"I am beautiful in every single way, words can't bring me down. So don't you bring me down today." Christina Aguilera's voice fills the room, allowing a few minutes of escapism from reality, the song Beautiful reminds me of who I used to be. Aguilera is performing at the 46th Annual Grammy Awards and she is nominated for three Grammys. For the three and a half minutes of her song I am enthralled by her high hitting notes and the ten or so back up performers. The audience's claps rain out her voice as the song finishes and the camera angle zooms out to the presenter of the next award. I picking up the remote I flick the off button and the television turns off.
Looking around me there are other people, women in fact, some staring past the curtain covered window to the concrete buildings outside, some looking blankly at the dull pink carpet and others reading trashy magazines and romance novels. I used to be one of those girls who followed every move of the dancers on television, placing scrutiny on their legs, arms and bottoms, wanting to be like them, dying to look like them. That was before I discovered males and the power that I could have over them with certain parts of my body, and that was how I got myself into this situation.
I am not in this room because I want to be, nor because of my choice. A lady appears at the doorway, beckoning me to come with her. We walk into a room with two seats, a desk and an empty bookshelf. She tells me to have a seat and starts flicking through my file, briefly reading some of the comments that others have written about me.
"So Simone, I see from your file you didn't convince us enough that you wanted the termination last week and you are back again. You are defiantly sure that you want it then?" She asks me in a half mocking half understanding way.
I nod my head, not looking at her but picking the dirt out of my clean nails. Nothing is coming out, it is just pressuring my nail to go white, which is always fun to do. She asks me about my allergies and I respond with popcorn and capsicum.
"Popcorn and Capsicum?!? Well we sure won't be giving you either of those here," She exclaims, probably thinking that I was joking, but I'm not.I am handed a pen and told to sign on the dotted line, I feel as if I am signing my life away. I've dotted the I's and looped the Y's and the blood drains out of my face. Who am I kidding? I want to keep this child! Can't they see it in my eyes that it is my parents forcing me into this? I wish that she knew what I knew, that I want this five month old child that is currently in my womb. I don't care that my parents have paid three and a half thousand dollars to get me her in the first place. My brain stops thinking when the lady gives me a pair of pyjamas with frogs on them and shows me to a room that I can change in.
Peeling off my loose fitting t-shirt and jeans I place the frogs over my head. It is a massive dressing gown with buttons at the back instead of the front. I slump down in the chair waiting for the lady to come get me to sit in another waiting room, for another amount of undisclosed minutes. A nice warm feeling of dread fills me as I hear footsteps approaching. Good hearing is a curse at times, for example when you walk in the door and hear moaning coming from the bedroom that you and your boyfriend share, or times like now when you do not want to hear or see the inevitable. A tap on the door signifies that it is her, wanting to know if she can come in and if I am appropriately dressed. I am told that I have the head nurse to see before anything else happens. This one is wearing all blue. She stands up and shakes my hand, a small smile of understanding is upon her face.
"Hello Simone, I am Margurite, I am the nurse that will be operating on you today, if all goes to plans. Do you know the procedure?"
"I know the procedure for 6-14 weeks, but not for twenty," I mumble.
"Okay, well this is what is going to happen. It is going to take two days, today we are going to stick organic dilation rods on your cervix to open it up. And tomorrow we are going to induce the labour. You are going to need to not eat..."
Her voice drones on, but I am not listening, the words induce labour, induce labour, induce labour repeat themselves over and over in my head. I nod occasionally to confirm that I am listening, but I'm not really. The question that I'm avoiding, she asks again, is this what you want? In my head there are two things going on, one part of me has bells going off, warning bells shouting NO NO NO NO! On the other side, my parent's voices tell me yes, this is what you want, you have gotten yourself into this mess and we are getting you out of it. I nod my head. The nurse takes it as a yes, that this is what I want. But I was only agreeing with my first thought. The bells are going off louder and louder until I cannot hear anything else. I cannot protest, I am too weak to correct her. I am sick of the fighting, sick of the morning vomiting, sick of my boyfriend who ran away from home when my mom told his dad about me. I am fifteen. He is twenty one. This is illegal. This child would be born out of wedlock. I would have rather made this decision myself then be forced into it.
In another room there are other women. None of them happy, all sullen faces, one lady rolls her feet as if she is a ballet dancer. I want to ask her if she is. White washed walls. Cheap paintings of pink flamingos, corny sunsets and rivers that flowing to nowhere in particular. If someone looked happy I'm not sure how everyone else in here would react. Maybe with disgust, maybe with evil looks or possibly with raised eyebrows, I am not sure how I would personally act, probably with discontent.
"Simone."
I stand, looking around, just in case there is another person named Simone in here. No one else stands, but they all look at me, maybe wondering what a fifteen year old is doing in an abortion clinic, honestly the answer is, I don't know.The smell of antibacterial soap and pristine hospital cleanliness fills my nostrils as I walk closer to the voice that called me. I see the nurse that interviewed me second, she calls me over to the bed and I sit down.
"Now Simone, I want you to lie down straight on the bed, feet out straight, head looking up towards the ceiling. Then we are going to put an oxygen mask over your nose and give you an injection on anaesthetic to make you drowsy. When we have done this, please back from ten.
"Ok?"I nod my head and do as I am told. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6.
*
Opening my eyes, a pale blue wall is opposite me, in front of that is a horrible plush sofa, much like the one that I am seated on. Between me and the other sofa is a table with little packets of products. Opening my eyes and on closer inspection they are biscuits and Jatz crackers, obviously there to boost my sugar and salt levels. I begin to feel drowsy again and close my eyes for just a second.
I wake to a moving motion engulfing me, snapping my eyelids open, dad is lifting me up the stairs, which would be no easy feat, seeming as I am 100kgs of pregnant teenager and am asleep. I tell him to let me walk up the stairs, that I can do it. He still holds onto me, more to support me than to be in control. For this I am somewhat glad. Also I am happy that it is my dad here not my mom. Sometimes she irritates me by trying to care too much and not actually letting me make the mistakes by myself. I guess this is an instant where she could not protect me from the outside world.
The hotel room is small, two single beds and a view of the local central building district, yay, I think to myself. Panadiene Forte every four hours and no eating ten hours before arriving back at the clinic, sleeping tablets to make me feel put me to sleep and kill the nightmares that I may have.
*
Fifteen hours later I am ushered onto the operating table, no interviews, no questioning. Before they can put the oxygen mask on, I begin to cry. I do not like showing that I am raw, I hate showing that I am not strong and unable to cry, but I do. I do not want to go through with this. I beg them to stop, but no one listens. "Simone, you are halfway through the procedure, there is no way that we can stop now! Stop crying and calm down. You are going to go into labour at any moment." I hear one of the nurses say.
Hearing this, I immediately clam down, the words, going into labour, really ticked something off in my brain to calm down. I lie down and the mask is placed over my mouth and the count down begins again.
