When the nurse woke me, I found my own hand plastered desperately across my mouth.
shock?
fear?
holding something in or keeping something out?
“The police brought this, they said they no longer require it for evidence.”
Obviously my stare was even blanker than intended, because she asked me a question. always with the damn questions...
“This is your's isn't it?”
“Yeah, yeah for sure.”
Half an eyebrow raise, she doesn't believe me.
More blank from me and a vague little tensing and relaxing of her shoulders, strange that these weird little motions move thoughts into such net little lines, or...usually neat lines.
plop. Wait, hang on a tick, what the hell is that on my lap?!
Oh right, bag.
It's blue.
Like I'm pretty sure I remember it being before...
Before nothing.
remember nothing
Remember nothing of what?
Exactly.
Uhh, ok?
Exactly.
What the hell is that beeping?
Butterfall.
Oh, flat phone.
Thats better.
As I am rummaging through a black hole assignment sheets, crumpled manuscript and month overdue consent forms, a doctor walks in. One without a hat.
Thats a little odd, he's not in uniform! Thats a bit rude, and inconsiderate too. I'm sure the rules are there for a reason, thats so disrespectful. And to come and see a patient without a pot of tea! Or any cups! This guy just doesn't get it. Don't know that I want him treating me.
“Don't worry, I've got good news!”
“What, you've got the teapot hidden behind your back? cups in your pockets? sugar in the sole of your shoe?”
Stare as blank as writers block.
Shit, I said that aloud?
damn. quick, recover!!
ummm, ummm
“sorry, injoke with a friend. I forget that people don't understand”
Where did that stroke of amazing come from?
Who cares?!
touche.
“Ah, no worries” and a little semi-nervous laugh and we're back on the long bland road to socially acceptable. woo-hoo.
“Anyway, as I was saying”
Yes, well done, move on. Thats the way. Medical jargon, good. You feel comfortable,I don't need to have any input. You really should keep me from having input you know. Thats like giving Maggie Simpson a g...
don't you dare
what?
“Gastric Atrophy”
“Oh, sure, sorry.”
What the hell?
“So yes, as soon as your mother can take you, you can be discharged!”
“Oh, my mother can't come. Urgent business. Emergency.”
Slight shock, more eyebrows raise. They really should see to that twitching, seems to be a fairly widespread issue among the staff.
“My dad is very ill. She came to make sure I'm ok, then she had to go to him immediately.”
Relief, slips over their faces but like oil on water it stays on the surface, the sheen of acceptance, but no foundation of understanding. I think they still kinda don't believe me.
“If I can be discharged, I can get a taxi or something, or get a friend to pick me up. I can pay for the taxi,I have a job. I'm serious! Don't look at me like I'm a kid!
Or like you think I'm lying, which I might be. You never know, my dad might be seriously ill! How the hell should I know how my dad is?
And maybe mum has gone to see him, it wouldn't be all that unlike her, to do something so impulsive and stupid.
Without it I wouldn't be here...
“Honestly, I'll be fine! Just tell me what I need to do. You and I both know you need the bed.”
They turn to each other, hat-less doctor and non-hair nurses, consulting in a way that produces an uncanny likeness of those silly American football players, I quarter expect them to yell HUT, pick me up and throw me out of the window. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad...
“I suppose that would be ok, seeing as its such special circumstances. Kelly, could you arrange the paper work?”
“Certainly doc, back in a jiffy.”
And then begins the lecture. Do this eighty seven times a day, don't do this or that or the other,apply this cream, take these pills for the pain, rewrap this, rest up, blah blah blah.
Yep, uh-huh, sure. Oh, ok, yeah definitely.
Sure, yeah yeah, Right, of course.
Skim read, sign.
Call taxi, grumpy nurse and grumpier wheelchair
Elevator, wheel across foyer, stand up.
Don't look to be in pain, don't stumble.
Like my driving instructor always says, don't give them reason to doubt you, don't give them the opportunity to dub you unfit, like some sick twisted knighting.
Walk, say thank you to grumpy nurse as she carries bag, climb into taxi, blurt address.
Sit, blur, blur, blur, blur, pay, get out.
Remember bag, stumble back, retrieve bag.
Door. Open...open? OPEN
oh, keys.
scrabble, shove, turn, ow.
Turn, push.
Turn, push.
Godamnit!
Turn, push, push, push, fall.
ow.
bag floor, me couch.
flop.
ow.
WHAT IS THAT GOD DAMNED BEEPING
I told you, butterfall!!!
Right yes, that.
Up again.
Ow.
Bag, phone, button, button, skim.
shit.
oh........shit
god...damn.....
and the hole opens, opens and spreads and consumes and it swallows me, not whole,
because I am only hole, and I am swallowed in my own agony, whats yours is mine and whats mine is mine to carry.
and who is left to carry me, well that's exactly the point isn't it.
Upheld by the falling, there is nothing left for me but to follow swiftly after.
down and down and down, desperately trying to hold myself together, wailing and weeping all the way.
'Hey, we still going to see Coraline on friday? Hope so, I'm looking forward to hanging out. Love you more than mocha!'
mocha....
DON'T DON'T DON'T DON'T DON'T DON'T
mocha thursdays...
NO!!!
Monday, December 7, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Part XVII- The last sight you'll ever see is a pair of hateful eyes
“Your stitches are all out, but your scars are healing wrong”
I awake to find the funny man with the hat, tapping me on the forehead with a yellow teacup, in a rather impatient manner suggesting he had been doing it for quite some time and received no recognition for his valiant persistence.
“and the helium balloon inside your room has come undone...”
Pipes the hair, in his lovely nurses uniform
“and its pushing up at the ceiling and...”
At this, the hair looked worried, as if he thought this balloon, wherever it was, would break something,or push right on through, or grown thorns and teeth and eat him.
“The flickering lights, it cannot get beyond”
Said the hat man as the he looked at the hair-nurse with what seemed to be 'however do you get here and get by you silly creature?'. In his look I felt every mirror glance I'd ever received from myself, it resonated deep, in a way that made my ear drums itch and the scars on my heart begin to burn again, those that I had long pretended to forget.
Putting the tea cup down, he reaches into the band of his violently violet top hat and pulls out a doofalacky, those things, what are they called? Oh thats right stealthoscope, placing it in my ears quite halfway between gently and zealously.
As if to answer the question I'd asked only with my eyes he exclaimed
“Oh everyone takes turns, now its yours to play the part!”
He placed the cold end of it in my hand and turned to the jury mice,
“and they're sitting all around you holdin' copies of your chart'
I simply had no idea what to do with this thing, I looked at it, looked at them, looked at the hat man. They frowned, and scribbled down notes.
“and the misery inside their eyes is synchronised and reflecting into yours”
How do you know whats in my eyes!!
“Hold on!”
cried the hat man,
“one more time with feeling. try it again! breathings just a rhythm”
I wonder silently to myself if this is good or bad, or of any consequence whatsoever when I am interrupted by the hair, who shouts to me behind his hand, as if he were part of an intrigue in a construction site, next to a highway, where teenage gangsters were driving past playing doof-doof on their hummer trains, while his supervisor shouted in his other ear.
“Say it in your mind until you know that the words are right.“
However, we were not on a construction site by a highway with doof-doof hummer trains roaring past with fat balding men shouting things that don't make sense.
So the hat man heard, and was clearly quite unimpressed.
“This is why we fight!”
“You thought by now you'd be, so much better than you are”
Said the cheshire cat, clutching a copy of my chart in his tail
“You thought by now they'd see that you had come so far”
Do they have my thoughts on those things?
“and the pride inside their eyes would synchronise into
a love you've never known,”
You are not a very good balloon, you talk far too much
so much more than you've been shown
You talk more than this!
hold on, one more time with feeling, try it again!
breathings just a rhythm.
if only it were that simple...
say it in your mind until you know that the words are right.
But it doesn't work like that!
“this, is why we fight”
It doesn't work that way!!!
NO! NOT OVER MY FACE! AIR! I NEED AIR! PLEASE! TAKE THAT...THAT...that..that thing...take, take it off me...I..I need...air....
“this is why we fight”
I awake to find the funny man with the hat, tapping me on the forehead with a yellow teacup, in a rather impatient manner suggesting he had been doing it for quite some time and received no recognition for his valiant persistence.
“and the helium balloon inside your room has come undone...”
Pipes the hair, in his lovely nurses uniform
“and its pushing up at the ceiling and...”
At this, the hair looked worried, as if he thought this balloon, wherever it was, would break something,or push right on through, or grown thorns and teeth and eat him.
“The flickering lights, it cannot get beyond”
Said the hat man as the he looked at the hair-nurse with what seemed to be 'however do you get here and get by you silly creature?'. In his look I felt every mirror glance I'd ever received from myself, it resonated deep, in a way that made my ear drums itch and the scars on my heart begin to burn again, those that I had long pretended to forget.
Putting the tea cup down, he reaches into the band of his violently violet top hat and pulls out a doofalacky, those things, what are they called? Oh thats right stealthoscope, placing it in my ears quite halfway between gently and zealously.
As if to answer the question I'd asked only with my eyes he exclaimed
“Oh everyone takes turns, now its yours to play the part!”
