Her Story

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

         

 

 

Her Story

 

N L Cassells

Foreword

 

 

 

I watched as the miniscule droplets of glistening sweat dripped slowly down his body. This body which was so familiar to me, so much so that I enjoyed nothing more than to run my hands tentatively over every inch of its bare and naked skin. He would always watch me as I did this. Eyeing the movement of my fingertips as I flutter them playfully across his chest. He would always take a sharp intake of breath if my caressing began to tickle him, before taking my hand and gently pushing it towards a less sensitive area of his body. I knew every blemish and every tiny mark that appeared on this unremarkable man, and I found it nothing less that beautiful.

         Patrick pulled me closer towards him in a vice like grip, thoughtfully stroking my shoulders before sweeping my matted and overgrown fringe from my all too weary eyes. This was always my favourite part of love making. Not the carnal ferocity and untamable passion of the act itself, but rather what I liked to call the aftermath. A still and peaceful calm that would ensue whilst the two of us would lay naked and sweating together in each other’s arms. Intimacy that would envelop us both in those all too brief snippets of time, which were in fact the only moments in my considerably short life where I ever felt truly and ultimately safe. These precious moments of time that I cling to desperately. I clutch and claw at these sacred memories, never allowing them to disappear into the deep recesses of my mind. Those were the times of my late teenage era, being a fresh faced and optimistic nineteen year old girl who was no dissimilar than any other young girl of that age. Of course I was young, naïve and sometimes incredibly stupid but all of that was about to change.

           This is the last memory I have before everything began to go terribly wrong and perhaps it is only now, whilst I am writing these words that I am only just beginning to make complete sense of it all. All I can do is to write the following events that I am about to unfold as truthfully and as accurately as my memory will allow, and then perhaps things will become clear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 

Patrick hurriedly pulled on his far too baggy jeans before making his way towards his particularly limited wardrobe. He stood deliberating for only a few moments as he flicked carelessly through the few hangers that dangled there. They held various different t-shirts of no particular extravagance so I knew instinctively which one he would choose to wear. As he pulled one out and flung it over his head with his back towards me I knew that I had guessed correctly, and when he turned round to face me my suspicions were confirmed. He was wearing the shirt that I had brought him as a gift a while ago. It was an off white colour with the image of a red guitar emblazoned upon the chest. I liked to think that he wore it so often because I had brought it for him, or perhaps it was just because he liked the picture. Whatever the reason I always liked to comfort myself with such thoughts.

       As I watched Patrick dress himself, a seemingly mundane ritual which always filled me with an unexpected sense of joy, I felt the sudden and most excruciating stab of pain in the lower region of my stomach. I immediately doubled over and cradled my stomach feebly whilst desperately willing the pain to ease off and disappear. I scrunched my eyes tightly shut as I felt the dreaded onset of nausea rise up inside me whilst I continued to lay helpless and immobilised. “Patrick…Patrick…” I croaked his name through choking gasps of air, needing him to hold me tightly and banish this insufferable pain that had threatened to take an immovable hold upon me. Patrick immediately rushed to my side, hushing gently my groans of agony as he asked me repeatedly what was wrong with me. I breathed in deeply as the terrifying realisation of what was happening to me barricaded the already crumbling walls of my pain wracked mind. Patrick continued to press me urgently about what was wrong and what he could do to help, but my mind was already consumed with something else. I had known all along that I had to tell him eventually, but I had never anticipated that the truth would be revealed under such circumstances.

      I opened my mouth weakly to speak but all I could manage to release was the sound of another ear splitting scream of agony. I noticed an undeniable look of great exasperation break across Patrick’s face as he looked down at me and continued to grip my hand increasingly more tightly . I wanted and needed to tell him so badly the likely source of my pain and discomfort, but my courage completely failed me, and in that moment I knew that I could not tell him. I felt so pathetically weak as I stuttered uncontrollably and feeling as if a giant sink hole had just opened up beneath me and was now sucking me down mercilessly into its depths.

“P…Patrick I am so sorry but something is happening to me. I am n…not well and I think I know the reason why but I can’t tell you right now. I’ve b…been keeping a secret from you and I swear I was going to tell you but I was waiting for the right time. P…please p…Patrick”.

As I allowed these words to tumble helplessly from my mouth I witnessed the dreaded flash of anger dart across his face. All tenderness now escaped him completely as he pulled his hand roughly away from mine. Much to my desolation he removed himself from my side and began pacing the room in his fury, all the while spitting words at me which impacted their intended target like poisoned arrows.

“I knew you were keeping secrets from me Vida. You have been skulking around for weeks now. Always being moody and secretive about everything and then disappearing for hours at a time, telling me you have been to visit a doctor. What is it that you can’t seem to be able to tell me? Are you taking drugs, is that it?”

I knew that this was my chance to finally tell him what was going on, that I had been given a life line and that I should seize it immediately before things got any worse. I looked up into his anger flushed face with all intentions of doing just that and I could see that he was waiting for me to reply. All I had to do was tell him the truth and perhaps things would have been different, but in all of my cowardly wretchedness I turned away from him and could then only listen despairingly as he slammed the front door to our little flat shut behind him.

      After Patrick had left I cowered in the fetal position like a helpless child whilst still cradling my stomach and trying not to choke on the increasingly rising lump in my throat. I was drowning in my own self disappointment and regret and hated myself for it. The insufferable pangs of intense pain did not lessen as I had hoped they would, instead the pain only began to dramatically increase rendering me little more than a sobbing and agony stricken mess. In despite of my pain I knew that I had to do something and fast. I forced myself to stand up and almost instantly felt the onset of dizziness and intense nausea overtake me. I stumbled haphazardly towards the other side of the room where I had left my mobile phone upon my computer desk, and desperately fought back the vomit that was rising threateningly in my throat. I was almost there as I stretched my trembling hands out towards the device and almost willed for it to somehow fly into my grasp, my fingers outstretched towards it and just about to snatch it up into my clutches. It was then that I felt the unusual feeling of a warm wetness running down my legs.  I dared myself to look down only to be met with the sickening sight of a seeping red stain which continued to ooze its way across the crotch area of my white cotton pajama bottoms. I cried out hysterically and began to rub frantically at the stain which was only increasing in size, and it was not long before my previously white pajama bottoms were now the colour of dark crimson. Without any warning I began to feel incredibly faint and felt myself slipping helplessly into unconsciousness. My eyes became slowly shrouded in a cloak of blackness, and in moments it was all over.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

When I finally awoke my head was spinning furiously whilst my vision showed me little more than a blurred mass. I could hear an echoed voice calling my name as a distorted image suddenly entered my field of vision. It seemed as if it took me rather a while to connect the strange and disembodied voice with that of the still undeterminable blur that was hovering over me. Slowly but surely my thoughts and memory became coherent enough to realise that the voice and the image leaning over me was indeed Patrick.

“Vida…Vida can you hear me”?

Patrick’s voice still sounded faraway and distant to me, but at least I could now understand what he was saying. I concentrated on focusing my eyes on his image in front of me in an attempt to rid myself of this insufferable blur that had impeded my sight. Sure enough as I continued to stare, the blur transformed itself into the much clearer picture of Patrick’s rather worried looking face peering down at me from above. I opened my mouth in an attempt to speak to him but my lips were so incredibly dry and chapped that all I could manage to exhale was a hoarse and barely audible whisper.

     It seemed however that my mere attempts at communicating with Patrick was more than sufficient for his attention as he let slip a brief yell of joy and obvious relief, before grasping my trembling hand in his and squeezing it far too tightly. Patrick began to stammer maniacally,

“Oh my g…god Vida I am so glad you are okay. W…why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped and I would never have left you if I had known”.

With Patrick’s words the memory of what had happened hit me heavily like a wrecking ball. In my disorientation and confusion I had momentarily forgotten, but now the words rang through my mind carrying with them the dreaded feelings of guilt and despair. My baby was dead, and it was all my fault.

     I immediately began to loath myself and recoiled away from Patrick’s caring caresses. I could tell that Patrick was shocked and hurt by this, but I ignored him and instead redirected my gaze towards the other various figures that were huddled within the cramped hospital room. The images of my family became the main focus of my still slightly blurry vision now and their faces echoed very similar expressions to Patrick’s. They were all here out of concern and worry for me but I could not help but wish that none of them had come. I didn’t feel like I deserved any of their attentions and just wanted them to leave as soon as possible. In despite of these feelings I did however find myself to be rather surprised as I noticed that my mother was there. She stood isolated in the far corner of the room with her grey and piercing eyes fixed steadily upon me. My mother and step father had been separated for many years by now and it was clear to any unknowing onlookers the kind of family dynamics that were present in this room.

     I could not pretend that I was glad to see her as my relationship with my Mother had been bordering upon the lines of nonexistent since she had sent me to live with my step father when I was young. It did not help that her particularly cold and aloof attitude towards her children did very little to create and maintain what many people like to term as the sacred bond between mother and child. In the instances of my mother this was a complete myth and thus both I and my siblings had learned to become indifferent towards her. Many years ago when my mother and step father were still married and at least gave the impression that we were some kind of family unit, our home was often filled with the terrible sounds of my Mothers rage. My mother possessed the most violent and hate filled temper which had always made me wonder as a child where such demons within my mother came from. It also seemed that the only times my mother showed any signs of happiness or at least contentment was when she was intoxicated with vast amounts of alcohol, and although it seems sad I actually preferred her this way.

     So there my mother was, observing me silently and completely separated from her ex-husband and other two children. I was unsure if she had even acknowledged their presence but I figured quickly that this was probably unlikely. My step father was the first to speak after Patrick as he stepped a little closer towards my bedside and squeezing between the two sullen figures of my sisters.

