I thought I’d share something a little different with you this week.
I have a “special guest” contributor.
For the past few years this young lady has had a love/hate relationship with English in school. Last year, however, she found herself in a different class with a different teacher and, after a shaky start, he’s managed to “flick the switch to On” and now she “gets it”.
The transformation of this young lady has been a joy to watch.
For years it has broken my heart that she was so dis-interested in reading. How could my own daughter not love books? The house is full of them! Now, she’s steadily devouring them…well my Harry Potter ones at least but it’s a start and a huge leap forward!
Recently, she had to submit an essay for her English exam portfolio. We chatted a little about possible topics but I never really gave her any ideas or storylines. I never gave her any help worth mentioning. She’s always had a leaning towards darker characters so her final choice of topic didn’t surprise me. (Now that he’s got to know her, I don’t think it overly shocked her teacher either and I’m relieved to say that social services haven’t arrived at my door!)
I was given the chance to read the final draft of her essay before she submitted it. I was blown away by it! Now I admit, I am a little biased here but I’m her mother so I’ll beg your forgiveness.
With Girl Child’s permission, I’m proud to introduce her as the first guest writer on my blog page. I hope you enjoy her short story.
People deal with pain and loss in different ways. Some people go to therapy, some go to self-help groups filled with people dealing with the same issues, others bottle everything up inside until they can’t take it anymore and eventually blow their brains out with a double barrel shot gun between their teeth. However, I turn to my one true love. Heroin. Oh my sweet mistress dressed in brown. She takes all the pain away and holds you tight showing you only the good in the world.
It starts with a tatty old belt round the arm to make a beautiful blue target full of blood. When the needle goes in and the plunger goes down, your soul leaves your body. The mistress’ work has begun.
It is hard to describe what it’s like taking heroin. Normally, for me, it is like enlightenment. It feels like there is gold rushing through your veins, making you pure and at peace. The warm seas of gold fill you up and drown all the evil inside. It is the closest that a drug addict will ever get to heaven. After a few hours in heaven the mistress brings you back down to your pit of despair called reality.
However, with this hit there was no gold and no heaven. The gold seas were replaced with pools of tar. The evil was multiplying and pouring out of my eyes in the form of hallucinations. Heaven was replaced with judgement day.
The first hallucinations my mistress brought to me were of the past. My ex girlfriend, mother, father, younger brother and grandmother were having a family meal in my parent’s house. All around there were smiles and laughter. My family loved my girlfriend just as much as I did.
Soon the family meal melted into the floor and was replaced with a bath. The bath filled with water and so did my eyes. I knew exactly what was coming. The body of my ex-girlfriend appeared in the bath. Her body was as cold as ice and her skin was the colour of snow. She held a razor in one hand while her other wrist poured seas of rubies. Lying on the floor was a note. Her pretty curly handwriting wrote that she couldn’t cope anymore, that I was abusive, that she was scared of me and what I would do. She wrote that this was her only way out. It was after her funeral that my mistress found me.
My mistress then brought hallucinations of the present. The first to appear was my mother. She looked much older than I remember her being, she was breaking her heart crying. I could see she was holding a picture of me as a baby, tears fell like rain drops onto my smiling chubby face. She kept asking herself “where did I go wrong?”, as more tears came pouring out. I wanted to reach out and hold her, tell her I’m sorry and cry with her.
Like the others, my mother melted into the floor and was replaced by a man. My father. He was far from tears – he was stomping around my old bedroom tearing posters off the walls and breaking everything in sight. “I ONLY HAVE ONE SON!” My father always favoured me as I was the oldest. He always had such high expectations of me, and now I was dead to him. I wanted to help him tear everything down and erase every memory of me.
My mistress ignored my pleas for the hallucinations to stop and once again my father melted into the floor and was replaced by a 15 year old boy. This was my younger brother, James, he was sitting at a lunch table in school with his friends. They looked to be laughing and joking about one of his friends getting shouted at in English because his work isn’t as good as his brothers was when he was in school. James said, ” I’m so glad I’m an only child, no teachers have anyone to compare me to”. His friend turned quietly and asked, “James, don’t you have an older brother? Fred or something like that?”. My brother turned and said, “he died years ago”.
My own little brother was denying my existence. He told people I was dead. How could he be so cold and emotionless. I fought the bullies at school so they would leave him alone. I helped with his homework. I taught him how to ride a bike. Did I really mean so little to him?
My cruel mistress then brought hallucinations of the future. It looked to be a crematorium that appeared. There was a coffin, a minister and two figures sitting in the back. As the figures became clearer I could see they were older versions of my parents. This was my funeral. My mother was still crying her heart out. My father was so still and shed a single tear. “I’m so sorry for your loss”, said the minister. “Thank you, we only wish we had helped him sooner. He had so much potential, accepted into Oxford University to do a masters in theoretical physics. He could have done amazing things with that brain of his.”
I had never thought about it before. I was smart, extremely smart. I could have made them proud, but all I’ve done is disappoint them. I broke their hearts. I drove my girlfriend to suicide. I had killed the person I used to be.
My mistress finally released me and I was left lying in a puddle of my own self pity. I couldn’t live my life like this anymore. I had to get rid of my mistress for good. She made me a shell of who I used to be. This wicked temptress had worked her way into my life making me feel special just to turn and judge me for who she made me.