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"Breakdown" (the fifty-third ACWclub monthly writing contest) |
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Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "Breakdown" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (EST), Jan 15, 2006 All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent. |
| Breakdown By Catherine Rose Davis catherinerosedavis@yahoo.co.uk (Entry #15) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| The car stopped somewhere between
Cairns and Alice Springs. “You didn’t put enough petrol in,” I said. Nick pulled the key out of the ignition. “The tank was full, Jane,” he said. I shrugged and got my compact mirror out of my handbag. Sweat and foundation had melted together so my face appeared to be sliding away. I took a packet of wet wipes from the glove compartment. “What are you gonna do about it?” I said as I wiped my face. Nick got out and slammed the door. The car shuddered. “Wet wipes are for babies,” he said through the open window. I threw the wet wipe on the floor and turned my face towards the dusty fields. A kangaroo watched as it chewed on grey-brown bush. A joey’s feet poked out from its pouch. The bonnet screeched as Nick opened it. The air tasted sour with petrol. I reached for my water bottle from the backseat. The plastic was hot and the water felt like morning sickness in my mouth. I got out. A fly landed on my face and crawled towards my mouth. “Want some water?” I said. Nick took the bottle and drank. “That tastes foul,” he said. “Yeah,” I said. “Do you think I should try unscrewing this bit?” said Nick. “How should I know?” I said. Nick wiped his oily hands on his T-shirt. “I was asking your advice,” he said. He glanced at my stomach then looked back to the engine. “Sometimes we need to make decisions together.” I walked towards the back of the car, kicking up sand the colour of dried blood. “Some things,” Nick said, “affect both of us.” I stopped and turned to face him. I pinched my arm. “It’s my body,” I said. Nick shut the bonnet. “It wasn’t just your body,” he said. I sat by the side of the road and pulled my knees up to my chest. “It was still part of me,” I said. “It wasn’t a separate thing.” Nick walked closer so he was standing over me. “It was mine,” he said. I drew circles in the sand with my finger. It felt gritty under my nail. I pressed my teeth into my tongue until I tasted salt and moved my head from side to side. Nick stepped back and leaned against the car. He wiped his arm over his eyes. I clenched my fists so my nails dug into my palms. “Maybe one day we could,” I said. Nick walked to the front of the car. He opened the bonnet then shut it. “There was a roadhouse a few miles back,” he said. “I could walk there and ask for help.” “In this heat?” I said. “It’s cooler now,” said Nick. Sweat trickled down his cheeks. I stood up. “We could work it out together,” I said. I went to open the bonnet. Nick shook his head. “You can’t fix it,” he said. “You don’t know how.” I watched him walk away until all I could see was the endless, empty road. |
| Breakdown By Darryl Brooks DarrylBrooks@comcast.net (Entry #21) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| Annie Tucker was cruising along US-1
in the no-man’s land between Jacksonville and Daytona Beach, Florida. Her
ML430 cruised effortlessly at 75 MPH with the sunroof open and Tom Petty
blasting on the stereo. She loved her new Mercedes and all its toys. She
watched the GPS navigation display on the dashboard – the arrow pointing
south, showing she was about ten miles from St. Augustine, the country’s
oldest city. It was past midnight. She hoped to make Daytona Beach and find a hotel with a vacancy. As Tom Petty stopped singing about an American Girl and Bruce Springsteen began belting out Thunder Road, the GPS blinked off. She just had time to wonder what was wrong when the lights flickered on and off several times, then stopped completely, along with Bruce. “Shit!” she screamed as she pulled off the road. She hit the emergency flashers. Nothing. “Shit!” she yelled again. She grabbed her cell phone and flipped open the cover. No Service. “Dammit!” She turned off the engine and got out, walking around to the shoulder and away from the car, hoping to get at least one bar, but there was nothing. The only thing she could do, she decided, was to make it to the next town without lights and call for service in the morning. She got back in the car and turned the key. Nothing happened. “Oh, God, no,” she whispered, trying again. Nothing. It was completely dead. She was trying the cell phone again when she saw a headlight in her mirror. She hopped out and stood behind her car waving her arms in the moonlight. When it got a little closer, she heard the roar of the engine just as she realized it was only a single headlight. She didn’t have to think long about an encounter with some biker out on a dark highway. She got back in and hit the door lock button – nothing happened. She reached around and hit the manual lock just as the motorcycle pulled up behind her. She watched in the mirror as a man got off the bike. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, just a bandana wrapped around his bald head. He looked as big as a mountain as he approached her from the driver’s side. “Hey, lady, got a problem?” “No. I’m fine. Thanks” He pulled off dark glasses and looked at her with smiling, yet cold, eyes. He said, “I thought I saw you waving.” “No, just stretching my legs for a minute. I’m fine. Thanks, anyway.” She tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. The man was huge, his muscular torso straining at the black t-shirt under the leather vest. The vest covered with patches and pins, a silver cross dangling from his right ear. “Lady, if you’re broke down, I’d be happy to give you a ride,” he said, “no helmet law in Florida. Just hop on back and I’ll take care of you. There’s a little roadhouse up the highway a bit. You make a call; I’ll buy you a beer. The name’s Jax.” “No, really, I’m fine. Just resting a minute and I’ll be on my way.” She held up her cell phone. “I just stopped to call my boyfriend. He lives close by.” “Yeah, whatever. Not many people take this road at night with the Interstate so close, but if you say you’re okay, I’ll be scootin’ down the road. You change your mind, I’ll be at the bar, about two miles down on the left.” With that, he turned and walked back toward his motorcycle. Annie gave a yelp as he slapped the side of her car. When he reached his bike, he hiked one leg over and put his sunglasses back on. With a push of the starter, the bike roared to life. As he passed, he tossed a casual wave with this left hand and she could see a patch on the back of this vest – Southern Cruisers. A few seconds later, his taillight disappeared over the rise. Annie realized she had been holding her breath as she let out a sigh. This was followed by fear as she remembered she was still in the same predicament. Getting out of the car, she tried the phone again – nothing. She thought briefly about walking somewhere. But where? There wasn’t likely to be cell service this far from the interstate until she got close to St. Augustine. She hadn’t passed anything since a crossroads about five miles back. Walking to the bar didn’t seem any smarter than getting on that bike. No choice but to wait for another car. The truckers all stuck to I75 off somewhere to the west. Why the hell did she decide to take ‘the scenic route?’ About fifteen minutes later, she saw the lights of a car coming from behind her. She waited until it got closer. It was definitely a car with one person in it, so she stepped out into the road again and waved. As the car came to a stop behind her, she saw it was a man in an old Volvo. “Miss, are you having a problem?” the man asked as he came around the front of his car. “Yes, please. My car died and my cell phone won’t work. I need to call for service or get a tow truck.” The man pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and glanced at it briefly. “I’m not getting service either. I can give you a lift into St. Augustine, if that will help. My name’s Chuck.” he said, smiling pleasantly. She thought for only a second, what choice did she have? The man was slim with a neat haircut, wearing a sports-coat over a dress shirt and jeans. He stood back a respectful distance, letting her decide. “Thank you very much. Let me grab my purse and lock up.” She walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. She got her purse off of the floorboard. She was just about to reach for the key when she heard the man’s cell phone ring. She started to turn back toward him and say, “Hey, I thought you said –“ She didn’t get any further as the man clubbed her under the chin with his fist. She dropped her purse as her head banged back into the door’s window. “No. Please. I just –“ “Shut-up lady.” The man’s hand clamped over her mouth and forced her back against the door. “Not a word.” He flipped open his phone, “Yeah?” Yeah, I’m on the way, but I got sidetracked.” He leered at her. “I stopped for a little package I think you’ll like. We’re going to have us some fun tonight. I’ll be there in about a half hour.” He flipped the phone shut and stuck it in his pocket. Then he brought his hand up around her throat while he let go of her mouth with the other one. “We can do this easy or hard. We walk back and get in my car. I’ll wrap a little duct tape around your wrists and you can ride in the front. Or I can truss you up like a turkey and stuff you in the trunk. Your call.” “Wh-where are you taking me?” “We’re going to visit some friends of mine. They’re going to love you. We’ll all have a real good time.” “I’ll go quiet. Please don’t put me in the trunk. Let me get my purse.” “That’s a good girl. Nice and easy, grab it and let’s go.” She bent down to get her purse. As she started to stand up, she straightened her knees with all the force she could and sprang at the man. He was caught off guard, and stumbled back a step. It was enough for her to swing the purse with all her might and slam it into the side of his head. Before he could react, she was around the car door, running up the side of the road. She hadn’t gone far when she felt him catch up with her. He grabbed the back of her neck and shoved forward, causing her to lose her balance and fall. Her knees and palms were scraped and bloody as she tried to rise. Before she could get up, he had her by the back of the head and slammed her forehead down. “Well, missy, I guess you’ll be riding in the trunk after all.” He slammed her head into the ground again. She couldn’t hear anything as first a buzz, then a roar sounded in her head. She felt her body rise as he lifted her to her feet and started walking her back with a grip on her neck and arm. “Don’t say anything or I’ll snap your neck.” She realized then that she could hear and the roaring was real. She tried to turn her head, but he had her in a vise-like grip and propelled her forward as the roar got louder. As they neared his car, a dozen motorcycles came thundering up and stopped, surrounding them and both cars. She thought her nightmare would never end as the engines shut down and they got off their Harleys. Were these bikers Chuck’s ‘friends’, or was she about going from bad to worse? The huge, bald brute that had stopped before got off his bike and walked over. “Lady, you don’t look so good. Is this the boyfriend you was talking about?” “That’s right, I’m her boyfriend,” said Chuck, “We’re just having a little spat. No problem. Everything’s okay. I’m going to take her back home so we can kiss and make up. Isn’t that right, sweetie?” The man nodded her head with the grip on her neck. One of the other bikers, a small grizzly haired man with more grey than black in his mane, walked over with her purse. “Found this over yonder,” he said, handing it to the one called Jax. Opening it up, Jax pulled out her wallet and looked at her license. “What’s your girlfriends name, Sport?” he asked and grinned at Chuck, who was holding Annie by the neck and arm. “Look guys, you don’t understand. This isn’t any of your business. If you’ll excuse us, I’m going to take my girlfriend home.” the man said and started toward his car again. Jax glanced right and four bikers spread out between the Volvo and Chuck. He stopped and turned back. “No. You don’t understand,” said Jax, “we ride this highway. We’re sorta like the sheriffs around here, and this looks like a damsel in distress. Don’t it boys?” Some of the bikers laughed – some just stared, a cold smile on their faces. Annie began crying. She hadn’t cried yet, but now she was being fought over by a maniac and a gang of bikers. Jax looked to his left, “Doc, take the lady back to her car and see what you can do with her. “No, please. Can’t you all just leave me alone?” The one called Doc, grabbed a bag off his bike and started toward Annie and her captor. Doc was short with a huge gut. His hair was long, but bald on top. