aoyaoia

This week for the Indie Ink writing challenge my prompt came from octoberesque.
The prompt was http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/post/5202057244/aoyaoia.

I clicked on the link and it brought me to an entry in "The Dictionary or Obscure Sorrows." The word the prompt brought me to is aoyaoia, which is defined as the following:
n. a musical flavor found in electric guitar solos that compels you to snarl, squint and bend your spine like a longbow being drawn back to fire a warning shot to your distant ancestors, so they may know that your domestication will not go unavenged.

I felt a little stumped by this prompt, and as I sat down and began to write, I consulted my itunes library for some inspiration.  Inspiration smacked me in the face, and I felt like I had to look no further. I also felt that as much as I initially felt stumped by this prompt, I now felt symbiotically connected to it.

As I browsed alphabetically through my library which is obsessive compulsively organized by artist and track, as well as album, a song reached out and grabbed me. I listened to it, although my memory knows the lyrics word for word. I needed to double check the accuracy of my memory, and make sure that this song defined aoyaoia as well as the definition did. As I listened to the intro, and before the lyrics kicked in, I was sold!

This song was released in 1987. I was ten years old. At the time, this was a song that invoked controversy and disapproving looks from my parents. It was hard, heavy, and on the borderline vulgar. The band's appearance was unkempt. They were uncouth. They were probably on drugs. Their music was quite different, and this was their second release off of their debut album. It reached number seven on the "Billboard top 100 chart." Still today when it comes on the radio, I turn it up. At the age of 33 it still amps me up as much as it did when I was 10.


For the first 15 seconds of the song an electric guitar solo grabs you and rings out an anthem as it pulls you in. The electric guitar is then accessorized with percussion and the sounds of sirens. Still, the electric guitar rides on top driving the song. There are no vocals for the first 45 seconds of the song, and when they start, you're ready to go. When the lyrics of the song kick in, they are the icing on the cake - a freight train that is running full throttle. 

Without further ado here is the song, complete with the video, that defined aoyaoia for me. I  hope you enjoy it as much as I have for the past 23 years.                                                   

Dear God: Please save me from your followers.......

This week my for the Indie Ink writing challenge came from Katri.

My challenge this week was simply "be inspired by this," and this link to a you tube video:

I have to be honest with you. I made a valiant effort to complete this challenge to the best of my ability, as I do every week. I listened to the song more times than I care to remember. I looked up the lyrics, because I couldn't understand them. I then re-listened to the video multiple times while reading the lyrics  I emailed the link to my best friend and had my mother listen to it, because for the life of me I could not figure out the meaning of this song, or the story that it was attempting to tell me. After a few hours of working at this, and talking with my consultants, this is what this link has inspired me to say.

First, I was immediately turned off by the fact that the "video" is not a video at all. It is merely a picture with a song playing behind it. If I am watching a video, I expect to see just that- a video. I do not expect to see a still picture, in which I can't decipher what the picture is, with a song playing in the background.

Second, I must have listened to this song at least 20 times trying to somehow conclude what the meaning of it was. I was really trying to live up to my expectations in this challenge. After listening to it that many times, I feel completely confident in saying I would love to have that hour and ten minutes of my life back. I found this song really painful to listen to, and almnost hard to classify as a song. I feel like everyone is entitled to their artistic opinion and expression, so I can't bring myself to invalidate it any more than this. I also know that my mind has an open door policy when it comes to any kind of artistic expression, espescially music. I feel this strongly that this song was hard to qualify as a song. My panel off consulatants found it even more unbearable than I did. This makes me doubt it's validity as qualifying it as music.

Last, in my attempt to really try to understand this song, I went on wickepedia to check out the group mewithoutyou. Apparently I was so caught up in trying to find the meaning in this song that other people expressed love and affection to, I missed this important fact. This group has a strong religious basis, as does their music. This is probably the reason that the meaning behind this song was entirely lost on me. My best friend had to point it out to me because I was meerly scanning for insight into this particular song. It's also possible that I am just impervious to anything with religious overtones of this nature. I feel justified in this opnion having attended a religious based school system for grades K-12. At this point in my life, I am agnostic by nature, and quite frankly most organized religion scares the crap out of me. I could ellaborate on this point for days, but I feel like you get the point. Over exgareting it would be unnecessary.

