Where has all the writing gone?
11 years ago
Saturday, 27 February 2010
'Death is better than life', my chilling new story .......(and yes I'm one disturbed bitch)
Death is better than life.
John liked to work late at night, that’s just the way it was. He needed silence; he needed to hear his thoughts, his fears, and his desires. Sometimes, he would just sit in his porch and listen to the sounds of the night. Rain, wind, a fox rummaging through a bin bag, black cabs unloading drunken twenty something’s. He had written several of his best sellers at night. John could find inspiration in anything. Correction, John used to be able to find inspiration in anything. Now it seemed that whatever he wrote just wasn’t good enough. People had high expectations for his next novel. His most recent novel Choose had sold 300,000 copies worldwide; it had been made into a film with Hollywood favourites playing his victims.
He had managed to write four chapters of this new novel, that’s all. His hands were sweaty as he sat staring at the one sentence he had typed of chapter five, the sentence he deleted over and over again, and then re-typed because he couldn’t think of anything better. John knew what the problem was, he was feeling unbelievably guilty, he couldn’t shake the feeling off. It was all about money, he had too much of it, stupid amounts of money. He didn’t deserve it, he wasn’t that good a writer, he’d just been lucky. He used to write for fun, for enjoyment. Now he had to keep his agent sweet, he had to satisfy his fans. He wanted out. This novel would be the last thing he wrote, if he ever managed to complete it.
Of course his wife wouldn’t let him give up writing. Money, holidays, material things all mattered to her. He smirked as he thought about the woman he had met twenty years ago, she would beg him to fuck her on the back seats of her mom’s Fiesta, she would run from taxi’s to avoid paying, she would dance laughing in the rain. That woman was long gone. He was scared his kids would change too. Danny was too young to understand money and fame, but Molly, well Molly was becoming more and more like her mother every day.
Whenever he got writers block he would log onto the message forum on his website and read the latest comments. One fan in particular, death is better than life he called himself, seemed to be obsessed with John’s novels. This guy would regularly post messages to other fans, ‘in Choose which way would you prefer to die?’ or comments like ‘just watched Choose for the third time today. I fucking love the bit where Catherine gets beheaded. Man I’d love to rub her blood all over my hard cock’. John was thankful he would never have to meet the sick bastard.
John was thinking about calling it a night, but he was finding it hard to sleep next to his wife lately. He had stayed up late every night for the past month just to get away from her. Sometimes he would masturbate in the pool whilst he thought about the young blonde across the street with the nice arse and big tits. It had been raining hard all night; John poured a Jack Daniels and stood watching the rain through the kitchen window. He was waiting for inspiration to strike. Nothing. He poured another Jack and turned his back to the window. His cat walked across the window ledge, its wail made John drop his glass. “Fuck. Stupid cat”.
John knelt down and began to pick up the pieces of broken glass. He could hear a faint tapping at the front door. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, it was probably the wind knocking the hanging basket against the porch window. John sighed as he began turning the lights off; it was time for him to lie down next to the miserable bitch. On the third step he heard the tapping again. He turned and put the hall light on, and unlocked the heavy oak front door. The porch was cold, he looked through the glass, nothing was there, but he could still hear the tapping. It was really pissing him off. Pushing his feet into his slippers he opened the porch door, and stepped outside into the rain. The hanging basket was swaying in the wind; John took the basket down and put it on the floor. Dirt spilled out all over his slippers “shit” he hissed as he crouched down and began pushing dirt off his feet.
When he looked up he saw a tall, stocky man dressed in black standing at the end of his drive. “Hello?” John said with a stammer. The man didn’t reply, he started walking slowly towards John. “Do I know you?”John asked. The man was walking faster now, John realised he was wearing something over his face. It looked like some sort of pig mask. The man was reaching inside his jacket pocket. John felt like he was glued to the spot. One of his worst fears was getting burgled. Finally he found his feet, and started to shuffle backwards fumbling with the porch door handle. “Get the fuck away from my house, I’m calling the police” John shouted.
John felt the door swing open; he turned and ran into the porch. As John turned the key in the lock the stranger pressed his masked face against the double glazed window pane. The stranger’s breath left circular patterns against the glass; the stranger tapped the glass lightly. John scurried backwards “I’m calling the police” he stuttered again. John slammed the door shut, and searched in his pocket for his mobile phone. He ran up the stairs and flung open his bedroom door. He grabbed his wife’s shoulders and began to shake her. “Wake up Karen” he whispered.
Karen sat up in the darkness “What’s going on, what time is it?” she croaked confused. “Shhhh keep your voice down!” John hissed. “What the fuck’s going on John?”
“There’s someone trying to get in the house! You need to get the kids and go down to the utility room.” John said. “Have you called the police?” Karen asked, her voice trembling. “I can’t find my fucking mobile!” John cried. Karen reached across the bedside table for her phone. “Karen, no, listen to me get the kids to safety, give me the phone”.
“The kids, John, the kids” Karen said shaking her head. “Karen, I need you to be brave, do you understand? Now go!” Karen crept across the hall towards her son’s bedroom. She scooped her sleeping son into her arms and fumbled through the darkness. She inched across the hallway and carefully opened her daughter’s bedroom door. “Molly, Molly wake up” she said.