“How are you feeling? Is there anything we can get you?”

His voice seemed alien to me and I barely managed to grunt in dismissal as my throat was so sore and dry. I reached out a shaking hand towards a water jug that had been placed upon the bedside table and grasped the jugs handle. As I attempted to lift the jug I suddenly felt my strength evaporate in an instance and could only watch helplessly as the jug slipped from my useless fingers and landed with a deafening crash upon the floor. The contents of the jug spread outwards in a puddle upon the hospital room floor as I stared at it in mixed emotions of dismay and frustration. The looks of unmistakable pity upon the faces of Patrick and my family only served to fuel my frustrations, and as I let that jug of water slip from my clutches it felt as if I had just let all control of my life slide effortlessly through my hands.

The insidious feelings of anger and fury began to form and grow within me like a vicious cancer. I knew that these feelings were primarily aimed at myself, but I could not help but to displace them upon Patrick and my family as well. I looked into Patrick’s soft and worry filled eyes and stared coldly at him with an uncharacteristic expression of loathsome disdain, before turning my head slowly away from him. In my rational mind I was well aware that the way I was behaving was wrong and unjustified, yet all I could think about was how each one of them had let me down and disappointed me on numerous occasions throughout the years. I began to think poisonous thoughts that resulted in blaming them for the death of my baby. Thinking that perhaps if I had felt like I could talk to them I may not have kept my pregnancy a secret, and this all may never have happened. Of course deep down I knew that such thoughts were purely self-destructive and that all I was doing was displacing my own self-hatred and guilt upon others. Even so I still could not help myself but to wish that they would all just leave me alone.

 

I was sure that my step father sensed this as an awkward and impenetrable silence settled upon the room. He exhaled a deep sigh as he ushered my brother and sister out of the room mumbling something about going to get some coffee as he went, shutting the door slowly behind him. My mother however did not seem to take the hint, and with the absence of the rest of my family she immediately swooped in like a predatory vulture. She was now directly by my bedside and I braced myself for whatever was about to come next. My mother was particularly renowned for her lack of emotional compassion so I was definitely not expecting anything of the sort from her now. Her expression was stern and unmoving as she stood there rigidly, looking down upon me in the same judgmental manner that I had become so accustomed too. It seemed an unbearably long time as I laid there in silence, waiting for her to finally say something. It looked as if she was trying to form the sentences in her mind but just could not bring herself to say them aloud. All too quickly I became impatient and tired of her, and with the obvious tone of irritation in my voice I rounded upon my mother.

“So what are you doing here?”

 

For a brief second I could have sworn that I saw a hurt and saddened look linger in my mother’s eyes, but if it had been there at all it was definitely only fleeting. Her face remained as blank and as hard as concrete when she replied to my question, her tone of voice mirroring her expression.

“It is obvious what I am doing here, I heard that you were in hospital so I have come to see how you are. You should not be so quick to dismiss me, it was not easy for me to come here you know”.

I glared back at her coldly and decided to ignore this typically self-indulgent and righteous remark. It was immediately apparent to me that even now she ensured that her own efforts and marginal sufferings were once again brought to the very forefront of any situation. She only seemed capable of seeing herself.

        Since a small child I had always been inescapably plagued by the notion that whatever I managed to achieve in my lifetime, nothing would ever be good enough for my mother. It was no secret that I was a constant disappointment to her, and this burdened my young shoulders heavily as a child as I would always strive to achieve her affections. It was not too long however before I realised that all of my efforts were in absolute vain and I dismissed the futile idea of gaining her approval all together. I was no longer interested in the least of what her opinion was of me, and so instead made decisions based on what I wanted to do with my life and condemned everyone else to hell. I went to university to study an arts degree knowing that it would help me to satisfy my hunger for knowledge and learning, but I also knew that my mother would hate the idea and consider it an appalling waste of money. I was determined to make something of myself and there was no way I was going to let the narrow mindedness of my mother get in the way of that. Growing up in a household where money was always a struggle and alcohol the main source of tension release only fuelled the ravenous fires of my ambitions. Unlike my mother I would not spend the majority of my adult years drinking cheap vodka in a dingy side street pub with others, who also drank away their own bitter, self-disappointments and resentments at how their life had turned out. This is how it was for my mother, but it did not have to be this way for me.

       So there my mother was towering over my bedside and glowering down at me. As I glared back up at her I was adamant that the only symmetry between this mother and daughter was purely in physical appearance. With neither of us shifting our gaze and having little more to say to each other a deathly silence crept into the room. Patrick fidgeted awkwardly on the opposite side of me but I paid no attention to it, I was locked irremovably into this stalemate between myself and my mother. I could not tell how long that this had lasted but after an immeasurable amount of time my step father returned with my sisters and they all bustled noisily back into the room. Upon witnessing their return my mother turned swiftly on her heels and snatched up her coat which had been draped over a chair in the corner of the room.

“I am not going to waste my time any longer. It is quite obvious to me that I am not welcome so it seems that you have made your decision”.

She did not look at me as these words tumbled out of her mouth in an angry and spite filled flurry. Instead she kept her eyes fixed upon the hospital door as she made her way hurriedly towards it and made a quick exit, slamming the door crashing shut behind her. I thought very little as I watched her leave, but I was not to know that I would severely come to regret this last encounter with my mother. That this event would become a memory that I would come to wish could be modified or erased and would play upon my conscience for a very long time afterwards.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3

 

 

Once I had eventually been discharged from hospital the days that followed at home with Patrick were far from pleasant. Despite his best efforts to comfort me and to ensure that I was okay, I still harboured the same feelings of guilt and self-loathing that plagued me constantly like a terminal disease. I could not bear to be near Patrick and immediately resented him for showing me any signs of caring or kindness. I wanted him to blame me and hate me in the same way that I did myself, because that is what I believed I deserved. In my mind I was unshakably convinced that it had been my own cowardice that had caused my unborn child’s death and therefore I needed to be punished for it. Patrick of course did not understand this and could only speculate as to why I insisted on pushing him further and further away. My heart ached when I witnessed the unforgettable looks of puzzled hurt upon his face when I would behave this way towards him, but in my confused and emotional state I reasoned to myself that I did not deserve Patrick. I believed that although I was momentarily hurting him, he would eventually leave me and find lasting happiness with somebody else, and then I would be left alone exactly as I deserved.

      In despite of my efforts to distance myself from Patrick as much as possible, and to make it perfectly clear to him that I in no way desired his company and would much rather be alone, he did not however allow this to deter him. However much I rebuffed him he would persistently continue to ensure that he was by my side and waiting on my every need. I desperately wanted him to hate me and so doubled my efforts by behaving vilely towards him, verbally abusing him in the hope that he would finally hold up his hands in resignation or at least give me as good as he got. I cringed in self abhorrence every time I threw my verbal poison at him, and then sunk even lower into my own torrid pits of self-pity and worthlessness when he refused time and time again to react. Patrick showed himself to be the man I always knew he was, decent, strong and determined. Most of all I knew just how much he loved me and was therefore deluded to think that he would succumb to my spiteful taunts and jeering. Everything I had done was in vain and only served to make me loath myself even more than I already did.

     One evening and much to my initial disdain Patrick positioned himself next to me on our little two seated leather sofa. I could tell by the way that he looked directly into my eyes that he was absolutely intent on talking to me, and I would have no choice but to listen. He placed one of his large and heavy hands delicately upon mine and gently lifted my chin up so that my eyes were level with his. His voice sounded a little rough but also strangely calming as he chose his words so carefully, it sounded almost as if he had been thinking in great depth about what he wanted to say to me for quite some time now.

“Vida I know what you are trying to do. You are trying to push me away on purpose but it won’t work. I love you and I’m not going anywhere so you might as well give it up and let me help you. Everything is going to be okay and I’m here for you, I only wish that you had told me the truth. I can understand why you didn’t and you must have been terrified but you need to know that it wasn’t your fault. You are not alone in this and we can get through it together”.

Patrick’s words acted as a blanket of security and comfort that enveloped me tightly and immediately made me want to drown in my own tears. I had drastically misjudged him and had been far too consumed in my own self-pity to realise just how much Patrick cared for me. Without uttering another word he swept me up in his protective arms and cradled me like an infant as I allowed myself to sob uncontrollably.

     When I had finally finished bawling piteously in Patrick’s arms I felt as if every little modicum of energy had been sucked unsparingly dry from my body. My eyelids felt as If they were made of lead as I found it almost impossible to keep them open. In despite of myself I decided not to struggle against the powerful grip of the extreme drowsiness which was slowly overtaking me and I knew that such a resistance would be in vain, so I finally relented to the ensnarement of slumber that carried me off with ease. I awoke with a terrible start and as I attempted to move my heavy limbs I could feel them sticking in resistance to the sweat soaked bed sheets. I was breathing heavily and felt horribly disorientated and nauseas whilst the room span and swirled dizzily around me. I peered groggily around the room and realised that I must not have been asleep for very long, as the room resembled that almost surreal time of day when the sun is just about to retire and the entire world seems to be painted in the same palette of burnt oranges and royal reds. I clasped a clammy hand to my forehead and felt a throbbing pain pulsate throughout my skull, threatening to split my head in two. The pain was unbearable and almost immediately I settled on the idea that I would go in search of some pain relief tablets, perhaps in the hope that they would at least dull the piecing pain of the headache enough so that I might drift back off to sleep again.

