Light Extinguished

   







    Christa giggled constantly, her presence brightened a room.   Afraid of nothing, she attacked life with a zeal others envied.  

    Then one day she changed drastically.  Terrified of every shadow, tears replaced giggles.  She withdrew.  The light extinguished, the scars remain. Darkness prevails.

Tweet

Speak Easy 169 : Over the Valley

      Jane didn’t have many friends.  That was okay.  She didn’t really need them.  She was busy enough with her imagination.  It was the only place she could escape her father’s grasp.  She would pretend she was a butterfly flitting from flower to flower without a care in the world instead of the damaged goods she really was.   Still when she met Phillip she hadn’t expected for them to be so much alike. She had been in the meadow behind her house in hot pursuit of a brilliantly blue butterfly when she had first seen him taking a piss on the big oak tree on the edge of the woods.  She had watched transfixed, losing sight of the butterfly in the process.  As far as boys went, he was classically handsome.  Still she had been a bit leery of him.  After all, he was not only a boy but a stranger.  Where had he come from?  She had lived here all her life and had never seen him.  She would have remembered.  Phillip was like no one she had ever seen before, as if he had been dropped here from somewhere else entirely.

      Their eyes had met when he had finished and the heat that instantly warmed her cheeks seemed to warm his as well.  Awkward!    The smirk that quickly followed his initial look of surprise was classic.  In embarrassment, she had run away and his hearty laughter had followed her.  As fate would have it, they met again the next day at school.  He was the new kid, and as soon as their eyes had locked instant recognition had caused her cheeks to grow hot once again in embarrassment.  She had played it cool and continued to draw butterflies on her notebook as he watched her from across the classroom.  When the bell rang, she made a beeline for the door only to have him pursue her and finally catch up outside her locker.

        “Did you like what you saw?” he asked boldly. 

         “You are sick, whatever.  Just leave me alone.” She had begged. 

       It was then he had slammed her locker shut and forced her to look at him.  At that point he hadn’t known the horrors she had endured at her father’s hands, although she believed it was as obvious as the nose on her face.  What she had seen in his deep brown eyes was the offer of friendship and even the recognition of understanding that he couldn’t possibly have had then.    Eventually she learned to trust him and believe he could be the knight in shining armor that would save her from the atrocities she faced nightly at home.  From that day on, they had been inseparable.  Rather than having to confess her secrets, he somehow seemed to instinctively know so she didn’t have to.  He was her friend, her savior, her partner in crime.  From that day forth, they were like two peas in a pod, their fates entwined as destiny ordained. 

      They met daily in the meadow.  They lay on the grass amid the wildflowers and watched the clouds chase lazily across the sky sometimes seeing tigers and other times bears.  They dreamed of escaping the personal hell that awaited each of them at home.   They consoled each other, and as the years passed shared the unthinkable truth and the shame neither of them could ever truly escape.

          The last day she saw him there, he was more tortured than she had ever seen him.  She understood his angst, had went through it herself, but she couldn’t have predicted the way events would finally play out.  He seemed especially agitated that day.  Finally the clouds and gentle warm breezes had lulled him.  He was quiet, brooding, seeming almost a million miles away.   She had blown off his mood, thinking it would pass.  The next day, she had found him there hanging dead from a tree, the evidence of his father’s most recent beating shadowing his skin in horrific detail.  Tears clouded her vision as she watched the police cut him down.   It was that day she chose to escape her private hell and run away.  If only this epiphany had come sooner.  They could have run away together, plucked up courage and sought help.  He would still be here with her.  It was the only thing she regretted, the possibility she could have saved him and in the process saved herself. 

Tweet

Escape

 
       Amy was no stranger to hard work.  She worked 10-12 hours daily at the grocery store then rushed to college to study art.  Being an artist was her dream, not ringing up groceries.  The job brought money that paid her way and gave her hope.  By the time she returned home, her husband was at work and she was tired.  As far as he was concerned, she was completely worthless and couldn’t do anything right.