*
I awake with a wheat bag on my stomach and the smell of disinfectant filling my nose once again. A nurse tells me that I will be lying here for another few hours as I do not go into labour until three o'clock. That nurse was a liar. I feel let down. I thought that it was all over. She comes back and tells me to roll over. After a curious look I ask her why. She smiles at me and tells me that the anaesthetic has to be inserted anally. I beg her not to, but there is no other option. Trying not to scream, she gives it to me and walks off. Every minute closer to three o'clock gives me more pain than the minute beforehand. According to the nurse, they are contractions, and that my body is preparing to go into labour.Five to three and I cannot stand the pain anymore, the pain is indescribable. The nurse notices this and notifies one of the head nurses. I am wheeled into the operating table, my legs propped up onto objects that look like crutches and the aesthetic is placed over my nose again.
"I am beautiful no matter what they say, words can't bring me down, I am beautiful in every single way, yes, words can't bring me down today"
Monday, October 27, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
Night Life (+18 please)
Beer in my hand, wallet in the other my eyes focused as if on prey, she looks like something out of a prostitute house. She is with this group of girls, facing and talking about one of the gay shirtless bartenders that I have employed. Her beauty somewhat astounds and amuses me, the way that her hips sway as she walks mesmerises me, but the size of her fake tits bouncing to the music amuses me. They most likely should be pert and firm, but they bounce all over the place. I just want to go over and grab one, holding it so tightly that the implant bursts. Her screams of pain, the look of horror on her face and the shocked looks of her friends, the music stopping and the whole club turning to look at me and the bloody flesh grasped in my hands.
Skolling the rest of my drink, placing the glass on the nearest table, wallet slipped into my back pocket I wander over to the group of girls. Placing my hands on her and one of the others, she jumps the other just looks at me in a drug infused haze. She opens her mouth to speak; I place my finger on her lips and tell her to shush. I introduce myself, welcoming them to my club and ask them if they want to join me in my private room upstairs. Stares of alarm, shock and gratification are sent around the group. One of the others begins to say no but she interjects saying that we’d love to, asking me to lead the way.
Hand still locked around her waist, I swivel her around towards an unmarked door, the girl that was uneasy yells that she is not going to come and will find her own way home. Fake tits lunges for her arm and tells her not to be stupid, free drinks girl, she looks reluctantly in my direction but comes up eventually.
This guy is trouble, I know it, and I think to myself, that self satisfied look on his face when Alicia hauled me towards them and the way that he is grabbing at her. I told her not to wear that top, too much goddamn cleavage, but don’t listen to me; I couldn’t be right at all, never.
Walking up these stairs in a mission in itself, Fake Tits is holding onto that girl’s hand and I’m gripping onto her waist still, I’m tempted to kick the other girl over just to see her fall down the two flights of stairs and have her head hit the concrete, splattering brains everywhere. Tasty. The stairs open up to my relaxing room. With my private bartender, red leather couches and some treats aligned on the table. Cocaine, Marijuana, Ecstasy, M&Ms and a few rohypnol tablets, these are my drugs of choice.
Leading them towards the couches I hold Fake Tit’s hand tightly, she looks at me with something that I can analyse as something between longing and lust. Can’t distinguish between the two, but both are good, boosting my self esteem, knowing that she wants me. Sitting down, I call the bartender over and tell him to bring a round of champagne out for the lovely ladies. My bouncer closes the door down the stairs and sits himself down, watching the entertainment with an amused face. The girls look around in probably in wonder of how nice this place is. I designed it myself, black tiling on the floor, a large window overlooking the rest of Surfers Paradise. Fake tits talks to the blonde, she’s not bad, bit of a face, would have to paper bag her. Or quite possible jut cut her head off, I can imagine the brown haired girl’s reaction – she helped herself to the Ecstasy and is tripping out hardcore, don’t want to know what she was stupid enough to mix it with, but she would look over half caring then look away wanting to ignore the scene.
This is not the first time that I have taken people up here, more of a regular occurrence. I’m contemplating what to do with these girls. The drug fucked one will be of no risk to me. Or maybe she will have another use; if I drug Fake Tits she may have a threesome. Have to get rid of the blonde and the sooky one in the corner. Ahh the drinks are here, handing them around I make sure that the bigger one is given to Big Tits, the annoying one is refusing to take one and mutters something under her breath.
‘That’s it,’ I yell, the bouncer jumps up, knowing that he is needed. I pretend that I am offended by her lack of politeness, ‘I’ve taken her upstairs and shown you hospitality and what do you do? Throw it back in my face! Get out!’ I scream.
The bouncer jumps for her arms, pulls her up, kicks the door open and shoves her out. The blonde spits at me, Fake Tits tells her to sit down or get out.
‘I’ve had it with this shit Alicia, you can go get fucked, I’m going to go after her, make your own way home and don’t talk to me anymore. I can’t believe that you would let him do this to us’, she yells at Fake Tits, storms over, opens the door and slams it behind her.
With that commotion over I nod to the bartender to make us up a round of Jagerbombs, those things are lethal, especially after a few. A smashing noise breaks my concentration, he apologises, his hand slipped and a glass broke. At least the sook and the stupid blonde are gone. Comatose brunette faces me, asking for another drink. I tell her that they are on the way, getting up to get the drinks; I inconspicuously pick up a rohypnol tablet and slip it into my pocket. I look back at Fake tits, her eyes are drawn to the window, diagonally across there are a couple having sex on the veranda, the woman’s face is in a moment of pure joy and the man looks like he is concentrating. I’m starting to get hard watching the scene and Fake Tits keeps looking at me and crossing and uncrossing her legs.
Turning around to pick up the tray I pop the tablet into one of the Jagerbombs, turning around I grin at Fake Tits and Comatose. As I set down the tray comatose reaches for a drink, almost swiping the drugged one, she grabs two of the ones beside it and shots them down without the red bull. Fake tits high fives her and takes a bomb. I sit between them, arms across their shoulders, I nod at my bartender to go and do something else. He takes the hint when I hand the drugged one to Fake Tits, by now, her chest is half hanging out, I can see a nipple and she knows this and doesn’t care. I suggest that she and comatose come back to mine, that seems to snap her out of her seductive mood and starts grabbing for her bag, she shots down her drink as if alarm bells are going off in her head. As she does this, I feel a warm wet sensation on my chest, looking down I see Comatose, passed out and dribbling all over me.
Fake Tits stands up, but in her heals she cannot walk anymore; the drug must have kicked in, finally. She starts swaying, but not to any music that I can hear, her legs go wobbly and I stand up to catch her. I motion for the bouncer to move comatose to another lounge and then go downstairs. When it is free, I take off my wet shirt and lie her down. She looks like a doll to me. Her blush all red, hair half messed up, but in a sexy way, her heals slightly falling off her feet and her dress clinging to her body. She has passed out, breathing heavy and deep, I trace the outline of her red lipped mouth. Her hands are by her side occasionally opening and closing.
I put my hands in hers and lift them above her head, so that her tits are at their best looking point, nice and pert. I reach up and grab them, pulling at them through the material, fondling them as rough as I can. Reaching down I yank her dress so that it’s now above her head. Her panties are small and encompass all of her. Her bra is black and boring, it has to come off. I rip the material between her cups hard, wanting it to break; it does, just as I like it. I will be keeping this as a souvenir. Her tits fall free, large and soft; they will not stay like this for long. I am now hard; I sit between her chest and rub myself between her breasts, it feels like her vagina. I am almost about to blow my load, but I don’t want to do it on her chest; I want it to go down her throat. I prise her mouth open with one finger and shove myself down into the hole. I increase my motion so that I am now fucking her mouth. I’m about to come and I empty it down her gaping mouth. I take it out and look at her; I poke her belly button, not knowing what to do. I’m half tempted to cut her open, fuck her or just dump her downstairs. All three sound like good ideas. I walk over to where the bar is, picking up a bit of glass that the barman broke earlier and take it over to Fake Tits.
