|Posted by Sammie on October 11, 2013 at 9:55 AM||comments (0)|
Sadness descends more and more each day
Silent tears hidden, yet she finds a way
to laugh and to smile, to keep up belief
So no one will see the darkness beneath.
Hatred for herself like never before
Self-conscious words she can never ignore
Powerful words pointing out all her flaws
She's slowly retreating, slowly withdraws.
Ugly, fat and worthless, to name a few
So much out there to compare herself to
Proportioned perfection and too much skin
Her envy of them, too much to reel in.
Tears fall again, sliding down her pained face
Lie down, close her eyes and forget this place
Let it go, let the insecurities flee
For a moment all is quiet and she is free.
But her moment of peace floats slowly away
Her tormenting thoughts come back to play
Her self-confidence gone, self-esteem too
No words or compliments to get her through.
She sees herself falling into the black
No one to help her and no way back
Sinking deeper into her own despair
All of it becoming too hard to bear.
A crushing lonliness follows her around
Her back to the wall, she slides to the ground
She buries her face inside her two hands
Nothing is going quite like she planned.
Is this what it's like to be depressed?
An iron weight always crushing her chest?
Her heart always beating high in her throat?
Feelings of emptiness, and with that no hope?
“No!” she screams. “I will not fall any more,
I will be happy like I was before,
I will rid myself of all the self-doubt,
I just need to ask for someones help”
Someone who knows exactly how she feels
Someone who won't repeat and reveal
Where all this started, where it all began
And someone to help her find strength again.
But, if she is dealt one more shitty card
No help will save her, for she will fall hard
Into the abyss, she will hit rock bottom
Her once normal self, gone and forgotten
The Suffering Self ©Sammie Wilson 2013
Photo's sourced at -
|Posted by Sammie on June 12, 2012 at 8:25 PM||comments (0)|
I have never feared for my life until I met him.
At nineteen, I was a naïve girl with dreams of having the beautiful house with a white picket fence. I don’t have the white picket fence but I do have the beautiful house and believe me, it comes with a price.
Facing the sound of the ocean, I listened as the white wash slammed against the rocks. The air was crisp, moving across my flesh leaving goose bumps in its wake. I could see the dark huddle of clouds out at sea and knew we’d be getting a storm soon, which meant I had to hurry.
Tightening the shawl across my shoulders, I stepped back into the house and closed the glass sliding doors. The timber floor was cold against my bare feet as I moved up the stairs and into my bedroom. Just as I got the suitcase down from the wardrobe, my mobile vibrated from the back pocket of my jeans.
“I’m just making sure you’re still going through with this,” Krista said in a gentle voice that betrayed the bluntness of her personality.
“I’m packing now.”
“I have everything you need. I’ll meet you at the bus like we discussed, okay?”
Fear wrapped around me like a straitjacket. “I’m not sure I can do this Kris.”
“Yes you can.” Her voice hardened. “You know what will happen if you don’t.”
And I did know. Ben would go too far one day and I would die.
Sighing, “I know.”
After shutting my phone, I started packing leggings, jumpers and jeans for during the day. The night’s chill was cold enough for two layers so I concentrated on comfort and warmth rather than style. In the bathroom, I picked out half a dozen must-have toiletries and made sure I had two extra pair of shoes. I searched my jewellery box taking only what was expensive as my mind wandered, imagining the reaction Ben will have when he finds me gone.
Shaking my head, I pushed the thoughts deep inside me along with the fear and kept going until my bag couldn’t fit anything more. After that, I wheeled the bag down the stairs, ignoring the marks I was leaving on his precious varnished floor and took one last look around.
I stood in the middle of the lounge room and thought about what Ben was like when we first met. He was respectful and kind, trustworthy, loyal and completely in love with me. He bought this house just because I said it was beautiful. I told him how I’d love to see the morning sun reflect off the calming water across the road. How I’d love the smell of fresh ocean air drifting through the open windows. How I’d love to sit on the balcony enclosed in the safety of his arms watching as the sun dipped below the horizon. Next thing I know, he’s handing me a set of keys and sliding a ring on my finger.