       She didn’t dare infuriate him.   Making him mad always spelt trouble for her.  She tried to stay up and wait for him, but always seemed to succumb to sleep before his arrival.  Her dreams haunted her.  She was always running and terrified, with the beast breathing down her neck.  She could feel his hatred.  Even her dreams mirrored the sorry path her life had taken recently.  She was jarred awake by unbelievable pain in her temple.  She saw stars and tasted blood in her mouth.  She slowly opened her eyes to see him glaring at her, twirling a revolver on his thumb.

      “Get out of bed and get me a beer you lazy ugly bitch, NOW!”  He grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the floor.  A sob escaped as she reached for the bed to pull herself up.  She felt dizzy and tasted blood.   Disgusted, he kicked her in the stomach as he left the room.  Her thoughts jumbled as she registered the gun.   Where had he gotten a gun?  He would kill her for sure now.   She had to get away before it was too late!   She wiped her tears and rushed to do his bidding. 

         He was sitting in the living room, surfing through the television channels like he always did.    How she hated him.  Oh God, how her head hurt!  She felt like throwing up.  Her stomach hurt worse than the last time he had kicked her there, if that were possible.    One day he would go too far and kill her.   She knew this as well as she knew her own name.  She could run, but she couldn’t hide.   He made her pay daily for being sleepy, for not doing something fast enough, and for simply breathing. Reflecting, she felt she had paid enough.

        She poured the beer into a frosted glass, just the way he liked it.  Once she had made the mistake of taking him the bottle.  She had gotten a broken arm for that silly mistake.  She wasn’t about to provoke him tonight.    She had to hurry or he would come looking for her.  That simply wouldn’t do.  Casting a sidelong glance over her shoulder, she added a handful of pills from the bottle in her pocket and watched them dissolve as she quickly stirred the concoction.  Her mind went over her plan of a different identity, a disguise, and flight to safety to the other side of the globe.  He would never find “Amy” again.  She had worked out the details over the past month.  After months of overtime, scrimping, saving, and planning she was finally ready.   She hurried the beer to him as he began to complain about how slow and stupid she was.

 

      “How in the hell is it possible that you could ruin beer?  This stuff tastes like shit.” He ranted and raved.  She took a seat as far away as she could.   It was then he began to sweat.  He turned green, then a ghastly shade of white.  “What did you do bitch?” he demanded.  He fell from the chair in convulsions as she watched horrified until his body finally stilled.  With one last look, she grabbed her car keys.  “I am taking my life back.  Burn in hell asshole!” she called as she frantically made her escape.  The trunk of the car had been packed for the perfect moment for the last week.   Inside held all her hopes and dreams.    Within a day the transformation would be complete.  She would change her clothes, her hair, and her face.  Amy, the cashier would cease to exist and in her place Angela, the artist would be born.  It would be so easy and the only chance of staying alive she would ever get.

This is my response to Speakeasy’s weekly prompt, which is to write a piece in 750 words or less (mine is 702 words) and (1) use the sentence “It would be so easy” anywhere in the piece; and (2) make some kind of reference to the media prompt, which happens to be a video for Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees.

Tweet

I See You

     She thought he had seen David slap her after the wedding rehearsal.  She hoped not.  She didn’t want anyone to know.   He had only hit her once before.  She had explained the bruises away to her own clumsiness and everyone had bought it.   Now he refused to attend the rehearsal dinner with her.  Instead he would rather go smoke a joint with the best man and get drunk than be with her and face the family.  What was she getting herself into?  She wanted to run away but her parents had spent so much money already on the wedding.    Her mother insisted she would be happy once she was married.  After all, David’s family was at the pinnacle of society.  She could hear her mother say it and see the excitement in her eyes as she said it.  The mental image made her physically ill.  She simply wasn’t as sure.  She didn’t drink.  She didn’t do drugs.  She was certain she didn’t love him and perhaps she never had.  Wouldn’t it be better to be alone than saddled with someone who deep down she feared?