Standing over her, I reach down and grab a breast, gripping it hard, I make a small incision at the bottom and I stick a finger in feeling around for the implant. I find it and stick my thumb in there too, pulling it out. A whimper escapes her mouth. I repeat with the other breast. The implants sit on her nipple as if they were provoking them to poke it. I seize her panties and cut it off with the piece of glass in my hand. I shove three fingers in her hole, making squelching noises; I slap her juices on myself and thrust into her. Fuck, she is tight, almost virgin tight. It is so tight that I’m not going to be able to last much longer. With that, I explode into her, my whole body shake but no reaction from her. Not that I care anyway.
I find her clitoris and make small cuts on it, blood drops onto my hand. I reach up, taking a hold of her chin, blood staining her now white cheeks, and ask her what her name is. She cannot reply, so I pick up her wallet from her bag. Alicia Granton. What a boring name. I tell her that she should have listened to her friend and not come up. I put the implant and the bleeding flesh into the bra and pull her dress down back under her head. Calling for the bouncer, he picks her up and brings her downstairs. I give the lounge quick wipe over, cark the strobe lights for a few seconds to let him drop her somewhere, grab another shirt from the closet and casually stroll down stairs to start all over again.
Skolling the rest of my drink, placing the glass on the nearest table, wallet slipped into my back pocket I wander over to the group of girls. Placing my hands on her and one of the others, she jumps the other just looks at me in a drug infused haze. She opens her mouth to speak; I place my finger on her lips and tell her to shush. I introduce myself, welcoming them to my club and ask them if they want to join me in my private room upstairs. Stares of alarm, shock and gratification are sent around the group. One of the others begins to say no but she interjects saying that we’d love to, asking me to lead the way.
Hand still locked around her waist, I swivel her around towards an unmarked door, the girl that was uneasy yells that she is not going to come and will find her own way home. Fake tits lunges for her arm and tells her not to be stupid, free drinks girl, she looks reluctantly in my direction but comes up eventually.
This guy is trouble, I know it, and I think to myself, that self satisfied look on his face when Alicia hauled me towards them and the way that he is grabbing at her. I told her not to wear that top, too much goddamn cleavage, but don’t listen to me; I couldn’t be right at all, never.
Walking up these stairs in a mission in itself, Fake Tits is holding onto that girl’s hand and I’m gripping onto her waist still, I’m tempted to kick the other girl over just to see her fall down the two flights of stairs and have her head hit the concrete, splattering brains everywhere. Tasty. The stairs open up to my relaxing room. With my private bartender, red leather couches and some treats aligned on the table. Cocaine, Marijuana, Ecstasy, M&Ms and a few rohypnol tablets, these are my drugs of choice.
Leading them towards the couches I hold Fake Tit’s hand tightly, she looks at me with something that I can analyse as something between longing and lust. Can’t distinguish between the two, but both are good, boosting my self esteem, knowing that she wants me. Sitting down, I call the bartender over and tell him to bring a round of champagne out for the lovely ladies. My bouncer closes the door down the stairs and sits himself down, watching the entertainment with an amused face. The girls look around in probably in wonder of how nice this place is. I designed it myself, black tiling on the floor, a large window overlooking the rest of Surfers Paradise. Fake tits talks to the blonde, she’s not bad, bit of a face, would have to paper bag her. Or quite possible jut cut her head off, I can imagine the brown haired girl’s reaction – she helped herself to the Ecstasy and is tripping out hardcore, don’t want to know what she was stupid enough to mix it with, but she would look over half caring then look away wanting to ignore the scene.
This is not the first time that I have taken people up here, more of a regular occurrence. I’m contemplating what to do with these girls. The drug fucked one will be of no risk to me. Or maybe she will have another use; if I drug Fake Tits she may have a threesome. Have to get rid of the blonde and the sooky one in the corner. Ahh the drinks are here, handing them around I make sure that the bigger one is given to Big Tits, the annoying one is refusing to take one and mutters something under her breath.
‘That’s it,’ I yell, the bouncer jumps up, knowing that he is needed. I pretend that I am offended by her lack of politeness, ‘I’ve taken her upstairs and shown you hospitality and what do you do? Throw it back in my face! Get out!’ I scream.
The bouncer jumps for her arms, pulls her up, kicks the door open and shoves her out. The blonde spits at me, Fake Tits tells her to sit down or get out.
‘I’ve had it with this shit Alicia, you can go get fucked, I’m going to go after her, make your own way home and don’t talk to me anymore. I can’t believe that you would let him do this to us’, she yells at Fake Tits, storms over, opens the door and slams it behind her.
With that commotion over I nod to the bartender to make us up a round of Jagerbombs, those things are lethal, especially after a few. A smashing noise breaks my concentration, he apologises, his hand slipped and a glass broke. At least the sook and the stupid blonde are gone. Comatose brunette faces me, asking for another drink. I tell her that they are on the way, getting up to get the drinks; I inconspicuously pick up a rohypnol tablet and slip it into my pocket. I look back at Fake tits, her eyes are drawn to the window, diagonally across there are a couple having sex on the veranda, the woman’s face is in a moment of pure joy and the man looks like he is concentrating. I’m starting to get hard watching the scene and Fake Tits keeps looking at me and crossing and uncrossing her legs.
Turning around to pick up the tray I pop the tablet into one of the Jagerbombs, turning around I grin at Fake Tits and Comatose. As I set down the tray comatose reaches for a drink, almost swiping the drugged one, she grabs two of the ones beside it and shots them down without the red bull. Fake tits high fives her and takes a bomb. I sit between them, arms across their shoulders, I nod at my bartender to go and do something else. He takes the hint when I hand the drugged one to Fake Tits, by now, her chest is half hanging out, I can see a nipple and she knows this and doesn’t care. I suggest that she and comatose come back to mine, that seems to snap her out of her seductive mood and starts grabbing for her bag, she shots down her drink as if alarm bells are going off in her head. As she does this, I feel a warm wet sensation on my chest, looking down I see Comatose, passed out and dribbling all over me.
Fake Tits stands up, but in her heals she cannot walk anymore; the drug must have kicked in, finally. She starts swaying, but not to any music that I can hear, her legs go wobbly and I stand up to catch her. I motion for the bouncer to move comatose to another lounge and then go downstairs. When it is free, I take off my wet shirt and lie her down. She looks like a doll to me. Her blush all red, hair half messed up, but in a sexy way, her heals slightly falling off her feet and her dress clinging to her body. She has passed out, breathing heavy and deep, I trace the outline of her red lipped mouth. Her hands are by her side occasionally opening and closing.
