I'm nerve-raw: I have a huge meeting and I am sooo out of my league. I am a trailer-park girl and there's this huge meeting of executive types coming up and I'll be drowning in an ocean of pantsuits and Macy's perfume selections.
They made -me- Director of Sales, and I have so little to wear. I'm intimidated by executive class assholes.
I'm wear a smock jersey grey cowl neck dress with a black triple buckle shell belt.... and some rip-off Chanel silver and black heels.... And then the -next- day of the conference, I guess I'll go with the sheer black and white cherry blossom kimono top...
And sitting and listening to marketing lectures and social networking schemes for 20 hours...
It's so not me. I'd rather be back at work, happy in my business-y Wal-Mart wear, selling the meeting rooms to happy couples, probably third cousins here in the Midwest, --for their wedding receptions. Or with Sire, or Dan, or cooking, or washing dishes, or with Jessica or even my ex-husband. I would rather do something that doesn't involve.... pretending to be something I'm not. And I'm not class, and that's fine, because I never wanted to be.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Sunday, September 9, 2012
...The Storm Tossed Waves
You don't have to go looking for trouble for it to find you. Trouble and I get along together, generally speaking, we both try to stay the fuck away from each other but, joy of joys, it just...antagonizes me.
I do way too much for other people, and people I consider my friends. I come off as stoic and rude, but I'm not, generally, when people get to know me. Unfortunately, in my line of work, people only get one first impression, and that's generally the fat mean bitch behind the counter.
I have tried many times to overcome and be the "correct" person, for the various facets I'm required to perform for, throughout my day. I have to be ignorant, in order to go along with the underhanded schemes of my employers; I must be voiceless for the man I currently entertain, and I must be warm, kind, and welcoming to all the people who stand in front of me, throughout the day, regardless of their intentions. I must be obsequious in all regards; I must obey without reluctance, and never question the orders, I must be shrewd as well, and find money where it doesn't exist, and do quite a lot with very little. I must not have desires, --for they will neither be fulfilled, nor will fall on welcoming ears or eyes.
I must not beg for change, and I must have no pride, and I must never expect respect, though I must always show it in return for none whatsoever.
I must be happy with nothing, for it is all I will receive.
I may not smoke, or drink, --I may not swear, or allow myself to indulge in pain, for there will be no comfort. The awkwardness of those around me, the incompetence, must be ignored, and encouragement must always be given, never criticism. I may not speak unless spoken to, --I will never say the right things, so it is best to be led and directed like a doll.
I must not offend anyone with my appearance, and therefore must dress according to guidelines issued by the employer, I must always be painted, and if I am not, I am guilty for leaving my makeup off.
My fat is offensive, my voice, my actions, my face, my eyes.
I must apologize for these things. I must never forget to apologize, all day, and wish everyone the best in life.
I must never be a victim, or allow myself to feel victimized, because I am not. I have brought all events to me through decisions I have made, and I deserve this pain that I cannot reveal. I must not cry; I must be thankful because this is not suffering; I must never allow myself to indulge in suffering. I am lucky. I must always feel lucky, and be lucky.
...Every night, on my way home from work, I drive down a hill; there are railroad tracks at the bottom. Every night I get this urge to speed up, jerk the wheel to the left, and flip my car. I don't know if it would kill me or not, but it would be different... It would be different, ne'est-ce pas?
I do way too much for other people, and people I consider my friends. I come off as stoic and rude, but I'm not, generally, when people get to know me. Unfortunately, in my line of work, people only get one first impression, and that's generally the fat mean bitch behind the counter.
I have tried many times to overcome and be the "correct" person, for the various facets I'm required to perform for, throughout my day. I have to be ignorant, in order to go along with the underhanded schemes of my employers; I must be voiceless for the man I currently entertain, and I must be warm, kind, and welcoming to all the people who stand in front of me, throughout the day, regardless of their intentions. I must be obsequious in all regards; I must obey without reluctance, and never question the orders, I must be shrewd as well, and find money where it doesn't exist, and do quite a lot with very little. I must not have desires, --for they will neither be fulfilled, nor will fall on welcoming ears or eyes.
I must not beg for change, and I must have no pride, and I must never expect respect, though I must always show it in return for none whatsoever.
I must be happy with nothing, for it is all I will receive.
I may not smoke, or drink, --I may not swear, or allow myself to indulge in pain, for there will be no comfort. The awkwardness of those around me, the incompetence, must be ignored, and encouragement must always be given, never criticism. I may not speak unless spoken to, --I will never say the right things, so it is best to be led and directed like a doll.
I must not offend anyone with my appearance, and therefore must dress according to guidelines issued by the employer, I must always be painted, and if I am not, I am guilty for leaving my makeup off.
My fat is offensive, my voice, my actions, my face, my eyes.
I must apologize for these things. I must never forget to apologize, all day, and wish everyone the best in life.
I must never be a victim, or allow myself to feel victimized, because I am not. I have brought all events to me through decisions I have made, and I deserve this pain that I cannot reveal. I must not cry; I must be thankful because this is not suffering; I must never allow myself to indulge in suffering. I am lucky. I must always feel lucky, and be lucky.
