La mia Scrittura

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.