I put my hands in hers and lift them above her head, so that her tits are at their best looking point, nice and pert. I reach up and grab them, pulling at them through the material, fondling them as rough as I can. Reaching down I yank her dress so that it’s now above her head. Her panties are small and encompass all of her. Her bra is black and boring, it has to come off. I rip the material between her cups hard, wanting it to break; it does, just as I like it. I will be keeping this as a souvenir. Her tits fall free, large and soft; they will not stay like this for long. I am now hard; I sit between her chest and rub myself between her breasts, it feels like her vagina. I am almost about to blow my load, but I don’t want to do it on her chest; I want it to go down her throat. I prise her mouth open with one finger and shove myself down into the hole. I increase my motion so that I am now fucking her mouth. I’m about to come and I empty it down her gaping mouth. I take it out and look at her; I poke her belly button, not knowing what to do. I’m half tempted to cut her open, fuck her or just dump her downstairs. All three sound like good ideas. I walk over to where the bar is, picking up a bit of glass that the barman broke earlier and take it over to Fake Tits.
Standing over her, I reach down and grab a breast, gripping it hard, I make a small incision at the bottom and I stick a finger in feeling around for the implant. I find it and stick my thumb in there too, pulling it out. A whimper escapes her mouth. I repeat with the other breast. The implants sit on her nipple as if they were provoking them to poke it. I seize her panties and cut it off with the piece of glass in my hand. I shove three fingers in her hole, making squelching noises; I slap her juices on myself and thrust into her. Fuck, she is tight, almost virgin tight. It is so tight that I’m not going to be able to last much longer. With that, I explode into her, my whole body shake but no reaction from her. Not that I care anyway.
I find her clitoris and make small cuts on it, blood drops onto my hand. I reach up, taking a hold of her chin, blood staining her now white cheeks, and ask her what her name is. She cannot reply, so I pick up her wallet from her bag. Alicia Granton. What a boring name. I tell her that she should have listened to her friend and not come up. I put the implant and the bleeding flesh into the bra and pull her dress down back under her head. Calling for the bouncer, he picks her up and brings her downstairs. I give the lounge quick wipe over, cark the strobe lights for a few seconds to let him drop her somewhere, grab another shirt from the closet and casually stroll down stairs to start all over again.
Not Something From The Olden Days
The constant talking about teenage mothers in the media used to surround my thoughts, not wanting to think nor believe that it was possible. The cool clear jelly sent shivers up my spine as it was smeared over my exposed stomach. The two litres of water that I had previously drunk that filled my bladder began to churn. The ultrasound device was cold, gently but firmly being pushed around my belly. The prenatal heart beat listener caught its purpose; the soft tapping of a small heart beat broke the silence between the nurse and me. On the ultrasound screen, a vague outline of a baby could be seen. The nurse repeatedly told me that I was a brave young girl; all I could do was thank her, not knowing what else to say.
The ten minute walk felt as if it was three days going by, the cars were driving slowly and the traffic lights refused to change and the clouds overhead changed into a million different shapes, thanks to the wind. She had to know, I had to tell her sometime, five months had already passed and she had to let me keep it, surely? She had commented a few weeks ago that I had put on a bit of weight; secretly I knew what the reason was. She looked up when the sound of the flyscreen door creaked open, walking in, eyes downcast, she asked what was wrong. Taking me upstairs to talk, I said that I had something that I needed to tell her. Blurting it was accompanied with a gush of tears, which had been held back for the past five months from the point of denial. My boyfriend and I discussed the thought of having an abortion, him on centrelink and I did not having a job, as I was fifteen closed that idea, with the slamming of a door. The reason why I had waited so long to tell her was because I was 5 months gone, and there was no way that they could terminate the pregnancy. Or so I thought. Mom told dad, I sat there when she told him balling my eyes out. Something killed me that instant, the changing of emotions in his eyes, fear, hatred, scared, humiliated, sad, disappointment and worry.
Four thirty in the afternoon saw the booming of the three local phone books being slammed on the wooden table. Dad’s hands trembling as he flicked through the pages, abortion, that is what he was after. Numerous times I told them that I did not want to have an abortion, this was rejected with the rebuttal – it wasn’t my choice, I had already made the decision and now it was their turn to fix it. They found someone that would legally consider it. A fifteen year old, who is pregnant to a immature twenty one year old, five months gone and only just told her parents? Most of the people answering the phones laughed. I wished that it was a joke, but it was not. Brisbane. 6. 30 Am. two days time. During that time there were things to be organised. $3500, another ultrasound, and facing the heart ache from my parents.
The feeling of fear swept through me as I waited for the nurse to come and conduct the ultrasound and examination, mom sat on a chair two metres from the bed, not able to look at me or in any direction towards me. Two ladies from the reception talked about me in hushed tones. The words fifteen, five months, just told her parents, emergency to get in and many more floated down the corridor to where I could hear them. I wondered where they found out all this information, then realised that mom knew one of them and then it all added up. The nurse popped her head in the door and came to perform the task at hand. When the baby’s body came up on the screen, mom let out a horrible gasp and left the room. The feeling of dread gripped all the nerve endings, organs and muscles in my body, half recognising that it is mine and the other knowing that there is now way that I cannot get out of the abortion. The nurse told me that it is a boy, a fine young healthy boy. Also, that his foot was the size of my pinkie. Waiting outside for me was mom, tears in her eyes.
Silence engulfed my presence between the ultrasound and the four am wake up call to drive to Brisbane. I could not look either of them in the eye. The waiting room was full of women of various ages; we all knew what we were there. An overnight bag was tucked under dad’s arm; he was the one with me. At the time I wanted mom to be there, looking back I realise that he was the one who was the strongest at that point. First in, I was hit with a wall of questions, why are you here? Why didn’t you have this done earlier? How could you put your family through something like this? I explained to the best of my ability, although the nurse was not happy with my answers, deciding to send me to see the doctor. Sitting behind a desk, wearing a blue plastic robe she sat, she told me that she was not convinced that I wanted to have the abortion today, and until I proved this, she would not go through with it. Obviously not satisfied with my indecisiveness, she refused to operate, tears stinging my eyes I returned to the car. Four people sitting in the car, parents in shock of coming all the way there for nothing, one too young and oblivious the other desperate to be in control of everything. A vibrating sensation signalled a phone call was coming from my jean pocket. Unaware of whom it was, answering it, a wave of relief came over my parents. It was the clinic. They were offering me a week to think about it, and another opportunity next week if I decided that I wanted to go through with it. If I choose to not take that opportunity, I would be overdue for Brisbane, needing to be sent to Melbourne for double the price. My parent’s eyes boring into my head, I knew that I did not have any chance other than to say yes.
Same place, same early morning, except this morning protesters were lined up against the door. Screaming things, waving anti abortion sticks in our faces and the distilled and shocked looks veered my way, like tiny daggers carving away at my flesh. They were seizing me up, analysing my motives for walking up to an abortion clinic at that time, the dumbfounded age discriminative glances irritated me. The ground looked mighty fine at that point, the pebbles embedded in the white washed pavement, proving to be a temporary distraction until I got to the door. It was dark in the stairway, spiral staircase leading up to a door with no light shining through it. The gloom of what I was about to do sunk in.