“Mom?”
“Listen you’ve got to be quiet. Someone’s trying to get in the house; we need to go down to the utility room. Come on we need to go” Karen said.
Trembling, Karen led the way through the darkness, her daughter following behind with heaving breaths. They tiptoed down the stairs. The sound of shattering glass coming from downstairs made Molly lose her footing, she grabbed at the banister to steady herself. “Dad!” Molly squeaked.
Karen turned to face her daughter “run.”
As they sprinted for the utility room Danny woke up. He flung his head back and started to grumble. “Shush love it’s ok, it’s ok” Karen said. Karen looked around the room for somewhere to hide the children. She put Danny in the cat basket and covered him with a towel. There was nowhere for Molly to hide, at fourteen she was too long to fit into the cupboards she used to hide in a few years ago. Karen wheeled the tumble dryer across the floor and pushed it against the door. She looked around for other stuff to push up against the door. The bastard was not getting to her kids, no way. She hoped to God that John had called the police already.
John moved against the cool walls of his pitch black study desperately searching for the light switch. He could hear the intruder breathing as he hid in the shadows. John wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead; he was trying to think of what he could use as a weapon. John’s fingertips found the light switch. The intruder stood next to John’s computer. The sudden bright light stung John’s eyes; he squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light. Terror raced through his veins as he saw the pig mask in the yellow light.
John cowered in disbelief as the man snorted like a pig over and over again. “Stop it, stop it!” John shouted with his hands covering his ears. “What do you want from us?”John screamed. The pig man crawled on all fours towards John. John felt a rush of adrenalin, he ran for his desk drawer knowing that a pen knife was buried somewhere deep inside. John pulled the drawer from his desk and tipped the contents out. Pens and post it notes and half finished manuscripts decorated the marble floor. “Just take whatever you want and leave us alone” John pleaded.
The pig man stood up slowly “I don’t want your belongings I want you dead” his deep voice echoed around the room. John reached for the cordless phone on his desk and began to dial. The pig man lunged at the desk and ripped the phones base from the socket. “I have money, lots of money, I’ll open the safe, you can take what you want. If you leave us alone I promise I won’t tell a soul. I promise” John begged. John backed away; he felt the radiator against his back. The pig man lunged at John and grabbed him by the throat. John felt the pig man’s hot breath in his ear. The pig man whispered in John’s ear. John’s face contorted with despair, “no, I won’t do it, you’re sick you need help, I can get you some help” John spluttered.
The pig man reached inside his long black jacket and pulled out a knife. He pushed up John’s sleeve and sliced across John’s forearm. John wailed in agony, his blood dripped onto the floor like raindrops. “If you don’t do it I will kill your family while you watch. Then I will kill you” the pig man’s voice was pure evil. John shook his head; the thought of what he was about to do made him heave. John bent down and clutched his stomach as vomit rushed out in hot, fragrant waves.
The pig man grabbed John by the arm and pulled him upright. John sobbed as he was dragged along the hall way. “Remember, do as I say and nobody gets hurt” the pig man hissed.
John leant his head against the utility door, his knees knocked together and his arse twitched. He glanced behind him at the pig man who stood in the hallway, the moonlight reflecting off his blade. John tried to open the door “Karen it’s me. He’s gone, I scared him off” John croaked.
“Where’s the police?” Karen squeaked. “I called them, they’re on their way. I caught him going through my desk drawer, he ran off when I put the study light on.” John’s heart pounded as he stood waiting for his wife to open the door.
Karen pulled away the tumble dryer and opened the door. She wrapped her arms around her husband “thank God you’re ok” she cried. When she pulled back she noticed the blood on his sleeve. “John you’re bleeding! What happened?”
Karen tore through the washing basket looking for a towel. “I caught my arm on some broken glass; he knocked the lamp over when he was going through my drawer.”
Karen wrapped the towel around John’s arm “What did he want? Money?” Karen asked. “Maybe, I don’t know. Maybe he was looking for my new manuscript”
Karen swallowed. There was something different about John. After fifteen years of marriage she knew when he was lying. John was staring right through her; his eyes were narrow and dark. Molly noticed it too “dad, what’s wrong?” she asked. John stood staring at his family in silence. “We need to get the children to bed John; I don’t want them up while we speak to the police”. Karen bent over to pick Danny up.
“Put him down” John hissed. “What? What are you going on about, he needs to go to bed” Karen stuttered.
“I said put him down”
“John you’re scaring me”
John grabbed Karen by her hair and began to pull her out the room. “Dad! What are you doing?” Molly screamed. “Stay here Molly and look after Danny, shut the door” Karen shouted.
Molly clambered towards the door. She sat with her back against the door and sobbed silently as salty tears trickled into her dry mouth. John pushed Karen along the hallway; she slapped at him and tried to struggle free from his grip. “John get off, stop it, stop it”.
John took Karen into the study. He pushed her down to the ground, her face squished against the cold floor. “Why are you doing this John? Why?” Karen whimpered. Karen noticed a puddle of blood by John’s desk, on the floor next to the puddle laid a crimson coated pen knife. Broken glass from the desk lamp surrounded her. The windows were closed and remained intact; there were no signs of forced entry in the room.