He placed the cold end of it in my hand and turned to the jury mice,
“and they're sitting all around you holdin' copies of your chart'
I simply had no idea what to do with this thing, I looked at it, looked at them, looked at the hat man. They frowned, and scribbled down notes.
“and the misery inside their eyes is synchronised and reflecting into yours”
How do you know whats in my eyes!!
“Hold on!”
cried the hat man,
“one more time with feeling. try it again! breathings just a rhythm”
I wonder silently to myself if this is good or bad, or of any consequence whatsoever when I am interrupted by the hair, who shouts to me behind his hand, as if he were part of an intrigue in a construction site, next to a highway, where teenage gangsters were driving past playing doof-doof on their hummer trains, while his supervisor shouted in his other ear.
“Say it in your mind until you know that the words are right.“
However, we were not on a construction site by a highway with doof-doof hummer trains roaring past with fat balding men shouting things that don't make sense.
So the hat man heard, and was clearly quite unimpressed.
“This is why we fight!”
“You thought by now you'd be, so much better than you are”
Said the cheshire cat, clutching a copy of my chart in his tail
“You thought by now they'd see that you had come so far”
Do they have my thoughts on those things?
“and the pride inside their eyes would synchronise into
a love you've never known,”
You are not a very good balloon, you talk far too much
so much more than you've been shown
You talk more than this!
hold on, one more time with feeling, try it again!
breathings just a rhythm.
if only it were that simple...
say it in your mind until you know that the words are right.
But it doesn't work like that!
“this, is why we fight”
It doesn't work that way!!!
NO! NOT OVER MY FACE! AIR! I NEED AIR! PLEASE! TAKE THAT...THAT...that..that thing...take, take it off me...I..I need...air....
“this is why we fight”
Friday, October 23, 2009
Part XVI- You remind me of a cigarette
As I lie weeping on the button, so much desperation spills out from my eyes that the button starts to sparkle a little differently, with bright white bzap bzzap bzzzzzzzzzzaaaappppp and suddenly I am bigger, bigger enough to see the nurse frantically trying to get my attention.
'HEY!'
In a snap not unlike that of breaking bone, I stop mid-wail and look at her, my hands still clamped to my face, trying to hold a pocket of air so I don't drown in my own tears.
Like a child, I peak out through my hands and I feel like screaming
'IF I CAN'T SEE YOU YOU CAN'T SEE ME!!!' and hiding under the covers.
However, some odd little reasonable part of me decides that this would be a bad idea, and wind me up in the psych ward, with the genuinely crazy people.
like you don't belong there already
'hey!'
cue blank slightly freaked out stare from nurses.
'...are you alright?'
'umm...yeah. I just... I just had a bad dream thats all.'
apparently i've hit the money excuse because their eyes instantly fill up with pity.
I hate pity, but its better than therapy.
'Well as long as you aren't in pain'.
what a dumb thing to say.
OF COURSE IM IN PAIN!!!
-blink-
'Is there anything we can do for you?'
'Umm, yeah actually. could you wheel that little table over here?'
'Sure'
a few screechy moments later and I have my goal, solitaire.
But first, some tunes.
Hmm, shuffle songs, and we shall start with... norah jones, easy listening cruisy stuff.
Now lets see, red seven on black eight, black three red four black five all on the red six. hmm, stuck. I need a black nine... damn, stupid sevens. damn you stupid iPod with no hint function... 'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
Yes, yes I would.
'....freakin Jack, I never did like jack...'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'damnit! that one three of diamonds...'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'You could not win'
'You could not win'
'You could not win'
'try again?'
'try again?'
'try again?'
'...please, please stop asking.' I turn to the gerbera and plead 'stop asking me that, you know I can't go back, I can't change anything!'
'would you like to try again?' the flower persistently asks me, as if desire were the only prerequisite for success.
'of course I would, don't be silly!
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'I already told you that, I can't!'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?
'I WOULD IF I COULD BUT I CAN'T!!!'
'there's no need to shout! so rude...'
But I don't even care what she thinks anymore, I just can't get it out of my head...
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'HEY!'
In a snap not unlike that of breaking bone, I stop mid-wail and look at her, my hands still clamped to my face, trying to hold a pocket of air so I don't drown in my own tears.
Like a child, I peak out through my hands and I feel like screaming
'IF I CAN'T SEE YOU YOU CAN'T SEE ME!!!' and hiding under the covers.
However, some odd little reasonable part of me decides that this would be a bad idea, and wind me up in the psych ward, with the genuinely crazy people.
like you don't belong there already
'hey!'
cue blank slightly freaked out stare from nurses.
'...are you alright?'
'umm...yeah. I just... I just had a bad dream thats all.'
apparently i've hit the money excuse because their eyes instantly fill up with pity.
I hate pity, but its better than therapy.
'Well as long as you aren't in pain'.
what a dumb thing to say.
OF COURSE IM IN PAIN!!!
-blink-
'Is there anything we can do for you?'
'Umm, yeah actually. could you wheel that little table over here?'
'Sure'
a few screechy moments later and I have my goal, solitaire.
But first, some tunes.
Hmm, shuffle songs, and we shall start with... norah jones, easy listening cruisy stuff.
Now lets see, red seven on black eight, black three red four black five all on the red six. hmm, stuck. I need a black nine... damn, stupid sevens. damn you stupid iPod with no hint function... 'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
Yes, yes I would.
'....freakin Jack, I never did like jack...'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'damnit! that one three of diamonds...'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'You could not win'
'You could not win'
'You could not win'
'try again?'
'try again?'
'try again?'
'...please, please stop asking.' I turn to the gerbera and plead 'stop asking me that, you know I can't go back, I can't change anything!'
'would you like to try again?' the flower persistently asks me, as if desire were the only prerequisite for success.
'of course I would, don't be silly!
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'I already told you that, I can't!'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?
'I WOULD IF I COULD BUT I CAN'T!!!'
'there's no need to shout! so rude...'
But I don't even care what she thinks anymore, I just can't get it out of my head...
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
Monday, October 19, 2009
Part XV - Spin the wheel, we'll set you up with some odd convictions
At this point, some deep dark part of me realised that I was
a) thinking too hard
b) trying too hard not to think too hard
c) desperately craving solitaire
So I reached out for the wheely table that held the evidence of your glitter hurricane, only to find it just beyond my reach. the kind of just out of reach that would be reachable at a stretch, if you didn't have a stomach full of stitches, or staples, or super glue or whatever they're using these days.
Fine then. I didn't really want the iPod anyway... Folding my arms and turning my head away in dumb-ass defiency, I try the old trick I always used to pull on you, and snap straight around, to catch you by surprise.
Although you look surprised enough, for a table, it does not bring you any closer to me, or me to iPod, it just makes me stomach hurt. Stupid table.
'Hey, who you callin stupid? I'm not the one who can't reach a table without pulling their stitches out.'
'I could so, if I wanted! I just don't want to!'
'Oh sure!'
'How dare you be so rude to me!'
'Oh I dare'
'..stupid table'
I can hardly help but cross arms and turn head yet again.
'Now who's being rude!'
'Hmmph!'
'Oh well, if you really do care about it so much, I'll give you a tip.'
Slowly, slyly, suspiciously, I turn my head towards it.
'One side will make you grow taller, the other side will make you grow smaller!'
'The other side of what?'
...
'Hello?? Now who's being rude!!'
...
'THE OTHER SIDE OF WHAT!!!'
Realising that the gerbera had began to shake her head and tut me, I silenced myself and looked around.
Suddenly, glaringly obvious is the magic button thingy. It glows a mysterious red-orange, begging me to try a side, try a button.
So, how to choose?
'eeny meeny miney moe, catch a tiggr by the toe, if he hollas let him go, eeny meeny miny moe...'
The right hand one, the right one. I hope thats a good sign...
Taking a shallow breath, i press on it.
Nothing happens, so I press it again.
'Well that was pointless, stupid table.'
As I glared at it, I realised it was getting larger, the button in my hand felt bigger, heavier.
My alfoil thin hospital blanket suddenly seemed immense, and I eventually realised I was getting smaller.
I wondered how long it would go on, as it seemed to be happening very slowly.
I watched inquisitively as the big white hills rose up around me, my pillow now a mountain, as if a new world was being born.
Suddenly I wondered with a panic when it would stop, surely I would soon shrink into nothing...
and yet, the moment it occured to me, the world seemed to stabilise. I wonder...
ow. right, so my stomach still hurts even when I'm miniscule.
great.
what the hell is that?
a creature that looks kind of like a syringe is sewing words in the hills with its beak, aggravatingly slowly.
'I? no, not an I. maybe becoming a B?
Oh, a D, great. hmm... oh right an O.'
This could take a while.
sitting cross legged on the floor, i wait impatiently for what may be absolutely nothing.
'don't step on the... don't step on the what!!!'
ugh.
I lie down on my back and nearly rip myself to bits with my frustration.
After what felt like an eternity, I struggled up again.
'Don't step on the mome raths.'
'Mome raths?'
In less than an instant I am swarmed by strange silvery grey fuzzy things, that seem somewhat cute for the rest of the instant, but when they are covering me, smothering me, they seem a little less gorgeous.
