Haunted

Another task in English, although this is a piece of coursework i had to submit!!!

6 hours left

   It’s midnight.  Alone in my room, the darkness seeps under my skin and the coldness envelopes me in an unwelcome embrace, but I close my mind and block out the surroundings. I wait. And listen. And remember.

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   I look down with wonder at this small stranger that lies in my arms, this tiny bundle of pure innocence that grasps my fingers with determined strength and cries whenever I leave its side. I hold him close to me and whisper promises in his ear, my beautiful baby boy. I whisper with the fierce protectiveness and affection that only a mother could possess�" telling him that I would never hurt him, never disappoint him in anything and always, always be there for him. Gazing out of the window, I rock him in my arms and think of all the wickedness, the evil that lay outside our haven ready to snatch away our little sliver of joy. ‘Just let them try’ I think, wrapping him tighter in his shawl, cocooning him. ‘Just let them try’.

   However every mother knows that time flies by and letting go is inevitable. My cocoon, my protective shawl grew looser and looser, finally fluttering away in the wind that blew his childhood away. He grew and he strained against the arms that once held him close and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep him with me. That was how it started. The beginning of the end.

4 hours and 15 minutes left

  Every bell chime sends shivers through my body, as my mind tries to shrink back from the emotions that have lurked there for so long. But after my memories, the night is all I’ll have and then…nothing.

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  My husband tried, he really did�"but resentment grew like a little sapling in his heart and fed by my obstinate reluctance to let go, it grew into an oak tree of bitterness, rooted deep in his mind. He saw what I refused to see, that my love was holding my son back, restraining him. My husband couldn’t bear it. One morning, he was gone, leaving behind a note of regret, anger and sadness. Despair permeated my soul and the shelter where I had held so many happy memories. My bleakness seeped into the house chasing away all joy and comfort�"and my son. And so I found myself left increasingly, miserably alone. Alone with my thoughts, my feelings and my horrible guilt. And so I turned to the only thing that could wash it all away, make me forget all I wanted to forget. Tumblers turned into glasses; glasses turned into half a bottle; a whole bottle; three bottles a day. My life became a blur of moving figures and changing seasons�"but there was the dark; always the dark. I saw my son less and less, and a sharp bitterness consumed me, changing me into someone no one wanted to know, or even cared about.

3 hours and 20 minutes left

 

   I should be crying. Yet my eyes are dry.

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  He sent me letters, so many letters, which lay unopened on my doormat. They meant nothing to me now. My husband, though he left me, still came to see me. Begging me to try, to change my ways. I sent him away every time, with the same scathing words that left him broken and resigned. Not that I cared.  My future seemed to swirl at the bottom of a bottle and it was all I could think of. But there were moments. Moments when I came to my senses, and I could feel that apart of me was missing a huge chunk which I couldn’t fill on my own�"and it was all I could do to run back to my refuge and leave the dark behind. I didn’t even notice when the letters stopped coming, when the visits dwindled to none. Why would I? Why should I.

 

2 hour and 4 minutes

 

It’s almost dawn. Time is running out. Focus. Think.

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The last time my son came to visit, I was particularly drunk. I sat dishevelled and unaware at the kitchen table, while the sound of the ringing bell trilled softly through the haze in my brain. Eventually, when I realized it wasn’t going to stop, I staggered to the door, still cradling my bottle like an infant. At first I didn’t recognise the face, the young man that looked back at me. When he called himself my son, I couldn’t believe it. But he pushed past me and I didn’t have the strength or resolve to stop him. I tottered after him, still non-plussed about the situation. We both settled ourselves in the kitchen, this man across from me. He seemed to stare at me with an intensity that burned. Anger. He practically shook with it. When he spoke, I shrank back in fear. His words seemed to fly at me like hunting knives across the room, and pierce through the fog that had clouded my thoughts for so long. All at once the numbness wore off. I could feel the ache in myself from that missing part. I could smell the sordid, stale smell that saturated this house. I could see the cobwebs, the film of dust that lay everywhere, the air of neglect and filth. When I looked at the man, I gasped. This wasn’t just any stranger. His eyes were just like my husbands, his hair the colour mine had once been. My son, my boy had returned! I reached out my hand to his, but he batted it away with disregard. I tried again, imploring him to stay with me. But he sneered and what he said next make my heart shatter like the glass in my hand. The pieces tinkled as they hit the floor, chiming sweetly. His words seemed to stab me over and over, pushing me down until I lay in a heap on the cold marble floor. The door slamming shut sent a jolt through my body. As I gazed up at the sky through the open window, I remembered how I’d felt when I first held my only child in my arms�"remembered what I’d said. Wretchedness consumed me. I was a sham, a fraud. I was no mother. I was a failure and breaker of promises, a woman with no will. The cold hand of defeat closed round my throat, and my wails could be heard deep into the night.

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It’s time. Quietly, quickly, I brush the tears from my eyes. I let the words my son had said simmer in my mind, so I didn’t weaken my resolve. Shrugging on my coat, I grabbed my handbag and set off, leaving the house behind.

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I watched the woman pick her way across the untamed grass. It was early, but not uncommon to see people go for strolls at dawn in the park. However this woman walked like she had purpose, like she had something in mind. She stopped abruptly, in a patch that had been claimed by the wild flowers. She slipped off her coat and reached for her bag. When she removed her hand, something glinted in the breaking sunlight and my breath coat in my throat. I knew it was wrong to stare, but I had a worrying feeling.

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The early dawn makes everything look so ethereal, as if no man has ever treaded here before. Yet I know what I have to do. I take my hand from my bag and hold the knife up. Staring at the sky, I breathe the chilly morning air and smile as the birds begin to chirp; smile as the sun finally breaks from the horizon; as I plunge the knife into my chest .As my vision blurs and the words dissolve, I embrace the welcoming dark.

 

Author's Note

The parts before the arrow heads are her thoughts in the present, in case you were wondering^^!
Please be kind but constructive...i really want to improve!!

Reviews

[Sasha]

Very dramatic, interesting choice of a first person narrative here. I would've used a third person limited narrative for the entire thing. I adore your writing.

[Sukylola]

Thankyou that completely made my day!!

[RavenWells]

This was very nicely written, I really liked your use of imagery! I hope to read more from you. :)

[Sukylola]

Thanx so much!!I will definitley be posting more:)