I am somewhat dissapointed and sad this week that this is what was inspired by this week challenge prompt.

The eighth day

This week for the Indie Ink writing challenge, my prompt came from Blackbird.

It is the eighth morning, and God rolls over and cracks an eye open at the day. He takes a long, hard stretch from his fingers to his toes. He is a bit sore from the hard work of the past week, but having taken the day before to rest, he feels refreshed and renewed. He throws back the covers, and his coffee maker beckons him. He fills it with water and fresh beans. The coffee maker comes alive with sounds of grinding beans and percolating water. The delicious aroma of coffee fills God's senses, and he as he pours himself a steaming cup, he admires himself for creating such an indulgent beverage. The coffee courses through him, and he is again grateful for the overwhelming sense of refreshment he feels from his well deserved day of rest. God pours himself a second cup, and ponders what he's going to do with the day.    
 

He mulls over all the work he accomplished during the prior week, and even he finds it slightly unbelievable. He thinks of the earth spinning beneath him. He thinks of the birds and sea life, the wild beasts, livestock, and reptiles that inhabit it. He thinks of the the sky, and of it's alter ego the moon. He thinks of the humans that he created in his image and likeness, and thinks that it is a pretty great likeness if  he does say so himself. Lastly, he thinks of the light with which the humans can see all of the wondrous things that he created over those six days. He inhales the delicious smells of the coffee once more, and exhales a sigh of relief that all of this hard work is behind him.

"What to do today?" he thinks. An idea comes to mind, and he is filled with excitement. He deserves a day of unabashed fun after all the work he's just put in. As he dials first Dave, and then Gabe, he is tingling with excitement. He tells the angels to come over at 2. He finishes his coffee, and begins preparing for their arrival. God fills a pitcher with water, then turns the water to beer, and puts the pitcher in the fridge to chill. He grabs 3 mugs, and puts them in the freezer to frost. Then, God makes a quick trip down to earth to gather a few things. He finds10 pins, 3 pairs of shoes, and a few different weight balls. He then ascends back above, and eagerly awaits his guests arrival.


Seeing as angels have a habit of being prompt, Dave and Gabe arrive exactly at 2. God takes the mugs out of the freezer, tops each one off with a frothy beer, and gives each of them a pair of shoes. God changes into a pair, instructing the confused pair to do the same. Shoes on feet, and beer in hand, he picks up a ball. The duo follows suit. They hadn't realized before, but in front of them down a long alley 10 pins are set up. God takes the ball, carries it up to the line at the end of the alley,  and aims. He knocks down 8 of the pins, and does a happy dance.  His ball suddenly appears in his hand, and he aims at the remaining to pins. He misses, and it's Dave's turn. As God had done, he takes the ball and walks up to the line at the end of the alley. He aims, and rolls the ball down towards the pins. All 10 pins fall to the ground!


Down below, the humans that inhabited the earth that God had created the week before stared at the sky in wonder. Though they had only been there for a short time, they had never heard a sound like the one they just heard coming from the sky. The thunder rumbled, and the ground shook slightly. The sky flashed bright, and with a crack they heard and saw a tremendous lightening bolt. It was the first that they had ever seen.

Remember on days like today when the sky grows dark and angry and when the lightening flashes bright and cracks down from above - it's the angels bowling! 

My challenge for the week was:

"An inspiration from Nietzsche: Describe God's boredom after the seventh day of creation."

Junior goes home

This is my fifth week writing for the Indie Ink writing challenge. This week my challenge came from Head Ant. I hope that you enjoy it.

Bump. Bump. I try with all my might to curl my body into the tightest ball possible in the corner of my crate. Bump. Thud. Judging by the loud bumping and thudding that is constant, the trailer that is housing is bravely fighting with the rough road as we drive along. My crate is lined with hay, which was taken with me from my kennel this morning. It smells familiar like my pack, and I try unsuccessfully to burrow myself into it for safety. Bump. Thud. Bump.