'BUT I DIDNT STAND ON YOU!!! I WASN'T EVEN STANDING!'
suddenly, I simply can't take it anymore and I jump to my feet, leaping back from the hordes, spinning round and round trying frantically to get away from them, but it can't be done, they will take me over, surely. Bury me in their writhing mass so that I can never escape.
But, just as suddenly as it began it is over. Turning to see the valley, I am greeted by carnage. Everywhere, blood and bodies. And the mome raths, the silver... slowly but surely it turns to the grey of school uniform, once familiar, now distorted faces.
And its my fault...
Shrieking, begging, screaming, crying, I claw my way up the pillow mountain to what is now a giant orange....lumpy bumpy glowing thing.
'One side will make you taller, the other side will make you smaller'
Frantically, I jump up and down on the left hand button, the left behind button.
'taller, please taller. PLEASE!!!' I stamp and stamp on it, but I'm too small to make a difference, too small to fix what I've done.
'PLEASE, PLEASE!!!' now I'm begging, but I don't know who.
I stamp and stamp on the stupid button but nothing happens.
Somehow i end up lying on my stomach, bawling my eyes out, throwing a tantrum no two year old could muster, desperation permeating every fibre.
And I can't help but feel that it might never go away.
a) thinking too hard
b) trying too hard not to think too hard
c) desperately craving solitaire
So I reached out for the wheely table that held the evidence of your glitter hurricane, only to find it just beyond my reach. the kind of just out of reach that would be reachable at a stretch, if you didn't have a stomach full of stitches, or staples, or super glue or whatever they're using these days.
Fine then. I didn't really want the iPod anyway... Folding my arms and turning my head away in dumb-ass defiency, I try the old trick I always used to pull on you, and snap straight around, to catch you by surprise.
Although you look surprised enough, for a table, it does not bring you any closer to me, or me to iPod, it just makes me stomach hurt. Stupid table.
'Hey, who you callin stupid? I'm not the one who can't reach a table without pulling their stitches out.'
'I could so, if I wanted! I just don't want to!'
'Oh sure!'
'How dare you be so rude to me!'
'Oh I dare'
'..stupid table'
I can hardly help but cross arms and turn head yet again.
'Now who's being rude!'
'Hmmph!'
'Oh well, if you really do care about it so much, I'll give you a tip.'
Slowly, slyly, suspiciously, I turn my head towards it.
'One side will make you grow taller, the other side will make you grow smaller!'
'The other side of what?'
...
'Hello?? Now who's being rude!!'
...
'THE OTHER SIDE OF WHAT!!!'
Realising that the gerbera had began to shake her head and tut me, I silenced myself and looked around.
Suddenly, glaringly obvious is the magic button thingy. It glows a mysterious red-orange, begging me to try a side, try a button.
So, how to choose?
'eeny meeny miney moe, catch a tiggr by the toe, if he hollas let him go, eeny meeny miny moe...'
The right hand one, the right one. I hope thats a good sign...
Taking a shallow breath, i press on it.
Nothing happens, so I press it again.
'Well that was pointless, stupid table.'
As I glared at it, I realised it was getting larger, the button in my hand felt bigger, heavier.
My alfoil thin hospital blanket suddenly seemed immense, and I eventually realised I was getting smaller.
I wondered how long it would go on, as it seemed to be happening very slowly.
I watched inquisitively as the big white hills rose up around me, my pillow now a mountain, as if a new world was being born.
Suddenly I wondered with a panic when it would stop, surely I would soon shrink into nothing...
and yet, the moment it occured to me, the world seemed to stabilise. I wonder...
ow. right, so my stomach still hurts even when I'm miniscule.
great.
what the hell is that?
a creature that looks kind of like a syringe is sewing words in the hills with its beak, aggravatingly slowly.
'I? no, not an I. maybe becoming a B?
Oh, a D, great. hmm... oh right an O.'
This could take a while.
sitting cross legged on the floor, i wait impatiently for what may be absolutely nothing.
'don't step on the... don't step on the what!!!'
ugh.
I lie down on my back and nearly rip myself to bits with my frustration.
After what felt like an eternity, I struggled up again.
'Don't step on the mome raths.'
'Mome raths?'
In less than an instant I am swarmed by strange silvery grey fuzzy things, that seem somewhat cute for the rest of the instant, but when they are covering me, smothering me, they seem a little less gorgeous.
'BUT I DIDNT STAND ON YOU!!! I WASN'T EVEN STANDING!'
suddenly, I simply can't take it anymore and I jump to my feet, leaping back from the hordes, spinning round and round trying frantically to get away from them, but it can't be done, they will take me over, surely. Bury me in their writhing mass so that I can never escape.
But, just as suddenly as it began it is over. Turning to see the valley, I am greeted by carnage. Everywhere, blood and bodies. And the mome raths, the silver... slowly but surely it turns to the grey of school uniform, once familiar, now distorted faces.
And its my fault...
Shrieking, begging, screaming, crying, I claw my way up the pillow mountain to what is now a giant orange....lumpy bumpy glowing thing.
'One side will make you taller, the other side will make you smaller'
Frantically, I jump up and down on the left hand button, the left behind button.
'taller, please taller. PLEASE!!!' I stamp and stamp on it, but I'm too small to make a difference, too small to fix what I've done.
'PLEASE, PLEASE!!!' now I'm begging, but I don't know who.
I stamp and stamp on the stupid button but nothing happens.
Somehow i end up lying on my stomach, bawling my eyes out, throwing a tantrum no two year old could muster, desperation permeating every fibre.
And I can't help but feel that it might never go away.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Part XIV- I Deserve Nothing More Than I Get
When the pain in my head woke me up, it was dark.
no it doesn't
doesn't remind me of what?
nothing, that's the point.
there's nothing for you to be reminded of.
Oh, right. of course.
but...
BUT NOTHING
...of course
Well, hospital dark.
Machines glow, light seeps in through the door.
It's as if the intense bright-whiteness of the place permeates absolutely everything in it.
Sitting up, the pain in my stomach reminds me that I'm an idiot for trying and fall straight back down to where my mother left me.
I can't decide if I want her to be here or not...
After a few minutes I remember about the magic button thingy, find it and coax it into sitting me up and turning the light on.
For reasons I can't see, my nose turns my head to my left, to the table under the window.
For reasons my mind can't grasp, my eyes see the trail that only you could have left behind.
A single yellow Gerbera, an orange iPod and a piece of purple paper covered in your delicate marks.
'Music to keep you sane, Solitaire to while away the hours in blissful ignorance, photos to remind you that past happiness was real and colour just cos.
With love and jasmine,
Linny'
Strange how different we are. Complimentary I guess, fitting opposites.
You are the sparkles in Beauty and the Beast. You dance around everywhere and turn things back to the way they should be, back to their beauty.
I am a hurricane.
You are glitter, getting into everything and making it better just for being there.
I am a thunderstorm.
You are jasmine flowers, taking over a whole garden with flowers and fragrance, quietly catching the eye of all who walk by.
I am thistles.
But you, in all your incredibleness, would say different.
And mean it, because somehow you see different.
I don't.
I am stubborn.
I am too much like her...
And you are like her, that reminds me...
no it doesn't
doesn't what?
remind you
remind you
doesn't remind me of what?
nothing, that's the point.
there's nothing for you to be reminded of.
Oh, right. of course.
but...
BUT NOTHING
...of course
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Part XIII- I melted wax to fix my wings
Naturally Sadie finishes, and on comes some random frantic cartoon thing.
I have never been more 'not in the mood' in my entire life.
So I reach over, grab my little remote and switch it off.
Now what?
Hmmm, I wonder whats out of my window.
Standing up, five things happen out once.
1.I get tangled in whatever wires they've got stuck in my arms.
2.I remember that my stomach hurts
3.A passing nurse freaks out
4.The world begins its regular swirly dancing
5.and 'good one genius'
The nurse gently shoves me back into my bed and rearranges my wiring while giving me an impossibly stern lecture about how I have a very serious stomach injury and absolutely cannot do that again until a doctor tells me I can. In writing. And to get some rest.
Big shocker there.
So I try.
I stare at my curtains.
A lot.
I begin to count the bunches of ugly flowers so cheaply printed onto them.
Factor in fractions.
Try to figure out what they are, dredging my exhausted mind for useless flecks of botany.
Oh, thats what they are. Chrysanthemums.
37 and 5/9ths of vomit coloured chrysanthemums.
woopdy doo.
Finally, I decide I'll result to sleeping pills.
yay for the call button.
One quick 'can't sleep' and a new colour is added to the rainbow of chemicals running through my veins.
After a few minutes, my eyelids feel extraordinarily heavy.
I let them close and a second later, they are open again.
Well thats just great, they didn't work at all.
call button again.
'You must try the tea!!' an eccentric looking middle aged man with a giant purple hat points to his elbow as he bustles in with a tray of what looks like it was meant to be dinner.
If this wasn't weird enough, he is followed in by a human sized rabbit, in a waistcoat!!
'You... you're a rabbit!!'
'WHAT did you say?'
'You heard me!'
'Good sir! I am not a rabbit!!!! Anyone with half a brain could see that I am a hare!!'
'A hair? But you are much too large to be a hair, hairs are much thinner! And I'm not a sir either!!'