The examination room, pristine white, spatulas, heart rate monitors and many other instruments of action were located around the room. A red wristband was attached to my arm, stating in bold black letters that this patient is allergic to popcorn. She laughed at the allergy when she wrote it, explaining that they most likely will not be serving popcorn at any time during the process. Directed to go sit in a waiting room, shielded from the world, a pair of frog covered pyjamas sat next to me. Their eyes looking at me as if I was an unnatural being, it could have been paranoia, although it did not seem like it. Other women were directed into the room, a television in the corner blasted out the day’s weather, not that we could see what it was going to be like, the windows were covered with maroon heavy curtains, blocking out any glimpse of sunlight. Head in my hands, to stop it from spinning and thinking about what was going to happen in a few minutes. From what seemed like a far off distance, a voice called my name, a strong voice, full of power; it came closer as I brought my mind back to reality. Standing to greet the man calling me, he asked me to follow him. A room, with bright lights and a window facing the city building district greeted me, like the first room it was pristine clean. Floors recently mopped and the distinct smell of disinfectant filled the room. He pointed to a hospital bed, that had what looked like crutches at the end, and asked me to jump up. Lying down, a needle was placed neatly into the fold between my arm forearm and my upper arm. The murmuring of the people’s voices telling me that it is just the pain killers being released into my blood stream seeped into my ears. Over my head, an oxygen mask was placed and I was asked to count back from ten. 10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5...
Bright light seared through my eyelashes, making me want to not open my eyes. Biscuits and crackers are all that I can see, pain griped my lower body; I reached for a biscuit and shoved it into my mouth, waiting for the surge of sugar to reach the bloodstream. The ceiling was white, the carpet was blue and the chairs were a horrible white. I knew that this was not the end of it. Another day to go, the rods were inserted and the preparations were made.
The day was not something that I wanted to go through with, sitting in the same room, looking at the same biscuits, crackers and thinking about the situation, with a longing to keep the child that is inside of me. Tears of heart ache sliding down my cheek, rolling down my chin, the nurse asked me what was up, through the sobs, words of anguish spilled out, trying to reason with her and myself secretly. It was too late, in a few hours I was going to go into labour. Whilst being shown to a hospital bed, needles of pain struck into my lower stomach, wincing to try to avoid the pain, I begged for relief. A wheat bag was thrown my way, a distraction or a relief was something that I was unsure if it was or not. My bladder was threatening to break, calling for the nurse; I told her that I need to use the toilet. This was allowed, only if I didn’t give birth in the toilet. Promising, that no, I wouldn’t, or at least try not to, a crumpled heap of mass hobbled towards the toilet. Relief struck as my bladder began to empty, though the agony of the contractions made my head spin. Unable to get off the toilet successfully, a doctor helped me back to my bed, every time a nurse walked by, a moan for pain killers would suppress past my lips. A constant no tormented me, birth time was 2.30, another hour away, and the contractions were getting closer. Half of the time I had no idea what was going on, eyes rolling around the back of my head, pain engulfing the whole body.
Dozing off, a sharp pain awoke me from my slumber, a quick glance up at the clock signified that it was time. A bell on the bedside table began ringing, a nurse came and announced that antibiotics were needed to be inserted anally, and that rolling over was a necessity. Not that it was something that I enjoyed, nor would ever enjoy; any resistance would ultimately hurt more. Doing what was expected, rolling over and getting it over and done with, a man wheeled my bed into the clean sterilised room. It took three people to move me onto the operating table, as I could not move myself, two legs were propped up on the instruments that looked like crutches and the oxygen mask was lowered over my face. 10... 9... 8...
The ten minute walk felt as if it was three days going by, the cars were driving slowly and the traffic lights refused to change and the clouds overhead changed into a million different shapes, thanks to the wind. She had to know, I had to tell her sometime, five months had already passed and she had to let me keep it, surely? She had commented a few weeks ago that I had put on a bit of weight; secretly I knew what the reason was. She looked up when the sound of the flyscreen door creaked open, walking in, eyes downcast, she asked what was wrong. Taking me upstairs to talk, I said that I had something that I needed to tell her. Blurting it was accompanied with a gush of tears, which had been held back for the past five months from the point of denial. My boyfriend and I discussed the thought of having an abortion, him on centrelink and I did not having a job, as I was fifteen closed that idea, with the slamming of a door. The reason why I had waited so long to tell her was because I was 5 months gone, and there was no way that they could terminate the pregnancy. Or so I thought. Mom told dad, I sat there when she told him balling my eyes out. Something killed me that instant, the changing of emotions in his eyes, fear, hatred, scared, humiliated, sad, disappointment and worry.
Four thirty in the afternoon saw the booming of the three local phone books being slammed on the wooden table. Dad’s hands trembling as he flicked through the pages, abortion, that is what he was after. Numerous times I told them that I did not want to have an abortion, this was rejected with the rebuttal – it wasn’t my choice, I had already made the decision and now it was their turn to fix it. They found someone that would legally consider it. A fifteen year old, who is pregnant to a immature twenty one year old, five months gone and only just told her parents? Most of the people answering the phones laughed. I wished that it was a joke, but it was not. Brisbane. 6. 30 Am. two days time. During that time there were things to be organised. $3500, another ultrasound, and facing the heart ache from my parents.
The feeling of fear swept through me as I waited for the nurse to come and conduct the ultrasound and examination, mom sat on a chair two metres from the bed, not able to look at me or in any direction towards me. Two ladies from the reception talked about me in hushed tones. The words fifteen, five months, just told her parents, emergency to get in and many more floated down the corridor to where I could hear them. I wondered where they found out all this information, then realised that mom knew one of them and then it all added up. The nurse popped her head in the door and came to perform the task at hand. When the baby’s body came up on the screen, mom let out a horrible gasp and left the room. The feeling of dread gripped all the nerve endings, organs and muscles in my body, half recognising that it is mine and the other knowing that there is now way that I cannot get out of the abortion. The nurse told me that it is a boy, a fine young healthy boy. Also, that his foot was the size of my pinkie. Waiting outside for me was mom, tears in her eyes.
Silence engulfed my presence between the ultrasound and the four am wake up call to drive to Brisbane. I could not look either of them in the eye. The waiting room was full of women of various ages; we all knew what we were there. An overnight bag was tucked under dad’s arm; he was the one with me. At the time I wanted mom to be there, looking back I realise that he was the one who was the strongest at that point. First in, I was hit with a wall of questions, why are you here? Why didn’t you have this done earlier? How could you put your family through something like this? I explained to the best of my ability, although the nurse was not happy with my answers, deciding to send me to see the doctor. Sitting behind a desk, wearing a blue plastic robe she sat, she told me that she was not convinced that I wanted to have the abortion today, and until I proved this, she would not go through with it. Obviously not satisfied with my indecisiveness, she refused to operate, tears stinging my eyes I returned to the car. Four people sitting in the car, parents in shock of coming all the way there for nothing, one too young and oblivious the other desperate to be in control of everything. A vibrating sensation signalled a phone call was coming from my jean pocket. Unaware of whom it was, answering it, a wave of relief came over my parents. It was the clinic. They were offering me a week to think about it, and another opportunity next week if I decided that I wanted to go through with it. If I choose to not take that opportunity, I would be overdue for Brisbane, needing to be sent to Melbourne for double the price. My parent’s eyes boring into my head, I knew that I did not have any chance other than to say yes.