I put a lot of work into making the house our home. And now I was leaving it all. I was leaving it because my blood has been spilled on the blue leather sofa. My body has been broken on the round oak coffee table, my legs unable to hold my weight in the bedroom. He’s stolen all the beauty, tainting it with pain.
Taking a deep shaky breath, I turned to leave and came face to face with Ben.
The fear that churned my stomach all morning was now frozen terror. The look on his face was enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. One corner of his lip curled up into a smirk, enjoyment dancing in his hazel eyes.
“It’s cute to think you can get away from me,” he said, his tone even. “And I got to say you have more guts than I gave you credit for. I didn’t think you would go through with it.”
“You knew?” Though, it wasn’t a surprise. Not really.
“Of course I knew. What sort of a man would I be if I didn’t know what my fiancé was doing all day?” I kept my eyes to the ground and didn’t answer, assuming it was rhetorical. “What sort of man would I be Lexi?” He stalked toward me.
“I don’t know.”
The slap was a quick sting to my cheek. “I wouldn’t be much of a man at all.”
Closing my eyes to stop the tears from flowing, “You’re not much of a man now,” I clenched my fists, knowing that my words were going to get me killed.
“What? I didn’t hear you.” His fingers curled around my chin, yanking my face so our eyes connected. I let every ounce of defiance I had creep into my expression. I couldn’t stop now, I’d come this far and I realized that I would rather be dead then live the life I was living. I wasn’t going to do it any longer, and if that meant him killing me than so be it.
“Are you challenging me?” Ben asked amusement in his tone.
I ripped my face from his hand and took a step back from his imposing bulk. “No. I’m just leaving you,” I said, my voice a little stronger.
He sighed and I watched as he unclipped his holster, pulling out his on-duty weapon. “I can’t let you do that,” he said, with a calm that gave me the chills. “You’re mine and I’m not going to just let you walk away from me.”
“If you kill me you’ll go to jail.”
His chest shook with laughter. “I’m a detective Lexi, I have a hundred ways I can kill you and no one would ever find your body.”
“I have pictures of what you’ve done to me, they’ll find them and know it was you who did something.”
“That’s true.” He used the barrel of the gun to scratch his head, walking toward me once more. “But believing I’ve committed a crime and proving it are two very different things in a court of law.”
With only a foot between us, he pointed the gun at my chest. My heart was beating wildly against my ribs, my lips trembling with a fear so thick it threatened to close off my airway. The urge to shut it all out was too strong but I resisted, knowing it would fill him with a satisfaction I didn’t want him to have. I stared into his eyes and waited.
But he didn’t pull the trigger. Instead, he punched me in the head. Lucky for me, it was his left hand otherwise I’d be unconscious.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he said, putting the gun on the coffee table as he leaned over my crumbled body. “I love you too much to lose you. I’m just going to teach you a lesson.” He straightened himself back to his usual six foot height and kicked me in the stomach like someone would a soccer ball. As I was battling to breathe, he grabbed a fist full of hair, and dragged me to my feet. The calm I’d seen earlier was replaced with the kind of anger that made vomit line the walls of my throat, burning to come out. “You are mine.” He snarled in my face. “There is nowhere on earth you can go that I won’t find you.” His slap vibrated through my body as my legs went out from under me, pain exploding in my cheek, stomach heaving as I managed to get on my hands and knees to slowly crawl toward the table. Before he even knew what I intended, my fingers curled around the discarded weapon. It was heavy in my hand as I made my aching body stand to confront him.
His eyes widened slightly as my arm extended toward him. Remembering his lessons, I clicked off the safety and before he could dive for me I squeezed the trigger…twice.
“Emergency,” A woman answered. “Police, Fire or Ambulance?”
“Police,” I said, my voice as detached as my emotions.
Seconds later, “What’s your emergency?”
“I just killed my fiancé.” I gave the address, hung up the phone then limped from the house.
A hundred meter’s down the street I sat down on a steel bench, watching as the waves slammed into the rocks in a harsh attack. The rumbles coming from the approaching dark sky drew closer but instead of leaving I stay sitting, patiently awaiting the fury to descend.
|Posted by Sammie on May 31, 2012 at 9:40 PM||comments (0)|
Lexi Slaughter is my new heroin for an upcoming novel. I've just been writing little scenes and putting her in them. They have nothing to do with what happens in her book, these are just character sketches.
