The Curved Opinion Short Stories Part 7: Deja Vu

Story Prompt - Deja vu

Have you ever experienced deja vu? I think that most people have. A conversation you think that you have had previously or a place that seems known to you, yet you know that you haven't been there before.

For some reason, I feel like my life lately has become one long deja vu. I cannot explain it, but I feel like I am living the same day, over and over again.  

The day is a work day, so is already filled with the familiar and routine. I wake up, have a shower, have my coffee. I look through my wardrobe deciding what to wear, yet the outfit I choose, my hand seems to move towards it without thought. Like I already chose it.

I have the same breakfast every day. That has not changed for years, toast with jam and another coffee. I love the taste of the sweet strawberry jam with the bitterness of the coffee. But this day, I am rushing. I managed to sleep through the shrill beeping of my alarm clock and so today all I can manage is a slurp of coffee before I have to leave.  

I try to move quickly around the flat to gather my things, but my limbs feel heavy. My body will not move the way I want it to. I put it down to the gym workout the previous morning. I realise that I have still not switched off my alarm clock. I hear it still going off in the next room. Yet when I reach it, it is already off. Odd.

I think to myself "not again" as I run out of the door, yet I am never late. So why do I think that this is a habit? I feel like I am accustomed to the panic running through my body as I note the clock on the wall at the reception of my building. 8.19am. The train is at 8.25 and it takes ten minutes to get there.

I step out into the street. This is where I truly feel like my day is repeating itself. A car is beeping its horn, a man waving at a woman he has just dropped off. Rain, appearing as if from nowhere, starts to pour. A woman, walks past me shouting "Will you wake up, dammit!" into her phone as she rummages through her handbag for an umbrella I seem to already know that she will not find. Her voice sounds familiar, but I cannot see her face.

I check the time on my watch. 8.20. I am going to miss the train. I decide to get a taxi. My boss detests tardiness, even more than he seems to detest me. I cannot be late. Late at my firm means you are not at your desk fifteen minutes before nine.  

I book the taxi and the registration number of the taxi, RU01 NAT comes up on my screen. I stare at the screen. RU NAT. My name is Natalie. Nat to my family. What does the RU mean? Are you Nat? I shake my head. I wonder if I am going mad.

The taxi approaches and I wave it down. The driver looks, odd. He is all dressed in light blue. Whatever.

From then, the day gets fuzzy. Working at a insurance firm, days do tend to merge into one. The work is the same thing, day in day out. I get home at 6.00pm, eat a microwave meal, watch some Netflix and go to sleep. Yet the last thing I remember doing is walking out into the street as the taxi approached. This is what I remember when I wake in the morning. I have no recollection of what happened in the rest of my day. This is strange.

Another day. I wake to the alarm's incessant beeping. I swear, I can hear that beeping in my head all the time now. Beep, beep, beep. It is constant.

I turn over and look at the clock, already knowing that the time will be 7.35am. Late. Again. I feel like I have repeated this day for months. But no more. I cannot repeat this day again. Something needs to change.

I run my fingers through the rail in my wardrobe, my hand automatically going to the black pinstripe suit and cream shirt. I move along the rail, choosing a dress instead. More feminine. Something I rarely wear. Different shoes follow. A calm seems to settle in me.

I look at the time. 8.16. I could make the train if I ran. Yet the shoes I have chosen today aren't the kind you can run in. I think about booking a taxi, but I turn off the app as soon as it opens. There is another train at 8.35. I would get to the office actually on time. 9.00am. Do the expected fifteen minutes early actually even matter? Unpaid too, I think to myself. Why do I do that? To impress a boss who detests me anyway? I need a new job.

I walk downstairs and leave the building. It is now 8.23. This time, three minutes later than my repeated day has been, there is no beeping horn of a car. The rain is there, but has already started. I turn to the right towards the subway and see the woman, but not fumbling in her handbag. She is already soaked. I am not. Because I knew that the rain was coming and my umbrella is already in my hand.

I start to walk towards the station and then suddenly, there is nothing. Fog swirls in my mind and then a blackness that is all encompassing. I am conscious, yet I see nothing. I cannot feel my body. I feel as though I am in limbo. Terror spreads through my body like ice. Yet I can still hear the beep, beep, beep in my head; like my alarm is still trying to wake me up.