The trailer stops moving, and the doors open flooding us with light. A man walks in and we are all most definitely awake and all eyes are on the man. This man has come into the trailer before, and when he does I get to go out and walk around. I sniff at the air, which is growing crisper and crisper with each stop. I relieve myself, and stretch my legs a bit, and then he puts me back in my crate. He proceeds to do this with my forty other traveling companions. Twice the man has given me food. I like this man. He ruffles my fur, and talks softly to me. I wish I could stay with him instead of in my crate. I am barely able to contain my excitement while I wait for him to come to my crate. After my walk, he puts me back into the safety of my crate. As I listen to the noise from the other dogs, I begin re-arranging my hay. I begin to burrow in it in preaparation for when the truck starts to move.

Thump. Bang. Bump. The trailer plows forward over the road, bringing us closer and closer to our final destination. I don't know what that destination is, but I am more than ready to arrive there. The excitement of having all of the puppies in one space is purely electric. As much as I miss the familiar smells that invade my nose, I feel like I am going to explode with anticipation. 

Somehow, in the midst of all this banging and excitement my puppiness takes over and I fall asleep. the sounds of the trailer door being opened pull me out of my sleep. There is no more bumping or thudding, and the man walks for the doorway and takes the first puppy out of the trailer. I watch and wait for him to come and bring the puppy back to his crate, and hope that it will be my turn soon.

THE MAN COMES BACK WITHOUT THE PUPPY!!! That can mean only one thing... we have arrived. Oh my, oh my, oh my. Is it my turn. He goes and retrieves another puppy from his crate, walks outside, and once again returns without the puppy. I pace, and find myself whining a little bit. I am so excited at this point I think that I may just jump out of my skin from my insides being so excited. I pace and whine and pace and whine. Oh my, oh MY he's in front of my crate. He's opening the door, and he takes me in his arms. Where are we going I wonder? I don't really care, because we are here. You know by all the noise from withing the trailer that the other puppies know it too. They are all whining and pacing and whining as the man carries me past their crates to my destination.

We step outside and I met by the coldest air that I have ever felt. The man holds me out, and I am taken into the warmest arms that I have ever felt. A sweater is slipped over my head, around my belly, and over my paws. Between the arms and the sweater I stop shaking fro the cold. A shiny red leather collar is placed around my neck. The owner of the arms that are enveloping me kisses the top of my head. She leans over and whispers in my ear "Hi Junior. I'm your Momma." At this moment, I know I am home.

 

My challenge this week was "In the adoption world, "Gotcha Day" is the day when the adopted parties are placed in their forever families' arms.
 Write about Junior's Gotcha Day from his point of view."

Junior & Me

Junior came into this world homeless while my life was spinning around in chaos. He was born on October 19, 2008. In the fall of 2008 I lost my father, my boyfriend, our apartment, and our dog was hit by a car and taken from us. Needless to say, that time in my life was an overwhelmingly sad period, and I was plodding through each day just trying to make it through to get the next day.
Junior was fortunate enough to have been taken in by a rescue in Kentucky, and his picture put up on their website in hopes of finding him an adopter and a forever home. My mother came across this picture and immediately fell in love.

I mean, how could you not? She decided that a puppy was exactly what I needed in my life, and Junior was adopted. I was equally overwhelmed and excited when she told me this news. Puppies are a lot of work, and I had become content running through a mundane day, followed by a mundane night, leading into the next mundane morning. Regardless, Junior was set to arrive on January 12, 2009. He made the long journey here from Kentucky in a huge trailer pulled by a pick up truck. Having driven to Kentucky myself, I knew what a long trip this was- about 22 hours. We waited patiently for their arrival with a group of other adopters, and when the trucks pulled up the excitement was palpable. They put Junior in my arms, and it was love at first sight for us both.