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, and looked like a demented Ben Franklin. As he approached the pair, Chuck said, “Now, look-“ That was all he got out. Doc shifted his bag over his left shoulder and shot out with a straight right arm, catching the man in the neck. She felt both hands leave her body as the man stumbled backwards, a gurgling sound coming from him. In almost the same motion, Doc’s right arm cradled her shoulders and began gently moving her toward her car. As they got to her passenger side, he set her in the seat and took the bag off his shoulder. “Settle down, girlie. I really am a doctor. Was anyway. Forty-Third Medical Group. Got my training a long time ago in a little paradise in Southeast Asia. All those boys are Vets and they’ll fix your ‘boyfriend.’” He began taking gauze and antiseptic out of his bag and handed her a tissue, “Clean up your face and quit blubbering. We ain’t gonna hurt you.” “He’s not my boyfriend, he- “She jerked as she heard a howl like a wounded animal. “Easy,” said Doc, as he began cleaning dirt and blood from her scraped knees. “That’s just the boys educatin’ that feller. We knew he weren’t your boyfriend. Jax got to the tavern, said there was a lady broke down back a piece and got a few of us together to come see if we could help.” She heard her driver’s door open and someone reached in and popped the hood. She looked around and saw two more of the bikers under her hood with flashlights. The noises from the Volvo had stopped. Doc finished cleaning and bandaging her wounds and helped her back up. He held her elbow gently and walked with her back toward the Volvo. Jax was standing in front of it looking at the car. “That’s good enough, boys. The State Patrol will come along after while and take care of our friend here.” She looked at the car and saw Chuck stretched out on top, his clothes stripped to his underwear and his body duct-taped to the hood. His head thrashed from side to side trying to scream through the tape across his mouth. Just then, she heard her engine turn over and start. The two bikers who were looking under the hood walked back toward Annie. “Had a bare wire in your battery cable. Shorted out the ‘lectric system. We wrapped a little duct-tape around that, too. Should get you by ‘til you can get service.” The one talking looked at the Volvo and grinned. “Duct-tape, good for just ‘bout anything.” This time, she joined the laughter, the adrenaline draining from her body. “Well,” said Jax, handing her purse back, “we got your car started and Doc’s patched you up. I guess you’re good to go. We need to get outta here before the law turns up. They might have an objection to the way we handled that clown back there.” She took a card out of her purse and handed it to Jax. “If the police ask anything about what happened here, you have them call me. But before I go, I owe you an apology. How about we run down to that roadhouse you mentioned and I’ll by a couple of rounds of beers?” “You hear that boys? Saddle up, ladies buying!” With even more noise than before, the bikers all jumped on their bikes, revved the throttles, and roared south back down the highway. Annie got in and followed at a slower pace, vowing never to travel off the Interstate again. |
| The
WCA's The Writers' Choice Awards |
| Here's how the members of the
ACWclub voted for their favorite entries: First place tie: #15, #21 Third place: #19 Fourth place tie: #4, #29 Sixth place: #20 Others receiving votes: #3, #10, #16, #18, #31 |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| Breakdown vsanders@twcny.rr.com |
#1 of 30 |
| 24 | |
| Silver shards scrape my shattered heart with every weepy sob "Tell me," I implore "How can life continue on when my child is gone?" |
|
| Breakdown Charissa Struble littlemissdogooder@swbell.net |
#2 of 30 |
| 97 | |
| Swollen pride Hides broken heart Time impatient Rips us apart Fading quickly A damn good thing Mourn our choices And all they bring Listen carefully Speak no more All is silent When you close the door Anger moves us Sadness shames Love forgets That we're to blame Moving closer To what feels right Fighting darkness While cursing light We embrace the familiar And reject the unknown Never finding the courage To be all alone Long lost memories Drifting away Photographic innocence Shows happier days A careless whisper A thoughtless embrace An image immortalized Without showing its face |
|
| Breakdown Charles S. Bretz Coachcsb626@sbcglobal.net |
#3 of 30 | |
| 2130 | ||
| I sat there on my porch, drinking my last cold beer,
wondering if the world was as cruel to other people as it was to me. The smoke
from the fire I had set in the grill was making my eyes tear, the type of tears
that make your eyes all bloodshot and dry. My mother used to ask me if I was on
drugs when my eyes looked like that. Well the hell with her and all other women
too. My God, I hate women. My ex-wife, I repeat my ex-wife was just like my mother. I’m kind of glad she left me. All she did night and day was nag, saying “I couldn’t do this and I couldn’t do that”. “Why don’t you go out and do something about that ragweed you call a yard.” “That’s not ragweed, that’s my garden.” I always wanted to finish that with a “bitch” or something to that effect but I never could work up the guts. “A garden! That’s no garden! What an idiot you are! You couldn’t grow a boil on your own ass, let alone grow a garden. You’re good for nothing.” I hated her but she was right I couldn’t grow anything in that… if I really did try. Why is it that the neighbors to either side of me can grow such nice gardens and such beautiful tomatoes? Look at mine; I can’t grow shit in that vegetable graveyard. It drives me crazy. I awoke in the night, sweat running off my face like dew dripping from leaves. Tomato leaves. I was sinking, sinking fast, my heels first then up to my knees. Plants getting larger and larger. I just kept going down. I was up to my neck Just my head sticking out of the ground. I looked like a pumpkin in a field of leaves, just waiting to be picked or smashed to pieces by some deviate neighbor kid. I hate those kids. I can’t scream, all I can do is wait. Wait for what? Death maybe. Visiting my mother at Chapel Hill Cemetery is something I do every year about this time. Looking around the place, it is so beautiful. Well kept, nicely mowed, flowers, etc. It’s kind of crazy if you think about it. Our dead are taken better care of now then when they were alive. Is that all I think about, death and that damn garden? What a beautiful cemetery my mother chose to be buried in. Why do people prepare for death? They spend their whole lives preparing for death. Why not just live life and then die. The end. Look who’s talking, all I do is live for those damn plants and they’re already dead. I wonder who the caretaker is around here. These plants are beautiful; the grass is so green and full of life. It’s probably all these… dead bodies… strewn around here. “Huh!” I hate to laugh but I have to because I just had a very morbid thought, maybe I’ll kill a neighbor kid and bury it in my garden. That would kill two birds with one stone. “Hah! That’s funny!” I have to leave this place. I am getting a very bad chill down my spine, the kind mother used to say was someone standing on your soul or a spirit passing through you. I don’t like it. I had to keep thinking about all those dead bodies being wasted here. I’ve got to go home before I do something stupid. But all those bodies, they wouldn’t miss one. No, that’s crazy, you aren’t a grave robber, you’re a…”good for nothing”. I hate that voice, why can’t she leave me alone. My head hurts, to much to think about. My head is spinning like a tornado with bits and pieces of the world swirling around inside. The only way out of this spinning torture is to find the eye…, the eye…, the human eye…, maybe just a piece of one, or an arm or maybe a leg. I’ll settle for an ear. I have to; the pain in my head is too much. I can’t take much more. They are calling me. “Take me”. “No!” “Take me, you good for nothing”. “Fuck off”. “Come on just one of us”. “You show her, who’s the best damn gardener”. “I’M NOT LISTENING”. “Come on show her”. “Show her…” “Show…” “Sh…” What a nightmare! Can’t believe I fell asleep with my clothes on last night. Last time I did that I had too much to drink at my sister’s wedding. What’s by my feet? Yuck, it feels like cracker crumbs. Holy shit, its dirt. What did I do? Did I fall asleep with my shoes on? No, please! It can’t be! I didn’t…! Oh Christ, don’t let it be! There it was slumped in the corner, a half decomposed mass of fleshy covered bones. There are maggots crawling in and out of the empty eye sockets and that black tooth grin. Stop smiling at me. You look like your happy I took you from your bed of warm earth. Those eyes are so dark and empty. They just stare. Looking and looking, as if they’re passing judgment on me. Those eyes keep staring. It just lays there, no words come out, but I still here you. “Get it over with or take me back, you good for nothing” I swear that was my wife’s horrid voice coming from the body. I work like I’m possessed. I know it, but I can’t seem to stop this craziness. “Just bury me and then forget you ever saw me”, mister rotting corpse said. “Shut up.” It’s too horrible to think about, but I still can’t stop my hands from digging the human fertilizer pit. With great fear and anticipation, I said “done”. “Not yet you boob, Put me in the hole and hurry before someone sees”, the deep growling voice says. “Maybe those neighbor brats saw something. If they did you know you’ll have to kill the little fuckers”, it snapped. “No, everything’s fine, I got it done in time. No one saw, I think.” Why am I talking to a dead body? If someone saw me they would lock me up and throw away the key. People would talk about the crazy guy that used to live down the street. You know the guy who would talk to corpses, like they were his only friends. What a loser. It’s been two months and it feels like just yesterday I performed that ghastly feat. I haven’t been out there since that morbid day. I’m afraid to go out there. I am afraid of the truth that lies in the weeds waiting to grab my soul. I’m not even sure if it really happened. Maybe it was just a bad dream. I think I’m going crazy. I’m afraid to leave the house. If it is real, I might be taken away to jail or an asylum, or maybe it’s out there waiting for me to use me in some perverse way as pay back for the terrible things I did to it. Oh Christ, please make it all go away! Oh shit! What was that? The door bell! It scared the piss out of me. I just dropped my beer in my lap. I can feel the beer soaking into my underwear. “Hi neighbor.” The fat man from next door, the one with the brat kids said. “Hi.” I said. I almost said, what the fuck do you want. “I was looking over the fence…he said” Nosy motherfucker bounced around in my head. “…the other day and noticed your garden.” Oh crap, he knows. I’m gonna have to make him disappear, then they’ll all be looking for him and they’ll track it back to me. What to do, what to do? “Well I don’t want to seem out of place but do you mind if I steal a few of those tomatoes”, he said kind of pushy like. “They are very beautiful; never saw nothin’ that looked so good.” “No!” I said bluntly like a selfish child, fatso wants to play with my Rock’m Sock’m Robots. Go home fat boy and leave me alone. “I mean not yet, they aren’t ready yet. Sorry.” “They look like they’re ready to me. Come on I’ll only take one.” “I said, no.”, Slamming the door in his face. Why did I do that? Now, he’s going to go back there and take one when I’m not looking. What should I do? I know I’ll go pick all the fruit from that garden from hell and that way fatso can’t take any. They’re mine anyways, no one else’s. All mine to do with what I want. I grew them. Well, with the help of whomever that is out there. He was right they are beautiful. They are so red and juicy looking. I’m almost afraid to try one. The hell with it, what’s the worst that could happen, they’ll taste like shit. “Stick this up your shorts dear.” I said raising the tomato to the sky, although I doubt that’s where she is. “Delicious” “Eat your heart out, Mr. Burpee.” The tomatoes lasted about three weeks. Then the garden turned back into ragweed after that first picking. It was almost as if the plants died with my sanity. The tomatoes would grow then just fall off the vine. The skin would rot and the guts would fall out. I haven’t been feeling to well lately myself, maybe I ate too many of those damn tomatoes. Looking in the mirror I’m starting to look a little pale and dried out. Dry, isn’t really the word for it, it’s more like peeling after a bad sunburn. The skin is coming off my body in sheets of dead flesh. Maybe it’s some kind of mineral deficiency or some kind of vitamin I’m not getting in my diet of tomatoes. I can’t stand to look at myself anymore. It feels like the world is falling in around me. I think it’s getting worse. There’s dead skin all over the house, floating in the air, and now I can’t feel my limbs anymore. The other day I burnt myself on the radiator and didn’t realize it until I saw my skin dripping on to the floor. My throat is always swollen and my nose is always running. Sometimes the snot is mixed with blood. My eyes are getting puffy and sometimes there’s a puss that oozes from the sockets. What’s wrong with me? I feel like I am dying inside and out. I can’t take these days much longer, they seem like they go on forever. I look like that creature I feared was living under my bed as a child. “Lord, what’s happening to me?” My toes fell off today and there are lumps that are oozing an awful smelling puss all over the parts of my body that are still flesh. I am at my wits end. Is God punishing me for what I’ve done? I am sorry, Lord. Please forgive me. Should I bring the body back and repent my sins. Yes, yes, that’s what I’ll do. Getting what’s left of the body to the cemetery was rough being in the state that I am. But I finally got it here. If it was a whole body I probably wouldn’t have been able to do it. I had to drag the torso behind me, entrails dragging behind it. It left a path of innards and slime from my car to the gravesite. It is a good thing the grave is near my mothers or I would never have found it because I don’t even remember taking it. I threw it onto the ground where the hole should have been, but there was none. I didn’t really figure that it’s been so long that someone filled the hole back in. Why didn’t they call the police? I guess it’s easier to ignore the whole situation, then it is to attract unwanted, bad for business, attention. “What’s your name anyways buddy?” I said as I knelt on the ground by the missing gravesite, completely exhausted. Joseph Lieberman Our beloved father Always loving through the best of times And through the worst Of times with Hansen’s disease “Oh, Lord!” “No!” “Nooo!” “Noooooo!” “It can’t be, not leprosy! I didn’t mean to! I really didn’t!” “I don’t want to die!” “I DON’T WANT TO DIE!!!!!!!!!!!”