I wonder if I am actually still asleep. If this is just a nightmare. I try to open my eyes but it is difficult to do. Like my eyes have been closed for a very long time. What greets me when I open them is not what I expected. I am in a bed, but not my own. I am not waking from a nightmare. At least not one I envisioned. I am in a hospital bed. Machines beep around me. I try to sit up, but the movement is slow. My limbs stiff as though they have not moved in a long time.

A male nurse light blue scrubs passes by and spots my movement. He runs into the room. "You're awake! I can't believe it! Let me get the doctor".

So reader, here is my story.  

That day, that very first day in what would become a repeating cycle in my head, I was late for work. When I ran out into the street to get my taxi, I did not notice the motorcycle heading straight for me. It was a head on collision. I have been in hospital in a coma for four months.  

My injuries healed after a couple of months and there was no medical reason after that for me not to wake up. Yet I didn't. I stayed in limbo. That day replayed on repeat in the depths of my brain. Until I chose to be different. Chose a different path. Now I think that I was waiting there, in limbo; to save myself.

The doctors think that I am a medical mystery. My nurse thinks it was my sister, who visited me every day. She talked to me all the time apparently. Asking me to wake up. The nurse said that she got quite angry the day before and shouted at me.

What I think is that I was not happy before. I had not really been living. I had a job I hated, friends I never saw and life was simply passing me by. I needed to make a change. I see that now. A chance to make a change. Be different. A new life.  

I write this to you now during my lunch hour at work. Not the insurance firm. I quit. I am now a junior editor at a publishing firm, actually using the degree that I studied so hard for. My wounds are healed and the scar on my head is barely noticeable under my new hair cut. I am meeting my sister later for drinks in the city. I have a date on Friday. I am living. Not existing.

All that it took, was being late that day. A change in my routine. A chance, to change everything. All I needed to do was take it.

Creative Corner 6 - A Hidden Getaway

Story Prompt - A fictional character describes their hidden getaway 

Let me tell you about my hidden place.  Hidden, yet in plain sight.

The Broughton Club has always been a special place for me.  It isn’t a gentleman’s club or a country club.  It is a members only club for those who want to, quite simply, disappear out of the world; be it for an hour or two or occasionally, a few days.   Numbers are limited and the waiting list is huge.

There has always been an air of mystery about the place.  The club has been situated on Granville Court for as long as anyone can remember.  No one knows who owns it or even who started the club in the first place.  The imposing double doored entrance gives no clue as to what or who is inside.

While most people who pass by think it is a gentleman’s club due to the number of well-heeled gentlemen you seeing entering the premises; the Broughton Club is in fact open for anyone who is willing to pay the membership fee (and sign the members agreement).

The members agreement is simple.   You must be introduced by another member.  You cannot approach other members who are in the quiet areas.  If you are looking for conversation, the bar and dining area is there for you to converse with other members there.  Non-members are not allowed, except for initial member introductions.  What you get in return is absolute peace, with five-star service and total discretion.  A place where you can go and have some peace, real peace, away from the hustle and bustle of the world.  No matter who you are.

Membership is expensive.  They make no qualms about it.    But this isn’t the kind of club where memberships are passed down through families, nor indeed is it the type of place that allows a family pass.  None of my family (except my husband) even know that I go there.  Once you have been introduced, you are vetted (not that they tell you that, but everyone knows that this happens) and you make an application to join.

Once you step through those doors, you get a feeling of home.  A very luxurious home, but home none the less.  Your exact tastes and preferences are noted down once your application has been approved, and they have everything that you could wish for. 

So what do I use the Broughton Club for?  Calmness.  Some time to myself to indulge in quiet moments.  My normal life is hectic.  My work and home life are demanding and time to myself without being bothered is a rare commodity. 

Whenever I get a few hours to spare, you will find me at the club, tucked into one of the large leather high back chairs in the quiet room.   I press a button discreetly hidden in the chair and the book I have been reading from the library is delivered to me.  I order a coffee or sometimes a glass of Dom Perignon from the butler who delivers my book, along with some lunch or dinner.   There is a menu you can look at, but truly, you can just ask for whatever is your fancy at that moment and they will bring it.   

