they said watch the horizon

up and down … up and down … up

the swells make my head explode
my heart aches in sympathy
for my stomach and my ears

look for the horizon
there is no shore out there
only water, and the –

burning alive, want water
but there is none to be had
surrounded by it and not
a drop to drink, its salted

there is another here and
we’re the last; not survivors,
we won’t unless help comes soon

we’re lost in the vastness
we will die on this damned raft
oh, i don’t want to be sick,

not again – i can’t afford –
leaking valuable fluids
it hurts and i want to die
but i don’t want to die

i won’t die if i just drink
squeeze my eyes shut against it
it’s a hallucination

the other looks different
shivering in my skin over
ripples of chilly fever

the other stares at me with
his mouth slightly open and
eyes dead in their watchfulness
i desperately need water

i feel like food, god help me
but I’m not food, i’m alone
i desperately need water

my tongue’s a sandpaper worm
i’m alone, surrounded by
water and the horizon

up and down … up and down … up

just water, the horizon
and the sun, it’s burning me
precious fluid lies waiting
stagnating in the other

it would slake the thirst but
my heart refutes what my
body demands quenched and quelled

so far to go, too far
saying it makes it real
rotting in his veins – tick tock

his body moves, sorta twitches
involuntarily, my
eyes on the cooling liquids
strength and survival, they said

strength and survival
i’m sorry, i’m so sorry
sorry, i don’t want to die

it gushes after the cut
after the small blade I pried
from the other’s stiff fingers
puncture the adust membrane

it’s water – it’s just water
believe that it’s red water

i press my lips on the slash
it’s like sucking through a straw
breathe in deep the red water

the blood, its only water
its just water, please god, please
its water, i’m so thirsty

up and down … up and down … up

i’m alone now and the sun
it burned when I threw him,
his husk, with a light splash
much like a funeral pyre

the sky is alive, on fire
molten water and the sky
they said watch the horizon,

just how long have i been here?
how many days, hours, minutes
the other is empty, gone

i can’t, please, please god i can’t
not anymore, just end me
pry the cup from my burnt lips
be kind to this poor sinner

non-believer, heretic
won’t you please take me home now
i have been a faithful son

how is it daybreak again
the horizon is on fire
how many days has it been

nothing seems real anymore
the surreal sense of living
i remember so little
nothing but that god damned hole

i remember the screaming
killing, there were dead people
so much blood and so much death

and the lifeboats were all gone
everyone left us or died
those sonsabitches left us!

then there were only we two
the other and me we found
this inflatable dinghy
and we jumped and we floated

drifting on sea vomit when
our vessel, it exploded
there was a fire after

and the boat, she broke apart
on the surface and the wind
and the force of it pushed us

we were only frightened boys
and now there is only me
surrounded by water and
not a drop to drink

up and down … up and down … up

i pray to every god
i prey to the Other
i look at the horizon

beg and plead for a rescue
i’m so thirsty and tired
please god, please show me mercy

i can’t do this much longer
my flesh is no longer pink
but mottled brackish purple
my skin hurts just to breathe, even
my teeth, my mind whimpers softly

up and down … up and down … up

my guts are heaving sickness
desperate to be ill
but you can’t throw up nothing

i need fluids, some water
surrounded by water, but
there is never a shoreline

no shore, just the horizon
look to the horizon
they said watch the horizon

©MelanieMcCurdie2017

Rolling the Beautiful Bones – coming soon to Fear Front Publishing

the chesterfield

I used to overflow

Sitting on a sofa
Chesterfield
Couch, whatever.

Thighs spilled over edges
Although not a lot
And my gut filled my lap
More than the kids ever did
Shortness of breath from walking
Down the street was more common
Than breathlessness for any other reason

Today I sat in the same place
On different furniture
In the corner and
I barely filled half of the cushion

Nothing to spill over
And there was room on my lap
for my bigger baby boy
And the mutt
Although not a lot

Having no air comes from
Beauty rather than fear of death
From lack of breath

Somehow, even with my hands
Resting on the new points
and jutting edges
And the image that the mirror shows
I still don’t feel like me

©MelanieMcCurdie2017

tItHe AnD tImE

I was a good and faithful daughter.