       She put on a brave face and joined her family, making excuses for him.  She was always making excuses for him.  She was marrying into a good family.  Her future husband was successful and everyone told her they were so happy for her and that her future looked so bright.    The day of her wedding dawned bright.   There was a flurry of activity all around her as she got ready.  Her gown was beautiful, the flowers exquisite.   She knew she should be happy, but all she wanted was to run away.  Too much money had been spent.  Too many people were waiting in the sanctuary.  She simply couldn’t back out, no matter how uneasy and unsure she felt about going through with the marriage.  Her mother would never forgive her.  What would everyone say?  She would never be able to hold her head up in public again.

         It was time.  Her daddy entered the room and smiled brightly.  “You look so beautiful!” he said as he embraced her.  It was only the two of them.  Everyone else had left to take their places.  He looked into her eyes and took her hand.  “You know you don’t have to do this.”  Startled, she looked at her father, really looked at him.  His eyes were endless pools of blue and she felt his gaze touch her soul.  He knew.  She knew he did.  She started to deny her feelings and lie.  She began to tell him she was fine and everything would be wonderful.  Then she saw the look in his eyes.  “I saw him hit you last night.”  She looked at him panic stricken and he rushed to reassure her.  “Even if I hadn’t I have seen that you are not happy and will never be happy with him.   Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye.  ”   Hearing those words spoken aloud caused her to crumble against him.  “Oh Daddy, all that money on the wedding!!” she exclaimed.     He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys.  “You go; I will clean things up here.  Don’t worry my dear, everything will be alright.  I want you happy and safe.  Your prince charming is out there somewhere waiting for you.  Trust me; this one is not the one no matter how much money he has.”  He hugged her again and with one final glance, she hurried away.  He adjusted his tie, and went to announce that his little girl wouldn’t be getting married today and to thank everyone for coming.

This fictional story was written for the 

Write Tribe Wednesday writing prompt "Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye."

Tweet

The Secret's in the Sauce

Written in response to this week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge.

Here's how it works: Submit a writing between 33 and 333 words using this week’s one-word prompt:

CRAFT (noun) skill in deceiving to gain an end <used craft and guile to close the deal>

My fictional story is 114 words.

     Sarah loved to cook and was an accomplished chef.  Her husband seemed to love her cooking almost as much as he enjoyed beating her. Anymore her cooking was the only thing she did he didn't criticize.

  

    Last night she had spent 6 hours in the emergency room after he taught her another painful lesson.  The official record stated it was just another fall down the stairs.  She had lived in this nightmare for over a year and enough was enough.

       He would kill her if she didn’t escape soon.   She smiled as she stirred the poison into the sauce.  He would eat his fill savoring each bite.  Tonight her craft would set her free. 

Rejection and Abuse Doesn’t Equal Sisterly Love

     The NaBloPoMo writing prompts for yesterday and today asked me if there was a toy I broke as a child and if there was someone who ever refused to play with me. The only person who I remember refusing to play with me or have anything to do with me at all was my big sister.  I think it had a lot to do with the huge 7 year age gap between us.  She was too old and entirely too cool in her opinion to be bothered by the likes of me.  

      I remember her coloring in color books with me on rare occasions but hardly anything else.  It was always “Get out of my room you little slop hog!!” or “Go away!!” with her bedroom door being slammed in my face.  She could be right down mean.  Fortunately for me she wasn’t around much, and when she was I tried to steer clear of her.  I always had the impression she hated my guts and over the years I realized the feeling was mutual.

         I can only recall ever breaking one toy while growing up.  It is a very vivid memory and once again it involved my sister.  We have never got along and I don’t remember why I was so mad at her or what she had done to me, but I do remember her sitting on the floor in the hallway talking on the phone.  In those days, if she was home and not behind her closed door she was on the phone.  I can remember the rage that possessed me.  Armed with a pint size toy broom I ran out into the hallway and broke that toy broom over her head.  I then remember turning tail and running hell bent for election back to my own room and slamming my door.  I remember crying, not for being sorry for hitting my sister but for breaking my toy broom.  Did she deserve it?  Well, knowing my sister, probably.  Never fear, she managed to get even with me many times over the years.