|
||
| Breakdown Kathy Lynn Blaylock humanneeds2003@yahoo.com |
#4 of 30 |
| 2500 | |
| She was wounded, trapped in a cage, and desperate to
escape. However, nothing she did or said helped to gain her freedom. Tara Blake
was giving up, she wanted to surrender her life. Willing to do whatever it took
to stop the monster that slipped into her darken room most every night. He was
her Mother’s youngest brother, and had been her favorite uncle, until she
had to live in the same house with him. That was when Tara, and her sister came
to know that monsters, were really real. Uncle Joe was the worst kind of monster, the kind that gained the trust of little girls, and then devoured their innocents; Night after night he found a way into the room Tara shared with her younger sister Kate. Once there he told them war stories, how prisoners could be tortured, and they were the kind of things he would do to them, if they ever told. Finally one night Uncle Joe came and took Tara from her room careful not to wake Kate. However, when you have shared a bed with someone most of your life, even in your sleep you seem to know, they are not there. That night wasn’t the beginning of their nightmare. However, it was the beginning of Tara shutting down. Kate woke in the early morning hours, and finding Tara missing, she alerted their Grandmother, who sent Kate back to her room. However, Kate slipped out of her room and watched as her Grandmother made her way down the darken stairs, in search of Tara. She knew that Uncle Joe had to of taken Tara, and it struck her that their Grandmother must have known too? There was just no other explanation, for her not turning on the lights going down the steep stairs. She had known, and done nothing to protect them. Kate wondered what kind of thoughts went through her Grandmother’s mind, what kind of monster could she be, to have a monster for a son? Standing at the top of the stairs Kate heard the loud voices, but could not make out what they were saying. However, she was more concerned about Tara, and what Uncle Joe had done to her. She could hear her sister crying, but all she could do was wait, and pray he had not tortured Tara, before Grandmother could stop him. A short time later, Kate heard water running in the bath room across the hall. She listened for a moment, as their Grandmother whispered to Tara. Sneaking across the cold tile floor, she listened at the door. Tara seemed so helpless, as the older woman told her never to tell anyone, not even Kate what Joe had done to her. Hate was eating away at the young girl, outside the door, and her temper was boiling over when she stepped inside the room. “Too late, Kate already knows, in fact I have known for a long time now. This isn’t the first time Uncle Joe came into our room, touching us down there. Washing Tara isn’t going to wash away the hurtful things he has done to her. I just want to know Grandmother; How long have you known? I know tonight isn’t the first time that you heard of what Uncle Joe has been doing to us.” “You are wrong Kate, I did not know. I thought the screams were from nightmares? I promise he will never touch either of you again, but you can‘t tell anyone.” “Our screams were caused by a nightmare, a living nightmare. Come on Tara, lets go to bed, I’ll push the dresser in front of the door.” From that night on the eleven and twelve year old girls barricaded their bedroom door with furniture, wedging the dresser and bed between the door and walls. However, Uncle Joe always found a way inside, slipping through the tiny cracks in their fortress. His abuse continued to the point that their Grandmother was forced to seek professional help for Tara. Tara started having nightmares, seeing a little man in the house, and he was after her. Night after night everyone was awakened with Tara screaming, that he was going to get her, only to find no one there. However, the next morning the girls woke to find the room next to theirs in a state of chaos. The furniture, even the heavy wardrobe would be in the center of the room, yet no one heard a sound in the night, except for Tara’s screams. With the help from the Doctor at the clinic, and his medications the nights grew relatively quite, however, they grew more dangerous. Tara was so severely medicated that Uncle Joe got braver, and began to follow her to and from school, the store, everywhere. Kate was determined not to leave Tara’s side, terrified of what Uncle Joe would do if he got her alone , and away from home. However, at school they felt safe, until the day Uncle Joe came to pick Tara up early, claiming she had a Doctors appointment. Unknown to him, he had to pass Kate’s class room to get to the office. It was nearing the end of the school year, and a rare occasion, for Mrs. Thomas had left the classroom door open for ventilation. Hearing someone walking in down the hall during class time, caused Kate to glance at the door. Horror filled her young heart when she saw her Uncle, and she knew he was there for Tara! “Mrs. Thomas, may I please go to the bathroom?” “You will have to wait Kate, we are in the middle of testing.” “I am sorry Mrs. Thomas, but I can’t wait!” Kate said nearly jumping from her seat, and running from the room. She ran into the office just in time to see their Uncle singing the form giving him permission to take Tara. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she glanced around the tiny room in search of Tara. Only when she saw her step safely from the nurses office did she find the nerve to speak. “You can’t take Tara anywhere today Uncle Joe, we have test she can’t miss them, and I need to speak to you in the hallway;” Kate said in a voice, that let him know, he had no choice but to hear what she wanted to say. All the while thinking he would humor her, after all he owned Tara, a fact Kate would realize in a moment. “Okay Kate spit it out, but know this Tara is mine, and when I am through playing with her, I’m coming for you.” “Uncle Joe, Grandmother said we could tell no one what you have been doing. She also promised you would stop, that hasn’t happened. We may not be able to stop you at home, but this is our school, if you try to take Tara out of here, I will tell them everything.” The look in her eyes must have told him that she would do just that, because his eyes seemed to flash fire. Kate stepped back when she saw his clinched fist, then slowly he placed his hands into his pockets. “You little bitch; You win, but remember not even you can keep me from Tara, and when I’m finished with her, I’m coming for you Kate, and I won’t be as nice.” Joe said, his words dripping with venom, as he turned and went back into the office, and pretended to call and cancel the appointment. “Come on Tara, I’ll walk you back to class.” Kate said taking her sister by the hand, leading her to safety. “Wait here, I want to see if he really leaves.” Kate said stopping around the corner. Standing close to the wall she peeked around, watching until she saw him exit the office, and then the building. “Come on, we have to go to the bathroom where we can talk;” She said once again taking her older sisters hand, leading her where she needed her to go. She often wondered now which of them was really the oldest? Tara use to be so strong, the leader. However, that was a million years ago, before they came to live at Grandmothers. Before that, their earliest memories were living with an alcoholic Mother, and an abusive Stepfather. Kate could remember Tara at four or five years old, standing in a kitchen chair fixing their breakfast. The beatings, the cigarette burns, and the masked monsters outside their bedroom windows many nights. Their screams always brought their Mother staggering into the room, and their Stepfather throwing open the window, laughing as he removed his mask. However, as evil as that life had been, Uncle Joe made them long to be living there. “Tara, we have to tell someone, do something. I think he is going to try to kill us.” “He was mad alright, what did you say to him?” “I told him, he wasn’t taking you anywhere, and if he did, I would tell what he has been doing to you.” “Oh Kate, I just want to die. I just want to take my pills, and sleep. I don’t want to ever wake up again. I can do that you know?” “No Tara, you can’t leave me! I won’t let you leave me. I’m tired of being afraid, and I’m tired of my sister being hurt, tired of you not being able to be my sister because of those dumb pills. Although you just gave me an idea, but we can’t talk about it here, somebody might come in. Side by side the young girls walked down the school hall, silently thinking, desperate for a way out. “I’ll meet you after school, wait for me here. Don’t leave the classroom Tara, Uncle Joe could be waiting.” Kate warned as she left her sister outside her classroom door, and went to face Mrs. Thomas‘s punishment for leaving class without permission. That afternoon Tara was waiting in her classroom as Kate had instructed, and they hurried out of the building. They wanted to catch up with the crowd that walked home from school in their direction. They had no desire to run into Uncle Joe, out there alone. However, they hung back from the other walkers, just out of hearing range. They had to come up with a plan to put a stop to Uncle Joe, once and for all! By the time they had reached the project where the lived, they knew just what they had to do. Uncle Joe had not come straight home after leaving the school, and their Grandmother was busy cleaning her closet. The two girls slipped into the kitchen. With Tara being the look-out, while Kate carried a chair over to the fridge. Kate knew which pills Tara took at night. God knows they weren’t the only pills she took now, but the little pink ones were what put her into a deep sleep. Carefully Kate took a small hand full, tightened the cap, and put them back in their place. Carried the chair back to the table, and got out the milk and cookies for their snack. They ate in silence, afraid to even look at each other. They had decided what they needed to do, and there was no point in talking. That night Tara only pretended to take her medication, she needed to stay awake. She and Kate had come up with a plan, a plan to have Uncle Joe, and his Mother wishing he wasn’t the monster he was. Shortly after dinner that night, Joe went up to the bathroom, leaving his open beer sitting on the coffee table. It was something he had often done, but something he would never do again. “Grandmother can we have some cake now?“ “Sure Kate, I’ll bring it right back, just let me put the clothes in the dryer.