       I slipped my stone cold feet into the welcoming warmth of my slippers and shuffled off in search of some pain killers. The little flat that both I and Patrick lived in seemed eerily silent as I continued to walk through the narrow hallway towards the living room and kitchen area. I realised that I could not hear the all too familiar sounds of the various electronics that were always sounding throughout the rooms, whether it be the superficial blaring of the television set or the excited blasts of Patrick’s games console, something had always provided some kind of background noise. It was strange to think that such an absence of these well-known sounds was almost unsettling and I was beginning to feel rather uncomfortable. With my growing sense of unsettled nervousness I wondered where Patrick could be and desperately hoped that he would return soon wherever he had got to. I could not pinpoint the reasons or the source of my discomfort but I could definitely feel that something was amiss as my senses tingled with heightened anticipation. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on their ends as a terrifying chill ran coldly throughout my entire body. All the while I continued to tiptoe towards the living room door as quietly as I could, holding my breath as I stretched out a hand hesitantly towards the door handle that glistened in the setting suns streaming beams of amber.

     The door handle was cold to the touch as I laid my hand upon it and pushed the handle downwards, in turn allowing the living room door to swing open upon its hinges to reveal the room that lay beyond. Upon first sight the room seemed exactly the same as I had expected it to be with no obvious signs that anything was amiss. In my relief I stepped boldly into the room and exhaled deeply in an effort to calm my racketing nerves that were rampaging furiously inside me. I was beginning to feel the built up tension slowly subside as I walked towards the French doors that lead to our little balcony. The curtains had been drawn across them and I thought it best to open them up so that some natural light could flood the living room, banishing the shadows that had begun to creep in. I grabbed hold of the heavy tailored curtains and yanked them back carelessly, before I noticed the startling image that had been waiting for me just outside the glass doors. I instantly stumbled backwards in surprised shock and unexpected fright as the chains of immeasurable terror shackled me fixedly to the spot. There staring up at me was a small child, a young girl whose black eyes gazed at me emptily. Her mousey brown hair hung loose and straggled upon her limp shoulders and her skin was the colour of deathly white. She was wearing a red duffle coat which I immediately seemed to recognise, but was unable to put my finger on where I had seen it before. The child continued to stare straight at me as I wondered what on earth was going on, not knowing what to do next. Just at that moment I heard the all too welcoming sound of the front door slamming shut, signaling that Patrick must have returned home. I sighed in relief and turned my head to shout his name, calling out to him so that he too could see this strange looking child. When I heard his steps coming towards me in the hallway I swiveled my head back round to face the child once more, but was taken aback to find myself staring at nothing more but empty space. The young girl had disappeared without a trace, leaving nothing but the memory of her vacant and soul less face which had been burned unpleasantly into my mind. 

      

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4

 

 

Patrick entered the living room and stood beside me. He followed my gaze to where my eyes were still focused upon the spot where the young girl had been only moments before. Of course his eyes only rested upon the empty space that had been left behind and so craned his neck in puzzlement, wondering what could possibly be demanding my sincere attentions. After a few moments when it became clear to him that there was nothing of much interest to see, he turned his gaze towards me questioningly.

“Vida what is it, what are you looking at? I can’t see anything”.

I reluctantly shifted my gaze towards Patrick who was waiting for my reply, his face echoing his confusion.

“Oh nothing, I thought I saw something out there that’s all but I must have been mistaken. Where have you been anyway?”

I had decided not to tell Patrick of what I had seen, reasoning that there was little point in worrying him when I was not even sure if what I had seen was Real, or if it was just a strange hallucination of some kind.

 

I felt Patrick place a hand upon my shoulder and squeeze it reassuringly, and it was then that I felt the strangest sensation begin to spread feverishly throughout my body. A terrible and spite filled rage that I did not recognise as my own took a vice like grasp upon me, refusing to release its clutches as I attempted to reason with myself that these hate filled emotions were irrational and unjustifiable. I had no cause to feel this way and it seemed that my confusion only gave fuel to the inferno of rage that was threatening to explode within me at any given moment.

     I could see my hands trembling as they reached towards an empty, glass tumbler that had been left upon the living room table. My body was moving completely of its own accord and all I could do was to scream at myself inside my head for me to stop. In despite of this my sweaty hands snatched up the tumbler of their own free will and held it tightly. As much as I desperately strained my fingers to allow some kind of movement, If only to let the tumbler slide from my grip, my fingers were as irremovable as ever and continued to cling stubbornly to the smooth edges of the tumbler. I began to panic as my heart thumped loudly inside my chest and I could hear the blood pumping in my ears. Patrick was stood slightly in front of me at this point and I shuddered as an icy chill struck the very core of my juddering bones. I somehow knew the malicious intent of this force that had managed to seize control of me and it seemed that I was helpless to its overpowering will.

      In a split second I could only watch in horror as my arm raised itself high into the air and still clutching the glass tumbler in a shaking hand, brought it hurtling down towards the back of Patrick’s head. My eyes widened in shock and terror as I managed to exhale a little yelp that escaped from the back of my throat. Upon hearing this Patrick turned around to face me and immediately stumbled back in sheer shock and a confused looking fear. I had brought the glass tumbler within an inch of Patrick’s face, before much to my undying relief my grip on the tumbler relaxed as I allowed it to slip from my fingers and land upon the floor with a shattering smash. I had felt the force that had invaded my body release me from its hold only seconds before the tumbler would have made impact with Patrick’s face, and the very thought of what I had almost done made me recoil in self anger and disgust. Patrick had never looked upon me with such fear and pleading in his eyes before, and I knew that such an image would be burned into my memory for as long as I live.

     I stood transfixed for a few moments in utter disbelief of what had just happened, whilst Patrick continued to stare at me with his jaw slightly ajar. I knew that this must be the calm before the storm and so patiently waited for the storm to hit. However, much to my surprise and slight disdain Patrick only continued to stare at me silently, before he dropped to his knees and began to calmly brush up the larger, shattered pieces of the glass tumbler in his hands. An intense feeling of guilt panged in my stomach whilst I watched him. All I wanted him to do was to shout and scream at me, to punish me for what I had almost done to him, but instead he did nothing. He ignored the fact that I was still standing there and just continued to silently sweep up the shards of glass from the carpet. I was dumbfounded as to how I should react or what I was supposed to do next, so I bent down beside him and began to comb our particularly worn looking carpet for broken pieces of glass that he may have missed. We both continued our task in complete silence and not even daring to look at each other.

        After what seemed an eternity of unbearable silence between us, Patrick discarded the broken tumbler and its shattered remnants before turning on his heels to face me.

“Vida I’m going to stay with my parents tonight. I think it’s best that we both have some time apart and I need space to think. To be honest I just don’t know what to do right now”.

My heart immediately sank like heavyweight lead within my chest and I could feel a lump start to form and swell in my throat. I tried to plead with Patrick pitifully but he averted his gaze from my mine and just shook his head apologetically. I felt as if my entire world had begun to crumble at my feet and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. I had no idea what was happening to me or why it was happening, my life had been plunged into a terrible pit of chaotic confusion and now I was doomed to face it alone.

“Patrick please don’t leave, I am so sorry…I really don’t know what happened. I never would have hurt you, it wasn’t me!”

I found myself blurting out apologies in sheer desperation, clinging to his arms in the vain hope that he would somehow change his mind and all would be forgiven. I screwed my eyes tightly shut and longed for the nightmare to end, praying for the whole ordeal to be little more than a hellish dream that I would wake up from at any moment. As much as I grasped and clawed at such feeble hopes I knew that my efforts were wasteful. All I could do was to watch helplessly as Patrick pushed my flailing arms gently away from him, before hurriedly taking up his jacket and walking out of the front door.

      I remained stunned and feeling desolately alone as I heard the door slam shut behind him. The hot tears were streaming incessantly down my swollen cheeks as I gasped short gulps of air in between my pitiful sobs. An uneasy silence reverberated throughout the small flat as if it too had known that Patrick was gone, and was mourning his absence just as much as I was. Loss is a terrible and long lasting feeling that eats away at you from the inside out, leaving nothing in its wake but an empty hollowness that longs and aches to be filled once more. Patrick had only been gone for a matter of minutes but I could already feel his loss bearing down upon my heart with an insurmountable weight that threatened to entomb it forever. I was drowning in my own overpowering feelings of guilt, fear and dread whilst I wracked my mind for a solution to this disaster that I had found myself in. I had no idea how I was ever going to be able to tell Patrick what had happened, or even begin to try and give some kind of explanation. I made an attempt at explaining to myself exactly what had happened in some vain hope that I could make some kind of sense of it, but the story sounded ever more farfetched and unbelievable the more I tried to explain it. I began to feel increasingly more frustrated as I realised that if I could not even fully understand or believe exactly what had happened to me, it would be an incredibly false hope to expect Patrick to do so. I exhaled a deep and desperate sigh, but not of resignation. I decided that the only thing I could do was to go after Patrick and at least try to offer him an explanation, I would just tell him the truth because that is all I could do and I pleaded with myself that the truth would be enough. After all, Patrick deserved that much and it was the only thing I could think of doing to try and get him back.