Lexi sits on a steel bench overlooking the rough waters as waves slam against the rocks. The howling wind whips her copper blonde hair into a frenzy but she doesn’t seem to care. Distantly, the rumbles coming from the approaching dark sky draws closer but instead of leaving she stays sitting, patiently awaiting the fury to descend. Taking a deep breath, she allows the fresh, fishy air to line her nostrils and licks the salt as it flecks upon her lips.
For her, this is what peace is. Her face takes on a serene expression, gazing into the natural order of things with a small smile curving her mouth. She closes her eyes as if to savour the echoes of thunder drifting closer to the shore, to savour the sounds of rocks crumbling under the pressure of the choppy sea, or the first cold drops as the sky begins to cry.
Finally, she slowly opens her eyes as the sparse drops turn into a steady flow and tilts her head letting the water cascade down her face. The rolling darkness is much closer now, and instead of flashes of lightening she notices spirals flaming across the sky and striking the water beneath " a powerful combination of danger and beauty.
The wind picks up pace and she can no longer stand her hair as it fans out behind her. Using the elastic around her wrist she pulls the hair into a pony tail, caressing the sides until all the loose strands can be tied in place. Letting her hands fall back into her lap she brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs as the temperature turns chilly. The storm is almost upon her now. The lightning strikes are hitting closer and the claps of thunder are so loud it threatens to burst her ear drums. She doesn’t want to leave, even as the rain stings her flesh as its descent quickens, but she knows she has to. She unfolds herself from the chair and makes a dash for cover 100 meters away. She heads into a coffee shop and draws everyone’s attention. She drops her eyes to the ground careful not to make eye contact but still feels their gazes taking in her heavy clothing as it sticks to her womanly curves. She hates when people notice her.
After a few seconds, hushed conversations surround her and she blows out a breath of relief. The nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach begins to dissolve and she moves to the window to watch as Mother Nature’s rage reaches land.
The sounds of the howling wind are more eerie inside, as it slips through the cracks in the windows and although the smell of rich, blended coffee calls to her, she longs to be back outside. She doesn’t know why she seems to be drawn to nature’s most dangerous emotion, perhaps it’s because the darkness that swirls the clouds into a tantrum also swirls inside of her, perhaps Lexi and Mother Nature’s dark side have a lot more in common than she thinks.
|Posted by Sammie on May 7, 2012 at 7:35 PM||comments (0)|
My mother was like a modernized version of Mary Poppins. I would rarely see her without her apron tied around her waist or a smile playing over her lips and if anyone could make chores seem like a trip to Disneyland, it was her. She was as close to perfect as a person could get and the love between her and my father was nothing short of embarrassing. They acted like hormonally driven teenagers, an amazing (and gross) thing to witness after 20 years of marriage.
That’s the kind of memories I want to keep. I don’t want anyone to forget the person she used to be. That before the mask of anger and resentment was an embodiment of love and sweetness even Mother Theresa would be impressed with. That before the stench of Bourbon and Scotch was the sultry scent of woody musk. To me, my mum was my beautiful blonde sidekick who always had my back. She treated me more like a sister then a mother and the bond we shared was unbreakable…Or so I thought.
Her change began after foreign military started bombing Australia’s major cities. It was subtle at first, hushed arguments with my father, and forced smiles. I figured it was over the state of the economy but later I found out it was because of the Takeover. After the soldiers descended in every town around the country, with their impeccable military uniforms and Ak-47s swung over their shoulders, the arguments about fighting back were louder. My dad wanted to join a group called the Resistance but my mother forbade it, saying it was too dangerous. When Dad was taken to a concentration camp in Brisbane along with other people in town, danger was no longer a concern for Mum and her change was complete.
Her faked reassurances to make me feel better no longer came. She didn’t smile, the light in her eyes was gone and I’d quickly become her mute, pain-in-the-ass daughter. After weeks of using our house as Resistance headquarters, stockpiling weapons and making me learn how to shoot and fight; I approached her and signed, what’s the point of breaking Dad out if one of us gets killed?