...Every night, on my way home from work, I drive down a hill; there are railroad tracks at the bottom. Every night I get this urge to speed up, jerk the wheel to the left, and flip my car. I don't know if it would kill me or not, but it would be different... It would be different, ne'est-ce pas?
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
I Stand Amid the Roar...
I haven't written anything in a while, and although I have inspiration, at this very moment, flowing in my veins like a river, I am unfairly, unfortunately, doomed to stagnation, and I have a secret fear that someone, somewhere, has heard my innermost musing and will act upon it before I can.... Every time I have a new idea, someone takes it away, before I can write it myself; this is my own fault, for being such a procrastinating wench... so it is, in its own depressing way, universally, karmic fairness that plagues me so...
I am overwhelmed. School has started again, and it is harder now because I've been promoted, and so have less time to study. I am also recovering from an injury, --I am very clumsy, and when I fall, I fall hard, both figuratively and physically.
My ex-owner, --further back in lineage than the rest, has acquired a new "possession" as well as a new home, and I am jealous. Bitter... and I have to learn to have less regret for moving on, even though I went forward, I chose a very rough road, and it was full of obstacles and much suffering. It still is. I know it's childish and naive, cliche, also.... --I think it's cliche to point out that something is cliche too, --but I get in these moods where I think, "Well, Slave, look at you. Working, sleeping, going through the monotonous motions of survival, every day.... and look at what you cost yourself. Look what you gave up." ...and I turn, and I look, and I hate myself for looking and regretting.
Shouldn't I have found someone by now? Shouldn't someone love me?
I know, I know.... I'm difficult, and annoying.... I get complacent in my routines, and I can be incredibly obstinate. These are just a couple of examples of the many flaws that scratch and claw under my skin. I'm also not as attractive as I could be, because ... I have never had a reason to be. The most concrete reason I have for not losing weight has nothing to do with habits or health, --I'm a smoker, it doesn't matter how thin I am, because eventually, cancer will kill me dead as fuck. I don't stick with the weight loss thing because I have no one to lose weight for. My body, my face; even if I was more physically attractive, I would still be insane and I don't want someone with me because I'm nice to look at.
Someone recently said they believe I am an energy vampire; a psychic vampire. That I feed off of energy. I would be remiss in my personal integrity if I didn't say I haven't considered it, --although it sounds so tacky and flaky. It makes sense though; I need voices, visual stimulation, and I hate the quiet, unless like right now... when I'm reading, or writing.
I was conceived on the floor of a public bathroom. I was born in a hospital about ten minutes away.
I hate this town, because everywhere I look, I have a memory of a place where my mother either held me or hit me, and I hate thinking of her. Here, in this town, --I think of her the most. And although it seems contrary to my deepest wishes, each time I find myself in Lehigh Acres, FL, I have to go look at my old house on Gunnery. I can point out the place in the yard where my mother pinned me by the shoulders, with her knees, and forced my face into the dirt, grinding silt and sand and dirt and sandspurs into my face and eyes and mouth. I hate the people who bought our house because my mother was so proud of our yard, and we worked long and hard making it beautiful... We grew poisonous trumpet lilies near the door, we had two dogs, chickens, fish, rats, turtles, --for pets, and for livestock... I caught snakes in the tall grass and in the canal, and we rode four-wheelers all over a dusty, sandy nothing-land that was undeveloped and reeked of overgrown isolation and financial ruin. I love the story of Lehigh; it came into existence after some scheisty characters bought cheap land in southwestern Florida, and sold it at high prices to northerners as beach property. It was a great disappointment; the land was overgrown with palmetto, --which covers everything that isn't alive and moving, and developers have to set fires on their own land to get rid of it, which then smells of burning bacon, --wild pigs get trapped in the fires, and "cook" inside the palmetto labyrinths that were once a safe haven... I love Lehigh; there's crime, and disappointment is like perfume on the air, but I love it, because it's inspiring and beautiful in this perfect, desolate way that you will only find in areas of Florida that aren't overrun with idiot tourists and rich coffin dodgers.
I'm so thrilled to move back, and even visit with Sire, who is my dearest male friend, and the only good man left alive who loves me the way I need him to... without requiring anything from me. I have done nothing, and he has no condition to which I must strive or succeed in. I have worked for him, but only in a business sense. I have feared his wrath, and I have obeyed, and gloried in the opportunity to obey. I don't seek his abuse, and my heart bleeds to receive his slightest annoyance in me. This is perfect for me; I fear his disappointment in me too acutely to ever deliberately seek it, --which I have done in the way many women have sought to rankle, and annoy a partner. He is not my partner, and I am not his possession. We are friends, and it is.... nice.
I miss him, he's been gone for a while, but hopefully, he'll be back soon.
I am overwhelmed. School has started again, and it is harder now because I've been promoted, and so have less time to study. I am also recovering from an injury, --I am very clumsy, and when I fall, I fall hard, both figuratively and physically.
My ex-owner, --further back in lineage than the rest, has acquired a new "possession" as well as a new home, and I am jealous. Bitter... and I have to learn to have less regret for moving on, even though I went forward, I chose a very rough road, and it was full of obstacles and much suffering. It still is. I know it's childish and naive, cliche, also.... --I think it's cliche to point out that something is cliche too, --but I get in these moods where I think, "Well, Slave, look at you. Working, sleeping, going through the monotonous motions of survival, every day.... and look at what you cost yourself. Look what you gave up." ...and I turn, and I look, and I hate myself for looking and regretting.
