Synopsis: Wrongly convicted, a once prominent woman finds herself looking for life’s true purpose.
Note 1. I actually wouldn’t necessarily call this “graphic” nor sexual (because I refuse to write blatant sexual acts between characters – you can read the reason for that in the comments) but WordPress has their rules. So here’s the cautionary warning: This story contains graphic content as well as strong language.
Note 2: Written in third person. Italics indicate the main protagonist’s inner monologue.
Use. That’s all people did. They used Catherine and complained when she rarely asked for help.
“We love different opinions,” they said…”we’re very accepting and tolerant,” they exclaimed.
A lovely summary of my childhood, teenage years, adolescent, and adulthood, and probably what may be beyond this. But what they didn’t say was that they could never admit that they were hypocrites and would piss on your grave the second, not the minute, the very second they had the chance. Hell they’d kill you themselves and defecate on your corspe if it weren’t illegal…Or is it?
Beaten to a pulp everyday of the week. It’s a wonder I’m not brain dead…yet.
“we call you when we need something and your NEVER fucking there.”
Yeah, I call you, I text you, I email you, 50 zillion times only to get told 48 hours later “We don’t need you. We have more important matters to attend to.” I might as well send a worthless letter that’ll get there by the time the I or the Pony Express am fucking dead that you can manically laugh at while you proceed to burn it.
You know what I can’t believe is how the hell arrogant, asinine, ignorant, hypocritical, vexatious people like them remained in the 21st century…
Enough ranting, Catherine. My conscience. Ah. There you are.
What we’ve denigrated to as a society is abhorrible…
The old haggard reminded her of the people who raped her as a child. How they cut deep into her wrists, and made her do unspeakable things.
Yeah, just over talk me and insult my appearance and brag about your pathetic PhD when you don’t even know how copy and paste works which I attempted to explain to you but you refused to listen because by my bloodshot eyes, dark eye bags, messy, unkept hair, and the wear and tear on my clothing you assumed I was a mentally retarded whore, Catherine thought as her asinine employer went on. She would’ve told it to the vexatious harridan’s face but felt any sign of aggression would cause a scene; detracting from her newly created identity as Grace. This was the new normal in society.
Before becoming an author, Catherine had gone through several careers including working as an apprentice at a law firm and a scientist graduating at the top of her class at the age of 17. She would’ve been a doctor or nurse in the health sector had she not been banned from every hospital around the world after aiding heavily to the discovery of a cure for all types of cancers that led to cures for every disease known to man including the common cold and acne. No, Catherine didn’t accomplish such a feat on her own, but this was monumental for any one involved.
This was the culmination of eons of research, and numerous scientists determined to end the need to endure the hardship of the faulty human body.
I was kicked from every career that’d make a difference almost instantly. So what was stopping me from joining a group of rebels shunned for the same reasons.
Ten highly intelligent, highly qualified people who came up with intricate opportunities to worm their way back into the system and turn on it.
What we were ignorant of ourselves is how we were puppets in the authoritarian’s masquerade.
“Have you ever heard of xenopolycythemia?,” I inquired.
PE Teacher: …wait that’s an actual… medical condition?
Me: You bet your sorry ass it is. And seeing as you’ve heard of it, you should know it affects the spleen and in the current stage I’m in, this incurable disease has inhibited me from taking part in said physical activities.
PE Teacher: Well you should participate anyway. You look to be in perfectly good health and don’t you prioritize your grades above personal interests?
Me: The matter of my well being balancing on the rope of life and death is certainly not a personal interest and shouldn’t be belittled for the sole purpose of meaningless letter grades. Partaking regardless will result in further damage and paralyze the body. What rigorous activities will you have me participate in then? Which incapacitated student can drag their nearly lifeless bodies the farthest accross the gym floor?
I never did get a response out of him/her/them whatever “politically correct” term you wanna muster up.
The Collapse is what took its toll on her…on every person desperately wanting to make a difference.
She bust open the door and shut it with haste. Taking a long, stern look at the home she’s been living in for the past month, she shook her head.
This is it…After all these years…
Grabbing as many whine bottles as she possibly could to smash them clean against the columns of the room converted into a music studio.
Her clouded irises betrayed her. It was the last man from the group of people who she watched colaspe onto the floor. He had died in front of her, and here in her delirious plight she remembers rushing to his side, unable to do anything to save him. Only make his demise more comforting.
