In the small room it was dark and moist. The curtains were pulled, and
little light made its way through the tightly woven fabric. She was tired;
so very very tired. She was tired of crying, tired of being alone, tired of
friends coming over all the time, tired of not being able to eat, tired of
puking on the carpet, tired of being tired. She sat on her bed with her head
in her hands, trying to figure out what to do. Should she sit like that for
a while or should she get up and turn on the television? She sat there
wondering what to do. She wished her mind could be so occupied with this
that she would be unable to think of anything else, but it just wasn't
possible.
She got up and took a few steps around the room. Her feet hurt badly. She
was walking around on little pointy, broken pieces of her heart - her broken
heart. TV-dinners on the stove. Maybe she forgot to turn off the gas. That
would be nice...well, it wouldn't actually be nice, but it wouldn't be
horrible either. She approached the stove slowly, sniffing to find out if
there was any gas in the air. She thought she could smell something; she was
almost sure. She leaned down on the floor and picked up a box of matches.
She was just like that girl who froze in H.C. Andersen's fairy tale; if she
just lit a match, everything would be all right. She crouched on the floor,
almost slipping in some spilled yoghurt. Her last thought would be: "yuck,
it's sticky and all gooey." What a miserable being she was. She started to
cry. She had no more tears, but she still cried, hulking and coughing away,
and then she opened the matchbox. She took out a match and struck it
violently. "Ffffssscchhh", it went but that was all. She sat there petrified
for a few minutes, with one foot in a squirt of spilled yoghurt. Then she
went in and turned on the television.
There were only 3 channels, but one of them was one of those channels which
only broadcasts commercials for different items such as nose trimmers and
fitness equipment. Commercials kind of helped her. There were always people
who were telling her what to do and what to think and what to wear and what
to buy. Then she did not think at all. She did not think of Mike's affair
with that blond girl from work, she did not think about the things he said
to her when she caught them having sex in his office, and she definitely did
not think of how much she still loved Mike, even though he said all those
things about her and had an affair. She did not think about how he had
filled out the divorce papers the very next day, and of how she wasn't going
to sign them...ever. She would rather die. She would rather be tortured by a
gang of lunatics who had just escaped from prison - she would rather... Damn
that fucking gas stove. What was wrong with it, and what was wrong with her?
She did not really know because she was not thinking about that. She was not
thinking.
She was woken by the *ring* of the phone. It was her best friend Alice: "Oh
my dear, it's all so awful.. I do so sympathize with you. You don't deserve
to be treated like this; you are such a nice person. I hope that you are
alright, and that you will be OK and that.." -Click! What a stupid person.
Such a stupid stupid person. She hated all people. She hated everything -
especially herself. She wished the whole world was a bubble. One made of
soap and water. If you touched it, it would disappear into thin air with a
*pop*. Oh, she wished she could touch it, she wished so that she could touch
the world, but who can actually touch the world in this way? No one. So she
sat down and continued to watch commercials. If her brain, or her soul, or
whatever never woke up, she would not have to think. Thoughts hurt she
thought to herself, grinding her teeth… then commercials.
"For this small price, YOU can be the owner of the Touch and POP - machine.
All worries are guaranteed to disappear, and pain is out of the game - you
have our personal guaranty. And here is Mike and his new wife Bonnie: such a
beautiful happy couple aren't they? They will now demonstrate how our
wonderful machine is quick and easy to use...*POP!*" She woke up bathed in
sweat, and gasping for air. She looked around the room like a beast that had
been sedated only to find itself waking up in a terribly small cage. She was
so out of it. She did not even know where she was until she slipped in a
squirt of yoghurt, and fell and hurt her knee. Pain is nice...well, it is
not really nice but it is not a bad thing either. When it hurts you can not
think of anything else and then you do not feel pain. It was really quite
simple. She sat on the floor wondering how she had not realised something so
obvious until now: Pain is the remedy for pain. Just like death cures death
and violence nullifies violence. She took a dirty fork from the floor and
looked at with fascination. Then she closed her eyes and stabbed herself in
her thigh with it. "Aihhhh!" She got a lot of pain and relief out of that.
Now she had the strength to clean up the place. She tightened her fist and
swung it at the concrete wall as hard as she could: *Thump!* Then she
started fixing everything up, still holding the fork in her hand, you know…
just in case.
When she had finished everything looked completely different. The whole room
was transformed. Everything was tidy and clean, except for a few stains of
blood here and there, but that could not be helped. She could not be... she
could not remember what day it was. She took the top newspaper of the pile
that she had stacked in the closet. It was Sunday - Sunday the sixteenth of
May. She had locked herself in for 6 days, and now she suddenly felt like
she wanted to get out of the house and go for a walk. She took a shower, got
dressed, and packed a little bag full of things she was going to need: There
was a little razor blade, a blunt knife, the fork and some bandages. When
she shut the door behind her, she immediately got scared and had to cut her
finger with the raiser. She used a bandage but nevertheless, she could not
help dirtying the elevator on the way down. When she was out on the street,
the air hit her straight in the face with its freshness. She felt alive and
free and started to run down the street. She was wearing a small coat and a
pair of dirty sneakers. Her little black handbag swung back and forth as she
ran between all the people who happened to be passing her on her way. She
was not scared now. She knew she had a knife in her bag. No one could touch
her now.