I paid my tithe and I paid my time
and I paid my dues
I payed for my sins and
prayed for my soul
prayed for forgiveness
for sins I hadn’t committed yet
All because my ancestors
grandparents, my parents, did
because a man in a robe told me I should
I must, he said –
You must
Now your head and pray for forgiveness
Pray for your sins to be washed away
Pray for your eternal reward

Pray?
Pray to what?
To whom?
Pray to a God that professed
His Love
His devotion in return for mine
For His Forgiveness
But stood idly watching
Floated by on His Heavenly Perch
Waiting while I suffered
Like some Silent Stalkery Saviour
While I pled and pleaded

God,
Our Father.
My Father
Help me be a better person
Help him not be angry anymore
I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong
I know I deserve it but I don’t know why

Save Me
Please don’t forsake me
God Please Make It Stop
I’ll pray harder
I’ll Do Better
I’ll do anything
God, please

The mindless begging
Became a realisation that
I am and was my own God
My own Saviour

I Saved Me.
No one else did


©MelanieMcCurdie2017

Fair Warning

i’m not what i appear
i wish that i were able to be
strong or confident or assured of myself
truth is that in intimate gatherings
in smaller spaces and darker places
the likelihood of a typical initial response
is relatively high due to social programming
however, the effort expended to maintain in this manner
is slim to nil, or less
Fair Warning –  once you are in my eyes

i will never let you out of my sight

©MelanieMcCurdie

Snarktastically, speaking

Tomorrow is cutting day. Yup! I’m going under the knife!

Admittedly, I’m a dight nervous about some legalised lunatic armed with nasty ass tools and enough meds to knock Godzilla into the next dimension being anywhere near my nearly perfect physique.  That was snarkasm, by  the way,   There’s nothing perfect about this physique and I’m good with that thanks.

I’m just kidding. My doctor, she is very sweet and actually quite gentle, but the fact remains. Nasty tool = not enough medicinal tequila in the world…. It is my intent to distract myself with a variance of artistic pursuits and filmatic offerings in an effort to keep myself distracted from said fact.

 I will be out of commission for a short period of time, and as insulting as it is for my family to be giving praise to the Almighty for the gift,  they have a point.  A girl needs her beauty sleep and blah blah recovery blah blah blood sounds cool blah blah blah

You feel me?

So,  beginning today, if you should need my attentions,  and you really don’t want my full attention,  the usual methods will suffice. I do intend to be playing my music at brain shattering levels  when I am not sleeping or writing and this will necessitate some creative attention-getting skills.

I’ll just leave that with you…

Melanie McCurdie

In the tub

The swirling soap draws designs in the water over my scarred knees
They looks like badly used shillelaghs
Maybe I’m a disease or
maybe I’ve something to displease
Her, He, They, My Maker

And begging
please
can’t You stop
please
Begging for any sort of respite
from the constant noise of
The bells inside my head
Is useless and moot anyway
Because it’s gong to happen-

I hate it.
I hate to cry because it’s physically painful and
I downright despise being watched
While I tear myself apart
In a losing battle to hold it together

I know I can’t be the only one
Who has ever cried in the tub
Away from prying ears and
Sceptical eyes

So why do I feel so damned alone?

©MelanieMcCurdie

If I had a penis

– Dedicated to all my sisters who know they damned well feel the same way and especially for those won’t admit it –

DISCLAI

If I had a penis for just one day:

 

In the spirit of truthfulness…I’d think with it at least twice

 

and spend the early morning in bed alone with it, too

 

Plus, let’s face it ladies,

how often will we have the opportunity 

to learn to write our names 

in the snow?

 

I’d probably join the girls for coffee, to compare

and swing it around a little because it looks like fun….

 

But then I’d be bored and so in retrospect,

 

no.