“ “Do you have the pills Tara?” “Yes but what if he catches us?” “He won’t if you just give them to me. Come on Tara this might be our only chance? Grandmother isn’t going to help us, and Uncle Joe is never going to stopped? Now give me the pills! How many of these do you take anyway?” “Two every night, so give him three. Hurry he just opened the bathroom door!” Kate had two thoughts on her mind as she dropped the tiny pills into the bottle. Saving Tara, and herself from Uncle Joe, and never losing Tara, again. They were sitting back in front of the television, eating their cake when he came back into the room. They could not wait for their Grandmother to announce that it was time for bed. However, they did not ask to go up early, for that was something they never did. Bedtime was a time they had been forced to fear, and never asked to leave the company of others. Soon Grandmother turned off the television, signaling the safe zone was closed. “Come along girls it‘s time for bed, you have school tomorrow.” Glancing over their shoulders, they were happy to find Uncle Joe was sound asleep. Now all they had to do, was wait in their room till they heard their Grandmother snoring. It was a familiar sound, a sound in the past they had grown to fear, it was the sound that alerted them, Uncle Joe wasn’t far behind. A short time later the frightened young girls quietly slipped down the stairs, and into the kitchen. Tara lifted Kate up to get the rest of her pills, and a glass of water. They split the medications, each taking the same amount from each bottle. However, when one came out uneven, it did not matter, they were simply left behind. Together they sat in the cold dark kitchen clinging to one another for comfort, until the pills begun to take effect. “It-it’s time Tara.” Kate said, her words slurring together. Standing Tara took two knives from the drawer, passed one to Kate, took her hand and left the room. Uncle Joe only moaned as Tara tugged at his zipper, and pulled the vile thing from his pants. “Ready.” “I’m ready.” Their timing was perfect, as if they practiced the scene a million times. Maybe they had, in their dreams. Two quick motions and Uncle Joe was relieved of his manhood, and his voice. “Let’s go outside, and watch the stars till we fall to sleep Tara.” “Yeah, let’s do that, maybe God will see us better there, and set us free?” Their bodies were discovered on the lawn the next morning; a neighbor stated he first thought they were sleeping, holding hands, their heads pressed together as if sharing a secret dream. Then a woman screaming shattered his peaceful thought. “I am Mrs. Thomas, and I know the truth behind the murder suicides. I received Kate’s letter today, and it painted a vivid picture, of the amplified breakdown, no one heard. |
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| Breakdown Queenmont@aol.com |
#5 of 30 |
| 1975 | |
| “No booze, no boys, no noise,” ordered the
Dragon Lady of Long Beach Island. The over-the-top innkeeper overwhelmed Dottie and Doris. They hadn’t said hello. They merely crossed the porch’s threshold when the warnings spewed from her tomato red painted lips. The Queen Anne, a seedy Victorian guesthouse hidden behind a row of more elegantly ornamented homes, was their weekend retreat. The upscale Victorians’ turrets and lattices were festooned in fashionable coats of newly painted pink, purple, blue, or green. The Queen Anne’s tired white paint was chipped, as were the Dragon Lady’s fire engine red inch long nails. Exchanging “what are we in for” glances, Dottie spoke for both of them, “Auntie Grace, life in the big city is stressful. All we want is a quiet, relaxing weekend at the beach.” “OK, girls. So long as you stick to my rules, we will get along just fine. Would you like some popcorn?” “No thanks,” Doris quickly interjected. “Dottie and I are heading for the beach as soon as we change.” The world turned upside down as soon as change was uttered. A dazzling, sunny afternoon suddenly and inexplicably turned dark and ominous. Thunderbolts exploded. Accompanying blinding rain sheets, pushed by a spirited wind, forced Doris and Dottie to jump off the porch into the vestibule. “Popcorn, girls?” “OK, Auntie Grace.” Afraid to cross the Dragon Lady, as Dottie and Doris called her behind her back, they acquiesced. “Dottie you sit here” Grace Jones pointed to a red velvet, horsehair stuffed couch, a remnant from a bygone era that probably never had better days. “Doris, my dear, you sit here.” She instructed Doris to sit on an oak-stained rocking chair, without benefit of a cushion to soften the seat, which abutted the opposite end of the couch from where Dottie was placed. “This was your grandmother’s favorite.” Grace Jones deposited her large frame on the couch with a thud. Doris and Dottie suspected it would be an excruciatingly, long afternoon and an even longer weekend. It showed on their sullen faces. They had no place to go and nothing to do. Their mother, Grace’s sister-in-law, warned them ahead of time, but the prospect of a weekend at the shore won out. From a creaky, deep drawer in the carved coffee table, the Dragon Lady hauled out a red plastic bowl brimming to the top with popcorn. From a canister, she sprinkled a white substance on top. Doris grabbed a handful and tossed the kernels into her mouth. Choking, she managed to spit up what hadn’t been swallowed. “What did you sprinkle on the popcorn?” “Sugar, my dear. Popcorn needs a sweet touch, don’t you agree?” “No.” said Doris. “Auntie Grace, no one I know sprinkles sugar on popcorn. Popcorn is salted and buttered,” added Dottie. When Grace withdrew to the kitchen to scare up cold drinks, the two girls hid handfuls of popcorn in tissues, which they would toss out later on. They would tell Auntie Grace they had their fill when she returned. Dottie expressed concern, “Doesn’t arsenic have a sweet taste? Maybe we should save some for testing.” “Don’t get carried away. Auntie Grace may be weird, but she isn’t going to use poison.” Grace heard the last bit as she re-entered the room. “Poison. Oh yes my dears, I use it regularly.” Doris’ jaw dropped open. Dottie took a deep breath before daring to speak, “What’s your preference Auntie Grace?” “Christian Dior of course.” Giggling uncontrollably, the girls needed tissues to blot their tears and to blow their noses. “What’s so funny about Poison? I’ve worn it since 1985.” “Loyalty is a great trait,” said Doris in a comeback when she regained her composure. Grace poured tall glasses of ice-cold lemonade. Before taking a sip, Dottie decided the prudent thing would be to ask, “Auntie Grace, did you add salt to the lemonade?” Doris could barely contain herself; however, she did refrain from laughing out loud when she heard Grace’s answer. “Obviously. It adds a special zing, don’t you agree?” “No,” said Doris. “No,” said Dottie, but strangely, it brought back memories of the oral rehydration solution that saved her life in Sri Lanka. “Earth to Dottie,” called Doris not knowing why her sister zoned out. “Sorry, I was momentarily transported to Colombo’s hospital where doctors used a solution of water, sugar and salt to reverse the effects of dehydration.” “The only Colombo I know was a TV detective. What Colombo are you talking about and why were you in the hospital?” “Auntie Grace, it’s a long story dating back to my days in the Peace Corps.” “Dickie always said you were a rebel with a cause!” “Dad admired my service even if it was very different from his service in his beloved Army, to which he devoted his life.” Doris and Dottie were Army brats who lived in many places in the United States and abroad during their growing up years. It’s one of the reasons Grace Jones, their father’s sister, was a mystery woman. It’s also one of the reasons their ties were so strong. No one they knew shared their unique past. In January, just six months ago, Dottie and Doris moved to New York to start the next phase of their lives. American Express’ Travel Division hired Dottie as an Account Manager to work with corporate clients. Doris joined the International Rescue Committee as their Asian regional representative shortly after the massive Tsunami struck in December 2004. Grandma Jones’ lawyer, Thomas Kinkade, explained at her will reading, Grace needed a purpose in life. The guesthouse was left to her, not Dickie. She reasoned, so Mr. Kinkade reported, her son’s military career and family were purpose enough. Apparently, Dickie agreed because he did not contest the will. Grace moved to Long Beach Island from San Francisco two years ago to run The Queen Anne or as some of her disgruntled neighbors would say, run it down. Doris and Dottie were ready for a break from city living when they called Auntie Grace and invited themselves to the Queen Anne. Grace was curious. Without hesitating she said yes. Besides she was lonely. There weren’t any other guests expected at the Queen Anne, whose reputation made it a guesthouse of last resort on Long Beach Island. “Did Dickie tell you much about me?” “Dad told us you were his younger sister. You are our only Auntie,” said Doris. Dottie added, “He said you had an independent streak like me. He didn’t elaborate.” “Well, let’s see. Dickie might have meant that I left home at 16 and didn’t look back. I was a hippie when it was hip. I shared LSD with Tim Leary and studied meditation with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Unlike you, I was a rebel without a cause.” The girls shrank back when her laugh, masquerading as a growl from years of chain smoking, erupted. “Now I am a fat, old broad with no money to splurge on vices so I gave them all up.” Dottie made exaggerated sniffing sounds. “Not all, there’s still the veil of Poison in the air.” Any lingering tension evaporated. The trio of Jones let loose with loud belly laughs. “Auntie Grace, let’s celebrate. Are there any decent restaurants on Long Beach Island?” asked Doris. Grace preferred to wear her oversize, loose-fitting kimono sans undergarments, which made going to a restaurant impossible. “I’ll cook.” Even before Grace described her intended menu, Doris insisted, “Oh no, we want to treat you to a grand dinner. Dad sent us money for just such a special occasion.” The little white lie seemed not to matter to Doris as much as chancing a meal prepared by Grace. Dottie, who agreed with her sister, tried to make Grace feel guilty. “Don’t disappoint your newly found nieces. Dad would be displeased.” All the good will that had been established abruptly vanished. Grace resented the girls’ attempts to manipulate her. Through