She stopped at a 7-11 and went inside. "Two pieces of bread and a coke!" she
yelled. The stereotypical 7-11 employee slowly put the things in a bag and
handed them to her. She threw a ten dollar-note at him and yelled: "Thanks
MORON!" Then she laughed and flew out into the street, running all the way
home. Oh, how tired that trip had made her. She sat down in a chair and put
her feet up. She had cut herself all over and the fork was still forced deep
into her stomach. She took off all of her clothes and took a shower. The
water turned pink before it could run down the drain. She was feeling great.
Then the bell rang. One of the neighbours was standing outside with an empty
cup. She looked at her through the door peeper. It was Mrs. Stevenson from
across the hall. She hesitated; then she opened the door.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but do you think you could spare... OH MY GOD!!"
Mrs. Stevenson stared at her as if she was someone who had just been run
over. Then everything went black. Pitch black.
Bright lights pierced through the cracks in her eyes, confusing her and
scaring her. "Take it easy, My name is Dr. Blaicker. You have suffered some
serious injuries, and we have to operate, so try to lay still and relax
until the tranquillisers start to work." She felt nothing, she thought
nothing, she heard nothing, and then it all went away as she lost
consciousness.
The birds were singing and rays and reflections of sunlight were dancing in
her window. She was in a clean white hospital bed. Everything was very
bright. It was all right...everything was all right. She lay there smiling
for at least an hour, and then came a nurse and comforted her, and then came
a man and talked to her, and then came her friend and cried for her, and
then came the police and asked her: "I know this is all very painful for you
right now, but do you think you can tell us who did this to you?" She nodded
and tried to look like someone who had been physically violated. "It's funny
how things turn out sometimes…" she said silently to herself. "What was that?"
asked the policeman. "Nothing" she said. The policeman looked at his
partner, but she could not see his face. That kind of made her nervous, so
she said with a hurting voice that she was ready to talk to them about what
had happened. She said it was her husband. She said that she had found him
together with another woman and had started to yell hysterically, while she
was throwing things at him. Then he had taken a knife and cut her. Yeah…that
is what happened. She was mad with jealousy and had become violent and
hysterical and then he had cut her and poked her with a fork and all kinds
of things. "But if you ask his new girlfriend, who was there, she will say
that he didn't do anything - that's for sure!" The policeman wrote down
everything in his notebook. She thought she had better start to cry so she
did. Then the nurse came and said that they would have to leave now. Relief
is good, but revenge is better. She felt so lucky. She was blessed, and she
was so happy, and so asleep.
The next day she received word that her husband had been arrested, and there
was to be a trial this Wednesday. She was well enough to walk around, and
left the hospital the next day. When she got home she thought about her
husband and what she had done. She had not thought that the solution to all
her problems would just appear, ready-made out of her misery. Yes, she was
lucky. She sure was. She went down to the 7-11 and bought 2 pieces of bread
and a coke. "Thank you so much," she said still smiling as she went out of
the store and out into the street. It was starting to get dark, and all the
windows were lit up. She imagined all the happy families inside. Each family
probably had several children. They were probably sitting around the table
eating dinner. The children would probably talk about what they learned in
school, and the parents would listen and nod, and say that they were proud.
Then the mother would bring them a nice home cooked meal, which she had
prepared in the kitchen. They would all say Grace before they started eating
and everyone would smile and laugh, and… and it was a good thing that she
did not have any children herself. They would only be in the way, and make
everything really complicated. She did not have any children and it was not
complicated. Her husband had wronged her and now she would take revenge. It
was all quite simple: He would go to jail and they would both be miserable,
BUT she could at least live her life. She could not do that before. Before,
she had to forget everything and run away, and that is no way to live. That
is no way to live. When she was home she sat down and looked at magazines.
Then she ate her bread, drank her coke, and went to bed.
The next day was the day of the trial. Two policemen came and picked her up.
She was happy because it made her feel really important. She sat in the car
and felt important all the way to court. When they got there she was
accompanied by the guards into the court room. Five minutes later her
husband was brought in. His hands were cuffed, and he looked pale and tired.
He stared at her the whole time and she pretended to feel ill because of
this. Eventually she was called up to the witness stand. "Do you swear to
tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you
God?" asked the attorney. "I do." she replied. He asked her what had
happened and made her point towards her husband, and she put on a show and
started to cry and said that he was a dirty bastard and that she was the one
who should have hurt him for what he did. Then the defence attorney asked
her where she had been and why she went home instead of going to the
hospital. He said that her injuries were 'self-inflicted' and that her
husband had an alibi. But he did not really have an alibi, because he had
been with his new lover the whole time. Because they were sexually and
emotionally involved, that stupid blonde's testimony could not provide an
alibi for him. He did not have an alibi and he was found guilty. It was such
a victory for her. She had succeeded. She had beaten them. She had won.