John held a firm hand on Karen’s head; he used his other hand to pull at her pyjama bottoms. Karen screamed and wriggled. “Please don’t, please don’t” she whispered. John forced himself inside; he turned his head and looked at the pig man standing by the door. The pig man removed his mask and John saw his identity for the very first time. A slow smile crept along the man’s face. John stared at the familiar face, a sly smile spread across his face; he grabbed at his wife’s hair and started to snort.
“Why are you doing this, please stop, please stop” Karen said.
John snorted and grunted. “He told me to do it, he’ll kill you all if I don’t” John laughed and licked his lips. “What do you mean?” Karen shrieked.
“Look he’s watching he’s nodding in approval” John whispered.
“There’s no one here” Karen screamed. Karen tried to inch towards the pen knife. John forced his weight on top of her; he reached his arm out and grabbed the pen knife. He forced Karen on to her back, and straddled her. Karen twisted her face to the side to avoid her husband’s deadly stare. “Death is better than life” John whispered. He thrust the knife into his wife’s throat until her body moved no more.
John liked to work late at night, that’s just the way it was. He needed silence; he needed to hear his thoughts, his fears, and his desires. Sometimes, he would just sit in his porch and listen to the sounds of the night. Rain, wind, a fox rummaging through a bin bag, black cabs unloading drunken twenty something’s. He had written several of his best sellers at night. John could find inspiration in anything. Correction, John used to be able to find inspiration in anything. Now it seemed that whatever he wrote just wasn’t good enough. People had high expectations for his next novel. His most recent novel Choose had sold 300,000 copies worldwide; it had been made into a film with Hollywood favourites playing his victims.
He had managed to write four chapters of this new novel, that’s all. His hands were sweaty as he sat staring at the one sentence he had typed of chapter five, the sentence he deleted over and over again, and then re-typed because he couldn’t think of anything better. John knew what the problem was, he was feeling unbelievably guilty, he couldn’t shake the feeling off. It was all about money, he had too much of it, stupid amounts of money. He didn’t deserve it, he wasn’t that good a writer, he’d just been lucky. He used to write for fun, for enjoyment. Now he had to keep his agent sweet, he had to satisfy his fans. He wanted out. This novel would be the last thing he wrote, if he ever managed to complete it.
Of course his wife wouldn’t let him give up writing. Money, holidays, material things all mattered to her. He smirked as he thought about the woman he had met twenty years ago, she would beg him to fuck her on the back seats of her mom’s Fiesta, she would run from taxi’s to avoid paying, she would dance laughing in the rain. That woman was long gone. He was scared his kids would change too. Danny was too young to understand money and fame, but Molly, well Molly was becoming more and more like her mother every day.
Whenever he got writers block he would log onto the message forum on his website and read the latest comments. One fan in particular, death is better than life he called himself, seemed to be obsessed with John’s novels. This guy would regularly post messages to other fans, ‘in Choose which way would you prefer to die?’ or comments like ‘just watched Choose for the third time today. I fucking love the bit where Catherine gets beheaded. Man I’d love to rub her blood all over my hard cock’. John was thankful he would never have to meet the sick bastard.
John was thinking about calling it a night, but he was finding it hard to sleep next to his wife lately. He had stayed up late every night for the past month just to get away from her. Sometimes he would masturbate in the pool whilst he thought about the young blonde across the street with the nice arse and big tits. It had been raining hard all night; John poured a Jack Daniels and stood watching the rain through the kitchen window. He was waiting for inspiration to strike. Nothing. He poured another Jack and turned his back to the window. His cat walked across the window ledge, its wail made John drop his glass. “Fuck. Stupid cat”.
John knelt down and began to pick up the pieces of broken glass. He could hear a faint tapping at the front door. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, it was probably the wind knocking the hanging basket against the porch window. John sighed as he began turning the lights off; it was time for him to lie down next to the miserable bitch. On the third step he heard the tapping again. He turned and put the hall light on, and unlocked the heavy oak front door. The porch was cold, he looked through the glass, nothing was there, but he could still hear the tapping. It was really pissing him off. Pushing his feet into his slippers he opened the porch door, and stepped outside into the rain. The hanging basket was swaying in the wind; John took the basket down and put it on the floor. Dirt spilled out all over his slippers “shit” he hissed as he crouched down and began pushing dirt off his feet.
When he looked up he saw a tall, stocky man dressed in black standing at the end of his drive. “Hello?” John said with a stammer. The man didn’t reply, he started walking slowly towards John. “Do I know you?”John asked. The man was walking faster now, John realised he was wearing something over his face. It looked like some sort of pig mask. The man was reaching inside his jacket pocket. John felt like he was glued to the spot. One of his worst fears was getting burgled. Finally he found his feet, and started to shuffle backwards fumbling with the porch door handle. “Get the fuck away from my house, I’m calling the police” John shouted.