          I have always felt bad that my sister and I could never get along.  Unfortunately she has always hated me and resented my very existence.  After my parents were gone I found I didn’t have to take her crap anymore.  I always did it for their sake.  With their deaths I was freed of my responsibility to her.  People who are close to their siblings and who come from families less dysfunctional may never understand how I could live my life without her in it knowing she is out there somewhere.  Like a married couple who no longer get along, the deaths of my parents effectively divorced me from her. 

       It makes me sad, but it is not something I dwell on anymore.  I can only hope the life she has chosen for herself has made her happy.  At least she doesn’t have to be tormented by looking at me and vice versa.  Unfortunately she is a person who finds misery wherever she goes.  I choose to find happiness wherever I can.  I no longer have to suffer her constant wrath.  I no longer have to suffer her abuse.  I choose to not let her make me miserable.  She can not help the person she is.  To move on with my life,  I had to let it go and realize I can never make her like me.  Life goes on.   I am free to enjoy my life, enjoy my family, and be happy until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

Confrontation

      The biggest confrontation of my life is still a very vivid memory.  It was a moment when I finally stood up for myself.   It was the proverbial straw that broke the camels back of my first marriage.    At the time, we lived with my parents.  We never did officially set up housekeeping like normal married couples.  At first, it was because we didn’t have a lot of money.  After the beatings started, I was afraid to live alone with him.  I truly think he would have killed me.  I didn’t have to do anything to set him off at all.  At the time I was working a full time job and going to college at night.  He worked 2nd shift, so by the time he got home, I was usually asleep.  I had to get up early the next morning and go to work.  The fact that I was asleep was enough to pi$$ him off.  I remember being grabbed by the hair and thrown out of bed and slammed against the wall in a heap being a normal every night ritual.

        Shortly after my mom was first put on dialysis, my brother in law and his girlfriend had come to visit.  My ex had already put away a case of beer and was lit.  He was to the point where he could turn on me at any minute.  He became mean when he drank, and I have to admit…I was terrified of him.  I didn’t have to do much to set him off.  I have terrible allergies, and a runny nose could get me slapped upside the head and thrown into a wall quicker than I could bat an eyelash.    At that point in life I was afraid to leave him and knew it was a moot point because we lived with my parents.  Where in G0d’s holy name could I go?  Who would have helped me?  I had nowhere to go, and no one who would help me.  People tend to avoid things like this and don't want to get involved.  I didn’t want to burden others, and primarily I was ashamed.  At that point in my life, I believed I deserved to be treated that way.  After all, I was the dumb a$$ that said “I do” when I should have said “I don’t think so!”  I took my wedding vows seriously and firmly believed “till death do us part”.  

         I walked out in the living room and heard the three of them planning on tying fireworks to my cat and blowing her straight to hell.  I had no doubt in my mind that they would do it.  I was terrified and took my cat to my mother and told her to lock her bedroom door.  At that point my mother was outraged.  She grabbed her faithful shotgun Maude and marched out to the living room and ordered them all to get out of her house immediately or she would go get the sheriff who lived down the street.


        

       My ex-husband picked me up and threw me into the piano and then advanced towards my mother.  I picked myself up and put myself between him and her.  For the first time, I stood up to him and offered myself up to be sacrificed.  I told him he could kill me, but there was no way in hell I would allow him to lay one finger on my mom.  That stopped him cold.  He finally got the hint and left with his company following close behind.    I had made up my mind that it was over.  He was never going to lay a hand on me again.  He would either stop and leave, or kill me in the process.  Either way, I wasn’t being treated that way anymore by anyone.  

  
       Something inside me snapped that night with that momentous confrontation.      He left and filed for a divorce.  It was finally over, and I had survived.  I came out of that situation a much stronger person with a backbone made of steel.  The shy, timid mouse was gone and in her place a strong lady armed with a ready supply of whip-a$$ ready to take on the world.   I will never tolerate that kind of treatment again.   Thank G0d I lived to tell the tale, married my dear trucker husband, had children, and finally got to find true happiness until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.