'ARE YOU CALLING ME FAT!!'
'JAM, GET THE JAM!!!!!!SOMEONE GET THE JAM BEFORE THIS GETS REALLY MESSY!!'
'Jam?? I thought that was for the doormouse?'
'This is nonspecific calming jam, silly!'
A large dollop of what appeared to be grape jelly later, calm was restored, the hare was sleeping and the hat man was pouring me a cup of tea.
Again.
'You look like an intelligent man...'
He blinked at me.
'I think you should have your eyes checked young lady. surely it could be accurately said that I look like a man, but intelligence has nothing to do with appearance. It takes a truly intelligent person to know that intelligence is all about paper cuts!'
'What?'
'I think I've made my point.'
'Anyway, I just wanted to ask you something.'
'Certainly my dear prune flange'
'Where's Alice?'
In that 6/8ths of an instant, all the ridiculous colour drains from him, seeming even to make his hat a paler shade of insanity violets.
Without taking his eyes from me, he shakes the hare awake, hurriedly gathers up his teacups and stands for a moment, seeming to try to think of something to say.
'...MOVE DOWN!!!! MOVE DOWN CLEAN CUP MOVE DOWN MOVE CUP CLEAN DOWN CUP DOWN MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE'
and they ran.
why won't anyone tell me what happened to alice??
I have never been more 'not in the mood' in my entire life.
So I reach over, grab my little remote and switch it off.
Now what?
Hmmm, I wonder whats out of my window.
Standing up, five things happen out once.
1.I get tangled in whatever wires they've got stuck in my arms.
2.I remember that my stomach hurts
3.A passing nurse freaks out
4.The world begins its regular swirly dancing
5.and 'good one genius'
The nurse gently shoves me back into my bed and rearranges my wiring while giving me an impossibly stern lecture about how I have a very serious stomach injury and absolutely cannot do that again until a doctor tells me I can. In writing. And to get some rest.
Big shocker there.
So I try.
I stare at my curtains.
A lot.
I begin to count the bunches of ugly flowers so cheaply printed onto them.
Factor in fractions.
Try to figure out what they are, dredging my exhausted mind for useless flecks of botany.
Oh, thats what they are. Chrysanthemums.
37 and 5/9ths of vomit coloured chrysanthemums.
woopdy doo.
Finally, I decide I'll result to sleeping pills.
yay for the call button.
One quick 'can't sleep' and a new colour is added to the rainbow of chemicals running through my veins.
After a few minutes, my eyelids feel extraordinarily heavy.
I let them close and a second later, they are open again.
Well thats just great, they didn't work at all.
call button again.
'You must try the tea!!' an eccentric looking middle aged man with a giant purple hat points to his elbow as he bustles in with a tray of what looks like it was meant to be dinner.
If this wasn't weird enough, he is followed in by a human sized rabbit, in a waistcoat!!
'You... you're a rabbit!!'
'WHAT did you say?'
'You heard me!'
'Good sir! I am not a rabbit!!!! Anyone with half a brain could see that I am a hare!!'
'A hair? But you are much too large to be a hair, hairs are much thinner! And I'm not a sir either!!'
'ARE YOU CALLING ME FAT!!'
'JAM, GET THE JAM!!!!!!SOMEONE GET THE JAM BEFORE THIS GETS REALLY MESSY!!'
'Jam?? I thought that was for the doormouse?'
'This is nonspecific calming jam, silly!'
A large dollop of what appeared to be grape jelly later, calm was restored, the hare was sleeping and the hat man was pouring me a cup of tea.
Again.
'You look like an intelligent man...'
He blinked at me.
'I think you should have your eyes checked young lady. surely it could be accurately said that I look like a man, but intelligence has nothing to do with appearance. It takes a truly intelligent person to know that intelligence is all about paper cuts!'
'What?'
'I think I've made my point.'
'Anyway, I just wanted to ask you something.'
'Certainly my dear prune flange'
'Where's Alice?'
In that 6/8ths of an instant, all the ridiculous colour drains from him, seeming even to make his hat a paler shade of insanity violets.
Without taking his eyes from me, he shakes the hare awake, hurriedly gathers up his teacups and stands for a moment, seeming to try to think of something to say.
'...MOVE DOWN!!!! MOVE DOWN CLEAN CUP MOVE DOWN MOVE CUP CLEAN DOWN CUP DOWN MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE'
and they ran.
why won't anyone tell me what happened to alice??
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Part XII-You'll never get to college but you'll sure look cool
Gently placing the phone back in its cradle, I wonder why its called a cradle.
Images of beautiful tanned mothers wrapping their babies up in soft white linen and placing them in their picturesque baby yellow cradles, painted with rainbows, clouds and elephants, a perfect rendition of a fabric softener ad.
But then the father comes in, yelling at mum.
He says he's under so much stress, he can't handle it, he simply can't anymore.
He says she doesn't care that he's having a midlife crisis, so he probably won't care about what he's telling her now.
He tells her he's having an affair, and he's leaving her for the woman, because this other lady actually loves him instead of being obssessed with a child, with housework, with perfection.
He says that obviously she has to have everything perfect.
He says he can't keep up the charade anymore, he's not perfect and he's sick of trying to fake it.
He says he's leaving before she realises he's a sham and kicks him out.
Beating her to the punch.
She says nothing, like she knows its true...
And he waits for her...waits for her to beg him to stay, waits for her to swear she'll change, to profess her love, to cry, to do anything at all.
But she does nothing.
She knows he's right, and she just turns around, so she doesn't have to see him shake his head and walk away, like she always knew and secretly hoped he would.
Turning towards her child, her fresh new unspoilt child, she whispers his name.
'Don't worry dear, I won't let you turn out like him. You and me, we'll be just perfect.'
Wow.
That was weird...
'Chicken or beef dearie?'
'Sorry what?'
'For dinner, you need to pick from the two meals.'
'Oh, right. Um, chicken. Have you seen my mum? She left just before, she didn't tell me where she was going, or if she was coming back.'
hmmph, interesting that I never say 'when she's coming back' anymore.
No sorry dear, I'm not sure I know who you mean.
A quick description of violet hair and green glasses gets the spark of recognition into her eyes.
'Oh yes, she seemed a little uh...flustered. I didn't get the chance to speak to her...'
'Could you let me know if you happen to see her around?'
'Certainly dear, we'll be back with dinner in a little while.'
Sitting staring blankly at the wall, I notice the time, glaring at me from a cheap clock.
Half five...great, childrens shows.
Making sure to get it straight onto ABC, I switch the TV on.
Hmmm, what's this one called again?
Oh right, Naturally Sadie.
Hang on, this doesn't run on tuesdays...
If this is running it makes it...
thursday?
It's thursday?
that can't...
I called out as another nurse walked past.
'Excuse me?'
'Yes, can I help you?'
'Ummm, this might seem weird, but can you tell me what day it is?'
'Its Thursday.'
'...do you have any idea how long i've been here?'
'I'll check your chart for you...'
The paper rustles as she ever so slightly impatiently tries to satisfy me.
'It says here that you were admitted immeadiately after your...trauma, on tuesday.
Went into emergency surgery that afternoon and some more on the wednesday, then you were put into an induced coma to wake up today, on thursday.'
'Right, of course. Thankyou.'
'No worries'
I hate thursdays, I remember you always said...
no you don't
I don't what?
remember.
and whats that meant to mean?
of course you dont remember, theres nothing to remember.
nothing to miss.
nothing to be heartbroken about.
everything is fine.
right, of course.
must have been a car accident or something.
yeah, sure, that works...
But, why would my mum lie?
You'd be shocked at your mother lying?
Fair point.
But the media?
Full of crap, as always.
Right, gotcha.
Nothing to miss, nothing to remember.
But I could swear I remember her saying something about thursdays...
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Part XI- To spend a day warm on the sand
It can't be true. Can't be real,
Can it?
no. no it can't.
Of course, of course it can't.
so its not then?
right, its not.
Well that's alright then... I guess.
Still doesn't explain the cannon hole.
Remember that cannon that got fired on Kangaroo Island, at that lighthouse?
Yeah, of course, it was so loud...
Happened then, it was an accident.
Oh, right. That makes sense.
-brring brring brrrrrrrrrrrrring-
-brring brring brrrrrrrrrrrrring-
What the hell is that?
- brring brring brrrrrrrrrrrrring-
Giant blowfly?
WHAT! I HATE...
-brring brring brrrrrrrrrrrrring-
Oh wait, just the phone.
Why do I have a phone?
- brring brring brrrrrrrrrrrrring-
And why is it ringing?
- brring brring brrrrrrrrrrrrring-
Why am I not answering it?
- brring brring brrrrrrrrrrrrring-
I stare and stare at it, but it doesn't make it stop.
- brring brring brr-
I pick it up, finally ceasing its senseless dissonance
What am I meant to do with it now?
lick it, obviously.
Yes, thats right. Hang on what?
I turn to ask the Cheshire cat why I'm supposed to lick it, but he just smiles at me.
I turn back to the phone, only to find it has turned into a thorned, creeping vine, twisting its way up my arm.
you cannot stay here
I sit bolt upright, and realise the phone is ringing.
I take a moment to scrutinise it, to ensure it isn't going to choke me again, and lift it to my ear.