No is not in their vocabulary.

There are others there in the quiet rooms, all doing their own version of peace.  We don’t talk.  There is no need.  That is not why we are here.  Some rooms are simple, quiet, with large fireplaces.  I enjoy watching the fire in the winter.  Sometimes I put my book aside and simply watch the fire crack and spark.  Other rooms have a similar set up, but quiet classical music is played.   

There also smaller rooms if you want to be truly alone.  All the comfort you could wish for, with a button to summon a butler.  You can do anything from read a book to have a full five course Michelin Star meal if that is what takes your fancy.

If you want to stay a few days, you can also do that.  Opulent rooms with huge four poster beds and twenty-four-hour service at the touch of a button.  But no visitors are allowed in the rooms.  Only members.  I suspect that they have previously learned that lesson.

There is a large dining room and bar area if you want to come out from your quiet place.  I have met a few members that way.  We don’t say much.  We talk about the rarity of such a place that allows you to step away from the world whilst sipping on a glass of Domaine Antoine.  We know how lucky we are to have found it. 

No business deals are done there.  Although connections are undoubted made and a personal relationship or two has been forged.  But this isn’t the place to carry out an affair.  You don’t go there for a date.  I should know.  It was my husband who introduced me to the place.  I have never seen him there, nor would I want to.  This is my sanctuary, just as it is his.

The Broughton Club is special because it is unique.  It is set up for isolation and a calm that you choose for yourself.  It offers conversation if you wish, but the quiet rooms are often more occupied than the dining/bar area.

One a year the club hosts a masked ball.  Chosen so that members who can attend can remain nameless if they so choose.  Black tie and ballgowns, with a mask.  If you didn’t know any better, you would think you had walked into the scene from Eyes Wild Shut such is the abundance of wealth on display.  Except there is (certainly) no sex, no orgies, just wine, good food, a quartet playing and good conversation.  The quartet are not blindfolded, but they are paid handsomely for their discretion.

Many reporters have tried to get into the Broughton Club, convinced that there is something sordid there, some story to tell.  They know that only those with money attend and with money normally follows scandal, power plays and deals done behind closed doors.  They would be disappointed if they knew. 

Like Fight Club, the members know that you do not talk about the Broughton Club.  You only bring someone for an introduction if you completely trust them, because any scandal or even breaking of the rules by them would result in you both losing your membership.

In a world filled with money and power, social media and the internet, secrets sold for profit and our time increasingly taken until nothing is left, the Broughton Club offers a step away from the chaos of the world, and exhale.  

And that my friends, is priceless.

Creative Corner 5 - Wishes from a Genie

Story Prompt

You are given three wishes by a genie, but the twist is, you don't get to chose what you receive. The genie does.

Do you remember the day that the earth decided to stop hiding the magic in the world?  No one ever discovered the reason why.  It was as if Mother Earth had just decided that there was too much pain in the world and decided to give us the magic that we knew, or hoped, was under the surface.  Just outside of our vision.  But no longer.

What became interesting was what was folklores were true, what creatures were real and what we had in fact made up in our heads.  Fairies?  Real.  Trolls?  Real.  Dinosaurs?  A hoax, apparently perpetrated by pixies (also real) to mess with the human race.

Dragons were real, but had in fact become extinct.  The Loch Ness Monster, was real but also now extinct.  I was sad about that one.

Crime rates went down, though this was a technicality because it turned out that a lot of unsolved murders were actually committed by vampires and the occasional werewolf and no one was quite sure yet as to whether those beings could be charged with a crime.  You certainly couldn’t put them in prison.  They would eat the population.  

The Yeti and Big foot were real, but decided to stay in the shadows.  They were still not interested in interacting with humans.

Magic was real, although who was magical and who wasn’t was still not obvious.  A bit like Harry Potter with us being the muggles.  Magical people prefer to keep to themselves and have their own government.  Although it is called Nydrian.  Not the Ministry of Magic.