clenched teeth, she spit out a shocking response, “Get out. Get out now. Dickie Jones’ spies are not welcome at the Queen Anne.” “Auntie Grace, you’ll regret those words,” warned Doris. “We’re family!” “No, never. Doris and Dottie, shame on you.” Turning to Doris, Dottie said, “Let’s go.” Rotating to face Grace eyeball to eyeball, Dottie said, “We’ll be back. You haven’t seen the last of us thanks to Grandma Jones.” Wheeling their belongings, the girls scurried along Long Beach Island’s rain soaked streets trying in vain to avoid pools of water collected during the storm. The bus station was a welcome site. Dripping wet and shivering, the girls huddled together on the one long bench in the crude waiting area. Making the best of a bad situation, Doris commented to the bus driver, “Thanks for the limo ride.” They were the only passengers returning to New York on a Friday night, the start of a summer weekend. Doris and Dottie spread out, each one occupying her own two-seater. The sandman seduced Dottie, who drifted off to dreamland within 10 minutes of their departure. Doris, who hated confrontation, wasn’t so blessed. She fretted about the incident with Auntie Grace. No matter how many times she examined the day’s events, she could not make sense of them. Safely ensconced in their dry, cozy, one-bedroom, Murray Hill walkup, Dottie revealed to her sister what she meant when she told Grace they would be back. “I wasn’t picking a fight with Auntie Grace. I hoped to trigger her memory not to cause a breakdown. Dad told me there was a codicil to Grandma’s will stating the Queen Anne would be ours one day.” “One day?” “We inherit the Queen Anne either upon Auntie Grace’s death or if she is found to be incompetent.” Doris, the peacemaker, wanted to make amends with Auntie Grace. Dottie said that would be impossible. The very next day, the rebel with a cause mounted a legal attack on the rebel without a cause. Dickie Jones funded the operation, convinced they were doing what was best for Grace. She needed to be protected from her own worst enemy, herself. Detectives Lacey and Hobbs trailed Grace. They peeped through the Queen Anne’s massive windows with their binoculars. Neighbors on Long Beach Island cooperated with their investigation only too glad to rat her out in the hope that a new owner would make improvements to the deteriorating property. Grace ranted and raved on the porch for all to hear, “They think I’m crazy. But I am crazy like a fox. Grace Jones is a force to be reckoned with. Watch out. The Queen Anne is mine and no one else can have her.” Then she retreated into the Queen Anne’s inner sanctum. Electrical tape was wound tightly around all the doors and windows forming a cocoon insulating Graace from her perceived enemy. Paranoia wrapped its tentacles around Grace’s mind and warped her thought process. She felt more alone and lost than she ever had. Grace hatched a devilish plan to put an end to her brother and nieces winning possession of the Queen Anne. She switched on the oven and all the stove’s gas jets. Filled with a rage induced power surge, Grace piled the old couch, the rocking chair, and coffee table in the center of the living room. They functioned much as kindling did for a pre-game day bonfire. Before chickening out, Grace quickly lit a book of matches and tossed it into the room’s center. Instead of running for her life, she stood mesmerized by the glow and went down in flames with the Queen Anne. Her middle of the night tomfoolery delayed the volunteer fire department’s response time. Nothing was left standing. Walking among the charred remains as they paid their respects the very next day, Dottie and Doris swore the air was tinged with Poison. |
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| Breakdown Alexandra Henderson Pianist123@hotmail.com http://pianist123.gather.com |
#6 of 30 |
| 1011 | |
| Amy couldn’t believe her luck. Today out of all days, she was getting a speeding ticket. Already behind on her rent and credit card payment, she wondered how on Earth she was going to be able to pay this fine. If she told her husband George about it, he would have a fit. He had already yelled at her for overspending on luxuries like fancy clothes, movies and spa treatments. As she sat in her car, waiting for the police officer to approach her with the write up, Amy wept softly and cursed herself. “Here ya are, ma’am,” said the officer. “Please sign here. You understand you can go to court or pay the fine, correct?” She perked up a bit. “I can go to court? No, I didn’t realize. …” She faded off. “Yes ma’am. February fifth is the court date. Show up then and you can argue your case. Have a nice night and drive carefully.” He tipped his hat, as a true Southern gentleman does, and headed back to his patrol car. Amy sighed. Maybe I can get away with it this time, she thought. After all, she was only clocked going 50 in a 35. That could be argued, right? Why was I going so fast? She though. The whole ordeal of the ticket completely left her mind blank. Oh right. She was racing to the pharmacy before it closed at 6:00 p.m. She looked at the clock--6:10. She sighed again, heavily. She turned around and headed home, where she was sure George was waiting. As she pulled into the driveway, she saw George’s office light was shining. Great, he’s working, she though happily. Maybe she could get away with coming home late--again. George wasn’t very happy when Amy arrived later than 6:30. Although loving and kind, he wished for his dinner to be prepared and paper on-hand when he came home. This irked Amy slightly, only because as it was 2006 already, she felt she should be regarded as more independent. Nevertheless, she appeased to his wishes so that trouble didn’t enter “paradise.” She entered the house cautiously. It was already 6:45. “I’m home! Anyone here miss me?” she yelled. The office door creaked open and footsteps sounded loudly on the wooden floor. “Hey there Babycakes,” said George kindly. “What’s for dinner?” He gave her a kiss. Amy looked at him suspiciously. “Why are you being so loving? You don’t mind that I’m late?” “Oh, it’s okay, Hon. I figured you were on the way home. Did you bring back dinner?” “Uh, no. We have chicken in the fridge. Did you want it fried or baked?” “Fried--it’s tastier.” Amy started to make the breading. She was nervous about telling George of the ticket, and not because he’d get mad. The reaction from her late arrival made her wonder if he was feeling okay. Would he feel the ticket was no big deal? George put his arms around her waist. She jumped. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” His deep brown eyes showed concern and love, not anger or a feeling of betrayal. “Sorry hon. It’s just that things are a little hectic. I’m late paying some bills and might have to work half as much next month. They’re thinking of downsizing the department and I’m not sure if I’m going to be laid off. Plus, I just got a speeding ticket and I just don’t know what to do.” She broke down sobbing into the chicken breading. George comforted her. “It’s okay baby. I’m a little upset, but only because you’re upset. It’s okay…shh…we’ll figure it out…shh….” Amy continued to cry, but felt safe in George’s arms. After the last few months of his nitpicking and grouchy behavior, Amy was relieved to hear him be so understanding. “You’re not mad? I thought you’d be furious, especially since I’ve been spending so much money.” “I’m fine--just been under pressure lately. But it’ll be okay. We’ll work things out.” Amy smiled and went back to making dinner, while George set the table. It was quiet for once. Usually, the television was on or the children outside were yelling. Tonight, though, only the kitchen clock made its usual ticking sounds. During dinner, George rambled about his day at the office. As a salesman, he made a reasonably good commission. The only problem was he had to generate his own leads. With a metro population of 500,000, his chances were good but limited. Usually, he sold upgrades to existing customers. As George talked about selling Doug Marsen a new camera, Amy found herself drifting off into space. Why is he being so nice about all of this? She started to tear up, and one fell on her plate. George stopped talking. “What is it? Look, I said things would be okay. You’re just stressed or something. Maybe we can take a vacation.” “I know,” said Amy. “I just don’t understand your character change. Are you hiding something?” “Lord, Amy. I’m fine about this. You need to get over whatever this is and get back to being you.” She quickly wiped her eyes. “You’re right. This is silly. How’s the chicken?” “Great. Any dessert?” “Nope, sorry. No time to get it today. Say, how about we go to the beach this weekend? That could be fun.” George smiled. “Sure babe. Anything you want.” He cleared the table and washed the dishes, being careful with the china plates. Amy, meanwhile, started thinking about their mini-vacation and smiled. Maybe it’s not so bad after all, she thought. She plopped herself in front of the TV, where George joined her a few minutes later. They cuddled lovingly and watched “Wheel of Fortune” like they had done every night since they were married. Amy looked up at George, and snuggled closer, knowing she had everything she ever needed. She smiled. She wasn’t sure what feeling had come over the house, but she knew she was fortunate. More so than any money a game show could bring her. She had broken through, and found herself stronger than ever. |
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| Breakdown Darby Diana addbm@aol.com |
#7 of 30 |
| 119 | |
| Natures fury has taken our homes, New Orleans has drown in a disaster storm, People are fighting to survive, Mercy is needed to stay alive. Soldiers came with food and drink,they cared. Babies died from the unbearable heat, Elderly citizens drown from criminal neglect. Criminals looted and raped,they didn't care about respect. New Orleans police ran,they were cowards of the storm. Five days without food or drink, Surviving was at it's lowest brink, Drain waters ran on our roofs,walls fell with destruction, There is total darkness in The Big Easy. Air Force choppers rescued me from hell,while politicians failed us, I feel as though I survived a hellhole of terror and death, I am an American citizen,I survived Katrina. |
|
| Breakdown Lorna Elliott lorna_k@mac.com |
#8 of 30 |
| 991 | |
| “There you are,” Mary says to the man who
isn’t her husband, a surge of relief giving her the strength to prop
herself up on her elbows in the bed. “I’ve been waiting.”