Silence, on both ends, as if both parties simply could not think of a thing to say, but were comforted by the others presence none the less.
'Hello?' you whisper tentatively, in a voice so small I didn't think the thing producing it would be big enough to be seen with the naked eye.
'Hello?' I reply, in the voice of a person slowly fading away to invisible.
'It's me'.
'I'm glad'
'...'
'...'
'how are you?'
'...alive'
'that makes two of us'
'I'm glad'
'...is it true, is it true what they say happened?'
'...no,it can't be, not at our school'
'but its all over the TV'
'lies, you know what the media gets like'
'...but...why would they make something like this up?
'...'
'and if they made it up...why does my leg hurt'
'...I dunno'
'i think...i think it must be real'
'...but........really? you really think so?'
'...yeah, i think so...i mean, i don't want to... but...'
'...yeah...i know'
'i should go, the nurses are coming back in.'
'mmmk, maybe ill try to find out where my mum went'
'thats probably a good idea'
'probably'
'hey...i love you'
'yeah, i know.'
'you're meant to say 'I love you too', stupid'
'yeah,i know.'
You do that funny little half laugh thing and I realise you actually did need to hear it.
'just kidding, i love you too.'
'yeah, i know'.
Ears ringing with each others tiny half smiles, we hang up.
And, weirdly enough, I want to hold your hand.
I want to feel your pulse, I want you to feel mine.
I need to find a way to believe that we are still alive, even though...
even though others are not.
Can it?
no. no it can't.
Of course, of course it can't.
so its not then?
right, its not.
Well that's alright then... I guess.
Still doesn't explain the cannon hole.
Remember that cannon that got fired on Kangaroo Island, at that lighthouse?
Yeah, of course, it was so loud...
Happened then, it was an accident.
Oh, right. That makes sense.
-brring brring brrrrrrrrrrrrring-
-brring brring brrrrrrrrrrrrring-
What the hell is that?
- brring brring brrrrrrrrrrrrring-
Giant blowfly?
WHAT! I HATE...
-brring brring brrrrrrrrrrrrring-
Oh wait, just the phone.
Why do I have a phone?
- brring brring brrrrrrrrrrrrring-
And why is it ringing?
- brring brring brrrrrrrrrrrrring-
Why am I not answering it?
- brring brring brrrrrrrrrrrrring-
I stare and stare at it, but it doesn't make it stop.
- brring brring brr-
I pick it up, finally ceasing its senseless dissonance
What am I meant to do with it now?
lick it, obviously.
Yes, thats right. Hang on what?
I turn to ask the Cheshire cat why I'm supposed to lick it, but he just smiles at me.
I turn back to the phone, only to find it has turned into a thorned, creeping vine, twisting its way up my arm.
you cannot stay here
I sit bolt upright, and realise the phone is ringing.
I take a moment to scrutinise it, to ensure it isn't going to choke me again, and lift it to my ear.
Silence, on both ends, as if both parties simply could not think of a thing to say, but were comforted by the others presence none the less.
'Hello?' you whisper tentatively, in a voice so small I didn't think the thing producing it would be big enough to be seen with the naked eye.
'Hello?' I reply, in the voice of a person slowly fading away to invisible.
'It's me'.
'I'm glad'
'...'
'...'
'how are you?'
'...alive'
'that makes two of us'
'I'm glad'
'...is it true, is it true what they say happened?'
'...no,it can't be, not at our school'
'but its all over the TV'
'lies, you know what the media gets like'
'...but...why would they make something like this up?
'...'
'and if they made it up...why does my leg hurt'
'...I dunno'
'i think...i think it must be real'
'...but........really? you really think so?'
'...yeah, i think so...i mean, i don't want to... but...'
'...yeah...i know'
'i should go, the nurses are coming back in.'
'mmmk, maybe ill try to find out where my mum went'
'thats probably a good idea'
'probably'
'hey...i love you'
'yeah, i know.'
'you're meant to say 'I love you too', stupid'
'yeah,i know.'
You do that funny little half laugh thing and I realise you actually did need to hear it.
'just kidding, i love you too.'
'yeah, i know'.
Ears ringing with each others tiny half smiles, we hang up.
And, weirdly enough, I want to hold your hand.
I want to feel your pulse, I want you to feel mine.
I need to find a way to believe that we are still alive, even though...
even though others are not.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Part X- Cos if you hold it too close, you lose it
'Oh Honey I'm so glad your safe'
I look down to check for the tell-all cannon hole, but I can only see peroxide blonde and violet spasms engulfing my face, pungent with vanilla, ammonium, cinnamon and cherry blossom.
'Hey mum',
'Oh my god, sweety you're awake! You were mumbling like nobody's business, are you alright in there?'
I choose not to answer, you've always been full of silly questions.
'How was your day', 'would you mind babysitting', 'have you done your homework'.
etc, etc.
As usual, I mumble.
You sit up.
My stomach hurts...
Why does my stomach hurt?
Oh right, the cannon hole.
Wait hang on, cannon hole??
'What happened?'
Silence.
Wait, my mother, silent??
Something bad...
Something very bad...
'...mum...'
'I....sweety....'
Speechless.
Oh god.
'.....mum?'
'...'
....
'I...I can't say it sweetheart. I... I'll tell you as soon as I can'.
Whats that supposed to mean?
And why is it such a big deal to tell me why my stomach hurts?
Oh well, might as well catch up on the last 37 seasons of Bold and the Beautiful while I wait for her to pull herself together, she probably had another breakup or something.
Now where is that remote?
Ah, there. -click-
'Yet another development on the horrifying tragedy unfolding today, as yet another body is removed from the school centre. We cannot state for certain the death toll, but at present we estimate it to be at least ten.'
Hang on... that courtyard...those double doors, that ugly green council sign.
my school?
As the reporter babbles something about parents picking up their kids, I find myself staring at my stomach, not remembering moving my gaze there.
I think to look at my mother, after what seems like an eternity, full of blank memories, meaningless pain, and the shadow of a thought that I do not want to know why my stomach hurts.
I remember a movie I saw when I was little, called a little princess. long story short, girl in school, father in army, father thought dead, girl servant. father not dead, next door with amnesia, girl finds father, father remembers girl, lovely reuniting scene in the rain.
But before that he says something I never understood, when he couldnt remember what he felt was missing. 'how strange to have your heart remember something your mind does not' and I know what he means now.
And it hurts, my heart hurts.
Profoundly, deeply, unreasonably.
I look to my mother, who stares blankly out of the window some more, unchanged but for the tears rolling down her face, silent and acidic.
She finds me looking at her, she says your name and something else after that, but I can't hear it over my own screaming.
But you keep talking, as if I am saying nothing.
Hang on, why aren't I screaming?
how can I be silent when she just said what she said...
I don't know how, but I don't think I'll ever speak again
I look down to check for the tell-all cannon hole, but I can only see peroxide blonde and violet spasms engulfing my face, pungent with vanilla, ammonium, cinnamon and cherry blossom.
'Hey mum',
'Oh my god, sweety you're awake! You were mumbling like nobody's business, are you alright in there?'
I choose not to answer, you've always been full of silly questions.
'How was your day', 'would you mind babysitting', 'have you done your homework'.
etc, etc.
As usual, I mumble.
You sit up.
My stomach hurts...
Why does my stomach hurt?
Oh right, the cannon hole.
Wait hang on, cannon hole??
'What happened?'
Silence.
Wait, my mother, silent??
Something bad...
Something very bad...
'...mum...'
'I....sweety....'
Speechless.
Oh god.
'.....mum?'
'...'
....
'I...I can't say it sweetheart. I... I'll tell you as soon as I can'.
Whats that supposed to mean?
And why is it such a big deal to tell me why my stomach hurts?
Oh well, might as well catch up on the last 37 seasons of Bold and the Beautiful while I wait for her to pull herself together, she probably had another breakup or something.
Now where is that remote?
Ah, there. -click-
'Yet another development on the horrifying tragedy unfolding today, as yet another body is removed from the school centre. We cannot state for certain the death toll, but at present we estimate it to be at least ten.'
Hang on... that courtyard...those double doors, that ugly green council sign.
my school?
As the reporter babbles something about parents picking up their kids, I find myself staring at my stomach, not remembering moving my gaze there.
I think to look at my mother, after what seems like an eternity, full of blank memories, meaningless pain, and the shadow of a thought that I do not want to know why my stomach hurts.
I remember a movie I saw when I was little, called a little princess. long story short, girl in school, father in army, father thought dead, girl servant. father not dead, next door with amnesia, girl finds father, father remembers girl, lovely reuniting scene in the rain.
But before that he says something I never understood, when he couldnt remember what he felt was missing. 'how strange to have your heart remember something your mind does not' and I know what he means now.
And it hurts, my heart hurts.
Profoundly, deeply, unreasonably.
I look to my mother, who stares blankly out of the window some more, unchanged but for the tears rolling down her face, silent and acidic.
She finds me looking at her, she says your name and something else after that, but I can't hear it over my own screaming.
But you keep talking, as if I am saying nothing.
Hang on, why aren't I screaming?
how can I be silent when she just said what she said...