     With the hopeful thoughts of reconciliation racing through my mind I made a mad dash to the bedroom to snatch up a jacket that I could fling about my shoulders, before making my pursuit after Patrick. However, as I was about to pass before the large and full length mirror that hung in our narrow hallway, I could not help myself but to stop and stare at the rather gaunt figure glaring back at me. It had been rather a long time since I last took any notice of  my reflection, and it was only then whist I examined my mirrored double did I notice just how much weight I had lost. My cheek bones seemed much sharper than I remembered and my skin was at least a few shades paler as it stretched thinly across my face. Large, black rings encircled my pale blue eyes from the sever lack of sleep that I had been experiencing lately and my mousey brown hair hung limp and string like upon my shoulders. The sight was rather alarming and I wondered how on earth I had managed to let myself get in such a state. I concluded that perhaps my preoccupation with recent events had taken precedence over taking care of myself, or more truthfully I had simply stopped caring. I continued to examine my reflection carefully, absorbing every detail that etched the features of my own face. I had always found it fascinating how it seems that the longer you look at an image of yourself, whether it be a photograph or your own reflection, it becomes more and more as if you are instead staring at an image of a stranger. Your face becomes almost unrecognisable to yourself until you even begin to doubt your own identity.

        I found it difficult to comprehend that the extremely tired and weary looking girl staring emptily out at me from the echoing mirror world was indeed myself, and the realisation that my own self-image was a stranger to me was ever more shocking. It was whilst I was lost deep within my own thoughts that again I saw the image of the young girl, reflected in the mirror and stood directly behind me. I stared fixedly upon her and felt my limbs freeze rigidly with fear and suspense. I wanted desperately to turn rapidly on my heels and face this child, but was far too afraid of what exactly I would come face to face with, if indeed there was anything there at all. I was unsure of which alternative I was more afraid of. The thought that this eerie child was little more than a figment of my own mind slowly sinking into insanity was perhaps the more terrifying of the two, but I knew that it was imperative that I discover the truth of what was really happening to me before it was too late. The young girl continued to stare straight at me, her face just as platonic and stony as before. I mustered just enough courage to persuade myself to turn my head ever so slightly, just enough so that I could see from the corner of my eye the space directly behind me where the mirrors reflection suggested the child should have been standing.

    As I craned my neck I was presented with the picture of nothing more but a devoid, empty space directly behind me. I had half expected to find as such and breathed out a deep exhalation of frustration. However, what was all the more alarming and immediately sent a spine chilling shiver surging throughout my body was the realisation that when I swiveled my eyes back towards the mirror, although my neck was slightly turned so that I could see behind me, my reflected double continued to stare facing directly forwards. The reflection had not moved an inch even though I myself had, and still the child persisted to linger behind my reflection with the same emotionless expression. I was beginning to feel my courage dwindling rapidly and my knees began to buckle under my own fear and exasperation. Something incredibly strange and unnatural was happening to me and I felt helpless in its clutches. I began to physically tremble and could no longer bear the burning stares of the two sinister mirror images that were continuing to glare mercilessly upon me. In that moment I had decided that there was nothing left for me to do but to run. I had no idea where I would run to, but I reasoned that anywhere that was far away from these two creatures would be ideal. Just as that thought entered my mind, and almost as If the young girl had heard my thoughts she tilted her head backwards and released the most ear splitting and horrifying scream that had ever pierced my ears before.

         In reaction I immediately clasped my trembling hands to my aching ears in an attempt to block out the painful screeching, yet my attempts were useless as the sound made me fall upon my knees whilst I felt as if my head was about to cataclysmically shatter and explode. I was incapacitated by severe pain and terror as the screeching persisted, but I forced myself to my feet once more and decided I would make an attempt at reaching the front door where perhaps I would have a chance at making my escape. Almost as soon as I had dragged myself back onto my feet again I immediately wanted to recoil back down again in horror. My reflection had reached a deathly pale hand out of the mirrors surface towards me, and then seized the front of my sweat shirt roughly in a vice like grip, yanking me towards her violently with a strength that was undeniable. She stared into my eyes as my whole body was held limply in her grasp, before releasing two words from her thin, cracked lips. “Remember Me”. In an instant she released me from her clutches, and I tumbled like a rag doll, unconscious to the ground.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5

 

 

I opened my eyes once more to the world with the pain of a splitting headache pounding agonizingly against the inside of my skull. Inky black spots danced playfully in front of my eyes until they slowly began to fade one by one, eventually revealing to me my surroundings. I sat up rather groggily as my head span in a dizzying whirl, whilst I groaned in agony and strained my memory to recall exactly what had happened to me. I moved slightly and heard the clinking of broken glass around me. It was then that my memory suddenly jolted and the flashing images of what had preceded before hit me like a wave that came crashing down upon me without warning or hesitation. I began to remember everything, and what’s more the full length mirror in which I had witnessed the two insidious reflections had been smashed into a thousand different pieces, all of which had been scattered around my unconscious body.

       I dragged myself waveringly to my feet and peered down at the broken fragments which had been scattered rather haphazardly about the place. For a fleeting moment I could not help but to wonder at how beautiful the shards looked as a brilliant beam of sunlight streaked through a nearby window, causing the shards to shimmer and sparkle triumphantly like clean cut diamonds. I was momentarily startled when I caught a glimpse of my own reflection once more, fragmented and disjointed in the broken shards. I glared back at myself through the ugly and jagged cracks and felt an emotion which had been somehow alien to me up until this point. It was the overbearing feeling of self-pity. Ignoring my initial hesitation I bent down and retrieved a larger piece of the broken shards and held it gently in the palm of my hand. Its sharp point twinkled prettily in the sunlight as I stared down at the piece which was just large enough to reflect back the image of one of my own watery blue eyes. I was looking deep into my own eye and delving into the depths of my dark and trouble filled soul. The truth is that I was afraid of what I might find there, that I was turning into a monster that I could no longer control. I was so terribly afraid of what was happening to me, but even more so I was terrified of myself. I had always thought I had known who I was and what I had wanted in life, but now I could feel this devouring emptiness begin to grow and expand inside of me, leaving me longing and hungry for something unknown. There was a space inside of me that desperately yearned to be filled, and perhaps it has always been there but I had learned to ignore it, or rather had learned to forget. Either way it seemed that this dormant feeling had now been reawakened and I needed to find out the truth to feel whole once more.

    Lost in my trace like thoughts I was momentarily startled as Patrick came bounding in through the front door, removing his jacket in a frustrated manner as he did so. It was not long before he saw me standing in the middle of our hall way and then roamed his eyes slowly over the broken glass that was still scattered across the floor. I almost smiled in gratitude and relief that he had decided to come back, but then quickly readjusted myself as I realised what exactly this bizarre scene must look like to him.  Yet again I had found myself in an unexplainable situation, leaving nothing but chaos and destruction in my wake. I was half expecting for Patrick to put his jacket back on and make a quick exit once again back the way he had come, but to my great surprise he hung his jacket on the coat hooks beside him and began to progress towards me, stepping tentatively over the shattered glass as he went. Without thinking of my reasons I pocketed the broken piece of glass and stumbled in turn towards Patrick, unsure of what I was going to say to him. I had concluded that I would tell him the truth, even if he decided after hearing it that I was perhaps emotionally unstable or insane. There was no lie that I could fabricate which would rationally explain to Patrick everything that had happened, and so it seemed that I had no choice but to just simply tell the truth.

     Once we had both made our shuffling pilgrimage across the dreaded hallway of broken glass, Patrick embraced me roughly in a bear like hug and coaxed me gently into the living room. I wanted nothing more than to collapse under my own weight into Patrick’s arms and just sob until there were no tears left to cry. I slumped onto the living room sofa and curled into a protective ball, hugging my knees closely to my chest. I closed by stinging eyes and heard Patrick’s footsteps echo down the hall way and into our bedroom, before returning into the living room and placing himself down on the sofa beside me. He placed a large hand soothingly on my leg and squeezed reassuringly,

“Vida please sit up a moment, I have something to show you”.

Having absolutely no interest or desire to see what Patrick wanted to show me I desperately wanted to ignore his words, and instead slip into a never waking coma. The phenomena of dreaming had always fascinated me. It seemed to me that whilst we are sleeping, our consciousness is free to explore and create whole new worlds which we would never have even thought about in our waking state. I had always been of the opinion that whatever was happening in my own mind, was much more real than what was actually happening outside of it. Of course many people would just dismiss such ramblings as utter nonsense, but I had always seen things much differently than other people.

     Pushing my thoughts to one side I reluctantly pulled myself up to a sitting position and wiped my sticky fringe from my face. I turned my attentions towards Patrick whom I immediately noticed was clutching a photograph and was gesturing it towards me, indicating for me to take it from him. I sighed resignedly and took the photo carefully from him, laying it on my lap so that I could see the entire picture. It was a photograph of both me and Patrick when we were both about seventeen, taken only a few months after we had met. Our young, rosy faces looked up at me rather hauntingly from the photograph as I longed to be teleported back to that blissful moment in time which had been captured so perfectly in the photo. Our hair was blowing wildly in the billowing wind whilst the sea glistened beautifully in the background. We were hugging each other tightly with the beaming smiles of pure joy spread widely upon our faces, and it was obvious to anybody that for us there was not a care in the world. I immediately knew why Patrick had given me the photo. He wanted to remind me of how things once were between us. Of how stupidly happy we were and perhaps we could even be so again, it comforted me to know that Patrick still believed that there was hope for us and perhaps he knew that I needed to be reminded of all the things I have, I needed to be reminded that I was not alone. 