John felt the door swing open; he turned and ran into the porch. As John turned the key in the lock the stranger pressed his masked face against the double glazed window pane. The stranger’s breath left circular patterns against the glass; the stranger tapped the glass lightly. John scurried backwards “I’m calling the police” he stuttered again. John slammed the door shut, and searched in his pocket for his mobile phone. He ran up the stairs and flung open his bedroom door. He grabbed his wife’s shoulders and began to shake her. “Wake up Karen” he whispered.
Karen sat up in the darkness “What’s going on, what time is it?” she croaked confused. “Shhhh keep your voice down!” John hissed. “What the fuck’s going on John?”
“There’s someone trying to get in the house! You need to get the kids and go down to the utility room.” John said. “Have you called the police?” Karen asked, her voice trembling. “I can’t find my fucking mobile!” John cried. Karen reached across the bedside table for her phone. “Karen, no, listen to me get the kids to safety, give me the phone”.
“The kids, John, the kids” Karen said shaking her head. “Karen, I need you to be brave, do you understand? Now go!” Karen crept across the hall towards her son’s bedroom. She scooped her sleeping son into her arms and fumbled through the darkness. She inched across the hallway and carefully opened her daughter’s bedroom door. “Molly, Molly wake up” she said.
“Mom?”
“Listen you’ve got to be quiet. Someone’s trying to get in the house; we need to go down to the utility room. Come on we need to go” Karen said.
Trembling, Karen led the way through the darkness, her daughter following behind with heaving breaths. They tiptoed down the stairs. The sound of shattering glass coming from downstairs made Molly lose her footing, she grabbed at the banister to steady herself. “Dad!” Molly squeaked.
Karen turned to face her daughter “run.”
As they sprinted for the utility room Danny woke up. He flung his head back and started to grumble. “Shush love it’s ok, it’s ok” Karen said. Karen looked around the room for somewhere to hide the children. She put Danny in the cat basket and covered him with a towel. There was nowhere for Molly to hide, at fourteen she was too long to fit into the cupboards she used to hide in a few years ago. Karen wheeled the tumble dryer across the floor and pushed it against the door. She looked around for other stuff to push up against the door. The bastard was not getting to her kids, no way. She hoped to God that John had called the police already.
John moved against the cool walls of his pitch black study desperately searching for the light switch. He could hear the intruder breathing as he hid in the shadows. John wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead; he was trying to think of what he could use as a weapon. John’s fingertips found the light switch. The intruder stood next to John’s computer. The sudden bright light stung John’s eyes; he squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light. Terror raced through his veins as he saw the pig mask in the yellow light.
John cowered in disbelief as the man snorted like a pig over and over again. “Stop it, stop it!” John shouted with his hands covering his ears. “What do you want from us?”John screamed. The pig man crawled on all fours towards John. John felt a rush of adrenalin, he ran for his desk drawer knowing that a pen knife was buried somewhere deep inside. John pulled the drawer from his desk and tipped the contents out. Pens and post it notes and half finished manuscripts decorated the marble floor. “Just take whatever you want and leave us alone” John pleaded.
The pig man stood up slowly “I don’t want your belongings I want you dead” his deep voice echoed around the room. John reached for the cordless phone on his desk and began to dial. The pig man lunged at the desk and ripped the phones base from the socket. “I have money, lots of money, I’ll open the safe, you can take what you want. If you leave us alone I promise I won’t tell a soul. I promise” John begged. John backed away; he felt the radiator against his back. The pig man lunged at John and grabbed him by the throat. John felt the pig man’s hot breath in his ear. The pig man whispered in John’s ear. John’s face contorted with despair, “no, I won’t do it, you’re sick you need help, I can get you some help” John spluttered.
The pig man reached inside his long black jacket and pulled out a knife. He pushed up John’s sleeve and sliced across John’s forearm. John wailed in agony, his blood dripped onto the floor like raindrops. “If you don’t do it I will kill your family while you watch. Then I will kill you” the pig man’s voice was pure evil. John shook his head; the thought of what he was about to do made him heave. John bent down and clutched his stomach as vomit rushed out in hot, fragrant waves.
The pig man grabbed John by the arm and pulled him upright. John sobbed as he was dragged along the hall way. “Remember, do as I say and nobody gets hurt” the pig man hissed.
John leant his head against the utility door, his knees knocked together and his arse twitched. He glanced behind him at the pig man who stood in the hallway, the moonlight reflecting off his blade. John tried to open the door “Karen it’s me. He’s gone, I scared him off” John croaked.
“Where’s the police?” Karen squeaked. “I called them, they’re on their way. I caught him going through my desk drawer, he ran off when I put the study light on.” John’s heart pounded as he stood waiting for his wife to open the door.
Karen pulled away the tumble dryer and opened the door. She wrapped her arms around her husband “thank God you’re ok” she cried. When she pulled back she noticed the blood on his sleeve. “John you’re bleeding! What happened?”
Karen tore through the washing basket looking for a towel. “I caught my arm on some broken glass; he knocked the lamp over when he was going through my drawer.”
Karen wrapped the towel around John’s arm “What did he want? Money?” Karen asked. “Maybe, I don’t know. Maybe he was looking for my new manuscript”
Karen swallowed. There was something different about John. After fifteen years of marriage she knew when he was lying. John was staring right through her; his eyes were narrow and dark. Molly noticed it too “dad, what’s wrong?” she asked. John stood staring at his family in silence. “We need to get the children to bed John; I don’t want them up while we speak to the police”. Karen bent over to pick Danny up.