©MelanieMcCurdie2017

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Words

I’m just a girl, you know.
I love pretty things like fire and sunrises
Flutterbyes and bloodsauce
– stuff like that
But deeper down,
along the Pathway to the Other
There is a beautiful well in the middle of nowhere

I want to believe it still contains magic
That maybe wishes do come true
I remember when it was an oasis
made from morning dew
I loved there, long ago,
When I believed that he loved me
Because he said if was so

I loved there, in the lantern lights
Happy to lay amongst the thorns
Bright horizons and endless desire
That’s where they lived until love died
When the world changed and
And took everything with it

I’m just a silly girl, with stupid notions
A frilly smart filly who would rather be dumb
Than have to hide and pretend
That nothing bothers me because I lack
Intelligence to comprehend reality

Denying the fact that it burns
Doesn’t make the fire less hot
And denying desires doesn’t make them
Vanish like smoke
Instead, the agony increases
As I fade away with words unspoken

©MelanieMcCurdie

filter smash

I’m drunk and I’m pissed off about it. I also don’t care so I don’t know where that leaves us, except with me wishing there was more fucking tequila and sort of regretting smashing the shit out of my filter in self-defence and solidarity … mostly due to alcohol.

Yeah so the hell what if the wagon was moving when I fell off? it didn’t hurt a bit.  I feel nothing and I like it this way. There is less chance of someone getting their feelings injured by my lack of care for anyone’s feelings but my own.

No one else gives a hot damn past  their own desires, so why does it shock that I finally caught on?  My heart may be dilapidated and my soul battered,  but it still feels enough to know when I no longer matter enough to consider as anything more than a human doormat or stepping stone to the next best thing.

Fuck that noise. I may not be perfect but I’m worth it and a far sight more than those lame ass whiners who trap themselves in ivory towers and claim innocence while their horns glow.

I know what I am. I know why too. I also know that I am not sticking around to watch your world implode one more damned time then be obligated to listen to the endless bitching why why why. Waaahhh.

I don’t care why. I don’t want to hear lies and backtrack bullshit to protect your less than truthful conjecture.

I really expected more than the typical  human crap. That’s my bad and a mistake I’ll not likely make again.

Oh look. Vodka.

glassbone

It’s never been this way before
It rattled me, the shattery explosion
Awaking the sleeping giant
The oceans roar, like breathing through
A seizure of electric proportions
The seabirds soared and called
and sailed the breathless breezes
it rattled me to my core –
Being touched by lightning so similar to
A glassbone rebirth
So much more mind quaking
It’s so agonising to consider
Imploring the Goddess and pleading upon Her better nature
but it’s a worthless feat
in spite of its kind nature
as She does not hear the begging of
mere mortals smallish wants but,
instead gives larger gifts wrapped
In subtle hidden packages.

img_6241http://www.melaniemccurdie.com

Coming 2017

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Bite Me

You keep saying that

I don’t talk nor do I

express myself,  well ask

yourself why that could be

let’s see you utilise

that brain for more than

sexual function or

romantic fantasy

ask yourself again why

I don’t scream from rooftops

from soul balconies

what’s locked inside of me;

the way I love or hate

you’d investigate if

it mattered at all but

it doesn’t and while you

self serve a buffet of

narcissistic platitudes

that we are all expected

to imbibe as gospel

you have the ballsy nerve

to crown me drama queen

because I break down and

show my weaker side?

you can’t decide what to

say to me but run and

hide like a guilty child

instead of the adult

that  you shout claim to be.

Grow up already…okay?

I’m through with the raving

holier than thou, whining

attitude when someone

doesn’t gift wrap your wants,

your needs, your deep desires,

offered up on steaming on

a stolen silver plate.

trust me, no one wants the

half gassed effort made at

love so save the words and

prove it for a fucking

change instead of giving

me a menu and the

same shitty lip service

that is always on tap

©MelanieMcCurdie2016

Inside by David Boutin

This story was written by my 10 year old son David as a surprise for me.  I am indeed, surprised and pleased,  I hope you will be too.

Melanie

“Sometimes a story gets so crowded you can’t tell an original story anymore.”

Scott Cawthon

Part 1

He turned the key in the lock and opened the door.  To his horror, he saw an exact clone of himself knocked unconscious and a knife marked #1.  He essentially had to kill himself to escape this torment.  Inside himself, he found a key saying, “It was inside you all along.” As he finished reading it, James remembered who he was.