At this point in the story, I think it is important to share this fact with you - Junior is an American Staffordshire Terrier, one of the three breeds that make up the classification of pitbull.  The American Staffordshire Terrier was recognized as a breed by the American Kennel Club in 1936 and is described by them in the following ways:
"Courageous and strong, the American Staffordshire Terrier (Am Staff)’s athletic build and intelligence make him ideally suited to many dog sports such as obedience, agility, tracking and conformation. He is often identified by his stocky body and strong, powerful head."
"The Am Staff is a people-oriented dog that thrives when he is made part of the family and given a job to do. Although friendly, this breed is loyal to his family and will protect them from any threat. His short coat is low-maintenance, but regular exercise and training is necessary."
"The American Staffordshire Terrier should give the impression of great strength for his size, a well put-together dog, muscular, but agile and graceful, keenly alive to his surroundings. He should be stocky, not long-legged or racy in outline. His courage is proverbial."
 

I have to share a simple fact with you. It is impossible to own a pit bull, and not become an advocate of the breed. A friend of ours had found a pit puppy in a dumpster after a night of drinking at one of his favorite spots, and as he put it "she was the only woman he ever brought with him." Upon getting to know her, and witness their relationship, our love of the breed was born. I acquired a beautiful brindle staffordshire terrier for my boyfriend as a birthday gift, and there are no words to describe how in love with him we were, as well as him with us. Kermit was an amazing dog, and he possessed a unique air of awesomeness that I had never seen. I had researched and researched, and then researched some more before acquiring him due to the stigma that the breed holds, and as Kermit became a part of our lives he carved out a notch in my heart that hadn't been there before.

Kermit was struck and killed by a car in December of 2008. He was a year and a half old. When we lost him at such an early age I was devastated, and tried to come to terms with this loss.  My heart was so broken, that getting another dog was the furthest hing from my mind... until my mom told me that in a few weeks I would again be a mom to a puppy. To say I had mixed emotions would be a colossal understatement. Kermit's passing was such a jagged raw piercing pain, and with everything that I had lost that fall. I was pretty closed off to opening my heart and letting myself get attached to anything again, for the simple logic that I couldn't bear to loose anything else. Fortunately, there is no logic behind love and as the Rolling Stones infamously said "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes well you just might find, you get what you need."
 

When Junior came into my life, I was living in an apartment in Dorchester with roommates I had found on Craig's list. My living space was reserved to one room, although it was the "living room" area of the apartment, so I had it set up as a decent sized studio apartment. To maximize this space, I had purchased a combo bunk bed/futon. I re-arranged the small space to accommodate Junior's house, ie. his crate, and realized that this was not exactly ideal housing for a dog that was estimated to grow into a 65 pound body. When he arrived, he was about 12 pounds of clumsy adorable puppy, and from the first night we spent there until our last night when he weighed in at about 60 pounds, Junior and I slept in the top of my bunk bed in a twin bed. I couldn't have imagined it any other way.
 

I hadn't lived in Boston with Kermit, and was also faced with entirely new prejudices against his breed that I never knew of. Withing Boston city limits, pitbulls are required to be muzzled when outside. Non-compliance with this law would result in being ticketed and fined. Junior and I ventured to the pet store, and I bought a muzzle. It's still in it's original package, because I never had the heart to put it on him.
At this point I need to bore you with a few more facts about pitbulls. There are three dogs that fall under the classification of pitbull: American pitbull terrier, American staffordshire terrier, and staffordshire bull terrier. Annually a group called the American Temperament Test Society, Inc. conducts temperament testing on all breeds of dogs. This is a synopsis on what this non-profit organization does.
 

"Because of breed-specific dog legislation and negative publicity associated with many breeds of dogs, temperament testing has assumed an important role for today's dog fancier. The ATTS Temperament Test provides breeders a means for evaluating temperament and gives pet owners insight into their dog's behavior. It can have an impact on breeding programs and in educating owners about their dog's behavioral strengths and weaknesses as well as providing a positive influence on dog legislation. W. Handel, German Police Dog Trainer, in his article, "The Psychological Basis of Temperament Testing," defines temperament as: "the sum total of all inborn and acquired physical and mental traits and talents which determines, forms and regulates behavior in the environment." The ATTS test focuses on and measures different aspects of temperament such as stability, shyness, aggressiveness, and friendliness as well as the dog's instinct for protectiveness towards its handler and/or self-preservation in the face of a threat. The test is designed for the betterment of all breeds of dogs and takes into consideration each breed's inherent tendencies. The test simulates a casual walk through the park or neighborhood where everyday life situations are encountered. During this walk, the dog experiences visual, auditory and tactile stimuli. Neutral, friendly and threatening situations are encountered, calling into play the dog's ability to distinguish between non-threatening situations and those calling for watchful and protective reactions."
 