      I sighed deeply and placed the photo down carefully on the sofa beside me. I could feel Patrick’s gaze burning into me as he watched my every move whilst a silence fell upon the two of us, a silence that screamed desperately to be broken. It occurred to me that the older I was becoming, the more I began to realise that life seems to have a cruel way of allowing you to taste just a small sample of pure happiness, before it cannot resist but to snatch it away from you and replace it with nothing but torture and torment. Although I had always found it incredible that in despite of this, and often in the face of spiraling hopelessness and despair, people are capable of the most incredible resilience and blind optimism often toiling through such never ending hardships just to taste the sweetness of those all too fleeting moments of joy once more. I began to wonder if this was really the definition of hope, and if it was then such memories as those captured by the photograph are the most precious things a human being can own. After all, all of the material wealth in the world can never save you from your own darkness and despair, it seems only blind hope and faith in such memories of happiness and love can do that. Whether Patrick had realised it or not, he had given me something I desperately needed and I rounded upon him without warning to wrap my arms widely around his chest, squeezing him as tightly as I could. As I did so I could not help but to notice his face crack into a huge and infectious grin, echoing the same boyish grin that he had pulled in the photograph. I chuckled audibly at this and only squeezed him tighter whilst peering down at the photograph still sat beside us. I thought to myself with a smile that perhaps such moments are worth the struggle, and that perhaps for me and Patrick there were many more happy memories to be made.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6

 

 

That night, with the sweet feeling of youthful optimism once again rekindled between us, me and Patrick made love and afterwards laid blissfully in utter serenity, entangled and intertwined with one another. The rhythmic exhalations of Patrick’s breaths began to make me feel incredibly drowsy as I could feel myself drift slowly towards sleep. I gently swiveled by neck to look up into Patrick’s sleeping face which wore a comforting expression of lulling peacefulness. The lines of concern and worry which had been an all too familiar feature on his face recently seemed somehow smooth and almost invisible. It was moments like then when I would realise just how much I really loved him, and that how truly grateful I was to have Patrick laid by my side. His presence instilled within me a deep and overwhelming thankfulness that no matter how difficult things had been or would be, he was still there beside me and I was not alone.

     I let these thoughts of comfort and security linger within my mind for a few moments before I fully allowed myself to sink into the depths of a deep and unbreakable sleep. It seemed to me only a matter of seconds before brilliantly vibrant and vivid images began to flash furiously within my mind like fireworks exploding all at once. Although I was asleep, I became terrifyingly aware that my mind was fully conscious, exactly the same as if I were awake. I reasoned to myself that what I was experiencing could be little more than a particularly lucid dream yet the experience was more than just unsettling, and no matter how hard I tried to jolt myself awake again it seemed that for now at least I was trapped inside my own dreaming consciousness. It was then that I heard the chilling and disembodied voice of a young child, a shrill and childish laughter which echoed eerily in my alert and pricked ears. I seemed to be stood alone and isolated within this enigmatic dream which had forcefully charged its way into my slumbering mind. The invisible child’s cackling pierced my ears and caused the tiny hairs on the back of my neck to stand erect as I turned swiftly upon my heels, frantically in search of the source for this unnerving voice.

      To my dismay the child’s laughter only seemed to become louder as it echoed all around me. I ran desperately in all directions, only to be met with an eternal nothingness that threatened to engulf my very existence. It soon became clear to me that this dream was very quickly transforming into the most formidable nightmare as I tried in vain once more to clench my eyes tightly shut and snap them back open again, praying that

I would find myself safely awake and back in the world of waking reality. My skipping heart drummed wildly inside my trembling rib cage as the child’s laughter continued to haunt me, whilst my mind became obsessively preoccupied with desperate and manic thoughts of escape. Whilst I was utterly consumed in my own panic and despair, I was startled to see a young girl emerge slowly out of the impenetrable blackness towards me. Her mousey brown hair hung untidily over her now sky blue eyes as she moved a tiny hand to sweep the hair gracefully away. I recognised almost immediately that she was the exact same child that I had seen staring at me through the glass of the patio doors, shortly before she disappeared. I began to feel increasingly more uneasy as the child edged ever closer towards me. I shamefully considered the idea of swiveling frantically upon my heels and sprinting in the opposite direction, yet reason told me that I needed to remember that I was in fact trapped inside my own dream, meaning that such an attempt at escaping would prove unmistakably futile.

     It was not long before the little girl was stood directly before me. She was gazing up at me with the most mesmerising yet sorrow filled eyes and I immediately felt an intense pang of guilt, and almost pity for this child. I waited in silence for a few moments, expecting the young girl to reveal her identity or the reasons for why she seemed to be haunting me. However the child did not speak, and it seemed an unbearable eternity before the child decided to do anything at all. Yet suddenly and without warning the child broke her stony gaze from mine and delved a small hand into her coat pocket. She was still wearing the crimson red duffle coat, the kind with the little toggles instead of a zip which again seemed to trigger within me some kind of vague familiarity. This niggling feeling was soon expelled however when she slowly removed her hand from her pocket, to reveal an object that she seemed to be clutching rather tightly. I noticed that this enigmatic object glinted weakly in the darkness, before I almost instantly recognised it as the broken piece of mirror which I had placed inside my trouser pocket earlier. I furrowed my brow in confusion as the child extended her arm out towards me, gesturing for me to take the glass shard from her. In despite of my puzzlement I hesitantly stepped towards the young girl and took the piece of mirrored glass from her grasp. I held it delicately in the palm of my hand and began to scrutinise it closely. As much as I turned the piece over carefully in my hands and analysed every inch of it, I failed to notice any particular significance of the mirror shard. In a final attempt I held the broken piece up in front of my face and stared inquisitively at its reflective surface. I allowed myself to continue doing this for a few moments, before my frustration got the better of me and caused me to round my attentions once again upon the child.

       The image that then confronted me in the most petrifying lucidity made my already pasty complexion drain to the colour of a deathly white. I felt immediately faint and nauseas as I once again screwed my eyes tightly shut and begged piteously to be released from this damned world of hellish nightmares. The little girl was no longer standing before me, but was instead sprawled haphazardly upon the floor where she had stood only moments before. She was lying limp and lifeless in an oozing pool of the deepest crimson, whilst the blood continued to gush ceaselessly from deep and jagged wounds that had been carved into her tiny wrists. I shuddered violently at the scene, unable to tear my watering eyes away from the child’s, those same pale blue eyes which now stared up at me, cold and accusing. I was stood transfixed to the spot, unable to remove my burning eyes from the macabre horror scene. I became conscious that I was still clutching

 

 

the broken mirror shard tightly in my trembling hand. Reluctantly I redirected my attentions to the broken piece of mirror. The shard no longer presented me with the glinting image of my own, fragmented reflection upon its smooth surface. Instead my eyes widened in terror as I realised that the shard was now smothered in a thick layer of sticky, red blood.

      My head began to pound as I felt the sickening lump of vomit begin to rise within my throat. Within my mind I started to obsessively chant to myself that this horrifying experience was little more than an overly lucid dream, a horrific nightmare which will be branded inside my mind as realistic as if it were a disturbing memory. I dropped the shard of mirror disgustedly from my shaking hands and cringed as I heard the sound of its high pitched clanging as it impacted upon the ground. My head pulsated painfully as the sound echoed incessantly in the darkness around me, whilst my mind felt dangerously as if it were about to climatically explode with all of the burning questions that were mercilessly crippling it. Who was this mysterious young child, and what did all of this mean? My palms were clammy with sweat and my breathing became much shallower as I attempted to push these overbearing questions momentarily from my mind, deciding that I needed to expend all of my remaining energy on trying to jolt myself awake from this ghastly prison of nightmares. With little warning my surroundings began to spin dizzily around me, making me feel as if I had been strapped into a waltzer fairground ride. I sobbed piteously into my hands and just wailed for it all to stop, completely losing my nerves as I clamped my eyes tightly shut

             

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Chapter 7

 

 

It was not long before I felt the dizzying spinning sensation begin to subside, yet it took what seemed like an eternity for me to muster up enough courage to open my eyes once more. I exhaled deeply and tensed every muscle in my shaken body, bracing myself for whatever horrors might present themselves when I eventually manage to open my eyes. I resolved that perhaps it would be better if I snapped my eye lids open quickly, rather that opening them slowly. It seemed a much better idea to face whatever was waiting for me sooner rather than later. So with a last and tentative breath, I opened my eyes in a flash and held my breath expectantly. As I adjusted to my surroundings and allowed my eyes to absorb what was laid before me, I realised with the greatest sense of pure relief that I was awake and back inside my own bedroom, staring upon Patrick’s serene and sleeping face lying beside me.

      I could not have been more thankful to be back in the waking world of ‘reality’, yet it immediately occurred to me that perhaps ‘reality’ is a troublesome term to use. The dream that I had experienced felt just as real to me just as if it had happened whilst I was awake. I still felt the same incredibly real emotions, and I could recollect the damned nightmare as vividly as if it were a memory. I shuddered at these thoughts, yet I knew that my entire perception of what was real and what was imaginary had been drastically altered and needed to be re-evaluated. I had always considered myself to be a very grounded and rational person, who is not easily influenced by nonsensical flights of fancy. But now I began to consider the possibility that Perhaps dreams and out unconscious thoughts tell us more truths about ourselves that we care, or perhaps even dare to acknowledge. My mind became obsessively absorbed in these abstract and complicated thoughts that I did not immediately notice what was happening to me, until I felt a stinging and burning pain slice its way across both of my wrists. I winced as I pulled my arms out from underneath the bed covers and stared in horror at the insides of my wrists.