I don't know how, but I don't think I'll ever speak again
Friday, August 21, 2009
Part IX I'm giving up slowly
'Yes Oyster, what did you think I was, a crab?'
At this there was much laughter, snickering, snorting, hisssing, cackling.
And a walrus laugh, coming from me.
But I don't even think its funny!
'How dare you silly people types call that a walrus noise!' said the top hat wearing walrus.
'We sound nothing like that!'
Upon hearing this proud announcement, all of the little oysters (for there was quite a multitude I could see now) began to tickle the walrus and he proceeded to make that exact sound, but ever so slightly higher in pitch and quicker in rhythm.
'But thats quite enough of all this silly talk, we must find something more interesting to speak of!' (he cleared his throat here) ' The time has come the walrus said to talk of many things, of shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings. And why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs ha...'
Suddenly, the carpenter pulled out his hammer, and bonked the walrus on the top hat and subsequently on the head. And you simply had to say 'bonked' because it was just so accurate as to the noise that the hammer made.
'ENOUGH' he cried. 'Enough! Enough! ENOUGH! I don't want to hear one more bloody word about bloody cabbages and bloody KINGS!!!'
'well!!!well!!!....well? well how dare you!'
Sensing an argument in the works, I stepped in.
'Oh please don't argue, in front of a guest and all!'
The pair made 'hmmmm....well all right' and 'mmmm... I guess so' noises and I decided I had won them over, at least for the minute.
"I have something for us to discuss gentlemen!'
At this they turned their full attention to me and I decided to ask the question that had been bugging me since I arrived here.
'So gentlemen, where is Alice?'
Instead of becoming ensconced in deep enthusiastic discussion, they both turned white as a sheet and started shaking.
'What?'
-shiver-
'What?!?'
-shiver-
'WHAT!'
They pointed over to my left, I turned and saw Alice, turning to see me.
The ever present cannon hole made it possible to see most of the carpenter behind her.
But he's behind me!
Turning around, I double check that he is indeed behind me, and he is.
I look back at Alice and realise neither of us have spoken, she seems to be waiting for me to talk first.
'Are you...' I began to querie her health, when I realise her mouth moves exactly as my own.
I look down at myself and I see it there, right in the middle of my beautiful blue summer dress.
The cannon hole.
At this there was much laughter, snickering, snorting, hisssing, cackling.
And a walrus laugh, coming from me.
But I don't even think its funny!
'How dare you silly people types call that a walrus noise!' said the top hat wearing walrus.
'We sound nothing like that!'
Upon hearing this proud announcement, all of the little oysters (for there was quite a multitude I could see now) began to tickle the walrus and he proceeded to make that exact sound, but ever so slightly higher in pitch and quicker in rhythm.
'But thats quite enough of all this silly talk, we must find something more interesting to speak of!' (he cleared his throat here) ' The time has come the walrus said to talk of many things, of shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings. And why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs ha...'
Suddenly, the carpenter pulled out his hammer, and bonked the walrus on the top hat and subsequently on the head. And you simply had to say 'bonked' because it was just so accurate as to the noise that the hammer made.
'ENOUGH' he cried. 'Enough! Enough! ENOUGH! I don't want to hear one more bloody word about bloody cabbages and bloody KINGS!!!'
'well!!!well!!!....well? well how dare you!'
Sensing an argument in the works, I stepped in.
'Oh please don't argue, in front of a guest and all!'
The pair made 'hmmmm....well all right' and 'mmmm... I guess so' noises and I decided I had won them over, at least for the minute.
"I have something for us to discuss gentlemen!'
At this they turned their full attention to me and I decided to ask the question that had been bugging me since I arrived here.
'So gentlemen, where is Alice?'
Instead of becoming ensconced in deep enthusiastic discussion, they both turned white as a sheet and started shaking.
'What?'
-shiver-
'What?!?'
-shiver-
'WHAT!'
They pointed over to my left, I turned and saw Alice, turning to see me.
The ever present cannon hole made it possible to see most of the carpenter behind her.
But he's behind me!
Turning around, I double check that he is indeed behind me, and he is.
I look back at Alice and realise neither of us have spoken, she seems to be waiting for me to talk first.
'Are you...' I began to querie her health, when I realise her mouth moves exactly as my own.
I look down at myself and I see it there, right in the middle of my beautiful blue summer dress.
The cannon hole.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Part VIII- Vienna Waits For You
Arriving at the hospital, everyone makes a fuss.
They shout numbers and science words at each other, and say STAT a lot, but still it doesn't seem to be loud enough in here, it's too quiet.
Then I realise it's because there's no drama-enhancing mood music.
Because this is real, this isn't hollywood.
Although maybe it will become so, I hear someone say that the vultures have already pounced.
But I don't care.
They check me out and ask me if I know where I am, what my name is.
I tell them that I'm in a hospital, having a fuss made over me and didn't they know where they are and the paramedics have already done this, and can I go home yet?
Oh, and my name, seeing as they look at me funny when i leave that detail out.
And no I can't they say.
They say I need surgery, well, one of them does.
The others are all a little preoccupied with shouting at each other and shoving things in my arms.
'We're going to take you into surgery now, you'll wake in recovery'.
Recovery?
Hopefully they know more about medicine than humour.
Mask over my face.
Wait, a what over my face!!
no! no no no no no!!!
AIR!!I NEED AIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I NEED.....air............air........
I'm so sick of the world spinning, I'm almost getting used to it.
It's gonna be weird when it stops.
If it stops.
'The world is always spinning child, didn't you know that?'
Right, of course, how silly of me.
'Except when its not' said the wise old oyster.
Yes, of course.I mean, what? Oyster?
They shout numbers and science words at each other, and say STAT a lot, but still it doesn't seem to be loud enough in here, it's too quiet.
Then I realise it's because there's no drama-enhancing mood music.
Because this is real, this isn't hollywood.
Although maybe it will become so, I hear someone say that the vultures have already pounced.
But I don't care.
They check me out and ask me if I know where I am, what my name is.
I tell them that I'm in a hospital, having a fuss made over me and didn't they know where they are and the paramedics have already done this, and can I go home yet?
Oh, and my name, seeing as they look at me funny when i leave that detail out.
And no I can't they say.
They say I need surgery, well, one of them does.
The others are all a little preoccupied with shouting at each other and shoving things in my arms.
'We're going to take you into surgery now, you'll wake in recovery'.
Recovery?
Hopefully they know more about medicine than humour.
Mask over my face.
Wait, a what over my face!!
no! no no no no no!!!
AIR!!I NEED AIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I NEED.....air............air........
I'm so sick of the world spinning, I'm almost getting used to it.
It's gonna be weird when it stops.
If it stops.
'The world is always spinning child, didn't you know that?'
Right, of course, how silly of me.
'Except when its not' said the wise old oyster.
Yes, of course.I mean, what? Oyster?
Friday, August 14, 2009
Part VII- Under House Arrest, Until You Change Your MInd
My stomach leaps (unfortunate seeing as thats where I'm injured) with the realisation that I have been shot.
It hurts like I have never been hurt before, like I could never imagine.
It's as if someone has stabbed me with a red hot sword, a red hot jagged sword.
And they're twisting it around, and around.
And around again.
I look down and see that I have been bandaged up and I realise that I am not wearing a maroon shirt like I had thought at a vague glance.
I was wearing a white shirt, now red with the stain of my misfortune.
I am going to need a new one, if I can ever bear to come back here.
Suddenly there are flashes of light, again and again. I'm wondering if I'm passing out again out again, seeing stars or something.
But then there are voices, people holding back other people while they spin their webs of hysteria, spreading out their tentacles of horror, picking up the seeds of our agony and planting them in the furtile grounds of other peoples unspoilt lives.
Spreading the disease, feeding the weed.
My mother....
For the first time I realise that she will be in pieces, she'll fly into pieces.
When the paramedic comes back, she tells me that all of the injured are being bussed to the hospital, families will be informed,
Shit. Oh Shit. She is going to...she's gonna...
I don't even want to know whats going to happen in her head.
Out of nowhere, I discover that I have no idea where you are, I so desperately wanted to never let go, to just cling on to you, but we have been torn apart, torn like the fabric of my body and my life.
But they are loading me up and shipping us off, there are students everywhere, running into the arms of hysterical mothers, being signed off and taken home.
Except the injured.
Why is it that we who need our families most are denied them?
And except you, you are denied everything but handcuffs.
Just like before, you are alone.
Did you think that this would change that?
It hurts like I have never been hurt before, like I could never imagine.
It's as if someone has stabbed me with a red hot sword, a red hot jagged sword.
And they're twisting it around, and around.
And around again.
I look down and see that I have been bandaged up and I realise that I am not wearing a maroon shirt like I had thought at a vague glance.
I was wearing a white shirt, now red with the stain of my misfortune.
I am going to need a new one, if I can ever bear to come back here.
Suddenly there are flashes of light, again and again. I'm wondering if I'm passing out again out again, seeing stars or something.
But then there are voices, people holding back other people while they spin their webs of hysteria, spreading out their tentacles of horror, picking up the seeds of our agony and planting them in the furtile grounds of other peoples unspoilt lives.
Spreading the disease, feeding the weed.
My mother....
For the first time I realise that she will be in pieces, she'll fly into pieces.