Fabian says nothing, responding instead with a smile that spreads to his eyes as he crosses his legs, sitting on the small chair at the other side of the room. She wonders what time it is until the one o’clock news starts on the radio. “You have to do it today,” he says eventually. “Are you ready?” “I don’t know.” Mary starts to weep, silent bulbous tears nudging down her cheeks. “I’m not sure I can.” “It’ll be better for everyone once he’s gone.” “What about the children?” Her mouth goes dry just thinking of them. She tries to stop her hand trembling as she plucks another cigarette from its packet. “They’ll be taken care of.” “But they need me!” she persists, wiping her eyes with her knuckles, as her tired lungs force a sharp uneven breath. “Not as much as they need to be away from him.” “Maybe I should take them somewhere first.” “No,” he says sternly, “you don’t have time for that. I’ll be with you. We can go after it’s done. You’ll be free.” “But what if he sees you?” “He won’t, trust me. If you don’t do this, your children will suffer eternally. You have no choice.” She sighs, pushing her lank damp hair away from her face and stands up, tying the dressing gown cord tightly around her waist. Wandering nervously into the kitchen, she surveys the potential weapons. The rolling pin beckons her from the sideboard, the heat behind the oven door begs to be unleashed and she pictures her husband’s face shoved inside, a fistful of his hair in her hand. The knives gleam at her temptingly and she slides one out of the block, running her fingers across the blade, watched only by the heavy saucepans hanging over her head. The inside of the house is serenely quiet, but she looks out of the window prompted by the muffled laughter of her children as they play around their father, while he pushes soapy suds around the roof of the car. Killing him is too much for her to think about and she creeps back up to the sanctuary of her bedroom. Fabian is still sitting on the chair in the corner, smiling. “He’ll be coming back inside in a while,” she says. “Lunch will be ready soon.” “That’s when you take your chance.” His eyebrows rise as he leans forward, deliberately lowering his voice. “You will go downstairs, pick up a knife, and when he calls you over to sit with him at the table, you turn on him,” he said, calmly, his palms pressed together as if to stress the importance of his words. “Stab him in the chest - aim for the heart - he’ll be dead within twelve seconds.” “But he’s my husband!” she cries. “He doesn’t deserve this.” “You know what will happen if you don’t.” Mary can feel his impatience as his expression casts dark clouds and white anger into her soul. “Mummy?” A child’s innocence melts the atmosphere. “Daddy wants to know if you’re going to have lunch with us.” Mary turns her head towards the doorway and sees her daughter, her wide-eyed face perfectly framed with a superfluity of golden hair. “Of course I will, sweetheart.” She shivers as she smiles, drawing together her silk lapels still damp with forgotten tears. If only there was another way. “Who were you talking to, Mummy?” As if playing hide-and-seek, her daughter’s eyes search the bedroom and its vacant furniture. She walks over to her mother, expectant arms outstretched, sticky fingers yearning for the comfort of her touch. “No one darling,” she says too quickly, kissing her forehead. She smells the delicate familiarity of her own child’s skin, mixed with a hint of the wind that has ruffled her hair. “Run along now – I’ll be down in a minute.” But in reality I’m slowly losing my mind…Mariah Carey’s voice leaps from the radio, the sounds dancing around the bedroom. As the words of the song seep into her ears, she is overcome with fury. Fabian has gone from the chair and she walks past the mirror, not bothering to check her appearance. She doesn’t see his shadow in the reflection, laughing as more dark figures converge behind him. The children are in the bathroom washing their hands when she reaches the kitchen, her bare feet sticking to the cool tiled floor. She steps on a piece of Lego, but scarcely acknowledges the jagged pain in her heel. “Sit down Mary, I’ll bring everything over.” She watches her husband as he opens the oven door, sliding the quiche out carefully with awkwardly gloved hands. She sees him distributing four small mounds of salad onto each plate. We’ll only need three, she thinks. Her fingernails leave angry crescent shapes in her thighs as she fights the urge to lash out at him, but the pain in her skin isn’t enough to overcome the compulsion to destroy. She tiptoes over to the knives and pulls the largest one out. Fabian is nowhere to be seen. “I’m so sorry, Jim,” she says as he spins around, his silent mouth gaping open. Everything feels as if it is in slow motion. She plunges gleaming steel into flesh, stalling only briefly as it teases stubborn bone. Then it glides in deeply, more easily than she could ever have imagined. “Mary!” he cries as she falls to the floor, a crimson stain blossoming across her impaled midriff. The children run in and start to scream but she can feel nothing but peace. As she closes her eyes on her husband’s face and the world, the shadows fall away and the voices in her head are silent for the first time. |
|
| Breakdown LD Rucker ruck9085@comcast.net |
#9 of 30 |
| 1974 | |
| “Stupid thing,” Lisa said through gritted
teeth. She was about to pound the steering wheel again, and thought better of
it; the last time she did, she bruised her fist. Sighing, she crawled out of the car, and slammed the door. Walking a few steps, she turned back and glared at the lime green monstrosity that sat there as if mocking her; or worse laughing at her. The ‘car’ was a 1975 Yugo; her sister Lea’s idea of a joke, but Lisa sure as hell wasn’t laughing. Glaring past the car, she heaved her shoulders in an exaggerated sigh. Nothing ahead of her or behind her; nothing but miles and miles of nothing, but miles and miles. “When I get home, I’m gonna give Lea something to laugh about,” she said.. She walked back over to the crippled car and reaching in through the open window, grabbed her purse off the passenger seat. She reached for the keys dangling in the ignition, then shook her head. “If someone is desperate enough to steal this pile of shit, then they’re in worse shape than I am, so more power to ‘em.” She looked up the road, then turned around and looked back in the direction she’d come. Making up her mind, she turned around and headed up the road. No need to go back the way she came, she already knew what was back there. Yeah, a bitch of a twin sister who’d had the luck of winning the lottery. Of all the people in the world to win eighty million dollars, why in God’s name did it have to be Lea? Lisa kicked out at an empty beer can that had most likely been tossed out of the window of a passing car. She picked up her pace, trying to put distance between herself and the hateful lime green Yugo. She thought about the morning that Lea came screaming into her room, her face streaked with tears. “I won!” She kept screaming those two words over and over again, until Lisa finally, pulled the covers down off her head and glared at her sister. “Won what?” she asked crossly. Of all people, Lea should have known how badly she hated being woke up. “The lottery! I won the lottery.” Her face was split by a huge grin; her eyes sparkled with tears of joy. “Sure you did, and I have a date with Brad Pitt tonight, so if you don’t mind, I need my beauty sleep.” Lisa tried to pull the covers back up over her head in an attempt to dismiss her sister, but Lea was having none of it. She grabbed the cover and yanked, nearly dragging Lisa out of bed in the process. “Look,” she said, shoving the lottery ticket in Lisa’s face. “See? I won.” “Good, you can buy me a car and my own house, with guard dogs to keep inconsiderate sisters from disturbing my sleep.” Lisa closed her eyes, feigning sleep, and finally Lea gave up. “Okay, I’ll buy you a car, a used Yugo, just for being so mean,” Lea said, as she turned and left. She was true to her word, Lisa thought, looking back over her shoulder at the used Yugo. And now here she was stuck out in the middle of nowhere, the damn car broke down, and her with no cell phone. Not that one would work way to hell out here. **** Lisa had been walking for what seemed to be hours. Her feet had blisters the size of quarters on them from the shoes she’d worn. She always chose fashion over comfort, and now she was regretting that little foolishness. She hadn’t seen a house or another car for miles, and the sun was beginning to set. Thankfully she wasn’t the one that was afraid of the dark. She grinned as she remembered tormenting Lea with tales of vampires and werewolves and other murderous creatures that lived in the dark; tales that obviously stayed with her sister, because to this day she still slept with her bedside lamp burning. As she limped along, other acts of cruelty crept into her mind. Like the time she’d locked Lea in the closet and went to the prom with her date. Lisa had been wild about Bo Bowers, but he was wild about Lea, and that infuriated Lisa. In her mind she was the prettier of the twins, even though they were identical. She had the blondest hair, the bluest eyes, the smallest waist, and by far the best personality, but Bo had asked Lea to the prom. How was Lisa to know that Lea would have a conniption fit locked away in that dark closet? How was she to know that Lea had been so traumatized that she had to be sedated for days afterward? Well, it served her right, Lisa thought. But, there were other cruelties, too. Worse ones, her mind whispered. “Just whose side are you on?” she said into the gathering darkness. Okay, so I did some other things that were a bit over the top, but Jesus, I was just teasing her. Were you? “Great, now I have to listen to my conscious dis me.” She shook her head, “I didn’t do anything that really hurt her.” But you did, and you know you did. Sleeping with Danny was for her own good. It proved he was a lying, cheating snake. I saved her from him. Danny thought you were Lea, and you know it. You counted on it. “He should have known the woman he claimed to love and was going to marry better. It wasn’t my fault he was so stupid.” The darkness was thicker now, leaching out from her like an oil slick from a wrecked freighter. The night noises were magnified in the still air and Lisa felt herself shiver. “I’m not afraid of the dark,” she shouted. “I’m not afraid of anything.” But you are, aren’t you? She stopped in her tracks and let her eyes sweep the broad open spaces around her. There were no trees to hide threats, no rocks to shield danger, or to hide behind. “This is stupid,” she said, squaring her shoulders and taking a step. She stopped, one foot poised above the ground. Was that a footstep? She listened intently to the night, but heard nothing out of the ordinary. She shook her head, then proceeded. A few steps farther and she froze again, her head cocked, listening. The symphony of the night had ceased. There was no sound, and Lisa felt a chill race up her spine. She clenched her fists and was surprised to find her palms moist. Grimacing, she rubbed them vigorously on her pants legs, then stopped, sucking in a huge breath. Was that a step? She could hear the blood as it rushed from her heart to her brain, and she looked down. Her heart was pounding so fiercely, she was certain that she would see it rhythmically pulsating against the white fabric of her blouse. She took a tentative step, then another. Nothing. Although the night chorus had not re-struck, she felt her confidence return and she took another step, then froze. Yes, that was definitely a step and it was close, very close. She fought the urge to turn around, terrified of what might be lurking just steps away from her in the dark. Was this how Lea felt locked away in that closet? Did her heart pound so fiercely when Lisa shut her up in the root cellar that night? Did visions of horrifying bloodsuckers fill her mind as it was now doing Lisa’s? Oh God, she thought, if you let me live through this night, I will never, ever scare my sister again; or anybody else. Taking a deep breath, she took a step, and the creature behind her did as well. She groaned with terror, and squinted into the darkness ahead. Wait; is that a light up there? Searching her mind, she tried to remember the stretch of road she was on and it dawned on her that Malloy’s farm was on this road. Had she come far enough from the breakdown to be able to see the lights of Malloy’s farmhouse? She took a deep breath, question is can she outrun whatever is behind her? I’ve got to try. Saying a quick prayer, Lisa sprinted. She could hear the echo of her pursuer’s footsteps clattering on the pavement, but she didn’t turn around. She ran; she ran as fast as she could, her heart nearly bursting from her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She felt the old familiar stitch in her side, and yet she ran. Stopping was not an option; nor was looking back over her shoulder. She knew her mind would shut down if what was behind her was one of the creatures she had tormented Lea with, and so she ran, and she prayed and the thing behind her kept up. It got no nearer, it didn’t overtake, it just followed. In her heart, in her head, she knew that vampires and werewolves were fictional creatures. Logically, she knew that what was pursuing her could not be either, but logic did not have a place in this footrace; only survival. Ahead, the lights of