Shouldn't I have found someone by now? Shouldn't someone love me?
I know, I know.... I'm difficult, and annoying.... I get complacent in my routines, and I can be incredibly obstinate. These are just a couple of examples of the many flaws that scratch and claw under my skin. I'm also not as attractive as I could be, because ... I have never had a reason to be. The most concrete reason I have for not losing weight has nothing to do with habits or health, --I'm a smoker, it doesn't matter how thin I am, because eventually, cancer will kill me dead as fuck. I don't stick with the weight loss thing because I have no one to lose weight for. My body, my face; even if I was more physically attractive, I would still be insane and I don't want someone with me because I'm nice to look at.
Someone recently said they believe I am an energy vampire; a psychic vampire. That I feed off of energy. I would be remiss in my personal integrity if I didn't say I haven't considered it, --although it sounds so tacky and flaky. It makes sense though; I need voices, visual stimulation, and I hate the quiet, unless like right now... when I'm reading, or writing.
I was conceived on the floor of a public bathroom. I was born in a hospital about ten minutes away.
I hate this town, because everywhere I look, I have a memory of a place where my mother either held me or hit me, and I hate thinking of her. Here, in this town, --I think of her the most. And although it seems contrary to my deepest wishes, each time I find myself in Lehigh Acres, FL, I have to go look at my old house on Gunnery. I can point out the place in the yard where my mother pinned me by the shoulders, with her knees, and forced my face into the dirt, grinding silt and sand and dirt and sandspurs into my face and eyes and mouth. I hate the people who bought our house because my mother was so proud of our yard, and we worked long and hard making it beautiful... We grew poisonous trumpet lilies near the door, we had two dogs, chickens, fish, rats, turtles, --for pets, and for livestock... I caught snakes in the tall grass and in the canal, and we rode four-wheelers all over a dusty, sandy nothing-land that was undeveloped and reeked of overgrown isolation and financial ruin. I love the story of Lehigh; it came into existence after some scheisty characters bought cheap land in southwestern Florida, and sold it at high prices to northerners as beach property. It was a great disappointment; the land was overgrown with palmetto, --which covers everything that isn't alive and moving, and developers have to set fires on their own land to get rid of it, which then smells of burning bacon, --wild pigs get trapped in the fires, and "cook" inside the palmetto labyrinths that were once a safe haven... I love Lehigh; there's crime, and disappointment is like perfume on the air, but I love it, because it's inspiring and beautiful in this perfect, desolate way that you will only find in areas of Florida that aren't overrun with idiot tourists and rich coffin dodgers.
I'm so thrilled to move back, and even visit with Sire, who is my dearest male friend, and the only good man left alive who loves me the way I need him to... without requiring anything from me. I have done nothing, and he has no condition to which I must strive or succeed in. I have worked for him, but only in a business sense. I have feared his wrath, and I have obeyed, and gloried in the opportunity to obey. I don't seek his abuse, and my heart bleeds to receive his slightest annoyance in me. This is perfect for me; I fear his disappointment in me too acutely to ever deliberately seek it, --which I have done in the way many women have sought to rankle, and annoy a partner. He is not my partner, and I am not his possession. We are friends, and it is.... nice.
I miss him, he's been gone for a while, but hopefully, he'll be back soon.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
"You're the Right Kind of Sinner..."
Today was a long day, and I just now got to work. I was up late, as usual last night, --got off work around 8:30 pm, was trying to work off some extra hours that I missed the day before, and got about two down, if I'm lucky. I got home, and watched the rest of the first season of Jericho, which was disappointing, so I can see why they wanted to cancel it. Despite it being a grand series, I can see where people might have begun losing interest.
Anyway, I like it. Teaches you some very important post-apocalyptic skills.
So anyway, I went to bed around 2 am, woke up at 8:30 am, drove to Blue Springs, --that's half an hour for all of you, who have no idea how far Blue Springs is from Independence, in the middle of rush hour morning traffic, it actually took a bit longer. Then I helped my 79 year old grandfather fix the brakes and left steering axle on my ancient car. The parts only cost around $30, but the labor took about four and a half hours. So we finished everything by about 1:30, then I made a quick sandwich and ate lunch with them, took some leftovers for dinner at work, and ran off again, after of course thanking and re-iterating how much I love them, repeatedly for ten minutes.
I drove all the way back to Independence, and managed to speed more effectively since I wasn't exactly afraid my brake pads would fall out on the highway, or that the axle over my left wheel would crack and drop the left side of the car on the road, flipping me, and most likely, successfully ending my life.
I got back to my house at 2:20 pm, showered, quickly, and threw my hair into some messy conglomeration on top of my head, and put on as little make-up as I could to make myself presentable. I also picked out Someone's favorite blouse, because I was going to probably be about five minutes late, and did want to cushion as much irritation as possible.
I left at 2:50 and sped the whole way, shrieking to Pat Benatar, and made it to work eight minutes late... the clock in my car is set incorrectly apparently, because it lied and told me I was only five minutes late. Then again, I did have to go around and take things out of the passenger side of the car, and that probably took an extra minute.