When the paramedic comes back, she tells me that all of the injured are being bussed to the hospital, families will be informed,
Shit. Oh Shit. She is going to...she's gonna...
I don't even want to know whats going to happen in her head.
Out of nowhere, I discover that I have no idea where you are, I so desperately wanted to never let go, to just cling on to you, but we have been torn apart, torn like the fabric of my body and my life.
But they are loading me up and shipping us off, there are students everywhere, running into the arms of hysterical mothers, being signed off and taken home.
Except the injured.
Why is it that we who need our families most are denied them?
And except you, you are denied everything but handcuffs.
Just like before, you are alone.
Did you think that this would change that?
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Part VI - Take a Photograph
My ears ring with the idea that I have been shot.
I stare down at it, half expecting to see a wonderland cannon hole.
Suddenly I become aware of a paramedic speaking to me.
'Hey sweety, what's your name? Can you hear me?'
I tell her my name and she calls me by it just a little too often.
Like when I meet an exchange student and try to pronounce their name properly in my head, again and again until its cemented there.
But I know she'll forget me soon enough. She's got to, how else could you cope with stuff like this every single day?
Distance, thats how.
And I feel like thats what's happening to me, my mind is distancing itself from my body, from my life.
But, persistent in much the same way as telemarketers are 'persevering'; she breaks through.
'Can you move at all?'
I can move all right, I could move to punch her in the face and kick her in the shins.
HOW DARE SHE PULL ME BACK INTO THIS PLACE!
HOW DARE SHE MAKE ME FACE THIS!!!
But this is not what I say, and, just as a thousand times before, I do not say what I mean, or mean what I say for that matter.
'Yeah, I think so' meaning 'Yes, now get me the fuck out of here before I need a straight jacket to hold together the bits of my broken heart, mind, soul, body. But, you know, take your time'
'Ah, you might need to let go now, so we can take you out to the ambulance.'
Looking down to the floor, on my right hand side (the left hand side is murder of the enth degree) I realise we are still holding hands. The young copper tending you is saying the same.
We look at our hands, bloodied with regret and white knuckled with terror, and then look at each other, broken, distant, exhausted. Barely holding onto each other and reality.
In synchronisation, we shake our heads at the medics.
They look at each other, one shrugs.
It's a tricky little maneouvre to get us up without tearing our broken bodies completely to pieces, but we manage. You up first cos your injury is smallest, then all three of you help me.
A paramedic under my arm holding me up and my best friend holding me together, we hobble out of the building to a waiting makeshift hospital.
The world spins as I see old friends and enemies alike, scattered across the courtyard.
Injuries equalling and surpassing mine attach themselves to people from my year, and the years below. The year twelves are all off for home study before exams, lucky for some.
Seeing the people from my year, I remember when we met in this courtyard on the very first day of school, excited and scared.
Funny that we'd be here now, bleeding and shocked out of our skins.
Funny that our worlds are imploding right here, just like we thought they would on the first day of year eight.
Spinning, spinning, spinning.
Thankfully, I let go of your hand before I hit the floor.
It's funny how we disconnect ourselves just before we fall down, 'to save them'.
Honestly, I think I just didn't want you falling on me.
I stare down at it, half expecting to see a wonderland cannon hole.
Suddenly I become aware of a paramedic speaking to me.
'Hey sweety, what's your name? Can you hear me?'
I tell her my name and she calls me by it just a little too often.
Like when I meet an exchange student and try to pronounce their name properly in my head, again and again until its cemented there.
But I know she'll forget me soon enough. She's got to, how else could you cope with stuff like this every single day?
Distance, thats how.
And I feel like thats what's happening to me, my mind is distancing itself from my body, from my life.
But, persistent in much the same way as telemarketers are 'persevering'; she breaks through.
'Can you move at all?'
I can move all right, I could move to punch her in the face and kick her in the shins.
HOW DARE SHE PULL ME BACK INTO THIS PLACE!
HOW DARE SHE MAKE ME FACE THIS!!!
But this is not what I say, and, just as a thousand times before, I do not say what I mean, or mean what I say for that matter.
'Yeah, I think so' meaning 'Yes, now get me the fuck out of here before I need a straight jacket to hold together the bits of my broken heart, mind, soul, body. But, you know, take your time'
'Ah, you might need to let go now, so we can take you out to the ambulance.'
Looking down to the floor, on my right hand side (the left hand side is murder of the enth degree) I realise we are still holding hands. The young copper tending you is saying the same.
We look at our hands, bloodied with regret and white knuckled with terror, and then look at each other, broken, distant, exhausted. Barely holding onto each other and reality.
In synchronisation, we shake our heads at the medics.
They look at each other, one shrugs.
It's a tricky little maneouvre to get us up without tearing our broken bodies completely to pieces, but we manage. You up first cos your injury is smallest, then all three of you help me.
A paramedic under my arm holding me up and my best friend holding me together, we hobble out of the building to a waiting makeshift hospital.
The world spins as I see old friends and enemies alike, scattered across the courtyard.
Injuries equalling and surpassing mine attach themselves to people from my year, and the years below. The year twelves are all off for home study before exams, lucky for some.
Seeing the people from my year, I remember when we met in this courtyard on the very first day of school, excited and scared.
Funny that we'd be here now, bleeding and shocked out of our skins.
Funny that our worlds are imploding right here, just like we thought they would on the first day of year eight.
Spinning, spinning, spinning.
Thankfully, I let go of your hand before I hit the floor.
It's funny how we disconnect ourselves just before we fall down, 'to save them'.
Honestly, I think I just didn't want you falling on me.
Part V- Another Head Aches, Another Heart Breaks
'Are you ok?' you ask me.
A stupid question.
Kind, and gentle and loving, so very like you.
But stupid and pointless.
Very unlike you.
'Mhmmm' I murmur. A lie, but a signal that I am at the very least still here.
'Can you see anything?'
Now that she asks, I realise I actually can't. That bang must have got the light, or the power, or something.
'Nuh uh', Meaning no. For some reason, I'm incapable of using real words.
We both clench up as we hear the shuffle of footsteps, breathing. We could feel the air change and somehow we knew we'd been waiting for this.
'Who...who's there?' I'm instantly struck with the thought that you are a complete idiot.
Haven't you heard of playing dead?
I hear a gruff voice bark something that sounded like 'FREEZE' or maybe sneeze, or pees, or trees, who knows, who cares.
But something inside me relaxes as I realise that this voice does not belong to our villain, it has none of the fear, the desperation, the stage-fright of our villain.. Something is growled about the police force and a torchlight skitters over us like a caffeinated beetle.
Skitters over us and onto that which I had so efficiently forgotten, denied, repressed.
You.
Still, cold, silent.
Three things you never were while you were alive.
Three things I had not accepted you would be when I opened my eyes.
She screams from next to me, and the police realise what they've done.
Found victims number one, two and three. Only one of which will not have to remember this moment for the rest of their life. Because its already over.
I can't breathe. I can't think, I can't move, can't deal with this.
As the policeman pulls me to my feet the world spins, from shock and blood-loss.
’Shit!’ I hear him say. 'This one's taken one to the stomach! Looks pretty bad'
I vaguely register that he's talking about me as I hear another say she has taken one to the left calf.
All I can see is you.
They put me back on the ground, to wait for paramedics.
One young guy stays with us while the rest of the party move on down the corridor, to wave their torchlights over other peoples agony and hand them bandaids.
'You should probably look away' he says, and the sound of her crying floats through to me.
I automatically put my arm around her and pay no attention to the pain it causes when she leans on me. I can't feel anything.
I am numb, but in agony.
I am silent, but screaming.
Surely this cannot be real.
A stupid question.
Kind, and gentle and loving, so very like you.
But stupid and pointless.
Very unlike you.
'Mhmmm' I murmur. A lie, but a signal that I am at the very least still here.
'Can you see anything?'
Now that she asks, I realise I actually can't. That bang must have got the light, or the power, or something.
'Nuh uh', Meaning no. For some reason, I'm incapable of using real words.
We both clench up as we hear the shuffle of footsteps, breathing. We could feel the air change and somehow we knew we'd been waiting for this.
'Who...who's there?' I'm instantly struck with the thought that you are a complete idiot.
Haven't you heard of playing dead?
I hear a gruff voice bark something that sounded like 'FREEZE' or maybe sneeze, or pees, or trees, who knows, who cares.
But something inside me relaxes as I realise that this voice does not belong to our villain, it has none of the fear, the desperation, the stage-fright of our villain.. Something is growled about the police force and a torchlight skitters over us like a caffeinated beetle.
Skitters over us and onto that which I had so efficiently forgotten, denied, repressed.
You.
Still, cold, silent.
Three things you never were while you were alive.
Three things I had not accepted you would be when I opened my eyes.
She screams from next to me, and the police realise what they've done.
Found victims number one, two and three. Only one of which will not have to remember this moment for the rest of their life. Because its already over.
I can't breathe. I can't think, I can't move, can't deal with this.
As the policeman pulls me to my feet the world spins, from shock and blood-loss.
’Shit!’ I hear him say. 'This one's taken one to the stomach! Looks pretty bad'
I vaguely register that he's talking about me as I hear another say she has taken one to the left calf.