You can find specifics on what the test entails on their website. I do want to share with you a few of their findings. The passing average of all dogs in 2011 was 83%. The American Pitbull Terrier passed at 86.4%, the American Staffordshire Terrier passed at 84.2%, and the Staffordshire Bull Terrier passed 89.7% - all above the average passing rate. Here is a list of commonly accepted dogs as pets that rated below and a few on par with the pitbull: American Eskimo, Beagle, Boston Terrier, Boxer, Chinese Crested, Dachshund, Dalmatian, German Shepherd, Golden Retriever, Toy Poodle, and lastly the Portuguese Water dog who is the official dog of the white house, at 77.8%.
 

There are equally as many pro-pitbull websites as there are anti-pitbull websites. When I started this weeks challenge, I began reading through them although I am already familiar with what they both have to say. I felt bogged down just looking at the information they provided. I know it is subjective on each side, and I decided to exclude it from here for that reason, and also to try to keep a leash on my advocacy and the level of preachiness that I would allow into this story. I do feel it necessary to share some of the obstacles you face by owning this breed of dog though, as it is pertinent to my challenge this week.
 

As Junior began to grow, and our relationship developed I found myself emotionally hitting a wall at times, because I really felt like it was impossible for me to fill that void that was left by Kermit. I was too afraid to allow myself to become attached again. The great thing about dogs though, is that they are incapable of acknowledging your baggage, and they just push you forward by being great. Junior is chock full of his own unique awesomeness, and soon that void I had in my heart began filling up against my own better judgement.

A year ago, our lives changed. We left Boston, and moved to Agawam with my mother. I found out I was pregnant, and Jameson joined our family on November 15, 2010. I was entirely unsure how Junior would respond to having a baby in the house. Regardless of his breed, I know families whose dogs were jealous of the baby, not patient, snapped at the child or for whatever reason they had to give up their pets. My mother brought home a blanket that smelled of the baby to prepare him for our arrival, and Junior was over the moon with excitement and joy when we arrived home with Jameson. Now, 6 months later, Junior is still that overjoyed every time he sees Jameson, and he is the only one in the house that is regularly given kisses by Junior. When the baby sleeps in his crib, or swings in his swing Junior lays by him and keeps guard. It is an immense security knowing that Junior in not only as in love with Jameson as we are, but also that he instinctively protects and guards my baby with his loving heart and capable 77 pound body.

The last story I want to share with you is of a recent illness I had. In the middle of February I ran a fever that spiked up and down for several days from normal to 103.8 at it's highest. I thought I had the flu, and laid in bed freezing from the fever. As I lay there, Junior laid with me, spooning his body into mine, and kept me warm while I whimpered in pain. I was finally diagnosed with a kidney infection, and spent three days in the hospital. Before I left, and once again when I came home, my dog lay by my side or at my feet, but always with me while I was not well. Every night I go to sleep, and every morning I wake up Junior is there. Words cannot express the comfort that is felt from 77 pounds of warm, soft puppy love.

 "My goal in life is to be as good of a person my dog already thinks I am." ~ Author Unknown

My challenge this week for the Indie Ink writing challenge was from Alyssa Ammirato and the challenge was "fiction or non-fiction, write about a relationship - of any sort - that succeeded against all odds."   