the Malloy farm grew brighter, and it gave her hope. With a final burst of energy, she sprinted through the open gate and down the dirt lane, but now she couldn’t hear the footsteps behind. Now she could hear the breathing, the harsh breathing, feel the hot breath on her back. Oh God, her mind screamed, I’m not going to make it. She screamed; the sound primal, terror filled it echoed off the barn, through the fields, to the very front door of the Malloy house, and miracle of miracles, the front door opened and there stood Mr. Malloy, a shotgun held to his shoulder. “Please help me,” she screamed, dashing for the porch. “It’s going to kill me.” She made the porch steps and collapsed in a heap at the startled farmer’s feet. There was silence for a minute, maybe two, and then unbelievably, Lisa heard a chuckle; a chuckle that quickly turned into a giggle, and then roaring laughter. Daring a peek, she spread her fingers and looked up in confusion. Mr. Malloy was laughing so hard, tears were streaming down his face. He bent over and placed his palms on his knees and laughed harder and Lisa felt the beginnings of anger creep over her. She’d nearly been murdered by some loathsome creature and this lunatic was laughing at her? “This is not funny, Mr. Malloy. I could have been killed,” she said, an angry flush coloring her cheeks. Her comment only served to cause Mr. Malloy to laugh harder, and Lisa was really getting angry. Getting to her feet, she stomped her foot in rage. “What’s so damn funny?” she demanded. Trying futilely to stem the laughter, Mr. Malloy pointed. Lisa wanted to look, needed to look, but at the same time she was terrified. What if this man was a murderer? What if he controlled the creature that tried to kill her? Losing the battle to control his laughter, Mr. Malloy reached out and grabbed her shoulders and forced her to turn around. She resisted, but he was strong and finally she gave in, letting her body be turned to face whatever horror awaited her just off the porch. She felt the blood rush to her head, and her face flamed. Mr. Malloy’s laughter pealed forth and Lisa’s shoulders slumped in humiliation. Standing at the foot of the porch steps, eyes huge and liquid stood a black and white calf. “Never had no man eating cows around these parts before,” Malloy choked. |
|
| Breakdown roger@cowboylogic.net |
#10 of 30 |
| 1947 | |
| That rich prick bleeding out on the Seven Eleven
parking lot didn’t deserve to be driving this ride anyway. He probably
screwed little old ladies out of their life savings to afford this Escalade. I
bet he was one of the scum that called in Gramma’s mortgage when Grampy
died. Sly let the warm wind cascade his long bleached hair back out of his face as he wound all the windows down, jacked the tunes and drove the boom-base into the cellar. Sheeatt, this thing could stroke the rap. The black Caddy sailed in and out of traffic with sweet abandon as he left the city limits with dying light of the sunset at his back. This ride had to be in the barn by 9 but he was going to feel it before turning it into cash. Kathy watched in the mirror as the foundation lifted and rolled south with the tears burning white rivers down her cheeks. The phone call still burned in her brain as her sister’s words rolled back out of their unkempt bed at the center of her existence. “Randal is mine. We are leaving for Chicago in the morning and there is nothing you can do about it. Kathy, he never loved you, it was always me. I simply wasn’t available and you were.” Kathy turned to look at the pistol nestled in the duvet on the bed. It looked so simple. The gun was beautiful… chromed, white mother of pearl handles. The death machine was crafted for her hand and felt like a natural extension when she lifted it. The weight was sweet to her hand and arm as though it were home. Her sister spoke again in her head, “You already signed the papers. You will have nothing. You need to move out by the end of the week and go back to life on the farm. The Chicago law firm will make sure all is done by the time we get back from our whirlwind cruise.” The voice broke into a cruel laugh. She lifted the weapon to her face and turned it slowly until she could see a short way down the barrel. Her wrist was twisted and this began to feel un-natural. She tasted the muzzle and felt some comfort in the metallic sensation and light smell of gun oil. Swinging around to look again to the mirror, she saw the spotless bed behind her. What a nasty mess that would make. The gun dropped again to the bed. This bitch has never been in 4 by 4 I’ll bet… Sly swung the Cadillac off the intestate to the access road and then a sharp 90 degree right onto a two lane heading off into the desert. Sparse minutes later the Escalade left pavement and bobbed sleekly over a dirt road, dust ascending like a delighted fog around the rear windshield wiper and settling on the upper edges of the window, bumper and spare wheel. Sly reached over to the passenger seat and snatched the sweet Fedora from the leather and placed it in the best possible attitude over his flying locks. I bet I look like Kevin Federline. He cranked the wheel and the Caddy headed into the scrub brush and rock. Within moments the car was doing calisthenics it had never experienced in its two year life. Sly knew he had better not damage the goods, but how often do you get to bush pop with a Caddy? Bouncing through a dried creek bed Sly bent the nose of the Fedora on the ceiling with a whoop and a girlish giggle he was glad no one would hear. Suddenly the nose of the car was aiming at the first stars of the night sky and just as suddenly the line of view was directed at the ground 8 feet in front of the hood. A Jarring crash ended the ride and Sly sat amid dust and tinkling cast iron of an over heated and abused engine. Slightly dazed, the door popped open to release the boy to reconnoiter his situation. Everything seemed good to go but for the hole that had eaten the front right of the car. He could not see the bottom of the wheel in the hole. Kathy hated this Ranchero Villa now. The oasis in the desert was now only a prison for her self pity wallow. She could not escape it and it could not escape her. Out the grand front windows she saw the setting sun pushing dull shadows toward her from the sentinel cacti silhouetted each side of the driveway. She used to think of these tall guardians as her protectors. Now they were witness to the breakdown of her life. The fountain in the roundabout was listless with a diluted energy that seemed now more a drain than the source of energy she lavished in for the last 7 years of her life. To her left she reflected on the stables where the horses grazed quietly, unknowing on the flakes of hay she had feathered out for them this afternoon. The gun had found its way back to Kathy’s hand and was now simply a part of her. Pacing and reflection took precedence now and thought process was automated at the best, intermitted and lost at the worst. Kathy stumbled from room to room in a loose circuit, always finding herself peering out the huge glass entrance. The TV news in the background bemoaned another car jacking and showed the ambulance slowly leaving the parking lot with her dead husband. She heard or saw none of it. Kathy sat quietly at the bay seat now and with the short barrel of the gun in her grasp, gently tapped out show tunes on the window sill. The Warn winch molded stylishly into the bush guard of the front bumper caught Sly’s eye. Within short minutes he had figured out the release mechanism and had tugged the cable under the lifted left front of the car, back along the wheel and hooked to a broken pine tree. From the drivers seat, Sly learned how to use the winch and successfully tugged the car back out of the hole. After winding the cable back onto the spool and eyeing up the damage, he figured the car was some worse for wear but should still bring a pretty nickel at the barn. Carefully he backed the car out of the creek bed and in the new night with one less head light he limped the damaged car back to the dirt road. The undercarriage was hurt and it wasn’t long before Sly realized it was not going to be easy to get back to the highway let alone the car barn where he was to sell this rig. The front end of the Caddy wove like a prize fighter and a sharp little skid sounded with each rotation of the left front wheel. He pulled out his Black Razor and after two and a half rings he spoke into the phone, “Hey Cap, I may be a bit late with the Caddy. The piece of shit is fucked up and the front wheel is falling off. I’m just off exit 133 a couple miles and may need some help here.” The cell spoke back in blatant and no uncertain terms leaving Sly’s face much brighter in the dash light. “What the fuck? I snatch 3 prime rides a week for you and this is all you have to help your best horse? What the fuck do you think? I am a rookie? Give your head a sha…” The phone connection closed and he stopped talking to the phone and directed a most impressive string of colorful dialect at himself. The blue beams of the HID lights found the dirt road and he looked both ways for a clue as to which would be the quickest route to the end of this piss ass adventure. One way was the paved road he had come in on, the other way was a distant light of a crib of some kind. He headed slowly for the light. Night had fallen now and Kathy had dropped from logic. She stepped out the door and walked to the fountain. The blue red and green lights shone up on her past the foot long Coy schooling toward her for the shaker food. The light soothed her skin and cast shadows backward up her face. She turned and sat on the edge of the fountain watching the driveway without a thought in her head but the image of a black Escalade with Satan at the wheel. She saw lights coming up the long drive but her brain didn’t even register that they danced slowly from side to side as they crept up the rise toward the cacti gate posts. The only thought was left far inside her subconscious and never got close to being realized to her. Just over the rise Sly picked out several high powered yard lights and the top floor windows of a bitchin’ pad. He had slipped on the dudes leather bomber jacket and moved his 38 to a comfortable outer pocket. This slam dance was gonna get his freak on again. He would come out smellin’ like fuckin’ money. The noises under this ride are getting nasty. I think it’s going down soon. The nose of the Cadi-illiac presented itself between the guardian cacti and the right front wheel flopped flat on the ground grinding the machine to a halt. Shit! Sly grabbed the handle imbedded in the door and pulled to open. Kathy stood quietly to her feet, raised her arms in front of her and aimed the pistol as she had been trained at the gun club. Her left hand rested on her right hand to steady in the triangle. The target was 50 feet away. She was good at this distance. Sly’s eyes were glued to the headlights careening up behind him and the broken caddy. This car was crazy. His adrenalin rose boiling in his veins as he contemplated his chances of darting into the ditch across the dirt lane before the fool spread them all through area 51. The asshole was too close. He ducked reflectively as the red beamer blew past his wreck and slid sideways into the circle driveway between the fountain and the house. Diane thrilled at the fact she blew past Randal in his own driveway to claim victory over her sister in person. She giggled as she saw the slow moving dud duck in his Fedora as she blew his doors off. She jumped victoriously from the Beamer squealing her pleasure Randal would feed her need until she drained him and Kathy could climb back under her rock. She was on her way. Diane dropped her Gucci bag and fell quietly to the dust. A small hole seeped from her forehead and a larger hole gaped softly from the back of her head as she died in the driveway. Sly jumped out to scream at the nutty redhead screaming in the driveway. “Hey you fuckin’ bimb…” He was slammed back against the car with a thump to his chest. His diatribe was cut off with frothy blood and he died clutching his chest and searching for breath. Joe slipped quietly into the back of the ambulance and checked the front latch to make sure the stretcher was secure. His partner was watching from the drivers seat. Joe nodded. “Let’s go Bud.” “Man, I can never figure out how someone in a dream street life like this can have a total breakdown. |
|
| Breakdown Steve Rhodes scrhodes2002@yahoo.co.uk |
#11 of 30 |
| 943 | |
| I have to admit that horses are not my favourite
animals. The old adage "dangerous at both ends, and uncomfortable in the
middle", summed them up perfectly as far as I was concerned. So, when it was
suggested that we should give up a days hiking through the rain forest
surrounding the lodge we were staying at, in favour of a days horse riding, I
was sceptical. However my parents insisted that I should give it a go and not
let preconceived notions get in the way of a possibly pleasurable new