All I can see is you.
They put me back on the ground, to wait for paramedics.
One young guy stays with us while the rest of the party move on down the corridor, to wave their torchlights over other peoples agony and hand them bandaids.
'You should probably look away' he says, and the sound of her crying floats through to me.
I automatically put my arm around her and pay no attention to the pain it causes when she leans on me. I can't feel anything.
I am numb, but in agony.
I am silent, but screaming.
Surely this cannot be real.
Part IV- Make It Last
"Waking up.
I've never enjoyed it, occasionally despised it even.
Or rather, I thought I despised it.
I had no idea what it meant to truly despise waking up in the morning.
Or waking up at all.
Ever.
But dreams are just as bad as reality, or worse.
And when I begin to fade back in, its quiet.
I expected frantic screams, running, more bangs, sirens, hysteria. Chaos.
But there is nothing.
I lie there, covered in dust and blood, i don't even know whose...
I don't want to know whose.
I don't want to hear, see, feel, do, or know anything.
Give me envy, give me malice, give me a break...
Give me denial, sweet, sweet denial.
I slip back into unconsciousness, but something pulls me back, insistent, almost desperate.
Please, please I'm begging you don't make me, DON'T MAKE ME!
I am screaming as the Cheshire cat fades away, stripe by stripe.
The rabbit insists he must go, he's very late.
The Mad Hatter and The March Hare are frantically trying to help me remember whatever it is that makes me so desperate to stay in Wonderland, or Looking Glass, or wherever we are.
The Door mouse puts the jam on his own nose and goes to sleep, I am achingly jealous.
And then Alice...
Bloodied, bruised, with a canon hole through her from her husband the tardy rabbit...
'You simply cannot stay here darling. Even I had to leave Wonderland...'
And so I am back in the real world, though it is not the same world it was when the director called 'fade to black'...
It never will be, never again.
I know this, but I can't remember why...
So I just lie there, covered in denial and a strangers blood, paralyzed by terror.
Until I feel a hand touch mine, moving of its own volition.
I hear a voice, that sounds like an actor doing voice in a cartoon.
You know that you know that voice, but it sounds different, you can't place it.
It's you, I finally realise, but not you. Forever tainted by these moments, the wounds are showing already. But you are speaking, which means you are breathing, which means you are still here.
For your sake, I'm not sure if this is good or bad.
I'm terrified that I'm dreaming and I don't move...
But then, I hear you start to cry, ever so quietly...
And I little bit of courage seizes me by the throat, as if to say
'You are making it worse, just because you're scared.
Don't you dare find a way to make this worse'
So I squeeze you back, and hear you catch your breath in response.
Is it beautiful or sad that you didn't let go of my hand even when you thought I was gone?
Part III- I've had the same jeans on for four days now
" Somehow waking up is more painful than the nightmares. They were beautiful really.
A glittering dream scape of fantasy, tinged with the now black reality of fact...
The fact that I cannot stay in this place.
Alice and the white rabbit get married, the Cheshire cat officiates and the mad hatter is her maid of honor, the march hare the best man and the door mouse the flower girl.
It is a lovely ceremony, until it comes to the part with the objecting.
Apparently objections are compulsory here, everyone must have at least one and each must be sorted through and proven wrong before the wedding can proceed, like a trial, but more trying.
The Queen of Hearts shrieks 'OFF WITH HER HEAD' and nearly gets the motion passed, but she refuses to justify her statement, crying ' All ways here are MY ways!' until the Red and White Queens carry her away.
The Red King's snoring is almost considered as an objection, but Humpty Dumpty proclaims it to be praise.
The most disturbing objection of all is by far the catepillar. Blowing his entrancing smoke rings, he insists Alice provides an answer to his highly impertinent question.
'WHO! ARE! YOU?!'.
But the white rabbit simply replies with 'My late wife' and pulls out a cannon to cease all objections to Alice forever.
youcannotstayhereyouknow
Whispers the gnat in my ear, the bread-and-butter-flies die for lack of tea with cream in it, the snap-dragon-flys flee to their christmas boxes and I...
I cannot stay here.
A glittering dream scape of fantasy, tinged with the now black reality of fact...
The fact that I cannot stay in this place.
Alice and the white rabbit get married, the Cheshire cat officiates and the mad hatter is her maid of honor, the march hare the best man and the door mouse the flower girl.
It is a lovely ceremony, until it comes to the part with the objecting.
Apparently objections are compulsory here, everyone must have at least one and each must be sorted through and proven wrong before the wedding can proceed, like a trial, but more trying.
The Queen of Hearts shrieks 'OFF WITH HER HEAD' and nearly gets the motion passed, but she refuses to justify her statement, crying ' All ways here are MY ways!' until the Red and White Queens carry her away.
The Red King's snoring is almost considered as an objection, but Humpty Dumpty proclaims it to be praise.
The most disturbing objection of all is by far the catepillar. Blowing his entrancing smoke rings, he insists Alice provides an answer to his highly impertinent question.
'WHO! ARE! YOU?!'.
But the white rabbit simply replies with 'My late wife' and pulls out a cannon to cease all objections to Alice forever.
youcannotstayhereyouknow
Whispers the gnat in my ear, the bread-and-butter-flies die for lack of tea with cream in it, the snap-dragon-flys flee to their christmas boxes and I...
I cannot stay here.
Part II- Beneath the Neon Lights We'll Go Wandering
"But we lucky few, we are permitted to pass go and collect our $200 of vouchers for slurpee heaven, where they sell only head-spin seasoned with MSG, heart-break sprinkled with six year old icing sugar and nightmares on a bed of toe jam, marinated in repression and denial, every night for the rest of our lives; like sand through the hourglass.
Permitted, by an unlikely Hollywood villain/victim with the face of a familiar stranger, to struggle on in our little trio, helping each other keep from throwing up the past.
Or so we thought.
One for all and (f)all to the floor.
I felt a funny pain in my knee as I fell, a twinging symptom of years of netball and falling down the stairs.
And a decidedly unfunny pain in my stomach and my head, as the fuzz of impact begins to engulf me.
Just before I let it, I realise three things.
One/Yi/Uno/Eins: I am on the floor, but twisted all funny, very unlike a bobcat pretzel.
Two/Ar/Dos/Zwei: I am one of many
Three/San/Tres/Drei: You are the most twisted, your beautiful face not sitting quite right. Turned toward me, it seems wrong, unsupported, with nothing behind it.
All in the same instant I wordlessly pray I am wrong and know that I am not, as I slip into God only knows where.
Permitted, by an unlikely Hollywood villain/victim with the face of a familiar stranger, to struggle on in our little trio, helping each other keep from throwing up the past.
Or so we thought.
One for all and (f)all to the floor.
I felt a funny pain in my knee as I fell, a twinging symptom of years of netball and falling down the stairs.
And a decidedly unfunny pain in my stomach and my head, as the fuzz of impact begins to engulf me.
Just before I let it, I realise three things.
One/Yi/Uno/Eins: I am on the floor, but twisted all funny, very unlike a bobcat pretzel.
Two/Ar/Dos/Zwei: I am one of many
Three/San/Tres/Drei: You are the most twisted, your beautiful face not sitting quite right. Turned toward me, it seems wrong, unsupported, with nothing behind it.
All in the same instant I wordlessly pray I am wrong and know that I am not, as I slip into God only knows where.
Part I- Get Yourself Dressed Instead of running around, and pulling on your threads
I want to write, so here goes. Goodness only knows what will come out...
" We are walking through a delapidated, disliked corridor. We thought the worst thing it could lead to was double english in computer labs that don't work fast enough to support slacking off.
We are wrong.
What was a flurry of break-neck speed gossip and inconsequential whinging becomes screams of pure unadulterated terror. A sound we had never heard before, now cannot stop hearing from inside our forever altered souls.
Bang! And screams.
We fall to the floor by a block of lockers, huddled together.
Silent dread drifts over us and settles like plaster dust, sets like burnt chocolate only to be disturbed and broken by a sound we never expected to hear for real.
Hollywood taught us that sound, like a school teaches you to go inside or outside in response to the dissonant wail of a siren, rather than how to do cartwheels or roast sunflower seeds, or other such useful things.
Run, they taught us. Run and bleed at that noise. Or just skip straight to bleed, do not pass go, do not collect $200, but that doesn't work as well for action movies, only crime shows."
" We are walking through a delapidated, disliked corridor. We thought the worst thing it could lead to was double english in computer labs that don't work fast enough to support slacking off.
We are wrong.
What was a flurry of break-neck speed gossip and inconsequential whinging becomes screams of pure unadulterated terror. A sound we had never heard before, now cannot stop hearing from inside our forever altered souls.
Bang! And screams.
We fall to the floor by a block of lockers, huddled together.
Silent dread drifts over us and settles like plaster dust, sets like burnt chocolate only to be disturbed and broken by a sound we never expected to hear for real.
Hollywood taught us that sound, like a school teaches you to go inside or outside in response to the dissonant wail of a siren, rather than how to do cartwheels or roast sunflower seeds, or other such useful things.
Run, they taught us. Run and bleed at that noise. Or just skip straight to bleed, do not pass go, do not collect $200, but that doesn't work as well for action movies, only crime shows."
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