There was a door engraved exit and he opened it nervously.  Sure enough, it was an exit and James was happy.  He went home and found something peculiar.  His front door was engraved with a 2. All he could do was laugh as he realised there was no end to his torment.  He went inside.

James never came out again.

Part 2

It all started with a man named Thomas.  he came to a place named Pewter City to ask for directions to California.  He found it oddly deserted.  He explored, confused and came to a door marked with a 2 in blood.  Our of curiosity, Thomas opened the door and found a man crying in a corner.   Ignoring everything else, he tapped on the man’s shoulder and only caught a glimpse of the man’s bloodshot eyes.

Thomas awoke confused and without memory of who he was, and noticed that he was locked tight into a chair with a free clone of himself before him with a knife in his hand.  Thomas screamed as the cloned stabbed him to death.

But he didn’t die. Thomas was still alive, he was free and all he could see was a bright red exit sign.  So he ran and ran and ran until he blacked out.

Thomas ame to only to see a drop and a gun with a sign saying DO IT!

Thomas jumped.  He landed on some spikes that were arranged in the text #3 and never came to again.

Part 3

 

James woke up suddenly and everything was different. A loudspeaker boomed overhead, “Welcome James! Take a good look around.  It will matter.  You have 10 seconds starting….NOW 10-9-8-765 PSYCH!! You thought this was over, didn’t you? It isn’t over until you are dead.  I will hunt you down.  I will find you.  You will be #4. Goodbye James, for now.”

One second he was trapped in a chair, then he was free with a knife, then in a car and then impaled on spikes.  Outside! It was all too much and it all went black when the same voice spit from above his head, “it’s time to wake up! Rise and shine!”  James opened his eyes; he was on the lawn and everything was still the same as before he went inside the house.

“Rise and smell the ashes Jim!” 

The house transformed into a burning wreckage and he shook, shouting, “Who are you?”

The unknown voice laughed, “That’s for me to know, and you to find out Jimmy Boy!” There was another clone coming towards him and James held out his hand, shocked to see it held a gun.  Hanging from a tag, a message read, “Aim for the head and pull.”

James shot the gun.

 

Part 4

“well, they keep coming, so put on the show!”  It was him, that ham from all those years ago.  Finally, he is here; the man that caused all the fear. “Goodbye John,” he said, for now.”

This is the story of Stanley “Eggs” Benedict.

Stanley awoke tired.  He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up to see himself seconds before the world went black.

There was an exit sign flashing  in the distance, and with it, he, himself, was phasing in and out of existence.  The lights went out, even the sign and that is when he saw them and remembered it all.  The drop, the door, the loudspeaker voice, everything!

From behind him, a man’s voice spoke quietly, as the man himself stepped from the shadows. “Congratulations Mr. Benedict. You passed the test and  stayed sane.” It was his best friend, Jeremy Fitzgerald.

What was that!? Stanley yelled, shocked.

“Revenge.  Revenge for that Saw prank earlier in August. I know you have fond memories of that,” Jeremy replied with a smirk.

“But how? I don’t get it.”

The light is so bright and Jeremy’s blurry face appears laughing, “You were in VR, dummy.”

Stanley shook his head, and said, “so, it wasn’t real?”

Jeremy just laughed.  The next day, he was found decapitated with no reason or explaination. A fitting end for a torturing psychopath.

daveyb-story-photo

 

Part 5: The Return

“…..hello…?  I’m back!!”

Memories of long ago rushed into my head.  Living like this, you’re better off dead. “I’ll be found deep down underground.  What have I done to deserve this torture?”

“Wake up.  Wake Up!” and suddenly, he was but why does it matter? I’m dead.

“It will matter.  See that remote? Push the button and be the core.”  There is a remote in my hand that has only one button.  I press it and all turns black.

“A man chooses but a slave obeys. This is not the end.  More shall come, more shall die. Watch your back.”

Part 6

The end is near as the encryption appears

“This is the last test, James.  After this, you are free.”

James is suddenly falling.  He has been impaled, shot, stabbed and phased out of existence.  Now he is in a room with four doors each with several numbers marked on them. He opens door 1 and sees more and more doors and with a sigh, starts down the hall. James becomes lost and is never seen again.