“He’ll be free, that’s all that matters,” was her detached response.
And if I die?
She picked up the map of the camp dad was in and sighed. “There are always casualties in war Amelia. Besides –“she glanced up from the paper “- You don’t have to fight if you don’t want to, your training can be used as offence or defense, the decision is yours.” Her apathy had cut my heart in half.
For the next four years I watched as the Resistance recruited thousands all over the country. The group was making a big name for themselves and now had control of some of the smaller towns across Australia. For Queensland, it was St George, Longreach and Bundaberg. In the first year, Mum had tried to break my dad out but the attempt was a huge failure that suffered many loses. Mum was smarter now. She knew every smaller town we took back brought us closer to the cities and surprisingly, people listened to her as if she was the voice of God himself. Strangers, who never knew the woman I mourned every night, saw the person she was now as a gift. They drew from her strength and bravery, making the mistake that she cared about them. The truth was, as soon as Mum found a way to get Dad back everyone that looked upon her for guidance would be in the same place I am now – lost and betrayed.
Not that I completely blame her for how she’s turned out. In a way, I understand how difficult it must’ve been for her when dad was taken. It’s as if half of her soul was ripped away and without it she became a shell of her former self, except instead of buckling under grief she hardened with authority and locked away her conscience. Maybe, it’s a defense mechanism to shield her from future pain. But then, she hardly twitched a few days ago when Roman, her right hand man, told her about Dad being moved to an unknown location right after the foreigners discovered her name in connection with the Resistance.
I, on the other hand, broke down in front of the entire room. God only knows what kind of torture he was being subjected to and all she could do was look at me in disappointment. A look that said, ‘how did I make such a weak daughter?’
I stopped trying to please her after that. I didn’t care if she knew I could dismantle and reassemble a handgun in seconds or that if a bullet was fired from my gun, it would hit its intended target every single time. I just didn’t care. In fact, I’d already decided on going to Mt. Isa with Jonah, where we would co-ordinate our own team, cross over into the Northern Territory and take back Darwin.
It was the day before my birthday when Mum found out my plans. Roman - the traitor - had told her. I was shaking with anger because he knew what it was like for me. He was one of the rare people still around who shares my memories of the woman my mother used to be and yet, he tattles on me like a five-year-old.
“You are seventeen and I will not allow you to trek around the country and die at the hands of our enemy,” she said.
You had no problem with me fighting when I was 13, I signed, my hands the only form of communication I had.
“That’s because I was there to protect you if I needed to.”
I rolled my eyes. Yes, because we all know how much you would’ve sacrificed if something had happened.
She ignored the sarcasm, “You aren’t going.”
You can’t stop me.
“Maybe not, but Roman will stop Jonah.”
A slither of nonchalance straightened my shoulders and in response I just shrugged.
“You cannot go alone Amelia,” she sounded surprised.
I can and I will.
“I will NOT lose another person in my life!” She turned and stalked off, her sudden outburst leaving my mouth hanging wide open, a fly trap just waiting to happen. It also left me slightly hopeful. Was the mum I missed so badly coming back?
Turns out she wasn’t.
She disappeared into a bottle of Scotch and didn’t crawl out until morning carrying with her a nasty hangover and a bad attitude.
I wasn’t about to stick around and become her verbal punching bag so I ended up finding Jonah and spending the day at the Botanical Gardens where we continued our discussion about Mt. Isa.
We sat on a plaid blanket across from the pond, ripping bread apart and throwing it to the ducks who were acting more like vultures. As afternoon descended, we watched as the sun dipped below the horizon. The sky was still a brilliant blue but that didn’t stop one or two stars from announcing themselves with a small sparkle. It was nice to just sit and be normal for a few hours.
“Do you really want to leave?” Jonah asked me. “I know it’s been hard because of your mum, but I really think she'd go crazy without you.”
I shook my head and pulled out the iPad. I was teaching Jonah sign language but he still had a lot to learn. I think she’ll be relieved, I wrote.
“She told my dad last night that she was afraid she’d pushed you away and now it was too late to make up for it.”
My eyebrows lifted. What did Roman say?