"Winning isn't everything," her father once said. He died when she was only
twelve. Now she felt empty inside. There was nothing that could fill the
emptiness. She no longer had a purpose. She was just a shell with nothing
inside. It seemed as if whatever hope and strength she had felt earlier had
never really been there. She had to have a purpose, a mission if you will.
At home in her apartment it seemed that everything was dissolving. She took
off her coat and sat down in a chair, looking out the window. Suddenly she
felt like a fish in a fish tank and immediately drew the curtains. Then it
was dark. She sat there for a while in order to let her eyes get used to the
darkness. Slowly she could see everything in the apartment again. It was
like a world of darkness that was revealed to her as her eyes started to
identify the different objects in the room. When she could see enough detail
to do so, she wandered around the house, not knowing why, or what for. Then
she sat down and starred at the wall. She was like a plant. She was just
like the plants in her living room. No one had taken care of them. They had
always been taken care of, but suddenly they were left to themselves. They
would eventually wither and die. She thought that this would happen to her
too, and accepted it. She turned on the television and laid her brain, her
soul, or whatever to sleep, disappearing into her own emptiness.
The next morning, she was still empty, but she also felt uneasy and restless.
It was simply her will to exist. She knew she had to take control of her
life if she was to go on. She still needed a purpose and a mission in life,
and now she was determined to find one. She would go out and talk to people.
They would talk to her and they would make her see that she was worth
something. She needed to know that she was worth something. She had to fight
the meaninglessness. So she put on her coat, drank some water, and went down
and into the street.
The light was too much for her eyes and she held her hand up against the sun,
remembering that feeling of emerging from the darkness. She was definitely
on the right track. But where was she going and what should she strive to
achieve? It certainly was not revenge that she needed. She had already had
revenge. It had taken everything out of her and that was good, but she still
felt empty, so she thought the people around her could tell her who she was
and what she was, and fill her with herself.
She saw a black man with sunglasses holding a cup with coins in it. He
was begging with the excuse of his being blind. She did not like black
people but still she found them kind of interesting, and talking to this one
would surely be something totally new for her and that was just what she
needed. She approached him carefully. She did not know whether she should
believe that he was blind or not. Now she was no more than two steps away
from him and she could see that he somehow had noticed her presence. Then he
said: "He..hello? Is anyone there? Care to make a donation?" "Whatever for?"
she replied. How strange to ask for a donation when he stood there begging.
"For a tired, old, blind man trying to stay alive Miss." he said. She took
out a small coin and held it in her hand as she said: "First you must tell
me your name." "The name's Darckington, Miss." he replied. She dropped the
coin into the cup. "Thank you. God bless you Miss." he stuttered. She stood
there looking at him for a while. She had not gotten what she wanted. "Do
you want to hear something quite amazing?" she asked him, looking around to
see if there was anyone else around. "Yes..yes of course Miss. Anything you
say Miss.
She told the blind man everything that had happened since the day
she had found her husband screwing that bloody tramp, and the old man
listened and nodded. "What do you think of that?" she asked, slightly proud
of herself. The old man held his breath for a moment. Then he lowered his
head and said: "I think that you are a very sad person Miss. I think you
should go to your friends and talk to them instead. I can't tell you what I
think you want to hear. You should see your friends Miss." "What do you mean
I am a sad person?" she asked nervously. She was getting anxious to prove to
him that he was wrong. "Nothing Miss. I'm sorry Miss. Forgive me Miss." "Well
I think YOU are a sad person, standing there begging for money! You probably
don't even need to beg, do you? I bet you aren't even blind!" She reached
out and swiped his sunglasses. The old man did not move. His eyes were grey
and white and it was obvious that he was really blind. "You liar!" she
screamed at him. "You God damn liar" she screamed out into the street. She
ran out into the middle of the street and started crying, still screaming
from the top of her lounges: "You liar, you God damn liar!!" She felt as
though the very ground she stood on was deliberately taunting her, making
her stumble and fall. She was just a plant on the cement as she lay there,
suddenly thinking nothing...feeling nothing. She could not go back where she
thought she had come from because she had really never been there. It was
all a lie. It was all one big ugly blood- dripping lie.
She looked up into
the sky, while she lay motionless on the ground. There was nothing as far as
the eye could see, but then a male figure bend over her and addressed her in
a surprisingly formal tone: "Excuse me Miss. Are you all right?" "No I am
not all right!" she replied. "Please help me. I have fallen and I can't get
up!" "I can't help you with that." he said. "What?" she replied startled.
She did not understand why he could not at least help her up onto her own
two feet. He turned around and started to walk away. A car suddenly came -
literally appearing out of thin air. She screamed loudly. Her loud scream
echoed inside her empty shell as she slowly disappeared. It was black. Mr.
Darckington could not see what had happened but still he knew. He was not
empty and therefore he could face the darkness. He crouched for a moment,
resting his tired, old leg muscles. He could feel that the sun was shining.
It was probably a bright day. A lady stopped to look at the accident,
eventually giving him a coin. He did not say a word. She knew where she was
going. The siren hurt Mr. Darckington's ears. He could not hear the
ambulance people running, then stopping. "Forget it doc", a young accented
voice said. "She's a goner."
|