 

Doggerel and dirges

Don’t be too kind to me.
I’m only human and like it or not
There’s still a heart ticking away In here.
Worse yet, it feels things and I’m tired.
Stupid thing, it still wants to believe that maybe
words aren’t all doggerel and dirges
secrets and lies and wooful design.
so, please, don’t be too kind
I may believe you.

©MelanieMcCurdie

Stains

Punches leave stains.

people call them bruises but
stains is more accurate.

words leave stains, too.

they hunch shoulders and
they burn in your chest, and

they mar your view of yourself
until all you see is ugly.

they scar your body in ways
that no one else can see.

some stains can be removed
given enough time, trust and soul bleach,
but the truth of it is that

some stains never fade.

@MelanieMcCurdie2016

bones don’t lie

There’s a woman in the mirror
that I barely recognise –
maybe a little around the eyes
and in the ghost of a smile
that seems to tremble on the verge
of – I’m not sure but I empathise
with the wistfulness that lies
behind the false facade window dressing
you know, maybe it’s a blessing in disguise
that I don’t know this
beautiful wretched creature
with the sad longing eyes
she’s not what she used to be
the truth lays like bones
in the tears that threaten to spill
and I’d give anything to see them
overflow happy rather than hide
the misery away behind a
deep-seated desire to just fade away.

©MelanieMcCurdie2016

The Swollen Man

The voice in my head is incessantly whining at me;  Don’t start.  Stop Crying.  Big girls don’t cry.  You’re stronger than this. Gods, shut up already.  I’m not stronger than this, not remotely.  Perhaps once upon a time,  when I could breathe and move without scrutiny and suspicion, and without resignation, maybe then,  I was stronger.  Now,  not even close.

I know that tears are a waste.  I know that they are a weakness and that they get you hurt.  Whatever entity lives up there knows that I’ve lived enough lessons in my life to know that’s a fact, Jack.  There are those that will shake their heads in disbelief or in disgust at my words, likely wondering if I have finally blown a mental gasket and if I am leaking sanity.  I’m neither out of my head nor crazy;  things would be simpler if I were, but no, this is all just result of environmental poisonings, experiences and far too many teachings from the fist.  One learns early on how to bottle and I am old hat at that game. I’ve forgotten more about self-preservation techniques than most should ever know in their lives.

People are so blind.  They have little clue about how it feels to sit and shout at yourself you must not be weak sister every single time tears threaten or how it feels to know that you are going to fail. I doubt most of them could survive if they couldn’t find a Starbucks.  I wonder if any of you  can comprehend being torn apart by your own mind, over a few tears?  I don’t think that the majority could, and I pray that they never learn how.

It’s a dual existence truly, learning how to shatter on the inside, and while smiling on the out.  Sometimes, some nights it gets to be too much and the pressure can’t be held any longer.  No matter how one tries, no matter how one berates oneself,  those tears are going to fall.

No one likes to be made fun of as they are falling apart; the beatings I give myself, the fear that I can taste in my mouth when that dam breaks, the shame of crying because I can’t stop, is agonising.  To be poked at and told to stop and denied release when it’s an impossible to hold back that tidal wave with what amounts to a drink umbrella  is more than unfair.  It’s cruel.  The words just add a sting, when warm arms would’ve been a softer place to land.

In attempting to be all that everyone requires, one loses oneself in the demands.  It’s difficult to juggle, but I like to think that I do it well.  But it is difficult to be that tough supporter for those I care for, love while I starve myself.  The needs of the many and all that.   My life is micromanaging the undefinable, and making it work is all that much harder, and I manage while balancing that fine line between function and fulfilment.  Existing in a loud, large bubble is no way to live.

He told me that he was going home to check on the animals and to put gas in the car.  It would have been believable if it weren’t for the fact that it was quite difficult to drive without the keys to the vehicle,  and he hadn’t asked for them since he tossed them into my purse when we arrived. He had planned to drink. Again.