Jonah ran a hand through his brown surf-like hair. “He said she was right to be scared. He told her that while she wallowed in the grief of losing William, you were grieving them both.”
How did she take that?
A sad look reached the depths of his eyes. “She cried.”
Floored with shock, I sat there for about ten minutes before the first few tears escaped my ducts. It wasn’t sad tears, more like tears of joy. It’s been so long since Mum exhibited any emotion at all, I was beginning to wonder if she was even human anymore. To find out that her heart was starting to thaw was the best birthday present I’ve ever been given – it was the knowledge that slowly my mum, my real mum, was coming back to me.
Later that night, we all had a dinner in honour of me turning seventeen. Mum joined us and for my third shock of the day she was drinking water instead of her usual Scotch on the rocks. Despite the awkwardness, no one mentioned the foreigners, or the war. We ate a delicious Rosemary Lamb dish without any strategic planning or upsetting phone calls. It was just like the pond – normal.
After we cleared the table, Jonah, with a huge grin spread from one ear to the next, walked out with a birthday cake made of chocolate. ‘Happy Birthday, Amelia’ was written in pink cursive on the top surrounded by seventeen candles. I turned from him and when I looked into the blue eyes that mirrored my own, I saw pride and regret. It was then that I realized she’d made the cake and was trying to apologize. That instead of using her words she was using her actions, which was so like her. In response, I gave her a small smile and nodded – my way of saying I was going to try if she was. Turning back to Jonah, I sucked in a breath and blew out the flames, wishing as hard as I could for new beginnings.
I woke up at two o’clock in the morning, feeling as though something was wrong. I put on jeans and a shirt and just as I grabbed for the door handle, I heard voices. With my instincts screaming at me, I went back and lifted my mattress, feeling for the handgun I hid there. It was already loaded with a round in the chamber, all I had to do was release the safety and I was good to go. I crept back to the door and slowly opened it, stopping every time the hinges squeaked. As I moved toward the lounge room, I knew I was hearing my mum’s voice but I never heard the man’s before. It was a deep sound that rumbled from his chest with a hint of an accent lingering after every word.
“I’m not giving you any information so you might as well just kill me.” My mother’s brave words froze my feet to the carpet. I’d just made it to the entrance of the kitchen when fear solidified my limbs.
“Not even for the release of your husband?” The man asked.
After a few heartbeats Mum’s whisper reached my ears. “No.”
I knew then it was time to make myself move. My gut was telling me this guy wasn’t going to like the word no, and as always my gut was right. When the beating started I rushed into the kitchen, heading to the end of the counter where I’d have a direct line of sight to shoot but before I made it, I was tackled to the ground.
Jonah’s body covered the length of mine, pinning me to the cold tiles. “We have to wait,” he whispered. “There’s too many outside, dad called for backup.”
When the first scream tore from Mum’s throat, I thrashed like a wild animal beneath Jonah’s body. I couldn’t make a sound. I couldn’t communicate with him at all. The only thing left for me to do was plead with my eyes. Please, please let me save her.
Another scream bounced off the walls, this time coupled with the harsh sounds of flesh on flesh. The viciousness of whatever he was doing to her turned my insides into a squashed mess, all of which wanted out. I swallowed the urge to vomit and after what felt like hours her screams turned into whimpers. Eventually, a vibrating from Jonah’s phone announced to him it was time to get off me and the moment he did, I took off for the lounge room.
My whole body went still at the sight of the soldier wiping his knuckles over his clothes. The white, blue and red flag stitched to the arm of his uniform was stained with my mum’s blood, but that’s not what made me shoot him. It was the smirk playing on his lips as he looked down at her crumbled body. He didn’t even notice me until he heard the click of the safety coming off. His eyes widened just as I squeezed the trigger, but it was too late for him to react. My bullet was already on its way to seal his fate.
A silent sob caught in my throat and the tears I valiantly held back slid from my eyes, wetting my cheeks. Slowly, I approached Mum’s broken body and couldn’t stop my legs from buckling out from under me. Her breathing was a series of short, shallow rasps and her lips were losing their normal pink colouring.
“Love you,” she whispered with her last breath.