I love the rain most when it stops

This is my fourth week participating in the Indie Ink writing challenge. My challenge this week is from Debra Elliot and the challenge is "Into life a lot of rain falls." If you live in the same area as me, then you know that this is quite an accurate statement for this past  week. I haven't seen the sun shine since last Friday: that's six straight days of gray skies. I tried to take this weeks challenge in a less literal way than actually writing about the weather, but with all of this rain and it's effect on my psyche I lacked the motivation to write about anything else. As I sit down and ponder this weeks challenge, I am reminded of a song that a best fried of mine started a cd off with that he made me for my thirtieth birthday. It's called "I Love the Rain Most When it Stops" by Joe Purdy. I am totally unfamiliar with this artist yet I am completely in love with this song. Anyone that knows me is aware that indeed I do love the rain most when it stops. This morning I woke up to the baby babbling away through the monitor, and opened my eyes to my dimly lit gray room, and I sighed at the morning. My body aches from the weather as much as my head does. As I attempt to greet the day I am met with resistance from my back, neck, knees, and hands that are newly diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome. I drag my aching body from the solace of my bed, and go to scoop up my son from his crib. He looks up at me with a smile brighter than the sun, and for a moment I am content. I change him, grab a bottle, and as I open the shades before settling down on the couch to feed him his breakfast, I am once again underwhelmed by the day. As he eats, I think about what I need to accomplish during the day, what of it requires me to leave my house, and resign myself to the fact that I probably will stay inside in my sweats until tomorrow. As far back as I can remember, this is the way it always has been. I spoke to a therapist about it in the past, and explained how gray days brought about sadness, and after multiple gray days I would succumb to it's overwhelming urges. I find myself in tears for no reason, and the hopelessness is more than I can handle sometimes. The therapist's diagnosis was s.a.d., or seasonal affective disorder. Her advice was special light bulbs from which I found no relief, and when I felt the need to go tanning to substitute some missing vitamin  d. I went yesterday, and for the fifteen minutes I spent in the bed I was in bliss. I felt happy, and relieved. This feeling of relief stayed with me for about an hour, and then  it's effect started to subside, and today I awoke feeling as miserable as I did yesterday. Tomorrow the forecast calls for sun, and I've got my fingers and my toes crossed with the hope that it's true.

Dear diary.....

I've put off writing a response to my challenge this week for the Indie Ink writing challenge as long as I could. As soon as I saw my challenge, I knew what the topic needed to be, but I've been unable to bring myself to sit down and write it. I apologize if this comes out a bit rough and raw, but then again, how could it not be.

November 15, 2010

Happy Birthday Jameson! After 10 months of waiting to see your beautiful face, we were not disappointed. The contractions got to be more than I could handle aqt about 2:30 a.m., and I woke up Miah to tell him that it was time to go. I phoned my parents, got my bag that we had packed, and we were off to the hospital. I was thrilled to learn when we arrived that I was indeed in active labor, 3 centimeters dilated, and was admitted and wheeled up to our room. My mom and dad arrived around 4, right after my epidural was administered. I was grateful that the pain was manageable when they arrived, so that they didn't have to see me like that. My labor progressed quickly, and when the time came my dad retreated to the waiting room to hear the news of your arrival. Miah held my leg, and my mom cut the chord, and we welcomed you into the world at 12:29 pm. I held you and fell in love. While the nurses cleaned and swaddled you, my mother fetched my father. He came into the room, ruffled my hair, and told me how proud he was of me. He crossed the room, and Miah put you into his arms and he gazed at you with wonder and amazement. Tears filled his eyes as he too fell in love with his grandson. It was the best day of my life.

October 10, 2015

After 10 years in the making, today was my wedding day. I've never felt more beautiful than I did standing at the end of the aisle in my dress with my father. I've dreamed since I was a kid of him walking me down the aisle, and giving me away, and it was better than in my dreams. The ceremony was simple, the vows were our own, and then we kissed and were husband and wife. We took way too many photos, and then it was time for the reception. Everyone has always told me that they remember their wedding as a blur, and tonight I know what they mean. The food, the toasts, the guests passed like a dream. I'll never forgot the how amazing Miah looked, waiting for me at the end of the aisle... so beautiful and perfect like someone had drawn him standing there. I'll also never forget dancing with my father. With Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely" playing in the background, he told me that I was lovely. He said he was so proud of the women that I had become, and through teary eyes he beamed at me and told me he loved me. Aside from the birth of my son, it was the happiest day of my life.