       Two deep and jagged gashes were slashed across my wrists, both of them still discharging thick rivers of blood which gushed ceaselessly down my forearms. I instinctively opened my mouth to release a cry for help but not a single sound seemed to escape, rendering me mute and in unshakable shock. I desperately hoped that I was still dreaming, and that this was just another part of the macabre nightmare that had plagued me. In despite of my foolish hoping, it was blindingly obvious to me that this was no dream. The pain was agonisingly real and I winced as the stinging sensation burned into my wrists. I swayed slightly and began to feel incredibly faint as I realised just how much blood I was allowing to escape from the ghastly wounds. I felt myself sinking helplessly into a state of deliria, unable to think rationally about what to do but instead staring numbly at the pooling blood upon the white, linen bed sheets. I became fascinated by just how much blood our bodies contain and as complex as the human body is, two simple slashes across the main arteries made me realise just how incredibly fragile and vulnerable human beings really are. The unwelcome truth is, it is so easy to die and yet so difficult to truly live. I remembered watching a documentary about the universe once where it explained that every living creature is created from carbon, which is only created within the heart of a dying star. To me this was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. With the cataclysmic death of a star which had once shined so brilliantly, life is created. When realised in such terms I really began to understand and appreciate the miracle that is life, and with these thoughts in mind I was not ready to give up mine just yet.

      I forced my eyelids to open fully and tried to make myself as alert and aware as possible. I turned my dizzying head towards Patrick who was still snoring softly beside me, and reached out a bloodied hand to shake him awake. As I did so, my heart sank with a heavy burden of guilt. I did not want Patrick to wake up to this, but I had no other choice. I knew that he would assume the worst and of course anyone else would determine the same thing. The evidence was overwhelming and I had no explanation other than the truth which I could not expect him to believe or understand, especially when I did not even understand it myself. I sighed in resignation and shook him awake, hating myself for tearing him away from his dreams and dragging him unwillingly into my nightmare. Patrick opened his eyes rather drowsily, peering up into my face with a look of groggy confusion. I attempted to mutter a few stuttering sentences, yet these were not needed as Patrick’s eyes widened in horror as they surveyed the bloody scene. Without warning he dived from the bed and slammed on the bedroom light switch which immediately flooded the room in a brilliant, white light. Patrick’s mouth was agape as he stared at my gaping wounds which were now illuminated. I began to feel a curious tingling sensation run rampantly throughout my body, starting with my toes and racing its way up almost like electricity to the very tips of my trembling fingers. I could no longer feel the searing pain of my wrists, but instead experienced an almost pleasant drowsiness which enveloped me like a warm blanket. I felt an intense feeling of serenity and weightlessness, as if gravity had ceased to exist for me now and I was free to float away in defiance of all physical laws.

    Whilst I was lost within these surreal moments, I felt the strong arms of Patrick lift me up and heave me back into the ‘real’ world. He had tried with his best efforts to stop the blood gushing from my wounds by wrapping tight bandages around each of my wrists. I was jostled slightly as he carried me into the hallway and laid me down gently by the front door, where I could just about make out the image of blue flashing lights blinking through the glass. It took no time at all for the front door to swing open widely, revealing the green clad paramedics who hurried through the doorway clutching their medical kits. I was uncertain and confused with what was happening around me as the distorted and blurred images of various different faces peered down at me. I was unable to determine any recognisable features, but could feel my self shiver nervously as I was being hoisted into the belly of the lurking ambulance outside. I tried not to think, as an all too familiar and impenetrable shroud of blackness began to cloud my vision. I knew that I was beginning to lose consciousness and as much as I attempted to fight to regain it, I could not escape the iron grip of drowsiness which was all but unshakable. I had no choice but to surrender to the clutches of the approaching darkness as I inwardly prayed that I would not be lost to it forever.

      The only thing that I seem to remember is the pitch blackness and my own fear festering within me like a putrid plague. I felt as If I had somehow become trapped within an unverifiable limbo where everything had simply ceased to exist. It felt as if I was back inside my terrible nightmare yet this time there was no guarantee that I would wake up again, and perhaps I was beyond help and already dead. I screamed inside my mind, yet I knew that nobody could hear me and the same terrible feeling of helplessness and suffocation dawned upon me. These feelings were not altogether new as I had experienced them quite often throughout my relatively short and mixed up life. I had often felt that I was severely misunderstood, despite my best attempts at always trying to do the ’right’ thing, but more often than not things always seemed to turn out the exact opposite of what I had hoped. Perhaps the problem was simply that I never knew exactly what the ’right’ thing was, and perhaps now I would not even get the chance to learn.

 

                

 

 

 

 

Chapter 8

 

Without any kind of warning I was yanked violently away from the darkness and thrown into the glare of a beaming light. I so desperately wanted to raise my hands in front of my eyes to shield them from this brilliant light which threatened to burn them out of their sockets, but my arms felt as heavy as lead as I attempted to lift them for a moment or two, before letting them flop heavily back beside me. At first a babble of voices descended upon my ears in an undecipherable mess which only served as an aid to my intense disorientation and confusion. I felt a large and warm hand being placed upon my shivering shoulders and I shuddered unexpectedly at the touch of it. I also felt extremely nauseous as my sensed roared, seeming incredibly more heightened than they had ever been before.

         My eyes were burning painfully from the blinding light and my ears rang with the babble of noises that echoed around me. In despite of my confusion and pain my thoughts found themselves settled upon Patrick. I was sure that he must have been beside me the entire time yet I could not shake my own feelings of guilt. I could not even begin to imagine what he must have been thinking, waking up next to the person you love to witness them covered in blood and already half dead. He would have thought the only obvious and rational thought that he could, that I had tried to commit suicide. I so desperately wanted Patrick to understand that I had not attempted to leave him forever and that what had happened was a complete mystery, even to myself. As I relayed these thoughts to myself I realised just how ridiculous they sounded and I had no idea how I could expect Patrick to believe any of it. It was obvious to me however that Patrick deserved nothing but the truth which I had so far failed to give him. I resolved myself to tell him at the earliest convenience, regardless of the consequences or whether he believed it or not.

     I eventually forced myself to open my eyes and reluctantly faced the world that I knew was waiting for me. My eyes immediately streamed with tears as I blinked into the light, still blinded and unable to see anything other than its brilliant whiteness. It was not long however before the brightness of this light was dimmed considerably, allowing me to gaze wide eyed at my immediate surroundings. I hesitantly peered around me and immediately laid eyes upon Patrick who was positioned right by my side as I knew he would be. The unmistakable signs of extreme worry and fatigue were etched upon his face and I once again felt my heart sink with guilt. Once he had noticed that I had awoken and was peering sheepishly up at him his previously ridged and on edge composure seemed to soften and relax a little. I was unsure of how to greet him and incredibly nervous of how I was going to explain everything that had happened to him. I could only manage a weak smile before I awkwardly averted my gaze to survey the rest of my surroundings. I did not need to look around me to realise that I had found myself once again in a hospital bed. The clinical, medicinal smell had invaded my nostrils the moment I had awoken which more than hinted at the fact that I must still be alive. I knew that I should have rejoiced at the revelation, yet I could not help but to feel a sickening onset of pure dread at my return. I now had to face the world once more, and I was not entirely convinced that I was ready for it.

    A moment of awkward and prolonged silence seemed to ensue before Patrick rounded upon me. I knew that this moment was inevitable and I was still determined to tell him the absolute truth. Patrick lifted up a hand and placed it gently upon my forehead, before proceeding to sweep away some stray strands of hair from my eyes. He opened his mouth to speak and I braced myself in nervous anticipation.

“Vida…Please tell me exactly what is going on. What is it that has made you do this to yourself? You know I love you more than anything, yet you just thought you had no other choice but to end it all?! I am here for you if you would only speak to me!! Is it because of the miscarriage that you have done this?”

Patrick waited in silence for a few moments for me to reply to his questioning, longing for me to provide him with some kind of explanation that would make complete sense and cause everything to be so much clearer. I looked sincerely up into his troubled face and knew that I could not provide him with such an explanation. The only thing that I could give him was the truth, which in turn would only lead to more questions and confusion. In despite of this I clasped both of Patrick’s warm hands in my own and told him everything.

     I could not help but to feel a great sense of relief and weightlessness as I expended absolutely everything that there was to tell. I allowed my words to escape my mouth like a torrential waterfall, hardly even stopping for breath until I was satisfied that both my mind and soul were completely unburdened. After I had finished and my throat was left dry and hoarse, I collapsed in exhaustion back against my propped up hospital pillows. I was more than content with the knowledge that I had imparted upon Patrick nothing but the absolute truth, and now the rest was down to him. His mouth was slightly agape as I could tell that he was attempting to process everything that I had just released upon him. It seemed like an eternity before he finally opened his mouth to speak, the look of undisguised disbelief still present upon his face.

“Vida I am not quite sure what to make of all this. I know that what you have told me sounds completely insane and to be honest completely terrifying. I don’t understand how your nightmare, or this child could have anything to do with how you ended up almost bleeding to death. I can’t help but to think that perhaps you need help, maybe the miscarriage has affected you more deeply than you thought. I don’t know what to think, or what to do for the best. The only thing I do know for sure is that I love you and I will be here, no matter what”.

    I flung my arms around Patrick and embraced him so tightly that I was sure he was struggling for air. I knew that I could not expect Patrick to believe and understand everything that I had told him, and I knew how difficult it must be for him to sit by and watch me suffer without having the slightest idea of what to do for the best. I was however extremely grateful that he had promised to be there for me no matter what happened, and my eyes filled with thankful tears at the thought. Now that I had reassurance that Patrick was by my side I was convinced that we could get through it all together. I had no more of an idea of what was happening to me any more than Patrick did, but I was definitely determined to find out. Ralph Waldo Emerson famously quoted that what lies behind you, and what lies in front of you pales in comparison to what lies inside of you. This had always been one of my favourite quotes and I had always used it to draw strength from in the darkest moments of my life. I turned my gaze back towards Patrick who was still looking softly upon me. I could tell from the dark circles around his bloodshot eyes that he was incredibly exhausted and completely drained, yet he did not remove the warm and loving smile that I had come to know as an almost permanent fixture upon his face.