I sat with her, not wanting to leave her alone just yet and tried not to notice that her once ethereal face was turned into a mess of skin and exposed bone. My gaze landed on the one part of her that was familiar – her eyes. Her unblinking eyes stared up at the ceiling and that’s when a part of me died inside. Great wracking sobs seized a hold of my chest and I cried, cried for that special, loving side of my mum that I would never see again. We had a second chance and they took it away from me. I cried for the loss of that too.
As the last of my tears fell, I stood up. I finally understood how Mum felt all these years and I knew she’d done it to shield herself from feeling this kind of pain again. I never realized how numb grief can make you. It was the strangest feeling, yet I reveled in it. Numb was good, numb meant I wouldn’t feel anything and at the moment I needed detachment. The only feeling I wanted to latch on to was the vengeance running through my veins. That was the only emotion I would allow myself to have.
|Posted by Sammie on October 29, 2011 at 11:40 PM||comments (0)|
She was an older woman, with humble eyes and white hair clipped short. The lines etched onto her face told a story of great knowledge and experience and the way she carried herself was full of purpose and grace. The expression she held was peaceful but all-knowing and I could just feel within myself that her soul was pure.
I walked with her from one of the classrooms at my daughter's school. Her hands were clasped in front of her as we stopped and stood for a moment behind the building that has the mural - the 'under the sea' mural I had contributed to when I was in grade seven. It was behind there that I witnessed a miracle. This woman bent down in front of a lifeless white pigeon and before my very eyes brought it back to life. She then turned her attentions to two baby birds in which she proceeded to turn them into adults so they could fly off and not become prey to others stronger than them.
Afterwards, she turned to me and began telling me things about my life - important things - that now that I'm awake I can't remember. Throughout the dream I had an overwhelming feeling of rightness, like everything in my life was going to turn out just the way I plan, but, when I woke up I couldn't help but feel I'd forgotten something significant and ever since then I haven't been able to stop thinking about it...And I especially haven't been able to stop thinking about the woman that called herself 'a fate'.
|Posted by Sammie on September 2, 2011 at 10:20 AM||comments (0)|
She dropped her eyes from his as a sign of her compliance. The backhand across her face stung as the force damn near snapped her neck. The blood that regularly spills trickled from her growing lip and the feeling of panic closed her throat as his hands wrapped around her small neck. Escalation. She knew for many years it was going to come to this. She'd packed her bags. She was finally leaving. Ten years. Now too late.
|Posted by Sammie on June 12, 2011 at 10:05 AM||comments (2)|
Her feet glided slowly over the shortly clipped lawn until she came to her spot - a monstrously large rock that was flat enough for her to sit on. Her view was a delicious treat and the day was perfect for just sitting and staring out into the crystal clear blue waters and watching the white wash pour from the waterfall. This was her day, she thought. Her day to not think about all of her troubles and stressful decisions that are waiting for her. Her day to just sit and think about nothing.
She wore only loose hanging clothes - a baggy t-shirt and blue track pants. Her curly brown hair was tied into a ponytail and her makeup was lightly spread upon her face. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours then sadly it was time for her to leave this sane place and go back to the insanity that was her life.
She feared that she would not be able to make it through another day. She feared that her strength was quickly depleting leaving her emotions raw and defenceless. How many more names could she be called? How many more threats could she put up with?
Last week she was a whore, this week she was a dirty slut and she doesn't even really know why. The reasoning is beyond her but she's starting to see they don't need a reason. They've been saying things about her now since the eighth grade. The worst part about it is she used to be friends with all of them and then all of a sudden a target appeared on her back.
And it's not like it used to be. She doesn't just get pushed around and picked on at school anymore her name is everywhere. Face book, Twitter, YouTube - they write horrible rumours of boys she supposedly hooked up with but didn't and email her saying things like she should just kill herself and that she's a waste of space. Her once shared secrets to who she thought was her BFF is now public knowledge and even though she has great parents, they just don't understand. She wished they realised it's not the same anymore. It's not like it was when they went to school.
"What are we going to do Michael?" Sarah Jenkins asked her husband while sipping a glass of red wine.
"Change her school?" He suggested.