September 14, 2008

I was having a lazy day at home with Miah, sitting in my pajamas watching the "E True Hollywood Story" of Hugh Laurie. I heard a car door slam, and looked out the window. I saw my mother getting out of the car with my godfather, and his wife. I was rather confused by them just showing up without warning, since I lived 2 hours away, and went into the other room to give Miah a heads up that they were here. I opened the door, and knew something was wrong. My mother looked me in the eye, and said that my father had died that morning. I screamed at the top of my lungs, ran from the room, and threw up. I took a few minutes, and I mustered up all the composure that I could and went back out to face them. I learned that with no forewarning my father had taken his own life that morning while my mother was at work. Later that night, with plans to travel home the next morning to start making arrangements, I sat in the dark trying to drown my sorrows with beer and trying to make sense of something that didn't make sense at all. The thoughts that kept invading my mind were these: that my father would never meet my children; that I had no one to walk me down the isle at my wedding.  Up to this point, today was the worst day of my life.

My challenge this week was from FlamingNyx and the challenge was
"Rewrite your history by changing one definitive moment."

I'll be right here waiting for you...

This is my second week participating in the Indie Ink writing challenge and I was challenged by cope. I'm going to post the challenge after my response, because I am curious if I was hit or miss on this challenge.

  I wake up on the third morning to the still uncomfortable silence. I blink into the harsh sunlight. I wonder why I didn't have the sense to draw the curtains before I went to sleep, but then again if I had gone "to sleep" in any conventional fashion, then maybe I would have thought to. It took a concoction of bourbon, mixed with a few klonopin and an ambien chaser to put me down last night.
 

As my eyes blink in the morning, I sit up and physically try to shake off the remnants of my new night time ritual. I long again for that short, blissful moment I have when I'm just waking and everything is okay... before I roll over to reality, and to the emptiness which knocks the wind out of me like a kick to the stomach. I long for the security blanket of sleep, clinging to it's comfort as a child does. I lean back into the soft, forgiving pillows. The smells of the bed envelope me, and I breathe them in.
 

Inhale... faint smells of shampoo...exhale...hair matted and bloody... inhale... faint smells of after shave... exhale... that face, eyes wide and mouth gasping for air... inhale... smells growing fainter with each passing day... exhale... the vivid recollection of that night, and of all it’s horror. The bed is almost a living, breathing reminder of the life and breath that no longer exist. The fading smells are my penance, and the emptiness from which they stem the result of my crime.
 

I hear a car outside, and every time I do I'm certain it's the police, and that they've finally come for me. I take the bottle of klonopin off of the nightstand, and pop two in my mouth still dry from sleep. I professionally maneuver them down my throat without the aid of water. Their affect is not immediate, but still I feel calmer knowing of their impending relief. I feel confident enough to peel myself out of bed and sneak a peek out of the window so I can see the blue and red flashing lights and am somewhat grateful by their absence. Then again, I know the relief that would come from their arrival, and the knowledge that this part of the nightmare has drawn to a close.
 

They have to come. I need them to come. They need to put an end to this chapter so I can move onto the next. I am too much of a coward to call them myself, but I also smart enough to know that the arrival of some form of law authority is immanent.
 

I retreat into the bathroom, and take solace in the safety of the surrounding ceramic tiles, and the stability of the shiny metal fixtures around me. I turn on the water, letting it run hot, and watch the steam surround me and fog up the mirror. I am grateful that I can no longer see myself in it. Grateful that I cannot see what I have become.
 

I grab my toothbrush from it’s holder, glancing at the second toothbrush next to it, and brush my mouth clean of the film the pills have left behind. I step into the shower hoping to achieve the impossible- to physically cleanse myself of this nightmare with simple soap and water. I grab the shampoo that is not mine, then the soap. As their smells tortuously fill my senses, I am reminded of a happier time before the twists and turns of this life had led us fatefully to that night... where three days ago I killed the we and became just me.
 

