
Where did it come from? I don’t own a jewelry box like the one this ballerina would belong to, I haven’t seen one of these since I was a kid. How could I have gotten something like this while I was sleeping? Was I sleepwalking?
Somewhat disturbed, like all things, I choose to push it to the back of my mind. It’s too confusing to think about, and honestly, I don’t want to know.
I put the ballerina on the coffee table and make myself a drink – a drop of Pepsi with two shots of whiskey, no ice. I sit on the couch, swishing the liquid around in my mouth, eyeing the mysterious ballerina.
Still watching it, as if it may get up and walk away, I light a smoke and take long, slow drags as I watch.
Fed up, feeling slightly delusional, I get up to throw the figure in the trash. As I wrap my fingers around the tiny toy, a surge of electricity courses through my body and the room, once again, fills with flashing lights.
Suddenly, I hear the soft tinking of a nursery rhyme. I look to my left, and see a white box covered in flowers, open and singing its song on a small table.
I realize that I have no idea where I am, but this music, this soft melody, is drawing me in. I am unable to concentrate on anything else, feeling suddenly calm and serene.
My heart thumps in my chest when I hear the pounding of footsteps from somewhere behind me. I hold my breath, hoping that if I hold it long enough, and wish hard enough, the footsteps will pass my room. But, I know in my heart that this is not true, somehow, I know that this isn’t the first time I have been scared like this.
The door swings open, and as if surprised, I swing myself around, knocking over my jewelry box. It falls to the ground, the lid ripping off, the beautiful ballerina rolling underneath the bed. I wish I were the ballerina.
The steps become louder. I can’t see the figure, just a large shadow slithering into the room. Once again, that noxious smell fills the room – the smell makes me sick to my stomach. Large hands grip me at my waist and I can feel its hand slide up the back of my shirt.
I’m thrown back into reality. My hands are shaking and I’m nauseous, the stench of alcohol and musk quickly dissipating. I look around, unable to find the tiny ballerina anywhere. Suddenly, I come to the realization that my face is wet. I reach up to touch my cheeks – they’re wet. Are those tears? I couldn’t possibly be crying, I haven’t cried in over ten years!
Shakily, I make my way over to the kitchen and pour myself a straight-up whiskey. I slam it back and pour myself another. Without being fully aware, lost in my confusion, I light a smoke and sit at the kitchen table. Somewhere in the background I can hear a radio DJ blabbering on about something, and Brute at my feet, rubbing his nose. But I am frozen, unable to pry my eyes away from my mind’s eye, unable to hear anything but the tinkering of that jewelry box.
“…The story of a young boy who couldn’t remember his biological parents, even though he’d been adopted at the age of five.”
These words pull me out of my dreamland, enticing me. For a split second, I think I feel some sort of recognition, some type of déjà-vu, but it’s gone before I can grasp it.
Angrily, I switch off the radio. I need to get drunk. I quickly feed Brute and head out the door to my usual watering hole down the road, where I am greeted with familiar smells of alcohol and sweat. I inhale deeply – I’m home.

It’s the next morning and he’s still in my bed. I don’t know who he is or when he’s leaving, but I know how he got here and where I got him. I don’t know because I remember, I know because this is what I do.
It’s not that I intend to do it; it’s not that I deliberately go out seeking a male companion; it just seems to happen – every time.
Without warning, he stirs and rolls himself over, taking his first large breath of the day. He opens his eyes halfway and smiles. “’Morning, sunshine.” He moves to stroke my hair, but I hop out of bed, wrapping the sheet around my naked body.
Ew. Why is he still here? I should put a note on my door warding off men who think I brought them home for anything but sex.
“You were mighty drunk last night, love.” The man says to me, following me with his eyes as I walk towards the washroom.
I say nothing. Something about this guy gives me the creeps, makes my skin crawl.
“What’s your name, love?”
I stare at him for a few seconds, and then turn my back on him, shutting the bathroom door.
What the hell is going on with me? I’m having these crazy dreams, sleepwalking, picking up strange men – well, stranger than normal.
I’m breaking down – that’s it. I’m having a nervous breakdown, completely losing it. I might as well put myself in a loony bin now.
Lost in thought, I don’t pay attention as I pull down my pants and sit on the toilet. I stare at the wall as I pee, and just as I’m about to pull up my pants, I notice something peculiar.
I sit back down to get a closer look and notice tiny circular rash-like spots on the insides of my thighs. What the hell are those?
I walk over to the sink and light myself a smoke as I prepare to brush my teeth. As I take my second drag, I look into the mirror and notice my disheveled look. As I suck on the cigarette, I watch as the cherry burns red, and it dawns on me. I rip the cigarette from my mouth and move it towards my bare legs. What the –
Rage fills my insides as I stare at the cigarette burns on my legs, looking from them to the door.
“You sick fuck!” I yell, practically knocking down the door. “Get the fuck out, right now!”
The man looks at my naked second half, a look of alarm in his eyes. “What did I do?”
“This,” I point violently to the burns on my legs.
He laughs nervously. “I didn’t do that.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask angrily. “Then who the fuck did?”
The man looks angry now. “I don’t fucking know, you tell me. You’re the freaking nutcase.”
I gawk at him. “Get the hell out, right now!” I run over to him and begin pushing his half naked body out my bedroom door.
“Relax,” he says, annoyed. He grabs his shirt and tie and heads down the stairs. Then he turns back to me, rage in his eyes and says, “Fuck you.”
I grab a shoe, the closest thing to me, and throw it as hard as I can, missing his head by inches.
Without another word, he stalks out the door, slamming it behind him.
What the hell is going on?