Same place, same early morning, except this morning protesters were lined up against the door. Screaming things, waving anti abortion sticks in our faces and the distilled and shocked looks veered my way, like tiny daggers carving away at my flesh. They were seizing me up, analysing my motives for walking up to an abortion clinic at that time, the dumbfounded age discriminative glances irritated me. The ground looked mighty fine at that point, the pebbles embedded in the white washed pavement, proving to be a temporary distraction until I got to the door. It was dark in the stairway, spiral staircase leading up to a door with no light shining through it. The gloom of what I was about to do sunk in.
The examination room, pristine white, spatulas, heart rate monitors and many other instruments of action were located around the room. A red wristband was attached to my arm, stating in bold black letters that this patient is allergic to popcorn. She laughed at the allergy when she wrote it, explaining that they most likely will not be serving popcorn at any time during the process. Directed to go sit in a waiting room, shielded from the world, a pair of frog covered pyjamas sat next to me. Their eyes looking at me as if I was an unnatural being, it could have been paranoia, although it did not seem like it. Other women were directed into the room, a television in the corner blasted out the day’s weather, not that we could see what it was going to be like, the windows were covered with maroon heavy curtains, blocking out any glimpse of sunlight. Head in my hands, to stop it from spinning and thinking about what was going to happen in a few minutes. From what seemed like a far off distance, a voice called my name, a strong voice, full of power; it came closer as I brought my mind back to reality. Standing to greet the man calling me, he asked me to follow him. A room, with bright lights and a window facing the city building district greeted me, like the first room it was pristine clean. Floors recently mopped and the distinct smell of disinfectant filled the room. He pointed to a hospital bed, that had what looked like crutches at the end, and asked me to jump up. Lying down, a needle was placed neatly into the fold between my arm forearm and my upper arm. The murmuring of the people’s voices telling me that it is just the pain killers being released into my blood stream seeped into my ears. Over my head, an oxygen mask was placed and I was asked to count back from ten. 10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5...
Bright light seared through my eyelashes, making me want to not open my eyes. Biscuits and crackers are all that I can see, pain griped my lower body; I reached for a biscuit and shoved it into my mouth, waiting for the surge of sugar to reach the bloodstream. The ceiling was white, the carpet was blue and the chairs were a horrible white. I knew that this was not the end of it. Another day to go, the rods were inserted and the preparations were made.
The day was not something that I wanted to go through with, sitting in the same room, looking at the same biscuits, crackers and thinking about the situation, with a longing to keep the child that is inside of me. Tears of heart ache sliding down my cheek, rolling down my chin, the nurse asked me what was up, through the sobs, words of anguish spilled out, trying to reason with her and myself secretly. It was too late, in a few hours I was going to go into labour. Whilst being shown to a hospital bed, needles of pain struck into my lower stomach, wincing to try to avoid the pain, I begged for relief. A wheat bag was thrown my way, a distraction or a relief was something that I was unsure if it was or not. My bladder was threatening to break, calling for the nurse; I told her that I need to use the toilet. This was allowed, only if I didn’t give birth in the toilet. Promising, that no, I wouldn’t, or at least try not to, a crumpled heap of mass hobbled towards the toilet. Relief struck as my bladder began to empty, though the agony of the contractions made my head spin. Unable to get off the toilet successfully, a doctor helped me back to my bed, every time a nurse walked by, a moan for pain killers would suppress past my lips. A constant no tormented me, birth time was 2.30, another hour away, and the contractions were getting closer. Half of the time I had no idea what was going on, eyes rolling around the back of my head, pain engulfing the whole body.
Dozing off, a sharp pain awoke me from my slumber, a quick glance up at the clock signified that it was time. A bell on the bedside table began ringing, a nurse came and announced that antibiotics were needed to be inserted anally, and that rolling over was a necessity. Not that it was something that I enjoyed, nor would ever enjoy; any resistance would ultimately hurt more. Doing what was expected, rolling over and getting it over and done with, a man wheeled my bed into the clean sterilised room. It took three people to move me onto the operating table, as I could not move myself, two legs were propped up on the instruments that looked like crutches and the oxygen mask was lowered over my face. 10... 9... 8...
I remember and I don't remember
I remember sitting alone on the silver lined seats at lunch and recess time, trying to inconspicuously drop my sandwich behind the seat, between it and the wall. The embarrassment when the teacher, after a few days of finding mouldy sandwiches asked the class whose they were, a girl who was supposed to be my friend stuck her hand up and told miss that it was me. I didn’t want to eat the sandwich because there was too much butter on it and I thought that butter and bread would make me fatter than I was. I remember the look on my mom’s face when the teacher told her what I was doing, tears rolling down my cheeks and denying that I did it because I was self conscious about my weight. I’m still in denial now.
I don’t remember my parent’s obsession with a camera. Every event was captured by at least one photo. My second birthday, which I had three parties, one at my nanas, the second at my auntie’s and the third at a friend’s all of them in Ireland. The piles of photos bring my back to the day, which was 17 years ago. Just like the Easter Bunny parade or hunt, this human sized bunny towered over me, my grinning face and golden curly haired head staring up in amazement. Both these memories and millions more captured by a snapshot of the reality that once was.
I don’t remember my parent’s obsession with a camera. Every event was captured by at least one photo. My second birthday, which I had three parties, one at my nanas, the second at my auntie’s and the third at a friend’s all of them in Ireland. The piles of photos bring my back to the day, which was 17 years ago. Just like the Easter Bunny parade or hunt, this human sized bunny towered over me, my grinning face and golden curly haired head staring up in amazement. Both these memories and millions more captured by a snapshot of the reality that once was.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
I remember...
I remember the way that I felt about life, the way that i felt exposed to the wilderness surrounding me. No one to turn to, nothing to do about it. My thoughts blurring the reality of life. I'm unable to distinguish the two from each other. The feelings that i know are mine are widely flung to the deep midsts of my mind, buried under ten thousand fluttering papers. As if a ceiling fan is trying to make me think about them, unwittingly. I'm not sure that i can keep going on like this, trying not to think of my past, it is a black cloud hanging over the horizon, threatening lashings of rain and bright lightning, with an expectation of dread that engulfs the air around it. I can feel it coming, the brooding of pain and heartache. I do not want to deal with it, I cannot. I wish that i was strong enough, but yet i continue to push it to the back, unwanting to deal with it or see it. I wish that it wasn't this hard, that it would disapper forever, leaving me peaceful and accepting of the past, present and future.
She recalls what it felt like, before. Being exposed to the wilderness that surrounded her. She had no one to turn to, and could do nothing about it. Somehow her thoughts blurring the reality of life, or so she told me. She was unable to distinguish the two from each other. She described how her thoughts were flung to the deepest midst of her mind, and buried under thousands of papers, which fluttered, a fan overhead was trying to make her think about them, unwittingly. I asked what her mind looked like. Like a black cloud, hanging over the horizon. Threatening lashings of rain and bright light. A certain exectation of dread, engulfing the air around it. She didn't want to think of her past, and she can't keep going on like this. She can feel it coming, the broding of pain and heartache. I do not want to deal with it, she yells, I cannot! I wish that i was strong enough, i keep pushing it back, not wanting to deal with it or see it. She breaks down, crying, she mutters, I wish that it wasn't this hard, that it would disappear forever, leaving me peaceful, accepting of the past, present and future. She has done it, made a break through, and for that I am proud.