"I don't think it'll matter," she sighed. "They're putting things up about her on all those social networking sites, people who don't even know her are now calling her names and crucifying her for things she hasn't even done."
He moved towards her. "It'll be alright, it'll blow over."
Sarah shook her head. "That's just it, I don't think it will. She's becoming more depressed, she's only fourteen she should be getting out and about but she doesn't even want to shop with me anymore." She took another sip.
"Do you want me to talk to her?" He asked.
She nodded. "She's not listening to me." She tilted the glass and swallowed the rest of her drink. "She thinks that having all of her friends and half the school turn on her is the end of the world."
He looked at his watch. "It's ten o'clock already, I'll sit down with her tomorrow and see where her heads at. In the meantime..." He smiled and took the empty glass from her hand and placed it on the wooden floor then pulled her from her seat and into his lap.
He cuddled her like that for an hour and stroked her hair as they both stared out at the full moon and brightly shining stars from their bedroom balcony. This was their one nightly ritual they made sure they kept. When dealing with their jobs and their three children it was all too easy to forget to enjoy each other. It was a peaceful pleasure and on that night a pleasure that quickly came to an end.
A high pitched scream cut through the silence causing Sarah's adrenaline to drive her off of Michael's lap. She took off in a panicked sprint, through the bedroom, down the stairs and coming to a stop outside Harper's room where her youngest son stood in the doorway. There was a puddle pooled around his feet and when she looked up she got her answer to what was so bad to cause him to wet himself. The sight nearly crippled her. Michael pushed passed, he was shouting something to her but the shock blocked whatever he was saying out.
Michael turned to his son instead. "Call the Ambulance buddy ok? Remember? Triple zero."
The little boy of only seven grabbed the cordless phone from the hallway and did as his father told him. His trembling finger dialled the number then after putting the phone to his ear he waited until a lady answered.
"Emergency," she said. "Police, Fire or Ambulance?"
"Umm ... Ambulance," he responded as clearly as he could.
A button was pressed. "What's the emergency?" Another lady asked.
Tears were falling from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks as he answered her. "My sister is hanging from the fan in her room and there's something around her neck."
|Posted by Sammie on March 8, 2011 at 6:17 AM||comments (0)|
Texas Tech student, Miss Mallin was raped
Timothy Cole was sentenced to prison
An accusation he didn’t escape
Though questions of his guilt had been risen
Later, Mallin said she was mistaken
Jerry Wayne Johnson came forward and confessed
But it was too late; a life forsaken
The police are the ones that made this a mess
Innocent DNA proved him to be
Found not guilty in 2009
But it was too little too late you see
He was found dead already out of time
Remember the year 1985
Timothy Cole was last free and alive
|Posted by Sammie on March 8, 2011 at 6:15 AM||comments (2)|
Her blue eyes giving off a sense of dread
As she watches her man walk out the door
Fearing the day she gets told he is dead
Fighting for his country, for what he swore
She cannot imagine what he goes through
Watching men die from bombs and gunfire
Men missing home and their families too
Ending this war their only desire
She’s dreaming right now of him walking in
His uniform packed away forever
Telling her every detail of their win
And the day he leaves again is never
She wakes herself up from all the weeping
It wasn’t a dream, there he is sleeping
|Posted by Sammie on March 8, 2011 at 6:12 AM||comments (4)|
I watched as my girls jumped, laughed and played on their trampoline. I was relaxed the sun beating on my face and the smell of spring in the air relieved any tightness I may have been holding. I mentally shook my head as the images of my past came floating in. The sound of guns going off, the feel of bullets pressing into my flesh. The awful smell of death everywhere. No. I have to focus on my girls, on their innocence that doesn’t yet know about our world; how cruel and violent this place can be.
The death and destruction not only happening in the war but spilling on our streets like an infestation. How I wish I could turn back time. I want to hold and touch my children again but now I can’t. All I can do is sit here and watch, and when there are times when I can’t even do that all I can do is relive the day when everything went black. Remembering the sound echoing around me like a clap of thunder, feeling the searing pain through my chest, watching the red soak into my shirt and finally falling to the ground knowing at that very moment I’d made the wrong choice.