Tonight, after the community bonfire that we had no choice but to attend, I saw him there in the shadows of the commissary. His eyes were full of brimstone and bite, lustfully gazing on the youthful wife of our Mayor with his dick in his eyes.  I saw how she undulated slightly when her eyes met his, and the way she changed position with a gasp before excusing herself with a small smile and a flush.  His eyes followed her all night, with his hand rubbing at his crotch absently and his tongue tracing his lips over and over, likely wishing they were hers, while I stood there embarrassed and growing angrier.  It didn’t matter, because  I wasn’t there, or rather, was and would be invisible until she turned him away.  It was all about her.  I thought he’d cum in his pants when she brushed against him, and I watched her hand brush against his erection with a smirk in my direction.  Whore.

There they are; they think that they are hidden from view they way that they’re greedily groping each other.  The Mayor’s wife and the librarian’s husband, who would’ve thought,  wanking one another off in full view of anyone with eyes. “Does he have it on him?” a low male voice mutters in my ear, startling me out of the morbid mental happy place that I was in and I feel the smile spread across my lips. The warm meaty hands on my ass make me want to vomit but I nod and shudder when those thick fingers graze the sensitive skin on my inner thigh.  I can’t do more than nod.

The cock that Rodney is so proud of is out for the night, twitching in the cool night air and I can hear the crackle of wrapper from here.  He shoves her to her knees and slips the rubber from the package and over his dick. “Keep quiet this time, Deena.  I didn’t get to finish last time,” Rodney growls and plows into her with a laugh. Last time. He bucks his hips into her and she moans loudly then squeaks when he falls against her in quickening paroxysmal convulsions. The man behind me chuckles and his large hocks squeeze my ass once more before moving away with a suggestion that I make myself scarce. What a chicken shit.

Rodney lies jittering on top of Deena,  his overly swollen glans trapping Deena as much as his dead weight does and she can do little more than pant shallowly when I step quickly into the light of the fire and again into the darkness of the commissary shadows where she writhes in the dirt. “Please?  Help me! I’m sorry.  Can’t be seen.  Here.  Like this,” and I laugh to myself at the tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. Her cupid bow lips fall open in shock and dismay when Rodney bucks and blows snot into her chestnut hair.  “Rodney! Dammit, get off of me!  What the fuck did you do to your dick? It hurts!”

“Shut up whore.  He didn’t get to finish last time, didn’t you hear?  How lucky for you that he gives a shit enough to tell you that you don’t matter.  Hear that?  You were so anxious to have him inside you that you blew him in public where anyone could see you.  I did.  Your moans need work by the way.  Not believable in the least.”  The first voices of the other attendees are getting louder and I titter darkly from around the corner, remembering to stay out of sight. Rodney gasps again, choking bile onto her shoulder and she sobs like a twelve-year-old with a rash.  He’s not dead. What a pity. He whined into my ear often enough about how he was trapped living with me.  Now he is truly trapped. by the pussy he couldn’t live without.   Perhaps he should have looked closer at the wrapper.   His are purple, latex free.

“Hey Deena,”  I chuckle as I spy the first flashes of lanterns headed this way, “I found this old video on the web.  Robin Bobbin? Original.” Closer still and I crouch closer to whisper “Soon everyone else will know what you are too. Virgin bride, my ass.”  Deena’s pretty eyes close in submission to fact and I dart from my safe place to spit into her pretty, filthy face,  and this time I kick her in the side of the head.

The first lantern bursts through the darkness just as I make my escape and the horrified shouts of the Mayor and his entourage reach my ears much like an applause track in one of those old sitcoms.  The next morning the paper from the towns in the surrounding areas will tell the tale of the Mayor’s not so virginal bride, the Mayor’s Right Hand Man and the Missing wife.  Such a small town scandal that won’t soon be forgotten.

As for me?  I was paid handsomely for my participation and one never knows what the next sunrise will bring.

