Orange Needles

I was walking down the street and the street turned into the house I am currently living at. There were needles everywhere. They were the thin, bright, orange handled ones that many drug users have. There was a huge pile of them laying on the carpet, and each person who came by, I mentioned the needles. Instead of turning my way or acknowledging my presence, they ignored me and walked right through the pile. As each person walked by, I told them about the pile, but I still got no response. As far as I could tell, nobody was nicked by a needle, but it didn’t stop me from mentioning it.



My Worst Fear

I dreamed that my Mother died in essentially the same way that my Father did: somewhat mysteriously and shrouded in unanswerable questions. In my dream, my Mother died suddenly by a car accident or heart attack, quite possibly both. I head of the news through another party, a secret party, but I didn’t know exactly who it was who told me. When I heard about it, I was devastated and found my most favorite picture of her. I couldn’t keep the picture to myself and I decided to post it on Facebook. I placed her picture, of her looking royally at the camera with a handful of strawberries still attached to the root springing from her fingers. I left the most beautiful tribute to my Mother, but not one of my Facebook friends said anything. Nobody liked or commented it on it at all. It went unacknowledged. I left computer feeling extremely sad that I expressed my pain but nobody else saw the importance of it since I was adopted and shouldn’t mourn the loss of my real mother, the one I look and act exactly like. After leaving the computer, I looked in the mirror and started to apply make-up to my face. I penciled in my eyebrows and shaped them. I applied mascara and eyeliner. I looked beautiful for a face that wasn’t any longer my own, but inside I felt empty because of how much I miss her. To this day, I am worried that she will die and I will not ever truly get the opportunity to get to know her. We speak different languages now and we are a world apart.


Her Secret

She has a lot of secrets. She can’t tell them all, but she sits in her room, laughing quietly to herself about them. She pulls her legs up to her chest and embraced them tightly. She sets her head on her knees and stifles her laughs that are either on the brink of hysteria or excitement. Her hair matted over her paling legs.

She knows how silly it is, her rendezvous, but she cannot help herself. She finds her only escape are in those moments. It’s currently, the only pleasure she keeps within her life. If she had her choice though, she’d choose her own pleasure, another sort of happiness. She used to be an actress. She was well known in the local area and was slowly becoming popular enough to become noticed, except her being noticed was by the wrong hands.

She stops laughing because she thinks she hears him, and she is correct. His feet are pounding on the floor until they stop at the entryway to her room. She listened to them approach, and decided to keep her body in the same position but lay on her side because she was certain he was going to check up on her and she didn’t want him to linger for too long. She listened to the foot steps stop, and slowly sound away, a normal step followed by a slight dragging sound.

She knew why his foot dragged. She caused it and doesn’t regret it. The blood and scar that she imagines forming at the stabbing of the knife into his leg. It was his knife, but he had dropped it. She grabbed it and used it on him. So much blood, she remembers vividly, but it didn’t help her to get away. He still captured her and brought her here; wherever here was, she was still not certain. She devised a plan and started to carve out a tunnel by first pulling out a brick from the wall. She’d removed a little bit of dirt and hide it within her toilet bucket. He didn’t empty it enough, nor did she eat enough for him to need it emptied often. Still though, her room smelled terribly and she kept the bucket on the opposite side of her sleeping area.

She forgot how long it was that she had been here exactly, but she didn’t forget what happened to her whenever he visited. She couldn’t think about this right now. She didn’t want to think about it any more than it happened, and that is why she wanted to escape so badly.

He seemed to be alone, without any accomplices, and after learning his schedule, she started to work at the large brick. It was one of those huge bricks that were used for commercial buildings. She knew that she’d have to squeeze herself through the hole once she dug it all the way out. She figured that she would be a lot smaller by this time because he never quite fed her enough, and her clothes started to tatter and hang from her body. He gave her food sometimes and whatever drink he left behind. Soda, bottles of water, a little bit of whiskey. At first, she didn’t take any of it, but as the days rolled on and her hunger pains became denser, she accepted the food and drinks he left behind. She was worried about him poisoning her. She came to the conclusion that if he wanted to, he would have done so already. No, what he wanted was worse, he wanted her alive to act out his desires.

In her fantasies, she dreamed about the outside world. The world that she was slowly forgetting, and she dreamed about food and warmth. Yes, his body was warm, but not the type of warmth that was pleasant enough for her to want. She missed the sun and her tan. She knew if she stayed here that she would start to feel some sort of sorrow for him. She started to feel this way already and she didn’t want to feel this for him. She wanted to feel nothing, she had to use her acting skills to the best of her ability. She had to allow him the belief that she loved him even though she did not. The reason was because if he believed this, then she could escape more easily and be abused less severely for each mistake that she made.

She was exhausted by now. Her adrenaline spent and her lack of energy from food wore her out, plus the activities he made her complete. She knew that he would be visiting in a little bit. She closed her eyes and waited. As she waited, she had another thought about moving her bed to cover the brick hole. She’d have to remove the brick and placed it into a different area. She thought about this, to hide it under something, but she didn’t have much, just some clothes for when she needed something different to wear and the think blanket he provided. After her redecorating, she could find a way to make him stay with her. Sometimes he did this. When he fell asleep, she could clonk him over the head with the brick and unlatch the door to her freedom. She fell asleep with these thoughts.