You recalled the way that you felt about life. The way that you felt exposed to the wilderness surrounding you. Claiming that you had no one to talk to and couldn't do anything about it. We could never understand the way that you said the your thoughts were blurring the reality of life, and being unable to distinguish the two from each other. The psychologist described how your thoughts were strewn around your mind, somewhat buried under millions of papers. I'm not the bad person, you are the one on the horizon, the black cloud threatening lashings of rain, bright lightening, the expexectation that fillls the room when you arrive, you suck the air out of the room and me. Apparantly you cannot keep going on like this, you try to block out the past, but aren't we all? You cannot view the heart ache and the pain that is causing us, can you? And you think that you aren't strong enough? I cannot deal with it either! Why can you just let it go? It is the past, pushing it to the back, and not wanting to deal with it will make it worse. Trust me I know. We both wish that it wasn't this hard, that you would disappear forever, leaving me peace and acceptance. You will have the past present and future with out us, but can you forget the pain?
She recalls what it felt like, before. Being exposed to the wilderness that surrounded her. She had no one to turn to, and could do nothing about it. Somehow her thoughts blurring the reality of life, or so she told me. She was unable to distinguish the two from each other. She described how her thoughts were flung to the deepest midst of her mind, and buried under thousands of papers, which fluttered, a fan overhead was trying to make her think about them, unwittingly. I asked what her mind looked like. Like a black cloud, hanging over the horizon. Threatening lashings of rain and bright light. A certain exectation of dread, engulfing the air around it. She didn't want to think of her past, and she can't keep going on like this. She can feel it coming, the broding of pain and heartache. I do not want to deal with it, she yells, I cannot! I wish that i was strong enough, i keep pushing it back, not wanting to deal with it or see it. She breaks down, crying, she mutters, I wish that it wasn't this hard, that it would disappear forever, leaving me peaceful, accepting of the past, present and future. She has done it, made a break through, and for that I am proud.
You recalled the way that you felt about life. The way that you felt exposed to the wilderness surrounding you. Claiming that you had no one to talk to and couldn't do anything about it. We could never understand the way that you said the your thoughts were blurring the reality of life, and being unable to distinguish the two from each other. The psychologist described how your thoughts were strewn around your mind, somewhat buried under millions of papers. I'm not the bad person, you are the one on the horizon, the black cloud threatening lashings of rain, bright lightening, the expexectation that fillls the room when you arrive, you suck the air out of the room and me. Apparantly you cannot keep going on like this, you try to block out the past, but aren't we all? You cannot view the heart ache and the pain that is causing us, can you? And you think that you aren't strong enough? I cannot deal with it either! Why can you just let it go? It is the past, pushing it to the back, and not wanting to deal with it will make it worse. Trust me I know. We both wish that it wasn't this hard, that you would disappear forever, leaving me peace and acceptance. You will have the past present and future with out us, but can you forget the pain?
Shopping
Write a very short sketch in which two characters shop for a present for a wedding, attend the wedding and visit the home where the gift resides five years later. Use a little dialogue. Now change the order. What is the effect of the different order of events?
'She wouldn't like that and she sure as hell wouldn't like that. Way too tacky', Jarrod exclaims pointing first at a dining table then at a knife and fork set.
'What do you get for the people that have everything?', I mumble under my breath,
'They did say not to bring anything, Shazza', I add excitedly.
'Yeah, but you know Toz and Jok, they are going to expect something from us, I mean you know what they got us for our wedding..' He says, with his back to me.
'Oh, right, what did they get us again?' I ask somewhat confused.
He shakes his head at me and tutts. We decide on getting them a gift voucher for a local furniture store.
Driving along in the Limo, I stare off out of the window, the road is pocketed with pot holes and what not. Grocers, pawn shop, meat shop, furniture shop and a jewellers. This town is nothing special, a few shops, couple of hundred people and pretty much nothing else, just routine.
The scrambling out of the car, followed by the sermon flow on almost endlessly, i take no notice. Being a bridesmaid means nothing to me, just having to dance with the Best Man and having to look spiffy for the second time in my life, the first being my wedding.The reception is full of the same old people, the same old alcohol, the same old smell, nothing's changed and I doubt that it ever will. This certainly isin't what I want to do for the rest of my life. After sitting there for hours, it's all over, not a tead shed that night, suprisingly.
Driving through this town again, after a while maybe a couple of years, can't remember, nothing's changed. All that has seemed to change is the amount of pot holes in the road, I swear that they have multiplied a million times, every few seconds there is a bump. I decide to call in on the last people that I remember seeing here, Toz and Jok. They now live on a ridge just outside town, or so I've heard. Clearing the town, I spot a house, just like they described it, placed on the hill. I'm sure that it would have looked great a few years ago, but it's become derelict. Tiles have shimmied off the roof, grass almost knee height, door half swinging off the hinges and the verandah half painted.
Pulling up in the driveway, stepping out onto the ground, my heels dig into the soil, leaving little patterns. I wander up to the house, wary of the possibilities of snakes in the grass but figuring that if they bite anything, its most likely going to be my heels - I'm not too worried.Knocking on the door, it swings open, termites infested in the wood, holes scattered throughout the door I can almost see through it. It is dark inside, nappies strewn everywhere, clusters of beer cans litter the floor and a half eaten chicken roast left on the table, flies buzzing around it. Why is the place like this, I wonder, everyone said that it was beautiful, what happened?
Walking into the kitchen, my heels clicking on the floor, creating clean patches, somewhat removing a few of the layers of dead skin. I see a person gripping the handle of a cup, head on the table, hair limp and greasy, spread over the head and arms. Noticing something in the doorway, the figure looks up, it's Toz, her eyes are shrunken in her head, black bags under them, lips thin and wing blast cracked. For a moment we do not recognise each other. She mutters my name and gets up to hug me. The smell of urine fills the air, it gets closer as she moves nearer. Looking her up and down I see that she has stains on her tattered night gown. Hugging me slightly, the smell of urine is overpowering, now I know that it is her, she smells! A wave of disbelief washes over me.
She takes my hand and shows me around the house. Each room gets worse as we go through. She has two kids, a boy and a girl, both run around naked. I ask where Jok is, in return I get a icy stare and she mutters that an answer.
'He is in Gaol for murdering one of the kids', she exclaims in a low voice,'I though that you would have known about it all, it was all over the news for weeks.'
Shaking my head, I look at her.
'After you left, just after the wedding, it just kept going down hill, he began abusing me, destroying everything, he left with nothing, except one thing and that was this..' Her voice trailing off into the next room, begging me to follow.
Hesitantly I follow her, her back turned away from me, she slowly looks around, when it catches her eye, she picks it up and hands it to me.
'What is it?', I ask, it looks like nothing, or at least like nothing special.