When I got in, Someone told me that he was frustrated because he had begun to think that I might be taking advantage of our unique position; him being the supervisor, me being a subordinate, and us having a ...thing. Dunno how to label the circumstances just yet, and I'll probably be somewhat evasive where the subject is concerned for sometime.
I was offended, but he made amends by coming back down later and smoothing me out like a sheet on a mattress... I only pouted for about 20 minutes altogether.
And hopefully, next time we get some time together, he'll punish me.
Anyway, I like it. Teaches you some very important post-apocalyptic skills.
So anyway, I went to bed around 2 am, woke up at 8:30 am, drove to Blue Springs, --that's half an hour for all of you, who have no idea how far Blue Springs is from Independence, in the middle of rush hour morning traffic, it actually took a bit longer. Then I helped my 79 year old grandfather fix the brakes and left steering axle on my ancient car. The parts only cost around $30, but the labor took about four and a half hours. So we finished everything by about 1:30, then I made a quick sandwich and ate lunch with them, took some leftovers for dinner at work, and ran off again, after of course thanking and re-iterating how much I love them, repeatedly for ten minutes.
I drove all the way back to Independence, and managed to speed more effectively since I wasn't exactly afraid my brake pads would fall out on the highway, or that the axle over my left wheel would crack and drop the left side of the car on the road, flipping me, and most likely, successfully ending my life.
I got back to my house at 2:20 pm, showered, quickly, and threw my hair into some messy conglomeration on top of my head, and put on as little make-up as I could to make myself presentable. I also picked out Someone's favorite blouse, because I was going to probably be about five minutes late, and did want to cushion as much irritation as possible.
I left at 2:50 and sped the whole way, shrieking to Pat Benatar, and made it to work eight minutes late... the clock in my car is set incorrectly apparently, because it lied and told me I was only five minutes late. Then again, I did have to go around and take things out of the passenger side of the car, and that probably took an extra minute.
When I got in, Someone told me that he was frustrated because he had begun to think that I might be taking advantage of our unique position; him being the supervisor, me being a subordinate, and us having a ...thing. Dunno how to label the circumstances just yet, and I'll probably be somewhat evasive where the subject is concerned for sometime.
I was offended, but he made amends by coming back down later and smoothing me out like a sheet on a mattress... I only pouted for about 20 minutes altogether.
And hopefully, next time we get some time together, he'll punish me.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
A Certain Psycho
For all intents and purposes, the subject of the title shall be henceforth named "Dumbass."
Why are all the veteran members of Darkness.com forums falling all over themselves trying to be nice to Dumbass, and going so far as to be sure to be nice to him on FB and Twitter? WTF is wrong with you?
YOU, you people. You know who you are, and all your postulating and excuses will not save you from my disdain. Shame on you all.
Dumbass has threatened the man you supposedly all think is your BFF for life, --numerous times. And yet you just keep humoring Dumbass, and placating his obviously deteriorated brain.
Sire has given Dumbass money, support, friendship, --the genuine kind, not the stuff you all claim to have, --and actual consideration, for many years before Dumbass went off his meds and made it his personal mission to destroy Darkness.com and the man who owns it, --in his own twisted mind, Dumbass really believes he is capable of this.
And your continued association with this vile Creature, is like supporting his whole movement.
Dumbass has ripped Sire off in many ways, stabbing him in the back, using money for convention that Sire gave him, for purposes not intended, --not to mention, blatantly insulting him and causing Darkness to close open membership. But do you care? Of course not.
It's not like Sire pays for the upkeep and maintenance of Darkness.com out of his own pocket or anything. For you ungrateful cunts.
Oh wait, that's right, he does! He pays for YOU FUCKS to go behind his back and commiserate with that cocksucking fucktard, the Dumbass that Goeth by Another Name, --for his hard-earned money. He recently had a rough time, financially, --and rather than sell Darkness and be back in the black, he keeps it open, and continues to maintain it for who?
For you fuckers who can't pry your lips from around Dumbass's cock long enough to take a good, long look at exactly who you're sucking off. This is the guy who stalks his ex-wife, makes videos of himself harassing her on the phone, and abused meds for years, --verbally abused his kids, --and his ex-wife's, and performed various acts of self-abuse and suicide attempts in his own home, around his kids, who are probably scarred for life.
This is the person who you can't unhook yourselves from.
How do I know these things? I dated and lived with his brother, who's an asshole and a leech, --and STILL manages to be a better man than Dumbass, --who stole from his grieving, recently widowed mother, and his own brother, who had just been divorced, while they were living together and trying to pick up the pieces and get their lives together. Then along comes the proverbial spider, and STEALS from his own mother, and his brother, --just a few months after his father died.
Every time you message, or respond to that putrid cocksucker, you're not just stabbing me in the back, --publicly and Internet-wide defamed by Dumbass, along with plenty of other members you call friends, --but you're stabbing Sire, Dumbass's mother, and his brother, --because by continuing to support his lunacy, you're even lower than he is.
You're lower because you're fucking unoriginal.
Why are all the veteran members of Darkness.com forums falling all over themselves trying to be nice to Dumbass, and going so far as to be sure to be nice to him on FB and Twitter? WTF is wrong with you?