    Suddenly Patrick’s smile disappeared and was replaced instead with a look of intrigued perplexity. I urged him to share his thoughts with me and waited in eager anticipation to hear what he was thinking.

“Say perhaps that I chose to believe everything to have told me. Do you think in some of strange and impossible way that this young girl that you keep seeing is actually our miscarried child?”

I had heard Patrick’s query but I could not quite bring myself to comprehend it. I supposed that absolutely anything was indeed plausible, and that perhaps the reason I had been seeing this child was my minds admittedly bizarre way of attempting to deal with the miscarriage which I was determined to bury and move forward from. Perhaps that was the very problem. I had not grieved properly but instead buried the pain as deep within myself as possible, only for it to resurface with a vengeance in other ways? I did not know the answer to these questions but I was at least overjoyed that Patrick was actively trying to help me discover why this was all happening to me. I sighed deeply and pondered on these thoughts for a few moments in silence before Patrick once again opened his mouth to speak.

“Vida I know you are going to immediately dismiss this idea but please hear me out. Perhaps you should go and visit your Mother. You need your family around you and I know that your relationship with her is difficult at best, but I think it might be good for you, maybe even for the both of you”.

The very thought of visiting my Mother plunged a deep and unshakable feeling of dread into the deepest pits of my stomach. I and my Mothers relationship had been troublesome ever since my Father left many years ago. Although she re married to my Step Father she spent the majority of her time drowning her self-pity in alcohol, expecting to find her salvation at the bottom of a vodka bottle. I did not hate my Mother in despite of the way she treated me or sisters. I only pitied her and held on to the vain hope whilst growing up that someday she would find happiness and be the woman I knew she was capable of being. Throughout my childhood she had always been a rather cold and distant person, susceptible to extreme outbursts of rage that echoed violently throughout our tiny, council estate home. As a child I had always wondered what had happened to make her this way and why she was always so unhappy, but I held on to the firm belief that she had not always been this way. I was convinced that deep down my Mother was a good person who had just lost her way, and I hoped and prayed that perhaps she would find it again. Since my Mother and Step Father divorced she chose to live alone in a small house in the city center, I found this rather typical of her as she always did like the business and excitement of town.

    I groaned in frustration as I considered the idea. I severely doubted that if I were to visit her that I would be welcomed with open arms, especially after the way in which we parted terms last time. I also did not see how visiting my Mother would help me to understand what is happening to me or that our relationship was even salvageable. In despite of everything I knew that this is what Patrick wanted and after everything that he had done for me I could not find the heart to refuse him. If he thought in his mind that visiting my Mother would somehow help me then I resolved myself to at least try it for his sake. I knew that the experience would be less than pleasant, but at least I would prove to Patrick that I was willing to try anything to help myself even if I thought the idea futile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 9

 

I decided to visit my Mother on a cold and dark November evening. I reached the front door of her small and particularly shabby house which was isolated and cast in darkened shadow on the corner of the street. I could feel my heart pounding audibly inside of my chest like a tribal drum as I loitered nervously upon the doorstep. I raised a hesitant fist several times to knock on the flaking wooden door, only to pull it back again whilst my body shivered with the chilliness of the howling wind. Patrick had offered to come with me yet I had declined his invitation in the belief that perhaps this was something that I needed to brave alone, however I was sorely beginning to regret my decision. My eyes flitted across the street to the dim flickering of the street lamps which only seemed to emanate a rather pathetic and apologetic glow. It seemed to me that instead of providing some kind of comfort and safety the street lamps only served to make the darkness blacker and a great deal more ominous, casting long and sinister shadows that crept up the sides of the sleepy houses.

    I began to wonder at how strange and almost unrecognisable the night makes the world seem with all of the bright and vibrant colours of day smothered by the same blanket of blacks and greys. The usual buzzing and chaotic sounds of people racing mindlessly through the streets, and smoky vehicles roaring upon the congested roads are suddenly silenced, and replaced with the faint and distant sounds of the night. It is bizarre how to most people the chaos of daytime is somehow more comforting than the dull silence of night. Perhaps it is due to pure human instinct and the primitive sense that the night brings with it all kinds of possible and unknown dangers of things you cannot see, yet may be lurking and watching in the shadows. Growing up however I had always been unconvinced of this. I began to understand from a very early age that the real danger is not what you cannot see, but rather what you witness every day in the broad daylight amongst the people who walk among you. I knew that it was not invisible creatures and monsters that really posed a threat, but it was instead each other, and perhaps more importantly ourselves. It is often quoted that people are their own worst enemy, and it is absolutely true. It occurred to me that perhaps this is the true reason why I had agreed to visit my mother. Deep down I had wanted to find peace not just with my Mother, but with myself.

     The metal and slightly rusted door number shimmered in the brilliant moonlight. Number 22 was my favourite number, a small act of coincidence which I found rather ironic. I inhaled a deep breath of chilly air and once again extended a clenched fist towards the door. I swallowed my nerves and finally rapped the door as hard as I could with my knuckles, holding my breath expectantly as I did so. Much to my alarm and unpleasant surprise the door swung open by itself creakily upon its hinges, revealing a dark and narrow hallway which extended deep into the bowels of the house. I took a few tentative steps backwards and peered cautiously down the shadowy hallway, straining my eyes to see into the impenetrable darkness. In despite of my instincts which screamed at me to turn on my heels and abandon this venture altogether, I held my breath for a few moments before boldly taking a step through the door frame and inside the house. I knew that my Mother had to be in the house somewhere and I had convinced myself that I had come too far just to turn back at the last moment. My heart leapt into my mouth with every step as the floorboards creaked noisily beneath my feet. It did not seem natural to me for a home to be so deathly still and quiet which set my nerves on their very edge, yet I ignored my senses and continued to edge ever further down the hallway.

    At the end of the hallway laid the living room which was also plunged into darkness, revealing nothing of what may be hiding in its depths. As I approached I felt the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand erect whilst I pricked my ears in search of any sounds which might come from the black pit which laid before me. Just as I had expected I heard nothing but the uneasy sound of silence, however as my eyes continued to glare into the dark abyss I suddenly froze in nervous terror. I had noticed a jet black shadow creeping in the far corner of the room, and I could feel the unnerving sensation of being watched. Cold beads of sweat began to form upon my forehead and I clenched my clammy hands in an attempt to somehow steady my rocketing nerves. Without warning I heard a tiny clicking noise before a small, orange flame burst into existence from where the shadow lurked. The small flame was just bright enough to illuminate the darkened outline of a person sat in an old armchair, and I watched tentatively as the figure lit up the end of a cigarette which glowed a warm amber. The figure then took a rasping intake of breath before releasing it in a poisonous cloud of grey and billowing smoke. I did not need to make any further guesses to know that this shadowy figure was indeed my Mother as I instinctively felt the deep rooted sensation of dread churn and knot inside my stomach. Every part of my being willed me to leave and not look back, but it was far too late to turn back now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 10

 

 

My Mother flicked on the switch of a small lamp which was positioned upon a coffee table beside her.  The darkness was immediately banished and replaced by a soft beam of light which illuminated the room, leaving me to gaze wide eyed around me. I instantly felt far too much like a deer trapped in headlights and uncomfortably exposed as I finally found myself face to face with my Mother, my mind whirring uncontrollably as my eyes flitted warily around the room. The room that I was standing in was horribly bare and barren whose furnishings consisted only of the small coffee table which held the lamp, a moth eaten armchair and a particularly outdated box television that had been placed directly in front of the armchair. It was obvious that this room was barely utilised and I could tell by the thick layer of dust upon the television that it had not been turned on in quite a while. The room as a whole was awfully sorry looking and greatly neglected. The faded and tattered wall paper was peeling from the dampened walls, and large cobwebs hung plentiful and undisturbed from the cracked and yellowed ceiling. A disturbing chill swept throughout the empty and cavernous halls of the house, and I could not help but to shudder and feel the bitter cold sinking into my very bones.

     I reluctantly turned my attentions towards my Mother who had her pale and grey eyes fixed sternly upon me. She did not cease to puff upon her cigarette which she held in a trembling hand as I noticed how incredibly tired and strikingly drawn she looked. Deep and dark circled ringed her bloodshot eyes and he face sagged in a kind of sad resignation. Her greying hair was particularly matted and tangled and was obvious that it had not been touched with a brush for a little while at least, instilling within me a sincere feeling of pity and perhaps even guilt. I opened my mouth to speak but was immediately lost for words, still in an unshakable state of shock at the condition in which I had found my Mother living in. I cast my mind back to when she had visited me in the hospital after my miscarriage and looked for the tell-tale signs that something was amiss, yet I knew that it would have been impossible to tell with my Mother as it had always seemed that something was not quite right with her. I fixed my eyes upon her and asked the unavoidable questions,

“Mother what has happened to you? Why are you living like this?”

My mother seemed to shift uncomfortably in her seat, taking deeper and more prolonged drags on her cigarette.

She exhaled a last cloud of toxic smoke before deciding to reply to my questioning.

“I knew you would come here Vida and I have been waiting for you. I have a lot to tell you, things about your childhood that you may not remember. I need to explain myself to you and I am afraid that I don’t have much time”.

I became confused and unsure of what she meant by all of this yet decided to hold my tongue, thinking it would be best to firstly just listen to what she had to say. I was feeling incredibly apprehensive as I stared at my Mother and waited for her to continue speaking, wondering whether what my Mother had to say would justify her current situation. As my Mother began to speak once more her voice began to crackle and break as she tried her best to hold back the tears which I could see begin to form and glisten in the lamps soft glow.