©MelanieMcCurdie2016

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Get your copy of The Hurt Chamber by Foggy McCorrigan
Get your copy of The Hurt Chamber by Foggy McCorrigan
Get Unrequited Reapings by Carolyn Graham today on Amazon
Get Unrequited Reapings by Carolyn Graham today on Amazon
Twisted Tales by Patti Beeton is available now
Twisted Tales by Patti Beeton is available now

Tinfoil Luna

I didn’t come wrapped in a bow or pretty paper, instead I came home a raving silent mess full of anxiety and nightmares fresh from Hell.  My wife said I was a gift, then, and said I should have died there at the end of our life together.  She was right.  I know I killed my marriage, although she helped it along.   Every night since I came home I lay awake until my mind gives up or I pass out from the cocktail of pills and booze, all in an effort to kill the memories. Nothing works.

Tonight was different though.

Tonight I was on the streets with the few friends who stuck by me in my misery, and why wouldn’t they? They understand. We don’t usually get together at Christmastime, couple of them are still married and they have family to contend with, The others have girlfriends and saw dragged to different functions and expose to strangers who don’t understand when they cringe when the Yule log snaps. But tonight we were all together and happy.

Happy is contagious and I felt myself relax for the first time in months. I hadn’t taken any pills or even had a drink yet, but I felt as high as I usually did with them. It sounds so cliché to say I saw her across the crowded bar, but that’s what happened. She didn’t stand out in the crowd, but faded into it as best she could, which wasn’t at all. “She was watching you earlier. Why don’t you go say hello? Still don’t get what the ladies see in your ugly mug,” Vinnie slaps me on the back with his customary roughness and gives a more private nod of encouragement. She is watching me, just like Vinnie said, with a soft almost sad smile on her pretty lips and a come hither gleam in her eyes.

The bartender was a feisty little thing whose voice carried across all conversations at all times. I often joke that she would’ve been the worlds best drill sergeant, and she usually hands me a snarl with a glint in her eye. I have no doubt she would eat me alive. At least it would be pleasurable this time, but this time Jinger shakes her head swiftly and points the watcher towards the bathrooms them calls me forward anxiously.

“Colt. Stay away from her. Go home now, please. Okay?” This quiet shaky voice was so unlike her gregarious natural nature that it stunned me for a moment, before I nodded and turned away. The boys are all standing by the door laughing in buttoning up against the cold chill outside. I joined them with a smile and glanced over my shoulder at Jinger, who blew me a kiss from those luscious lips.

When I woke up this morning, it was not in a cold sweat, but satisfied and at peace. I haven’t felt this way in a long time, so long that I barely remember it. Jinger is sprawled spreadeagled and naked on top of the tangled bed sheets, her luxurious lips trembling as she snores slightly. I really need to take a piss, but the sight of her laying there beside me gives other ideas.

“I told you to say away from her,” Jinger giggles from the doorway and I feel my bladder let go when she smiles with razor blade teeth and her hands on my thighs while Jinger cuddles close with her cheek on my chest, “I told her you were a gift.”

©MelanieMcCurdie

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Two more days

as Eveline Hood

Have you ever wondered what fear tastes like?  Like afraid for your life because this time it might be the end of it kind of fear?  If not, count yourself among the lucky ones.  To me, fear tastes like metal; like I’ve been sucking on a penny for too many hours.  Coppery. Like blood. It feels acidic and it’s a burning itch in the middle of your back that you can’t get away from because reacting in any way gets you hurt. Not reacting does to but it’s a case of the lesser evil and when you are afraid, it’s a very real choice.

It feels heavy in here, too thick, the air and my chest feels like there is an anvil on it.  Every sound is making jump, even the wind rustling the leaves outside is too much for my heart to take.  It’s only 3 pm.  He won’t be home for hours yet, at least three and that is plenty of time.  I’ve been visiting instead of cleaning and he will be irate if it isn’t done.

He could be home early.  It’s happened before and I was caught unaware.  The thought terrifies me and I clean faster.  Dirt isn’t always on the surface kiddo, he says when he finds dust on the television or on the picture frames and that usually comes with a slap across the head or even a gut punch.  It’s true though.  Dirt doesn’t always show on the surface.  On the surface, he appears to be the most personable around, easy-going and likable even.  A loving husband and hard worker.  And it was true, in the beginning. He was that way.  The cracks in his mind only started to show after we’d married.