YOU, you people. You know who you are, and all your postulating and excuses will not save you from my disdain. Shame on you all.
Dumbass has threatened the man you supposedly all think is your BFF for life, --numerous times. And yet you just keep humoring Dumbass, and placating his obviously deteriorated brain.
Sire has given Dumbass money, support, friendship, --the genuine kind, not the stuff you all claim to have, --and actual consideration, for many years before Dumbass went off his meds and made it his personal mission to destroy Darkness.com and the man who owns it, --in his own twisted mind, Dumbass really believes he is capable of this.
And your continued association with this vile Creature, is like supporting his whole movement.
Dumbass has ripped Sire off in many ways, stabbing him in the back, using money for convention that Sire gave him, for purposes not intended, --not to mention, blatantly insulting him and causing Darkness to close open membership. But do you care? Of course not.
It's not like Sire pays for the upkeep and maintenance of Darkness.com out of his own pocket or anything. For you ungrateful cunts.
Oh wait, that's right, he does! He pays for YOU FUCKS to go behind his back and commiserate with that cocksucking fucktard, the Dumbass that Goeth by Another Name, --for his hard-earned money. He recently had a rough time, financially, --and rather than sell Darkness and be back in the black, he keeps it open, and continues to maintain it for who?
For you fuckers who can't pry your lips from around Dumbass's cock long enough to take a good, long look at exactly who you're sucking off. This is the guy who stalks his ex-wife, makes videos of himself harassing her on the phone, and abused meds for years, --verbally abused his kids, --and his ex-wife's, and performed various acts of self-abuse and suicide attempts in his own home, around his kids, who are probably scarred for life.
This is the person who you can't unhook yourselves from.
How do I know these things? I dated and lived with his brother, who's an asshole and a leech, --and STILL manages to be a better man than Dumbass, --who stole from his grieving, recently widowed mother, and his own brother, who had just been divorced, while they were living together and trying to pick up the pieces and get their lives together. Then along comes the proverbial spider, and STEALS from his own mother, and his brother, --just a few months after his father died.
Every time you message, or respond to that putrid cocksucker, you're not just stabbing me in the back, --publicly and Internet-wide defamed by Dumbass, along with plenty of other members you call friends, --but you're stabbing Sire, Dumbass's mother, and his brother, --because by continuing to support his lunacy, you're even lower than he is.
You're lower because you're fucking unoriginal.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
"Deep into the Darkness Peering..."
Once upon a time, there was... a girl. She is bright and dark, and tan, and blonde, and overweight enough that she will often be told she "could be very pretty" if only she'd lose weight, by family members. This, compounded by an abusive childhood, some of it sexual, some of it physical, and the largest portion verbal and emotional, --these things, make her somewhat sexually "adventurous" and not at all inhibited. The past makes her insecure and desperate for love, and when she finds love, she usually finds it is her own love, poured into someone who doesn't want it, and will not give her theirs. She loves strong, and she loves true, and most importantly, she loves free. It doesn't take money, or even any particular quality to earn it from her. Approaching her 26th birthday in less than two weeks, this quality is still mostly alive in her, maybe a little damaged, but it's there.
Her first great love was a man we all know because she talks about him in a carefree way, because... she has no man to scare away with talk of another great man, by which she will measure all men. We won't say his name here, but we'll tell you hers in just a moment. He loved her fiercely, and she holds him firmly in her heart; a reminder that it is, or once was, possible for her to be loved fiercely. She has many flaws, and she is ashamed of them, but... hides them as well as the next person. And this great first love saw past them, which to her, was tantamount to divine power. He loved her through her panic attacks, pregnancy, abortion, anxiety, anger, and depression, and he loved her after he met her mother. And she grew up with him before they inevitably, --like all good partnerships do, --dissolved.
Years later, this man tells a Friend about his ex, Ashley, --this is our girl, --and although she is busy being attracted to someone else, she is also willing to pursue this friend. Well, the friend is probably a good man to her ex, the great man who inspires goodness in others, but the Friend is not a good man to her. He uses her like a condom, pulls her off, and throws her away. Ashley does not get over this Friend easily, because she did not expect to be hurt by any Friend of her great man, --not someone this man knew and trusted with her heart. But maybe that was karma, because she had once broken her great man's heart, and now... she deserved to be broken too? Ashley wonders when she will stop getting what she deserves, and tries to be as nice as she can, so that it will stop.
This is where things become shadier. Those that know the prequel will wonder what is going on. And I will explain it in the epilogue.
Another driver from the same trucking company the Great Man, and the Friend work at arrives. He is tall, somewhat wide, but not in a way that is unattractive to her, and his name is Steve, for the benefit of the story. He arrives one afternoon after she's had a very long day of buying a new car battery she doesn't have, getting stranded with her neighbor the first time he ever goes anywhere with her, preparing for (dreading) her sometimes lover's short vacation to the land of inaccessibility, her apartment without air conditioning, and the intense panic attack she had when a wasp chased her around her grandparents' car. It had been a very long day, and Steve, who she believed was trustworthy, since he knew both the Friend, and the Great Man, --offered to take her to an afternoon movie. She acquiesced, knowing she was safe with any friend of His.