    “I have never told you much about your Father, only that he left us when you were very young. I need to tell you the truth about him and I just want you to listen to me and try to understand. As I have told you before your Father was not happy with living the family life. He resented us and blamed us for his own failures in life and paid no mind to anybody but himself”.

    I shuffled nervously on my feet and stared at my Mothers disheveled form intently. I could not understand why she was retelling me things about my Father that I had already known, and why she seemed so incredibly distraught. I sighed in resignation and only continued to listen, looking deep into her eyes as the words tumbled from her trembling mouth.

“One night when your Father returned home from a heavy session at the local pub he tried to leave us. Despite our relationship I was absolutely terrified of being left alone as a single Mother. As you well know Motherhood does not come naturally to me as it does most women and I was ashamed to admit that I was desperately struggling to cope”.

Whilst my Mother was telling her story she did not remove her eyes from the dusty floor in front of her feet. I could not help but to become increasingly more intrigued by her. I began to imagine her as she was back then, a vulnerable young girl clutching madly at straws in a vain attempt at keeping her family together. I could feel myself developing a great sense empathy for her, after all I had almost found myself in the same position with a child of my own to take care of and perhaps having no idea of how I was to do it. She did not avert her eyes from the ground as she continued to speak.

“He was going to leave us completely alone and I could not bear the thought of it. I begged and pleaded with him pathetically but he only jeered at me and laughed. As he was about to pick up his bags I grabbed his arm in desperation, but he swung his fist at my jaw and sent me sprawling across the room. I could hear you crying in your play pen and I became possessed by my own anger. Vida I did the most unspeakable thing and have lived with it ever since. I picked up the first object that I had to hand, a pyramid shaped paper weight that had always sat on the mantelpiece even though neither of us could remember exactly where it came from. Without realising what I was doing I ran up behind him just as he was reaching his hand out for the door handle, and I smacked him as hard as I could in the back of the head with the damned thing. He instantly crumpled to the ground, and I knew in that moment that I had killed him”.

      My blood turned ice cold as I listened in horror to what my Mother was saying. I was angry and utterly repulsed by what my Mother had done, and yet I could not help but to feel divided in my emotions regardless. I knew that I had felt the same feelings of immeasurable desperation and isolation, and one can never be certain of what extreme emotions can drive a person to do. I still could not comprehend how my Mother could have kept such a terrible secret for so many years and I was almost beginning to understand why she had always been the way she was. My Mother turned her attentions back towards me,

“Please do not think for one moment that I am not sorry for what I have done. I resented myself every waking hour and as punishment I have lived with this wretched and soul consuming guilt for the best part of my life. It has eaten away at me, leaving only bitterness and regret. Of course I tried my best to continue my life after that for your sake. I filed a statement with the police which told the tale of how your Father had returned home drunk and had turned violent towards me. That he had tried to attack me and in my self-defense I pushed him, where he tripped and fatally hit his head on the corner of our coffee table. I lied through my teeth and I was not even questioned. The police had already been to our home more than a few times before due to your Fathers violent outbursts so I suppose that helped my claim. It seemed that I had got away with it, but although I was not physically behind bars my mind was my prison for many years”.

       My Mothers hands were trembling terribly as she continued her tale and I was sure that her face was becoming a paler shade of ghostly white with every passing moment. I instinctively reached out a hand and placed it upon my mothers, yet the moment that my fingers touched her cracked and pasty skin I pulled my hand back in reflective shock and surprise. Her skin was ice cold to the touch almost as if I had laid my hand upon a block of frozen ice. My Mother did not even seem to notice this and just continued to stare at the ground almost as if she were in some kind of trance, before continuing to speak.

“I was in no fit state to take care of a child and so I went in search of help. I met your stepfather who was decent enough and I knew he would take care of you properly. I married him not long after and fell pregnant with your sisters, but I am ashamed to say that I never loved him. I was living a life of lies and deceit which I had brought upon myself, yet you have to believe me that I really did try my best to make it work for the sake of you children. Eventually of course we did divorce as you know and I begged your stepfather to take you children with him, knowing that I was incapable of being the Mother that you all deserved. Your sisters were complacent enough to go, but you kicked and screamed and just could not understand why I was sending you away. As much as it broke my heart I had no choice but to let you go, and ever since then our relationship has been practically non-existent. You hated me and you never forgave me for it”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 11

 

 

I felt a lump start to form and swell in my throat whilst hot streams of tears began to streak down my reddened cheeks. Everything that my Mother was telling me seemed to be dragging up deep and powerful emotions which I had kept locked up and buried for many years. I was still unsure of how to react to my Father’s murder, but I did know that my Mothers story is something that I desperately needed to hear. I could not even begin to imagine the kind of life my Mother had lead and the amount of heartache, pain and guilty turmoil she had to endure. Some would say that it was her punishment for what she had done, I am not entirely certain. Either way I had decided that she had definitely served her sentence and deserved to finally be at peace with herself. My Mother removed her eyes from the ground and stared directly into my eyes, her face set in such a way that suggested she had something extremely important to say, something she had been waiting so long to express and was now in disbelief that she was finally getting the opportunity to say it.

“Vida, it was important for me to tell you all of this so that you could perhaps begin to understand the reasons behind everything I have done. I can’t say that I have done much good in my life, but the one good thing that I have done and the one which I am so incredibly proud of is sitting right in front of me. Just remember that I have always loved you and always will, and perhaps one day you will find it within yourself to forgive me”.

     My Mother looked down at me softly with warm and loving eyes, wearing a gentle smile which I had not seen in many years. It was in that moment and to my great astonishment that as I continued to stare into my Mothers face I realised that she was in fact becoming younger before my very eyes. I could not even begin to comprehend what was happening but all I could do was remain in awe at how beautiful and youthful my Mother looked. It seemed only a few seconds before my Mother sat before me as a radiant young girl who was perhaps only a few years older than myself. Her long and mousey brown hair which was so similar to mine flowed over her sleek shoulders as her pretty blue eyes, my eyes continued to look lovingly upon me. As I gazed aghast upon her I could not help myself but to reach out for her, wanting to embrace her with every fiber of my being. I stretched my fingers to touch her face, yet before I could reach her she disappeared in an instant. Leaving only the battered, old armchair vacant and alone.

    I still could not quite believe what had just happened and just continued to stare at the empty Armchair for rather a while, hoping that she would return at any moment. The entire experience had seemed so incredibly surreal and dream like that I was seriously beginning to doubt whether any of it had actually happened. I began to think upon my Mother as a young woman and reasoned that perhaps that was the time when she was happiest, before her life’s hardships corrupted her spirit. I pondered upon this for a few moments before deciding that I needed to explore the rest of the house, reasoning that there had to be some kind of plausible explanation for what had just happened and I was determined to find it. It did not take me very long to search the downstairs of the house, finding nothing but dust and molding food in the dilapidated kitchen. I then turned my attentions towards the upper floor of the house and bolted careless up the darkness swallowed staircase. I darted into the room which I knew was my Mother bedroom, opening the door swiftly which released a terrible and creaking whine. The room was completely cast in impenetrable darkness as I attempted to grope the walls blindly in search of a light switch.

      Eventually I felt my flailing hands land upon a plastic light switch which I slammed on without hesitation, having to adjust my eyes as the light bulb flickered a few times in its struggling attempt to emit its glow. As the amber light expelled the nights black cloak I saw my Mother lying there on a dust covered bed, still and motionless. I walked towards the bed in a trance like state and stared down at my Mother, feeling the dreaded emotions of turmoil and grief begin to knot treacherously in the pits of my stomach. I laid my hand once more upon hers which only confirmed what I had already suspected, her hand was just as icy cold as it had been before. It was in that moment that I knew for certain that my Mother was dead. I looked upon my Mothers stony face and noticed the comforting look of pure serenity and peace, her eyes lined with the deep set wrinkles of her dark and troubled years. For some unknown reason I felt compelled to remove the bed covers that were laid on top of my Mother’s body, and as I did so my eyes were immediately drawn to the two dark crimson pools of blood which were spread upon the bed sheets beneath my Mothers wrists.

    I cried out in anguish when it became obvious to me what my Mother had done. She had cut her wrists and taken her own life. I did not need to ask myself why she had done it as I already knew, she had explained it all to me only moment before. My Mother had finally found her peace and she knew that it was important that I understood that. My Mother could not have fully rested until she had told me what she had wanted to tell me for so many years, and my visit had provided her soul with

the opportunity to do so. As I removed the bed covers I also noticed that my Mother was grasping something in one of her hands. I gently relieved her of it and stared down upon it, immediately recognising what it was. It was a photograph, but to my disbelief it was a photograph of the same young girl that had been haunting me all of this time. The child peered up at me sheepishly from the photograph wearing the same red duffle coat with a shy smile spread across her face. My hand trembled as I turned the photograph over and stared at the single name which was scrawled on its underside, it read Vida.

    It became so blindingly obvious to me now. The child in the picture and the child that I had been seeing the entire time was indeed myself. I could not fully understand or begin to explain the reasons for the strange occurrences and events which had happened to me, but I did know that they had all lead me back to my Mother and perhaps that is all that mattered. In returning to my Mother she had not only found her own peace, but I had finally found peace within myself. I realised from then on that life can be so difficult and present us with many hardships that lead us to believe that we will never find hope or happiness again. Our pasts haunt us like relentless demons that threaten to devour our very sense of self. However In despite of whatever struggles you may be forced to face, life really is beautiful. All you have to do is to learn to let go, to forgive, and most importantly you must learn how to live.