“Put him down” John hissed. “What? What are you going on about, he needs to go to bed” Karen stuttered.
“I said put him down”
“John you’re scaring me”
John grabbed Karen by her hair and began to pull her out the room. “Dad! What are you doing?” Molly screamed. “Stay here Molly and look after Danny, shut the door” Karen shouted.
Molly clambered towards the door. She sat with her back against the door and sobbed silently as salty tears trickled into her dry mouth. John pushed Karen along the hallway; she slapped at him and tried to struggle free from his grip. “John get off, stop it, stop it”.
John took Karen into the study. He pushed her down to the ground, her face squished against the cold floor. “Why are you doing this John? Why?” Karen whimpered. Karen noticed a puddle of blood by John’s desk, on the floor next to the puddle laid a crimson coated pen knife. Broken glass from the desk lamp surrounded her. The windows were closed and remained intact; there were no signs of forced entry in the room.
John held a firm hand on Karen’s head; he used his other hand to pull at her pyjama bottoms. Karen screamed and wriggled. “Please don’t, please don’t” she whispered. John forced himself inside; he turned his head and looked at the pig man standing by the door. The pig man removed his mask and John saw his identity for the very first time. A slow smile crept along the man’s face. John stared at the familiar face, a sly smile spread across his face; he grabbed at his wife’s hair and started to snort.
“Why are you doing this, please stop, please stop” Karen said.
John snorted and grunted. “He told me to do it, he’ll kill you all if I don’t” John laughed and licked his lips. “What do you mean?” Karen shrieked.
“Look he’s watching he’s nodding in approval” John whispered.
“There’s no one here” Karen screamed. Karen tried to inch towards the pen knife. John forced his weight on top of her; he reached his arm out and grabbed the pen knife. He forced Karen on to her back, and straddled her. Karen twisted her face to the side to avoid her husband’s deadly stare. “Death is better than life” John whispered. He thrust the knife into his wife’s throat until her body moved no more.
Thursday, 25 February 2010
On shit writing
I am a shit writer. Most of you may think I am fishing for compliments here. I'm not believe me, I really am shit. I have lost the will to live lately writing this fucking 3000 word short story. I hate the way I write, when I read my stories back they always seem to be a mixture of styles. My narrators voice changes from snooty to commoner, I don't use punctuation properly and I can't write dialogue very well either.
I can either accept that I am a shit writer, or I can work hard and one day be an average writer. Then one day I might find I have become a good writer. The problem is I am a perfectionist. I think that everything I attempt could have been done better. I could have planned my wedding better, I could have written my first year poetry essay better, I could have made last nights dinner better and so on and so forth.
I really want a 2.1 for my degree.The world won't end if I don't get a 2.1 but it is important to me.These past eighteen months I have worked harder than I have ever needed to in my entire life. I need to know my efforts have been worth it. Of course the problem is the pressure I am putting on myself to get a 2.1. For example I feel guilty if I watch TV because instead I could be doing uni work. If I haven't done 2 or 3 hours of uni work a day I feel bad.
Sounds a bit like OCD? Yeah I think so. Some people have anorexia, some people are bullimic, I think I have over acheivertitus. I really need to calm it down but I don't know how.
Wow, rather a deep and personal post today, I apologise. Please don't move up the corridor when you see me at uni guys! I know I sound like a complete nut job at the moment, but deep down some sanity still remains.
I can either accept that I am a shit writer, or I can work hard and one day be an average writer. Then one day I might find I have become a good writer. The problem is I am a perfectionist. I think that everything I attempt could have been done better. I could have planned my wedding better, I could have written my first year poetry essay better, I could have made last nights dinner better and so on and so forth.
I really want a 2.1 for my degree.The world won't end if I don't get a 2.1 but it is important to me.These past eighteen months I have worked harder than I have ever needed to in my entire life. I need to know my efforts have been worth it. Of course the problem is the pressure I am putting on myself to get a 2.1. For example I feel guilty if I watch TV because instead I could be doing uni work. If I haven't done 2 or 3 hours of uni work a day I feel bad.
Sounds a bit like OCD? Yeah I think so. Some people have anorexia, some people are bullimic, I think I have over acheivertitus. I really need to calm it down but I don't know how.
Wow, rather a deep and personal post today, I apologise. Please don't move up the corridor when you see me at uni guys! I know I sound like a complete nut job at the moment, but deep down some sanity still remains.
New but not neccessarily improved version of my short story, with more swearing and a different title.
The door to Mini Movers playgroup was open. Elena stood for a few moments observing the slobs in the room. She was about to turn and go back to the car but her daughter Maisie was already on the slide. She swallowed and reluctantly sat on an empty chair next to a fat woman in a navy tracksuit.