'It's what you and Jarrod gave me for our wedding, I know that you guys got a divorce, but I'm just going to say that the present that we got with the voucher just made my day'
She says, her eyes piercing mine.It's a box, well I think that its a box, brown and wooden, there is latch, opening it, I see a picture of them together frame and the wedding rings placed separatly. A feeling of relief surges through me, at least it is nothing scary I think, a bit happier. A noise comes from outside, Toz looks up, almost afraid and starts ushering my out of the house, grabbing the box from my hands, chucking it to the ground. Something is wrong, I can sense it, she is trying to push me out of the back door. I lose my balance, losing a heel, she pushes me out the door, without noticing, closing the door behind me.I hear voices coming from inside, slowly opening the door, wanting to grab my shoe, the voice becomes recognisable.
Stepping into my heel and walking towards the kitchen, heels still making clopping noises, I walk into the space, realising who the voice belonged to. He has his arms around her, lips locked onto hers, eyes closed until I enter the room. When he sees me, he lets go of her, a look of suprise on his face. It's him. Jarrod. Walking up to her, who is completly oblivious to my presence, I whisper in her ear.'How could you? I hope that you rot in hell you lying bitch, I hope that Satan eats your soul and that you never find happiness again', bile rises in my throat and I walk out. AHe comes running after me screaming 'I was going to tell you!'.I get into my car and drive away, making a vow to myself to never come back again.
'She wouldn't like that and she sure as hell wouldn't like that. Way too tacky', Jarrod exclaims pointing first at a dining table then at a knife and fork set.
'What do you get for the people that have everything?', I mumble under my breath,
'They did say not to bring anything, Shazza', I add excitedly.
'Yeah, but you know Toz and Jok, they are going to expect something from us, I mean you know what they got us for our wedding..' He says, with his back to me.
'Oh, right, what did they get us again?' I ask somewhat confused.
He shakes his head at me and tutts. We decide on getting them a gift voucher for a local furniture store.
Driving along in the Limo, I stare off out of the window, the road is pocketed with pot holes and what not. Grocers, pawn shop, meat shop, furniture shop and a jewellers. This town is nothing special, a few shops, couple of hundred people and pretty much nothing else, just routine.
The scrambling out of the car, followed by the sermon flow on almost endlessly, i take no notice. Being a bridesmaid means nothing to me, just having to dance with the Best Man and having to look spiffy for the second time in my life, the first being my wedding.The reception is full of the same old people, the same old alcohol, the same old smell, nothing's changed and I doubt that it ever will. This certainly isin't what I want to do for the rest of my life. After sitting there for hours, it's all over, not a tead shed that night, suprisingly.
Driving through this town again, after a while maybe a couple of years, can't remember, nothing's changed. All that has seemed to change is the amount of pot holes in the road, I swear that they have multiplied a million times, every few seconds there is a bump. I decide to call in on the last people that I remember seeing here, Toz and Jok. They now live on a ridge just outside town, or so I've heard. Clearing the town, I spot a house, just like they described it, placed on the hill. I'm sure that it would have looked great a few years ago, but it's become derelict. Tiles have shimmied off the roof, grass almost knee height, door half swinging off the hinges and the verandah half painted.
Pulling up in the driveway, stepping out onto the ground, my heels dig into the soil, leaving little patterns. I wander up to the house, wary of the possibilities of snakes in the grass but figuring that if they bite anything, its most likely going to be my heels - I'm not too worried.Knocking on the door, it swings open, termites infested in the wood, holes scattered throughout the door I can almost see through it. It is dark inside, nappies strewn everywhere, clusters of beer cans litter the floor and a half eaten chicken roast left on the table, flies buzzing around it. Why is the place like this, I wonder, everyone said that it was beautiful, what happened?
Walking into the kitchen, my heels clicking on the floor, creating clean patches, somewhat removing a few of the layers of dead skin. I see a person gripping the handle of a cup, head on the table, hair limp and greasy, spread over the head and arms. Noticing something in the doorway, the figure looks up, it's Toz, her eyes are shrunken in her head, black bags under them, lips thin and wing blast cracked. For a moment we do not recognise each other. She mutters my name and gets up to hug me. The smell of urine fills the air, it gets closer as she moves nearer. Looking her up and down I see that she has stains on her tattered night gown. Hugging me slightly, the smell of urine is overpowering, now I know that it is her, she smells! A wave of disbelief washes over me.
She takes my hand and shows me around the house. Each room gets worse as we go through. She has two kids, a boy and a girl, both run around naked. I ask where Jok is, in return I get a icy stare and she mutters that an answer.
'He is in Gaol for murdering one of the kids', she exclaims in a low voice,'I though that you would have known about it all, it was all over the news for weeks.'
Shaking my head, I look at her.
'After you left, just after the wedding, it just kept going down hill, he began abusing me, destroying everything, he left with nothing, except one thing and that was this..' Her voice trailing off into the next room, begging me to follow.
Hesitantly I follow her, her back turned away from me, she slowly looks around, when it catches her eye, she picks it up and hands it to me.
'What is it?', I ask, it looks like nothing, or at least like nothing special.
'It's what you and Jarrod gave me for our wedding, I know that you guys got a divorce, but I'm just going to say that the present that we got with the voucher just made my day'
She says, her eyes piercing mine.It's a box, well I think that its a box, brown and wooden, there is latch, opening it, I see a picture of them together frame and the wedding rings placed separatly. A feeling of relief surges through me, at least it is nothing scary I think, a bit happier. A noise comes from outside, Toz looks up, almost afraid and starts ushering my out of the house, grabbing the box from my hands, chucking it to the ground. Something is wrong, I can sense it, she is trying to push me out of the back door. I lose my balance, losing a heel, she pushes me out the door, without noticing, closing the door behind me.I hear voices coming from inside, slowly opening the door, wanting to grab my shoe, the voice becomes recognisable.
Stepping into my heel and walking towards the kitchen, heels still making clopping noises, I walk into the space, realising who the voice belonged to. He has his arms around her, lips locked onto hers, eyes closed until I enter the room. When he sees me, he lets go of her, a look of suprise on his face. It's him. Jarrod. Walking up to her, who is completly oblivious to my presence, I whisper in her ear.'How could you? I hope that you rot in hell you lying bitch, I hope that Satan eats your soul and that you never find happiness again', bile rises in my throat and I walk out. AHe comes running after me screaming 'I was going to tell you!'.I get into my car and drive away, making a vow to myself to never come back again.
Formal
The wind was slightly blowing through my straight hair. I'm at the top of Point Danger, where you can see forever. A smirk creeps across my face.The cold metal of the bench sends shivers down my spine. In the far off distance are the waves crashing against the beach. A few surfers are dotted along the shoreline, waiting for the perfect wave.My formal dress flows around me, the silk sliding over my legs. I can feel my electric blue headband against my back, comforting my nerves of anticipation of the night to come.Dad is standing beside my, camera poised up to his eyes. He loves that camera, he claims that it only takes good photographs. I hear it clicking away. Looking at the camera, I smile and look away. The timely noise amuses me.My mind drifts somewhere else, the smell of the salty wind grabs my attention back to the present.Craig comes back and sits beside me, again the flickering of the flash continues. I tell dad that the flash doesn't need to be on, as the sun hasn't set. The constantly bright flahing light is blinding me, slowly anyhow.Looking behind me, the sun goes behind a cloud, making an orange solour fill the sky. The horizon is a red colour, whereas further away, is a precious purple.
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