experience. So I went outside and joined the other riders who were mounting up for the days fun. My horse was brought up but, just as I moved forward to climb aboard, I noticed something decidedly odd about it. It's eyes were rolling. Then it started to foam at the mouth. I backed off just in time to avoid its thrashing hooves as it flung itself on the ground, rolling around and lashing out at anything in its way until it kicked over the clothes line and tangled itself up in a mass of wire and clothes pegs. Everyone was aghast, especially myself, as I stood silently contemplating the hideous fate that would have befallen me had I been astride the creature when it had its siezure. It was untangled and led away gasping but, just as I was preparing to shed my riding boots and don the faithful old hiking boots, I was reassured that this was a most unusual occurrence and I shouldn't let it detract from the pleasures of the days ride. A replacement mount was led up to the saddling area and I was coerced into reluctantly climbing aboard. It didn't take me long to realize that I should have stuck to my guns and gone hiking. Not only was the wretched animal uncomfortable, but it had a foul disposition and hated all the other horses in the group. Every time one would get too close or attempt to overtake him, he'd lash out viciously with his hind legs, sending the horse and its terrified rider scurrying for safety. He also had a will of his own. Every time the track forked, instead of obediently following the others, he'd set off up the other track and our expedition leader would have to gallop after us and lead us back to the group. The ride was a nightmare. He sensed that I was terrified and had no control over him, and delighted in making life difficult by veering over to any side of the track that offered a nice low - hanging prickly vine that would un seat me if it got me round the neck. The day developed into a game of nerve warfare with him shaping up as the clear winner. Our route took us along narrow trails on the side of sheer rock faces. He'd walk as close to the edge as possible so I was treated to stomach churning views of the abyss that we could well plummet into if he lost his footing. Consequently I had no appetite for the delicious lunch our expedition leader prepared but was grateful for the break and the opportunity to walk around under my own steam and iron out some of the aches and pains that were starting to set in. I was even contemplating walking home but it was pointed out that I'd never make it back to the lodge on foot before night fall, and the last thing one wanted was to be wandering around in the forest at night. So, all too soon, we re mounted and set off for home. If anything the journey home was worse than the trip out as he would break into short, sharp gallops every time low hanging vines occurred along the way in a last desperate attempt to knock me out of the saddle. But I was a wake up to this trick and stooped low in the saddle, resting my head against his neck for protection, thus forcing him to put his own neck on the line if he wanted to decapitate me. But then he must have got a whiff of home and the manger full of oats and chaff and the other delights that were to be his ill gotten gains for his days "work". He broke ranks and took off like a rocket. All I could do was hang on like grim death as we roared through the forest, leaving the others far behind. We careered out on the road leading to the lodge, and, as we approached, I saw to my horror, a stout wooden gate about four feet high blocking our way. It had been open on the way out, but someone must have shut it, in violation of un written wilderness rules and regulations that state that you must leave gates the way you find them. But there was no time to worry about the rights and wrongs of the situation. We were bearing down on the gate at break neck speed. All I could do was offer up a brief prayer, grit my teeth, and hang on for dear life. In fact I froze in the saddle as we leapt over the gate in a classic show jumping manoeuvre to thunderous rounds of applause from an admiring throng of picnickers. Back in the saddling paddock I fell off the horse and hobbled off to our cabin where my father, who had watched my triumphant return in absolute horror, presented me with a small glass of rum. A gesture that I'm sure saved me from having a nervous breakdown. |
|
| Breakdown Barbara Hyde wifemomwriter@yahoo.com |
#12 of 30 |
| 320 | |
| This can’t happen, not now! What are you talking about? Do you have any idea just how bad this is? You’re babbling again, Clyde. Man, you just don’t get it. It’s the end of everything! Nothing can be that bad. Take a whiff of this! I don’t need any weed Leon. It won’t make a difference. What has got your hair standing on end, Clyde? Libby’s coming. So, Libby’s always been good to us. She’s got Bert with her. Bert…Bert! Oh, man, not Bert. I told you. I told you. And no place to hide. But Bert will take us to…THEM. Yeah, like I said, the end of everything. I won’t go. They can’t make me. Yes they can. Bert can. You know that. I’ll fight him Clyde, I’ll… No you won’t. What can we do? Nothing. We can’t run. We can’t fight. We go along. But Clyde… I know Leon, I know. Bert and Libby arrive. They give the order to go and Clyde and Leon fall into step. I can’t do it, Clyde, I can’t stand it. Just keep it together Leon. It’ll be over soon. I’m scared too. It’s too much. I’m going to make a break for it. Don’t do it Leon! You’ll never make it! I’ve got to try. Anything is better than THEM! No, Leon, NO… A calf breaks away from the herd, running over the uneven ground. A cattle dog tries to head it off as the calf zigs and zags through the sage brush. A man on a horse shakes out his lasso as he urges his steed after the stray. A gully comes into view and the man reins his horse abruptly to the right to avoid what the calf did not. The rocks and the fall are merciful, breaking Leon’s neck. The rider straps his limp body over the back of the saddle to take into the branding camp. |
|
| Breakdown Robert Davis savidbor@gmail.com |
#13 of 30 |
| 992 | |
| Announcer: “And next we have Ben Levine for your
comedic pleasure. Let’s give Ben a round of applause!” He walked onto the stage a little nervous as he stepped into the spotlight, but the crowd's loud cheers quelled some of his nerves. The previous act had been very funny, and they were in a good mood. He waited for the clapping and cheers to die down before clearing his throat. “Ahem. Thank you, thank you. I’ll be your entertainer for the next thirty minutes and I know we are going to have a great time.” The audience was quiet, the laughs waiting just under the surface. All he had to do was set them free. He needed a gem. “Let’s start out with one of my favorites. You may have heard it before, so don’t ruin it for those sitting next to you!” He could feel the anticipation building. Timing was everything. “Okay, okay, ready?!” “Yeah!” yelled out the excited crowd. “Okay! A man walked into a bar… OUCH!” He let the punch line sink in. No one laughed. He was confused. That was his favorite joke. This comedy club was full of stiffs! The silence was becoming uncomfortable. He hadn’t wanted to use his best jokes so early in the show, but he could tell that he had little choice from the way the audience was looking at each other, shrugging and murmuring. “Okay folks, sorry about that. I know what you mean. Some jokes are just too funny for this sized theater, so let’s move on to some that will really tickle your funny bones.” The audience was silent. “Why did the chicken cross the road?!” He asked the crowd. “You suck!” came a response. He stepped back, stunned, but quickly regained composure and plastered a smile back onto his face. “Almost, Sir, but alas no. Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the cherry pie of course!” He slapped his thigh, laughing. He loved that joke too. It took a few moments for him to notice that no one else was laughing. The audience was completely still. Was he really so funny that he had shocked them to silence with his magnificent humor? His friends did tell him he was one of a kind, and his mom always said he was hilarious. Maybe it was true. “Get the fuck off the stage you hack!” Then again, maybe not. It was the same voice as before. His knuckles tightened around the mic. “Sir, can you calm down please. You’re ruining the show for everyone.” So it was one heckler. It wasn’t as if the entire crowd was booing. “I know what you guys need. You want some interaction. Okay, everyone repeat after me, “How much wood can a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood?!” This one would grab the audience. It was his little brother's all time favorite. “Sit your ass down man. Your jokes are moronic!” It was that voice again, and this time he pinpointed its origin to a balding man sitting in the third row. “Excuse m…”, he started, but was interrupted. “Boo!” “Boo!” “Get off the stage!” “You suck!” It was coming from everywhere and everyone. Why was this happening? His mom never lied. ‘It is a sin to lie’ she always said. His face turned a shade of red with embarrassment. He pointed his finger at the man who had started it all. The asshole in the third row was now standing up and continuing on with an onslaught of insults. The red in his face was no longer of embarrassment, but of anger. “Why don’t you sit your fat ass down, sir? No one paid to see the bald man get upset.” The audience fell silent. The man’s jaw dropped wide open. He looked angry and his hands curled into tight fists. "Why don’t you come down here and say that, bitch? Let’s see if you fight better than you joke,” said the man, smirking. He turned an even deeper red. It was over. “Bonzaiii!” he screamed as he threw down the mic and vaulted off of the stage. Like a missile he flew into the air, over the heads of the astonished first two rows, until finally spearing the smirk off of the man’s face as they crashed through the seats and down to the floor. Women screamed and men shouted in surprise. Announcer: “Everyone please be calm and exit the theater. SECURITY, get this man out of here!” He was in his own world as he sat on the bald man’s chest and pummeled him. “My mother does not lie, you asshole!” he shouted. “My mother does not lie.” The man was out cold by the time security dragged Ben off of him and threw him out of the club. All of the while he kept murmuring, “My mother does not lie…” A tall, lanky man stepped out of a cab and walked into the Emerald Comic Club, curious about the ambulance out front, its sirens wailing. The entrance hall was filled with crying women and angry men. Clearly something had happened here. There were also police who appeared to be trying to piece together what had happened from the different hysterical guests. With many apologies, he made his was through the crowd to the front desk where a receptionist was profusely apologizing to someone over the phone. He waited patiently for several minutes until it was clear to him that the receptionist was purposefully ignoring him. On the desk he saw a small bell. He pressed it three times. Ding. Ding. Ding. The receptionist stopped talking. She looked at him furiously. “What do you want?” she asked. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was scheduled for the 6:00PM show. I am a little late. Some asshole rear-ended me and drove off. I’m a comedian. My name is Ben Levine. |
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| Breakdown Jennifer zoise30@gmail.com |
#14 of 30 |
| 45 | |
| Chipped away Poked and prodded Pulled apart For all to see Humiliation unnoticed Numb with neck veins and Furrowed brows Flayed middles, gutted Senseless Histories dissected Vanity, infidelity, Lost credibility At last an end Merciful, terrible Emotion unspent, unfelt Memories unremembered Breakup, and then Breakdown |
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| Breakdown Catherine Rose Davis catherinerosedavis@yahoo.co.uk |
#15 of
30 Winner |
| 511 | |
| The car stopped somewhere between Cairns and Alice
Springs. “You didn’t put enough petrol in,” I said. Nick pulled the key out of the ignition. “The tank was full, Jane,” he said. I shrugged and got my compact mirror out of my handbag. Sweat and foundation had melted together so my face appeared to be sliding away. I took a packet of wet wipes from the glove compartment. “What are you gonna do about it?” I said as I wiped my face. Nick got out and slammed the door. The car shuddered. “Wet wipes are for babies,” he said through the open window. I threw the wet wipe on the floor and turned my face towards the dusty fields. A kangaroo watched as it chewed on grey-brown bush. A joey’s feet poked out from its pouch. The bonnet screeched as Nick opened it. The air tasted sour with petrol. I reached for my water bottle from the backseat. The plastic was hot and the water felt like morning sickness in my mouth. I got out. A fly landed on my face and crawled towards my mouth. “Want some water?” I said. Nick took the bottle and drank. “That tastes foul,” he said. “Yeah,” I said. “Do you think I should try unscrewing this bit?” said Nick. “How should I know?” I said. Nick wiped his oily hands on his T-shirt. “I was asking your advice,” he said. He glanced at my stomach then looked back to the engine. “Sometimes we need to make decisions together.” I walked towards the back of the car, kicking up sand the colour of dried blood. “Some things,” Nick said, “affect both of us.” I stopped and turned to face him. I pinched my arm. “It’s my body,” I said. Nick shut the bonnet. “It wasn’t just your body,” he said. I sat by the side of the road and pulled my knees up to my chest. “It was still part of me,” I said. “It wasn’t a separate thing.” Nick walked closer so he was standing over me. “It was mine,” he said. I drew circles in the sand with my finger. It felt gritty under my nail. I pressed my teeth into my tongue until I tasted salt and moved my head from side to side. Nick stepped back and leaned against the car. He wiped his | |