She sat listening to the other women’s conversations. It was hard to hear properly the room was filled with the sounds of young children crying, shrieking and screaming. One voice triumphed over the noise. It was coming from a woman in her late twenties. Her hair was limp and greasy, and her hairy bare arms were decorated with unsightly tattoos. The woman’s laugh sounded like a witches cackle. Occasionally the woman would shout out “bloody dickhead” or “sperm donor twat”. All of the women looked like tramps; Elena could not believe she had sunk so low. She didn’t belong with these council estate low lives. This would be the last time she went anywhere her mother had suggested.
Elena wasn’t like the other women. She had had a decent childhood. Her parents had always been wealthy, and she had always lived in a nice area. Her husband had left her two months ago. He hadn’t left her for another woman; he had left her because he couldn’t cope with her mood swings. Elena had been telling herself it was temporary, and that he would soon come back. Last week he had suggested selling the house, and she had realised that their marriage was truly over.
Elena was watching her daughter run around with a little boy, unaware that she was being spoken to. “Are you from the Lodge?” the voice said. It was the woman with the tattoos who had been speaking. “I’m sorry, I was miles away, no I live on the Meadow view estate”. “Ooooh we got a posh one here girls” the tattooed woman mocked. “I’m Dee” she said. Dee pointed to a thin woman with dirty blonde hair and said “this is Shell”. An overweight red head piped up and said “Fine don’t introduce me then Dee, you bitch. I’ll introduce me bloody self. I’m Kelly”.
Elena smiled half heartedly at the women. She was thinking of making an excuse and leaving. “How many kids you got then?”Shell asked. Elena pointed at Maisie and said “just the one, Maisie her name is, she’s two”.
“Just the one! Bloody ell what a piece of piss, I got five little buggers me!” Shell said. Elena was worried if she looked at the women the wrong way she would get a punch in the face. Dee seemed to be the ring leader; whenever she spoke the other women gave her their undivided attention. Shell was busy cleaning chocolate off her son’s face, whilst a young mixed race girl was tugging at her leg. She looked up and said “you coming tomorrow?” Elena replied with a nod and a half hearted smile. Elena noticed out of the corner of her eye that Dee was watching her, it made Elena uneasy.
The morning had dragged, in the safety of her car Elena let out a huge sigh of relief. If she didn’t sort her life out soon she too would end up living in a council flat, sponging off the government. Dee, Kelly and Shell were coping with their mundane, poverty stricken lives, shit they even seemed to be happy. Elena knew they had it much worse than she did, she couldn’t understand what it was about her own life that made her so God damn fucking depressed.
Elena hated being at home all the time. Her friends rarely bothered with her since Maisie had been born, they were all too busy with their careers. That evening Elena did something she had never done on her own before, she drank until she was pissed. She sat pouring glass after glass of the cheap supermarket wine, sinking it down as fast as she could in-between sobs. The drink dulled her pain and during that short space of time it offered her a release from her thoughts, a break from her organised mind. But that voice was still there in the back of her mind, the voice that never allowed her to let go. The voice that reminded her she was a mother, and mothers should not get pissed on their own while their children sleep. The same voice that made her believe she was a failure and that her husband had left her because she was a nut case.
She had thought of suicide before, but actually carrying it out, well, no she had never tried to take her own life. She would sit and think about the pros and cons of suicide. The one thing, the only thing that stopped her from attempting anything was Maisie. The thought of never seeing her daughter again was sickening. And then there were the practicalities to consider. How would she do it? What if she decided to go ahead but changed her mind half way through? Death terrified her, but the thought of just existing was fucking petrifying.
Maisie’s cries woke her up. She opened one eye and looked around. She had fallen asleep on the sofa. She stood up slowly and started to make her way upstairs. Her daughter’s cries were frenzied now, desperate. “Alright, I’m coming. Mommy’s coming”.
Maisie’s nappy was heaving with shit. It had seeped out around the sides and was all over her pyjama bottoms. The smell made Elena heave; she had to run to the bathroom to throw up. When she had finished she returned to her daughter’s bedroom and cleaned her up. Elena tried to push the feelings of guilt to one side. She had been that pissed last night that an earthquake would not have roused her from her sleep. Elena knew she had to go to Mini Movers today. Those women were all she had, her only connection to the outside world, even if they were everything that Elena was not.
Elena could hear Dee’s cackle before she had even opened the door and entered the room. She saw Dee, Kelly and Shell in the far corner of the room and went over to join them. There was a free seat next to Kelly. “Hi Kelly, ok for me to sit here?” she asked. Kelly just shrugged her shoulders, Elena assumed that meant yes.
“Well well, we didn’t think you’d be back” Dee said. Dee stared at Elena for a few moments; she was trying to work out who Elena really was, whether Elena was somebody she could be friends with. Finally she said “Us lot are going back to my flat for a cuppa after here, you wanna come?” Elena had her doubts. Did she really want to get involved with these women? She didn’t exactly have many friends right now. This thought saddened Elena, she smiled at Dee and said “I’d like that”.
The first thing Elena noticed when she pulled up outside Dee’s flat was a blood stained mattress dumped on small patch of knee high grass. Vodka bottles and lager cans were scattered across the concrete path, a grey plant pot filled with rain water and hundreds of fag ends was balanced on top of an overflowing dustbin. Elena rang the doorbell, her head was itching. She felt dirty just standing outside the flat. Inside was no better. The place reeked of damp and fags. The net curtains were yellow and too short for the windows. There was one worn floral sofa pushed up against a fuchsia pink wall. The other walls in the sitting room were lime green, with big chunks of plaster missing out of the walls.