I never know when it will come, or for what reason. Even the small talk about his day could cause a lash out, for the cracks to widen further and allow the monster out.  It could be as simple as he wants steak and I made spaghetti.  Sometimes it’s not even my fault. I’m just the punching bag he uses when he can’t get to who he wants.  Lucky them. I’m shaking so badly and I dropped the fucking wine glass he wanted with dinner last night.  Now there’s blood everywhere and I think I need stitches but I won’t go get them.  Unless I have to.  Maybe next week.  Maybe… God I hate my life.

The door slams outside and my heart is slamming against my ribs so hard it hurts.  There is no noise and my heart stutters.  Silence.  Bad.  I call out hellos, putting a false cheer in my voice as I try to wipe up the drops of red that dot the white countertop.  Then he is there and he is demanding to know why there are dishes in the sink and why there is blood on his counter.  He’s had a bad day.  Jesus it’s going to be bad.

Turn around with a wince and hold up my hand to show him the cut.  I wrapped my hand in a facecloth I found on the table and the red is already seeping through.  Then the world is white and blaring, an ocean of light and I am drowning, choking on nothing.  Maybe this is Heaven but I’m scared it’s just more Hell.  The brimstone is making my head throb and my ears buzz and ring.  There is no pain, thankfully but my face is over warm and wet.  Numbness.  I won’t come away easy this time and maybe I will be finally free of this never-ending limbo.

There is a lot of noise.  Male voices roaring and shattering sounds.  There are people here, talking so low I can’t hear them at all.  I’m still in the ocean of light and the Angels voices are muffled.  Then the light has colour and I can see through a haze men in white and I think, finally they’re taking me away haha.  I’d laugh but my body hurts so badly I would likely scream instead and the best I can do is let the hot tears flow from my eyes.  I hate to cry.  I wish they would shut that bitch up that keeps shrieking, it’s hurting my ears.

The doctors are back, talking to me about my injuries and I don’t understand what they are telling me.  I hurt but no worse than I have before, unless you count my face.  That is agony and they keep wanting me to answer them.   One of them touches my hand and I try to pull away, from the touch as much as the pitying expression on her face.  She is telling me that security has had to remove him from the room and the hospital itself.  She wants to know when this all happened.

Two days ago.  I suffered in silence, alone, while he worked days and called into my job claiming I had the flu and would be out of commission a while.  Two days of struggling to breathe and not being able to eat or drink before he got me here. Oh he’s sorry, he will say, but I doubt he has one iota of remorse. His demon won’t let him. Again, it’s all about the show.   I’m tired of performing and pretending.  But the fear keeps me playing the game.

The doctor watches me fight myself, her dark eyes intelligent and she doesn’t understand a thing about survival.  She tells me there are places and launches into the spiel that I’ve heard often enough, but am unable to take advantage of.  I’m so isolated.  So far from the people who love me and want me safe, so far away from everyone who knows me because he had to be in control.  I’m too far away from anyone who could rescue me. I have no one to mourn me when I am gone and I wish I had died this time.  I sigh and shake my head when she tries to hand me the pamphlets. She doesn’t get it. None of them do.  I have nowhere to go and no way to run.  He would find me.  Only his friends are here, his family, and I know they won’t believe me.

I see him in the doorway, holding a bouquet of roses and some chocolate wearing a sheepish smile.  Of course he knows I’ll come back home and that I will have to forgive him, and it will be good for a while and then I will be back here again.  The doctor is yelling at him to get out and paging the desk for security when he sits on the edge of the narrow bed and gives his excuses, how it is my fault for pushing him to it.  He loves me so much he can’t control himself.  I have to try harder and keep loving him and how I have to forgive him for his actions.

The divorce papers are signed already and will be delivered to him the moment I leave this place.  I will have to run with only what I have and hope one day I can recover.  He will look for me and never stop.  The other doctor called a few people and they will be here in two more days.  They hope to pack some of my belongings but he will have destroyed everything by then. My mouth tastes like pennies again when he strokes my cheek with the same hand he punched me with, and I nearly gag when he tells me to keep my mouth shut from the flood of copper.

Two more days. Just two more…..

©MelanieMcCurdie

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