He walked over to her.
Her beloved friend wasn’t the one standing before her now. She had imagined him. Although, she had seen this gentleman across the room before, skepticism got the best of Catherine.
“Get this crap off of me.”
“Do you wanna die? For god’s sake, woman! You barely stumble back home, miraculously have the super human strength to trash your studio while bleeding out might I add, and then you black out awaiting your peaceful death.” He finishes his rant, flailing his arms wildly in the air, giving her his most cantankerous expression, clearly exasperated by her careless actions.
“Something like ‘I missed you too,’ could’ve made a more profound point but…that’s just me.” She coughs out, throat dryer than the Savannah. Attempting to make peace with him.
“Yeah, but I swear on my father and his father that if you attempt to pull those IV’s out, I will kill you myself.
“Kill me yourself? No, you’d put me in a coma that’ll last seven centuries.”
He snickered at that. She never lost her sense of humor after everything.
He slowed his pace and follows her through the alleyway, completely disregarding the heavy rain nearly impairing their movement.
She knows he’s just around the corner, and decides to wait. He sharply turns, running right into her grip; pinning him against the brick wall. For a recovering patient she held her own quite well, or least the adrenaline did. He could have swept her up easily but this was their game, he let Catherine get away, he let her turn the tables and overtake him.
“What do you want from me?”
It was more of a demand than a question. He doesn’t answer; instead he stares straight into her eyes, returning the same look – rain water dripping from his brow.
She stares back; slowly letting go of his coat, allowing buried memories invade her mind. The boy with blue eyes comes into view making her drop into the puddle behind her. The friends she loved, each face flashed.
“I want you to stop running…” his voice echoes in the night; overpowering the booming storm, taking her out of the insanity that went on in her mind.
He bent down, and held out a hand.
She took his hand and he pulled her up.
Her legs were still weak from the affect of loosing nearly 2 pints of blood and pain from the wounds she achieved during the free for all over a drink.
With a nod in agreement, she allows him to carry her.
“I’m sorry,” she tells him, clinging onto his collar.
“I would’ve done the same, amnesia or not.”
A beat passes.
“I remember you, John. You were studying to become a doctor and dropped out after the chaos.”
“Never did care for working with blind, greedy animals.”
Returning back to his apartment and getting a set of clothes finally, John led her to the area she liked to sit at by the window with a bottle of rum in her hand. He frowned at her choice to consume alcohol so early, but he entrusted her with not drowning in a pit of toxic waste. City lights gleamed, flying cars zoomed by.
“But you didn’t pull that trigger,” John whispered a reply to her.
She wasn’t one for self pity but knowing nothing could change, there wasn’t a point in continuing. Until now…
“But why did the lad have to die?”
The night went on like this until dawn. Back and before she questioned and he gave her an answer; these answers weren’t to please her either, they were for logic to suffice in an illogical world where you were shunned for excelling above others, labeled mentally ill for knowing the truth, and punished for succeeding past their control.
Through their drinking they were entranced by one another. A tug of war laced with defiance of authority, passion, and the drive to live a better life. That’s the flame that ignited between them when they were near each other irregardless of intoxication. She could write freely, he could play piano and tinker with machinery without frustration.
He wanted to tell her, “our minds control this, Catherine.” He wanted her to know how life wasn’t simply set in a fixed route. John wanted her to know that some things could be controlled and others could not. But it worried him to anger the woman only to lead her to believing the boy, and the lives of many, could have been saved, then ending up killing herself. He knew this because he himself attempted the act upon the realization.
Each time “reality” hit the duo repeated the mantra in their minds:
Just let me write
Just let me play
For one more minute
For one more day
Their childhood desires resurfaced.
There were moments of utter peace and glimpses of a world without suffering when Catherine was younger. A world without someone wanting to stab you in the neck for a couple of bucks around every swift corner. These moments, however, were never enough to quell the mindless violence that surrounded everyone.
On that very night she again became addicted to him. He, too, renewed his addiction to her. Their strong love for each other, however, never involved nor invited sexual innuendo.
They basked in the thought of no longer reaching for an unattainable desire. An open mind in a closed system.
Credit for image: http://yuuike.deviantart.com/art/Gasoline-587538482