The movie was terrible, and halfway through, they both took a break; her to the Ladies, him to the Mens, and all is right with the world, until she leaves the public bathroom and can't find him. She looks high and low, and sees his big truck parked in the same place, with him in it. He is far from her, and waves her over, just poking his upper body out of the open door and motioning. She follows the wave, wondering who this is, if at all, the identity of the person has changed, and where Steve is. She opens the door, and climbs in.
It is not Steve. It is a Thin Man, who is very tan, tanner than her, and he smiles from his position in the drivers' seat. He smiles and smiles at her and starts the truck, pulls out and drives. The Thin Man is looking at her dress, and her thick frame, and appraising it, and he is driving her away and she isn't stopping him because she is nervous and suddenly, very insecure. She buckles her seatbelt, sits back, rolls the window down, and smokes. They are getting on the highway, and the Thin Man, the very tan man, is smiling and smiling. He offers no explanation, and she asks for none.
"My girlfriend doesn't smoke, but it's okay that you do, for a while. At least today," he says suddenly.
Ashley frowns out the open window, hurt that this person stealing her is making her part of some harem.
"She's fifteen," the Thin man grins, proud of his conquest.
Ashley throws her cigarette into the dry grass on the side of the highway and hopes she starts a fire. Policemen are doing something, and they are approaching several cars, about twenty feet apart, with cops pacing around between them. She thinks about signaling them, but doesn't. The Thin Man maybe heard this from her thoughts.
"You can signal S.O.S. with your hands," he made some flourishing gesture, being goofy, and obscene, "do you know how to do it?"
She shook her head, and continued staring out the window. She looked down at the door lock, and made sure it was secure, pushing it down firmly, just in case. She looked into the back, at the shelves above the twin bed. She recognized her comforter, rolled into a tight, messy ball, beside bags of her clothes. She wasn't calm anymore. There was something burning up her throat from her stomach, something horrible that made her want to scream and cry, --seeing her blanket here.
"How did you get inside my apartment?" Ashley asks.
The Thin Man smiles, and ignores her, eyes on the road.
"I hope you didn't break my door," she continues, her voice still steady, despite the mechanics she's working with the seatbelt. Traffic is thick, they aren't moving fast, because this is the All Star week, and even though the motel she works at is slow, it's good to see that people are actually coming for it. He is ignoring her still, and paying attention to the road.
Ashley keeps a handmade knife with her at all times, because she is very sentimental. The Great Man bought it for her at a gun show; it has a curved, claw-like blade and its own little sheath. She has used it on many fish; it is very sharp because Ashley was taught by Him many years ago to keep her knives in the kitchen sharp, and so she did, --lovingly so, keep it sharp. She was using it to cut through the base of the seatbelt, right above the plastic casing that held it above the floorboard. It came free, and she stretched it as far as it would go, --and she did all this, being as nonchalant as possible.
"Is my cat okay? You didn't hurt my cat?" Ashley was close to panicking, just thinking of her cat, her own real love, --not a man at work who had boundaries, --not an ex who had someone new, --not her Sire who had a life altogether separate from her, --but a real living thing who slept with her and depended on her, and whose love she did not have to question. She tied the base into a knot, hiding her hands behind her seat on the right.
The Thin man smiles wider. He ignores her further, squinting at the glare of the ninety-degree sun on the roofs of the many cars in front of him. She unfastens her seatbelt, and out the door Ashley goes, holding tight to the length of the thick, life-saving belt, and her feet quickly find the surface of the dusty incline of bare dirt beside her. He is driving slowly, and he is now speeding up, and before she starts being dragged, she lets go, falling flat on her face. The truck is big, and he can't slam on his brakes nearly as quickly as she can get up, dirty and probably bleeding, and run into oncoming traffic.
A woman with dark skin, a blonde ponytail, and a mutt in the backseat of her tiny red Asian-made-convertible-of-some-sort, --stops. And she smiles, and gathers up Ashley who is breathing is a strangled, screaming, fast way, and begging for her cat. The dog puts his chin on her shoulder when she finally hides her face in the dark safety of her palms, and cries, and cries, and cries.
Ashley wakes up in the front seat later, and it is dark, and the woman gives her a can of Coke, and a cigarette. They don't talk. She says nothing, and Ashley says nothing, and the dog is thrilled to be alive and turning circles in the backseat, barking at passersby, but not loudly, and never once dares to jump over the door, --which would be easier than anything, --and chase anyone.
The woman with the Ponytail drives Ashley to a motel, and checks her in. On the way over, Ashley looks up at the dark sky, the bright stars, the brighter moon, and drinks her soda and smokes. She is calmer now, and knows there will be tears later, police, explanations to be made. She knows that she'll have questions for Great Man and his Friend, --and she won't know how to ask, and she wonders if they'd be honest.
The Ponytail is checking her in, making an explanation, --the clerk shakes his head in seeming disbelief, but she can tell from outside, watching through the window, that he doesn't care, and isn't really surprised. She knows, because she is a motel clerk, and knows how easy it is to be skeptical and desensitized. Ashley has never checked in a crying woman without making sure that the problem was heard, understood, and the woman was hugged at least once. This is her guilty secret that no one else at her job knows.