Kelly and Shell were in Dee’s kitchen, drinking tea and smoking round a small white table. Dee gave Elena a cup of tea, Elena could not help but wonder if the mug was clean. Dee’s son came into the kitchen holding a beaker up and whinging at Dee. He must have been about three, maybe four, yet he didn’t know how to speak. Dee snatched the beaker off him and filled it with coca cola. “Here ya ginger bastard, now piss off and leave mommy alone” she growled at him. The little boy started drinking from the beaker and pulling on his ear, Dee shouted “are you still here?” Defeated the boy turned and walked out of the kitchen, obeying his mothers commands.
Shell stood up and walked over to a work surface, she asked Dee if she could borrow a fiver. Elena watched in amazement as Shell proceeded to roll the five pound note up into what resembled a straw. Shell bent over the work surface and snorted a line of white powder up through her left nostril in one clean go. “Oi you ! Save some for the rest of us, I’ve only got half a gram left and I aint getting anymore off Dave until later” Dee snapped. Elena had never seen anybody doing drugs before. She started to feel sick. Maisie was asleep in her pushchair, Elena prayed that Maisie would not wake up. Elena finished the rest of her tea in one gulp, and said “well thank you for your hospitality, I had better be off, I’ve got some housework to do”. “Why do you speak so prim and proper Elena?” Dee said. “Have you ever tried a bit of sniff? Or any drugs at all?”
“No. No I haven’t.” Elena said, surprised by the venom in her voice. “Aint you just a little bit curious about what it would be like?” Kelly asked. “Can’t say I am” Elena lied. She was curious, but it was wrong. Drugs were wrong; her parents had drilled that into her head from a very young age. “What’s your story Elena? We know nothing about you” Shell said whilst rubbing her nose. “There’s not much to tell really, I live on my own with Maisie”.
“In a posh shiny detached house no bet, with a block paved drive and pretty pot plants by the glossy red front door” Dee sneered. “Something like that” Elena said. “What’s your problem with me Dee?”
“I aint got a problem with you hunny bun, I’m just jealous of your perfect life.”
“Jealous? What’s there to be jealous off? Yes I live in a nice house, in a nice area, but it’s a house I can’t afford. In fact the bailiffs are likely to come knocking any day now. I can’t afford to run my car, and my husband has left me” Elena said, her voice shaking. “Alright love, calm down” Shell giggled. “Fuck off Shell”. Elena blurted out surprised at herself and scared she was going to get a slap. Dee and Kelly burst out laughing. Shell’s mouth was open; nervously she started laughing too copying the others. Elena couldn’t help but laugh, for the first time in ages she had stood up to somebody. She was relieved it hadn’t backfired on her.
With a sudden rush of new found confidence, Elena asked Dee for a fag. She had smoked as a teenager, but had given up when she had met Christopher. He didn’t approve of smoking. The fag tasted worse than she remembered, she had to struggle to control the urge to cough. The nicotine rush made her feel woozy, eventually the feeling went, and Elena found she was enjoying the fag. Yes, Elena felt empowered. She felt like she was saying a big ‘fuck you’ to her husband, to her parents, to all the people who expected her to act a certain way.
Dee smiled a sly smile at Elena and winked. Elena realised she had been accepted by Dee. Dee was bad for her, she knew that, but there was something about her that drew Elena in. Dee was strong, powerful, she stood on her own dirty two feet. “Come on Elena, try a line. What’s the worst than can happen? You won’t get addicted from one line, I promise you. It will help you forget about all the shit you have got going on”. Dee said. Checking that Maisie was still asleep Elena nodded at Dee, she knew she was being bullied into doing something she didn’t want to do. It made her think of that time in secondary school when she had succumbed to peer pressure and kissed Martin Hingley in front of the dinner ladies. It was all about acceptance, that’s all Elena had ever wanted, she wanted to be accepted by somebody, anybody.
She felt like an idiot, she was shaking as she snorted the powder up; she had to do it in stages unlike Shell who had hoovered it up like a pro. The cocaine tasted vile, and Elena couldn’t understand why anybody would want to sniff it on a regular basis. She felt so guilty and irresponsible; she couldn’t shut her conscious off. Then the coke started to kick in, she felt her shoulders loosen and her legs begin to twitch.
She began talking like a smack addict selling the Big Issue, she wasn’t saying anything interesting she was just grateful to be involved, to feel important, wanted. Dee was right Elena didn’t feel like she needed to do anymore coke she wasn’t addicted. Elena knew she would do more though; she didn’t want to go home just yet and be alone. She thought about calling up Christopher or her mom, to arrange for one of them to have Maisie. But they would have asked too many questions. No, Maisie would have to stay here with her, Just for another hour or so then they would go home.