I step out of the shower, grab a clean towel, and dry off. I wrap myself in his robe, and venture back into the bedroom. Exhausted from the shower, I pour myself a morning glass of bourbon and pop another klonopin. The bourbon clashes with the taste of toothpaste in my mouth, and I realize that my night time ritual is taking over my morning. Soon it will rule my day and I think "Fuck it, why not?”
 

As the warm fuzzies set in equally from the pills and the booze, I sit by the window. I wait and I watch for them to come for me, and rescue me from this self inflicted hell on earth that I am living in now.  

My challenge this week was:

A first person story in which the character has just committed a murder, but you cannot mention anything about the murder, death, motives, the victim etc. etc.

Canada or Bust(ed)

This is my first week participating in the Indie Ink writing challenge. Andrea has challenged me the following: You're hiding from the law. Tell us why and/or what's happening now. Here is my story.

"Are we almost there?" my son asks for what must be the tenth time this hour.

"We've passed the halfway mark," I reply. " 250 miles down, and 163 to go."

I can almost feel a faint smile play on his lips in the dark car as he says "I can't wait to see Niagara Falls. I really needed this vacation."

My child. My man-child, who tonight is much more man than child, is trying to lighten a dark mood on a grim night. We are driving north, not stopping, technically fleeing to the Canadian border. Niagara falls is the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel leading us away from this nightmare.
 
It started out like any ordinary night in our somewhat ordinary lives. I was on the couch watching t.v., my son upstairs in bed. I shouldn't have answered that knock at the door, wish I hadn't answered that knock at the door. Could it have been just that simple?
 
"At least the lines should be short," I reply, forcing a smile across my face. "Bet you not many people travel to Niagara falls to vacation in January."
 
My son merely sighs in agreeance, and I wonder if he is thinking about that knock on the door.
 
I was not surprised to see my husband through the peep hole, looking cold and sad, on the other side of the door. Since the separation, we had all been wearing our own masks of sadness. I opened the door for him, and was immediately set on edge when he fell through the opening. The smell of booze was sharp, his eyes were glassy, and he said nothing as he regained his footing. He sat down on the couch and I approached him with apprehensive curiosity. He began to speak, looking at the floor, voice trembling, and panic hit my stomach. The divorce papers. He had received them today. How could I have not realized? The panic rose into my throat. Why had I opened the door? As he spoke, still not looking me in the face, the panic rose past my throat and I could taste it.
 
"I told you if you ever left me I would kill you," he had stated, and then came at me with a steadfast speed that could be fueled only by a moment of complete insanity. Why had I opened the door? I was caught off guard, off balance, and fell to the floor taking out most of the coffee table. He was twice my size, on top of me, his hands constricting my airway. As the darkness was settling into my vision I heard a noise. There were no words, only the guttural  yelling of my son. As my surprised husbands hands loosened in grip I caught sight of my son wide eyed, yet still bleary and confused from sleep. My flailing arms grabbed hold of the first thing they found and struck him as hard as I could, and his movement stopped.
 
I pushed out from underneath him, gasping, looking wildly around my living room, trying to breathe and make sense of everything that had just happened. My son ran to me, collapsing onto the floor into my arms, and we sat for a few minutes just breathing together. Then I realized that my husband wasn't breathing. I listened and waited and watched, but there was nothing. I gingerly approached his figure, lying still on the floor, felt for a pulse, and realized that there was none to feel. I felt a strange sense of panic and relief wash over me. The abuse that had happened for years was definitively over. There would be no more.
 
Fight or flight..... or how about both? Adrenaline rushed through my body, I instructed my son to grab the suitcases from the basement, and feverishly cleaned myself up, we changed, and packed what we could. I went into the safe and grabbed our passports, and our entire savings which was in cash lying beside them. We got into the car, I programed Niagara falls into the nav, and we started driving.
 
My son questioned me for the first time. "Shouldn't we call someone, like the police?"
 
"We will baby, when the time is right" I answered. I had visions of me in handcuffs, my son being taken away, put into the system since we have no family. I wouldn't allow that to happen. I wouldn't even entertain the possibility of him being taken from me. So I drove, away from my husbands body, away from our home, leaving our lives behind with one question still burning in my brain. Why did I open the door?