She goes upstairs, and gives Ponytail all her important numbers, and Ashley eventually begins to drift off; her head is on Ponytail's lap, and Dog is curled up against the small of her back. Ponytail is rallying everyone, who will hopefully find her out here, in this alien world she is in now. She doesn't know where she is, but she trusts Ponytail completely, because she has Dog. And Dog would not be so happy to be with Ponytail if she was not at least, in some measure, trustworthy.
Ashley is still scared of what's happened to her cat, and the rest of the future, --the questions and the answers, and the story she'll have to tell. The changes she'll be forced to make to her life, because fear and paranoia will find her when the surreal edges come back into focus, and reality will slap her hard in the face, wake her up, and demand things of her. She is afraid of the future, and the possibility that her sometimes lover might not want her anymore, or see her differently. Afraid, but lethargy has crept in now, and she is falling asleep.
Besides. Everyone else is afraid of the future too.
The End.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
No one kidnapped me today. I have been having extremely intense dreams lately, because of the heat, I guess. Only the people who know me will know which parts of this story are completely true. Last night, I dreamed that a guest at my motel tried to rape me, and instead, just ended up strangling me and slapping me around.
I remembered all of this dream, because it scared me, and took me about 45 minutes to figure out if it really happened or not. It took me an hour and a half to write it, and I had to stop at one point because I started to have another panic attack, --which would make two in one day for me.
I'm going to go for a short drive now, pick up something to drink, and smoke, and listen to a little music and bask in my car's AC. Rough sleep has hurt my back, my heart, my mind, and maybe my soul. Maybe... just a scratch.
Her first great love was a man we all know because she talks about him in a carefree way, because... she has no man to scare away with talk of another great man, by which she will measure all men. We won't say his name here, but we'll tell you hers in just a moment. He loved her fiercely, and she holds him firmly in her heart; a reminder that it is, or once was, possible for her to be loved fiercely. She has many flaws, and she is ashamed of them, but... hides them as well as the next person. And this great first love saw past them, which to her, was tantamount to divine power. He loved her through her panic attacks, pregnancy, abortion, anxiety, anger, and depression, and he loved her after he met her mother. And she grew up with him before they inevitably, --like all good partnerships do, --dissolved.
Years later, this man tells a Friend about his ex, Ashley, --this is our girl, --and although she is busy being attracted to someone else, she is also willing to pursue this friend. Well, the friend is probably a good man to her ex, the great man who inspires goodness in others, but the Friend is not a good man to her. He uses her like a condom, pulls her off, and throws her away. Ashley does not get over this Friend easily, because she did not expect to be hurt by any Friend of her great man, --not someone this man knew and trusted with her heart. But maybe that was karma, because she had once broken her great man's heart, and now... she deserved to be broken too? Ashley wonders when she will stop getting what she deserves, and tries to be as nice as she can, so that it will stop.
This is where things become shadier. Those that know the prequel will wonder what is going on. And I will explain it in the epilogue.
Another driver from the same trucking company the Great Man, and the Friend work at arrives. He is tall, somewhat wide, but not in a way that is unattractive to her, and his name is Steve, for the benefit of the story. He arrives one afternoon after she's had a very long day of buying a new car battery she doesn't have, getting stranded with her neighbor the first time he ever goes anywhere with her, preparing for (dreading) her sometimes lover's short vacation to the land of inaccessibility, her apartment without air conditioning, and the intense panic attack she had when a wasp chased her around her grandparents' car. It had been a very long day, and Steve, who she believed was trustworthy, since he knew both the Friend, and the Great Man, --offered to take her to an afternoon movie. She acquiesced, knowing she was safe with any friend of His.
The movie was terrible, and halfway through, they both took a break; her to the Ladies, him to the Mens, and all is right with the world, until she leaves the public bathroom and can't find him. She looks high and low, and sees his big truck parked in the same place, with him in it. He is far from her, and waves her over, just poking his upper body out of the open door and motioning. She follows the wave, wondering who this is, if at all, the identity of the person has changed, and where Steve is. She opens the door, and climbs in.
It is not Steve. It is a Thin Man, who is very tan, tanner than her, and he smiles from his position in the drivers' seat. He smiles and smiles at her and starts the truck, pulls out and drives. The Thin Man is looking at her dress, and her thick frame, and appraising it, and he is driving her away and she isn't stopping him because she is nervous and suddenly, very insecure. She buckles her seatbelt, sits back, rolls the window down, and smokes. They are getting on the highway, and the Thin Man, the very tan man, is smiling and smiling. He offers no explanation, and she asks for none.
"My girlfriend doesn't smoke, but it's okay that you do, for a while. At least today," he says suddenly.
Ashley frowns out the open window, hurt that this person stealing her is making her part of some harem.
"She's fifteen," the Thin man grins, proud of his conquest.
Ashley throws her cigarette into the dry grass on the side of the highway and hopes she starts a fire. Policemen are doing something, and they are approaching several cars, about twenty feet apart, with cops pacing around between them. She thinks about signaling them, but doesn't. The Thin Man maybe heard this from her thoughts.
"You can signal S.O.S. with your hands," he made some flourishing gesture, being goofy, and obscene, "do you know how to do it?"