Three hours later Elena glanced at her watch. She had been having a laugh exchanging stories about childbirth, relationships, sex and money. Maisie had woken; Dee gave her some monster munch and a beaker of milk. Elena knew Maisie needed to go home and have her dinner; selfishly she ignored this maternal instinct. One more glass of wine, and they would go. The drive wasn’t far, ten minutes at the most. Maisie was tired, hungry and wet, and screaming for her mother’s attention. For the first time ever Elena swore at her daughter. She didn’t know whether she had done it to show off in front of the others, or whether being with the women for a few hours had changed the way she spoke. Either way she hated herself for it.
The drive home was eventful, Elena mounted curbs and drove through red lights, but she made it home. She knew today was a one off, she would never drink drive again, she was well aware of how lucky she was for not getting caught. Giving Maisie her dinner had been a struggle. Elena swayed as she fed her daughter, she could not wait for Maisie to go to sleep. She had started to see her daughter as an inconvenience. When Maisie had finally got off to sleep, Elena sat in front of her TV and lit a fag that Dee had given her. She was itching for a glass of wine, but had nothing in the house to drink. The off licence was a five minute walk from her house; if she ran she could make it there and back in a couple of minutes.
She sat thinking about what to do. If she didn’t get any wine or fags she would crave them all night. If she did go out to get some, it would mean leaving her daughter alone. Before she could change her mind, she quickly stubbed the fag out on a plate. Pushing the plate on the sofa she quickly grabbed her purse and keys before running out of the house. The walk to the off licence was further than she remembered. When she got there she grabbed the first bottle of red wine she could see. The fresh air was sobering, she realised what she had done and started to run. Her legs screamed at her and her chest rattled, tears flooded down her cheeks as she thought of her daughter all alone. Exhausted, she had to slow her pace. She had reached the bottom of a steep hill that led up towards her street.
An old man watched her walk past as he preened the roses in his immaculate front garden. She knew why he was watching her, she looked like a trespasser; she did not belong in this neighbourhood anymore. She began to run once more, she wanted to hold her baby and tell her how much she loved her, how she was so very sorry. She turned onto her street, and heard the shrill sound of sirens. Instinctively she knew. The scene that awaited her was like something out of a movie. A crowd of people had gathered outside her house, they watched open mouthed as she pushed past them towards the flames.
Smoke intoxicated her lungs; she tried to scream but was only able to produce a curdled squeak. The heat was fierce, it tore across her skin. A fire fighter pulled her back, she kicked and slapped him shrieking “my daughter’s in there.”
Time stood still. She fell to the floor and watched motionless as they tried to attack the ferocious flames. Two men emerged from the wreckage, carrying a lifeless bundle. Fear pulsed through her body as she watched a paramedic try to resuscitate the one person that she had truly loved. She ran over to Maisie and grabbed her limp, lifeless hand. “Please baby, I’m sorry. Please mommy needs you, please don’t leave me” she squeaked. The paramedic had stopped trying to resuscitate. “What are you doing, why have you stopped. She’s dying she’s a baby, do something” she screamed. The paramedic shook his head.
The ambulance crew placed a crisp white sheet over the tiny grey body. Elena watched in horror as they put her daughter inside the ambulance. “No, no. You’re wrong. She’s not dead, she’s just a baby. She’s not dead. She needs her bunny; she will be scared without it” Elena sobbed. “I’m coming with you” she said. “I’m afraid we can’t let that happen” a voice from behind her said. “It was an accident. I’ve never left her alone before, it was a mistake. Please, I’m a good person. I love my daughter, she needs me ....please” Elena’s voice trailed off as her hands were cuffed. She watched in silence as the ambulance drove away. “It was a silly mistake, just a silly mistake. I’m a good person, I’m a ......no, no it’s all wrong, she’s not, no.”
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
Anyone bored??
Ok if anyone is bored this evening and fancy reading some cheesey crap, please take a look at this short story. I really, really need to know what bits I should change/keep, if anything is confusing, if the ending is rushed (which I think it is).Comments are very, very welcome.
Fear
I am utterly, utterly consumed with fear at the moment. It must have been around six weeks ish, since I last cried. Last night, nothing at all made me cry, I was not upset or angry, yet the tears just kept coming down. My husband, who bless him never really understands these emotional outbursts, was asking what's wrong? Why are you crying? To which I replied I don't know, I just can't stop. I think maybe it is fear of deadlines, fear that I might not get a 2.1 which I need to do my dissertation.I had spent two hours editing my short story, and in the end I had to close my laptop and walk away. I'm pretty sure by editing it I have made it worse. I spent the evening doubting myself, questioning again what the hell am I doing a degree for and why did I think it was a good idea 2 years ago, thinking about all the work I need to do if I do a dissertation, I ended up panicking.
It doesn't help that I'm feeling under the weather. I lay awake until 4 am thinking of how to change my story, and pretty much conjured up a whole new idea for a new story. I need to start working today but I just don't have the motivation. I don't want to do it, it's painful. If I feel like this now how the hell will I feel next year when the work gets harder?
It doesn't help that I'm feeling under the weather. I lay awake until 4 am thinking of how to change my story, and pretty much conjured up a whole new idea for a new story. I need to start working today but I just don't have the motivation. I don't want to do it, it's painful. If I feel like this now how the hell will I feel next year when the work gets harder?
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