After the snow melts and the grass starts to grow back, she takes her car and drives out to the country. If she keeps going, she'll find a soybean field left empty and filled with wild prarie grass. She parks the car, gets out and stands in the middle of the field.
She can see for miles and miles. The whole world is sky and grass. She can smell manure when the wind blows.
She lies down in the grass to sleep. The earth is warm and soft. She is sinking into it like a seed. Ever since her family...
Green.
Colour of greed, colour of money, mostly.
Apartheid is long gone, but the mind of the elders (my parents) still fondly rememeber that history where advancements were meaningful and plenty. A time where the "whites ruled the land" and "the country was better for it".
Completely oblivious to their historical visit I brought myself to watch news beside my father and had a stingy comment to make on the concerns of some Western Cape citizens that feel threatened by "the freedom of of all citizens to apply for jobs and be transfered across the country unconditionally". Sounds silly to...
She wasn't sure she could do this. the bishop had been her friend for a while. he was trying to kill daddy, though, so the princess pulled out her kit and pulled out the vial she hadn't touched since she'd found it. the deadly poison was slipped into her sleeve as she went down to dinner. She sat down next to the bishop, smiling. she moved her arm ever so slightly during the entrees, knocking his hat to the floor. "Oh! You seem to have dropped your hat! Here, let me move your glass so you can get it." she...
I lost my grip on the wheel. The heavy wood slipped through my freezing cold wet fingers, the boat was out of control. Not that I was ever in control. Just a clueless passenger trying to help when the Captain was swept overboard in the rain lashing gale.
Ear shattering sounds followed, groaning, creaking, feeling myself being thrown upside down as the ship started to sink. I could see people trying to hold onto someting, all in vain. Bodies floating past me. Terror.
I must have passed out. Found myself in a lifeboat with a small child and a woman,...
She could feel the terror drenching and cloaking itself around her. Don't be afraid, it whispered. You've known for years, it whispered. But still she did not know what do to.
Her name was Emma Fairfax, and she was dying.
It approached, back bent and hooded cloak hiding its face. It was terrifying and calming all at once, a simple presence in a simple place.
She was afraid.
A single bony finger reached out from under the sleeve and cricked forward, beckoning her towards the form. "Come to me," it whispered.
And she did.
The water was clear but her conscience was not.
Carla gazed into the crystal goblet's depths, the sparkling liquid reflecting the sunlight that filtered through the kitchen's old fashioned windows. It was one of the things that originally attracted them to the old, refurbished barn. The glass irregular, thicker at the bottom, letting the natural light unevenly through its depths, like the sun seen from underwater.
Carla smiled at the memory. They had been happier then. Happy and in love and carefree, despite the financial uncertainty of starting a new life together. But they had scrimped and saved for their...
She paced the living room. He would be home soon, and she had no idea how she would answer his keys in the door.
She had spent week thinking of the words, only to lose them now. Her hands were clasped as if praying were something that would work now.
"I have to do this," she thought to herself.
"I have to do this," she said to herself.
The car could be heard pulling into the driveway. A car opens. It shuts.
She freezes. Hands down at her side. She stand amongst their furniture, their pictures, their nick-knacks.
She stands...
"Hello, that was quick. Only 40 minutes on hold…"
"How can I… help…you today?"
"I stepped on my wallet and cracked my credit card. I need a replacement, please."
"Are you the primary card holder?"
"No. That's me wife."
"Can I speak to the p…"
"She's at work. I don't have a job."
"I need to speak to th…"
"You didn't last time… it took an hour of me convincing you I'm authorised on this account, but…"
"I need to speak to the primary card holder."
"But I'm authorised to access this account! Last time I had to talk to...
Sarah felt a little guilty. This wasn't her bed after all. But to each his own. This isn't some pink kiddie playgroundworld where cotton candy feeds you until your next meal, and mommy and daddy are there to catch you when you scrape your knee. In this world, houses are foreclosed, children are taken away by Children's Services, and husbands beat you after a late night out with beer. If you're lucky, he passes out before you have to fight him and shout NO. In this world, anything is possible, things you couldn't fathom happening to you as a 7-year-old...
Sometimes, the best cure for loneliness is to actually be alone. Which is actually kind of hard to do, considering there are something like 6 bills people on the planet. You have to actually try.
Alone is different from lonely. Alone is a choice. Lonely is a sickness. My sickness has lasted two years, six months, eleven days, and I'm to the point where I must get better, or die. So I put on my black "fuck off" jacket, and put my headphones in my ears, and I made a choice to be alone. And I walked. I walked all...