She shook her head, and continued staring out the window. She looked down at the door lock, and made sure it was secure, pushing it down firmly, just in case. She looked into the back, at the shelves above the twin bed. She recognized her comforter, rolled into a tight, messy ball, beside bags of her clothes. She wasn't calm anymore. There was something burning up her throat from her stomach, something horrible that made her want to scream and cry, --seeing her blanket here.
"How did you get inside my apartment?" Ashley asks.
The Thin Man smiles, and ignores her, eyes on the road.
"I hope you didn't break my door," she continues, her voice still steady, despite the mechanics she's working with the seatbelt. Traffic is thick, they aren't moving fast, because this is the All Star week, and even though the motel she works at is slow, it's good to see that people are actually coming for it. He is ignoring her still, and paying attention to the road.
Ashley keeps a handmade knife with her at all times, because she is very sentimental. The Great Man bought it for her at a gun show; it has a curved, claw-like blade and its own little sheath. She has used it on many fish; it is very sharp because Ashley was taught by Him many years ago to keep her knives in the kitchen sharp, and so she did, --lovingly so, keep it sharp. She was using it to cut through the base of the seatbelt, right above the plastic casing that held it above the floorboard. It came free, and she stretched it as far as it would go, --and she did all this, being as nonchalant as possible.
"Is my cat okay? You didn't hurt my cat?" Ashley was close to panicking, just thinking of her cat, her own real love, --not a man at work who had boundaries, --not an ex who had someone new, --not her Sire who had a life altogether separate from her, --but a real living thing who slept with her and depended on her, and whose love she did not have to question. She tied the base into a knot, hiding her hands behind her seat on the right.
The Thin man smiles wider. He ignores her further, squinting at the glare of the ninety-degree sun on the roofs of the many cars in front of him. She unfastens her seatbelt, and out the door Ashley goes, holding tight to the length of the thick, life-saving belt, and her feet quickly find the surface of the dusty incline of bare dirt beside her. He is driving slowly, and he is now speeding up, and before she starts being dragged, she lets go, falling flat on her face. The truck is big, and he can't slam on his brakes nearly as quickly as she can get up, dirty and probably bleeding, and run into oncoming traffic.
A woman with dark skin, a blonde ponytail, and a mutt in the backseat of her tiny red Asian-made-convertible-of-some-sort, --stops. And she smiles, and gathers up Ashley who is breathing is a strangled, screaming, fast way, and begging for her cat. The dog puts his chin on her shoulder when she finally hides her face in the dark safety of her palms, and cries, and cries, and cries.
Ashley wakes up in the front seat later, and it is dark, and the woman gives her a can of Coke, and a cigarette. They don't talk. She says nothing, and Ashley says nothing, and the dog is thrilled to be alive and turning circles in the backseat, barking at passersby, but not loudly, and never once dares to jump over the door, --which would be easier than anything, --and chase anyone.
The woman with the Ponytail drives Ashley to a motel, and checks her in. On the way over, Ashley looks up at the dark sky, the bright stars, the brighter moon, and drinks her soda and smokes. She is calmer now, and knows there will be tears later, police, explanations to be made. She knows that she'll have questions for Great Man and his Friend, --and she won't know how to ask, and she wonders if they'd be honest.
The Ponytail is checking her in, making an explanation, --the clerk shakes his head in seeming disbelief, but she can tell from outside, watching through the window, that he doesn't care, and isn't really surprised. She knows, because she is a motel clerk, and knows how easy it is to be skeptical and desensitized. Ashley has never checked in a crying woman without making sure that the problem was heard, understood, and the woman was hugged at least once. This is her guilty secret that no one else at her job knows.
She goes upstairs, and gives Ponytail all her important numbers, and Ashley eventually begins to drift off; her head is on Ponytail's lap, and Dog is curled up against the small of her back. Ponytail is rallying everyone, who will hopefully find her out here, in this alien world she is in now. She doesn't know where she is, but she trusts Ponytail completely, because she has Dog. And Dog would not be so happy to be with Ponytail if she was not at least, in some measure, trustworthy.
Ashley is still scared of what's happened to her cat, and the rest of the future, --the questions and the answers, and the story she'll have to tell. The changes she'll be forced to make to her life, because fear and paranoia will find her when the surreal edges come back into focus, and reality will slap her hard in the face, wake her up, and demand things of her. She is afraid of the future, and the possibility that her sometimes lover might not want her anymore, or see her differently. Afraid, but lethargy has crept in now, and she is falling asleep.
Besides. Everyone else is afraid of the future too.
The End.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
No one kidnapped me today. I have been having extremely intense dreams lately, because of the heat, I guess. Only the people who know me will know which parts of this story are completely true. Last night, I dreamed that a guest at my motel tried to rape me, and instead, just ended up strangling me and slapping me around.
I remembered all of this dream, because it scared me, and took me about 45 minutes to figure out if it really happened or not. It took me an hour and a half to write it, and I had to stop at one point because I started to have another panic attack, --which would make two in one day for me.
I'm going to go for a short drive now, pick up something to drink, and smoke, and listen to a little music and bask in my car's AC. Rough sleep has hurt my back, my heart, my mind, and maybe my soul. Maybe... just a scratch.
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