“Superior? Really?” Melissa thought as she marveled at the dented and peeling laminate table top complete with over-sized dime store candle. She believed she had hit rock-bottom with the ‘Trav-is-New’ Jesus freak who brought his bible on their first date, “I believe all answers to our problems are in the Good Book.” She wished for the rapture for that ‘Trav-is-sty’. But ‘Brad-to-the-Bone’ took the cake, “I have a B.O.G.O. free coupon on entrees! Let’s go Dutch on Sum Dim-Dim!” “More like Sad-to-the-Bone,” she lamented to herself as she deleted her online profile while Brad brandished his coupon between his chopsticks.
“Thomas hide! Now!” The storm was here. “But mommie I’m scared.” Thomas glanced at his birthday cake. The 10 candles were still burning though the cake littered the dining room floor with the overturned table. “Go!” she screamed with terror and courage in her voice.
Thomas darted into the cellar, bolting the door behind him as she had taught him. He squeezed his hands against his ears, but could still hear glass shattering and muffled screams. Then silence.
Thomas unbolted the door. His mother lay crumpled on the kitchen floor, bloodied. “It’s alright Thomas. Daddy’s gone.” His storm had passed.
She stared at the screen, eyes blood shot red, spine spasming, and thought, “I don’t have it in me. I can’t create with my tank on Empty.” She had worked 14 straight nights. Sunday would be her first day off. Or so she thought. “Could you cover this Sunday? I hate to ask but we are short.” begged the supervisor. She had put in for a transfer on the 9th night but Corporate denied the request. She was also embroiled in a CNA suspension whom she reported sleeping, “Could you please give another statement as to how many times you saw the aide sleeping and what you did to intervene?” questioned the Director of Nursing in a seemingly innocuous office email. The Company had already settled in two lawsuits of negligent death, now there’s Sleep-Gate.
“Good morning beautiful,” texted Brian. She had no clue who he was. Maybe from OKCupid. Maybe from that dance club last summer. She didn’t know and had no interest putting any thought into it. “Hi. I’m headed to the gym,” she lied, “talk to you soon,” another lie. She wondered why he kept texting her, “Because you have no interest in him.” she answered aloud.
But she also had no interest in sex, “The longer I go without sex, the longer I can go without sex.” she remembered saying to her therapist. She didn’t even have interest in self-pleasure. But her body told another story. When counting narcs with Remi, the half Egyptian, half Russian male nurse, she felt a heavy moisture between her legs, “Great. Just what I need. My period.” she grimaced to herself. When she went to the bathroom to survey the damage, she found clear slippery fluid instead. It seems standing next to an attractive man made her body prepare for an act that was never going to come (tongue in cheek).
So she sits and writes with no particular purpose, other than to say, “I am still here. Battered but still here.”
Forging ahead with fictional endeavours: ~ Write a life on a page and hurry not to its grave; abhor not the coming age, for eternal is the next page. ~ Read what you will, I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I do writing.