What brings me to my post today though is my experience with a magical being.  Not a witch, wizard or warlock, but an actual genie.  They are exceedingly rare so rumours still fly around as to their existence.  But yes, I met one.   Here is my story.

What you need to know about genies is that yes, they do grant three wishes, of a kind.  The difference however is that they choose for you.  They are a pure spirit and can see what it is that you actually need.  So what did the genie choose for me?  Three opportunities to speak to my soul, the essence of my being, at times of my choosing.

At the time I was disappointed.   Winning the lottery for example would have been nice.  But after much thought on the matter, and indeed after having my three wishes, I discovered that what I had been given was actually priceless.  I received inner peace.

Have you ever found actual true inner peace?  I did not think it was possible to be honest, or even if I thought about it, it was never something that I believed that I could ever attain.

The first time I spoke to my soul I was wary.  I was going to find out who I actually was.  I had been through a lot in my life and wasn’t sure I would like what I found.  So I started with “Hello.  Who am I?”

My soul, unnamed and female, told me to close my eyes and she took me back to the absolute baseline of myself.  The core of who I am.  For that time period, every moment of pain, every sadness, every bad moment of my life was lifted off my shoulders and set aside.  It was all still there.  But temporarily moved to the side.  So I could truly see, me, stripped bare.  I felt lighter, so much lighter. And so young. 

There is something wonderful, and quite relieving about realizing that you are the person that you thought you were.  The feeling that had plagued my life of not being good enough was frankly ridiculous.  It was such a pure feeling; and it has stayed with me since.

Even when it was over and all the pain that had been removed was put back, I knew, absolutely, that I was not only still a whole person, but that I was enough and that made so much difference.  That is when I began to realise what I had been given.

I chose not to take my second opportunity to speak with my soul for about six months.  I was settling into myself, the new feelings of confidence and I knew, somehow, that the actual work would begin with my second meeting.

I was right.  The second time was hard.  The hardest thing I have ever experienced.  There was anger in my body.  Rage. Indescribable fury.  There was something in me that needed to come out.  Immediately.  I won’t tell you the details, some things do have to remain private, but the words that erupted from my mouth had festered in me for decades. 

It was painful, but so very needed.

Anger isn't healthy. Pain isn't healthy. Burying them as deep as I had damages your soul. 

The fall out from that took me some time to heal from.  To accept.  To understand what that meant and how my life would be different as a result.   For a time the sadness that I have carried for so long was much worse, but I began to understand that the knowledge of it was no longer festering inside me.  I was free of it.

I waited a year for my final encounter with my soul.  I needed to heal.  

I did not know what to expect.  I was nervous.  Scared.  But what happened that day was the most beautiful, perfect time of my life.  I found my inner peace.

This time, my soul said hello back and although there was no corporeal being for me to see, it felt that she was pleased to see me.  She was welcoming me I realised.  She told me that I was free.  She invited me to step into what I guess you could describe as a mansion in my mind.  Some people call them memory palaces.

I realized that there were no more skeletons hiding there.  No locked boxes with chains wrapped round them, never to be touched.  No dangerous paths that I did not dare traverse.  I was finally free of all of it. 

It is hard to describe, but I felt that I was finally moving into myself.  There was so much of me to explore.  No dark corners.  I was there to be filled, to be explored.  The more I moved around in this place, the more sunlight streamed in.

There was scar tissue there. Previous pain. But healed. It no longer needed attention or notice.

I knew at that point with absolutely certainty that the future was mine now.  To do with what I wished.  That nothing could hold me back. All those dark places inside me were now filled with light and were ready to be filled again with whatever I wanted. With happiness.

I can truly say that I had never felt as happy.  Ever.  I experienced real, beautiful joy.

Knowing that nothing can hold you back now is powerful. I can truly see now what I have in this world. So much to be grateful for.  I can look back at my journey and feel proud that I made it out. In one piece. Whole.

The world is now is open to me.  I can truly enjoy my life. 

So if you happen to come across a genie, let them choose. They truly do know best. 

I'm off now to chat with the fairies, who really do live at the bottom of your garden. Turns out, they can make a mean mojito. 

Creative Corner 4 - It Started with Humming

Another short story for you today!

It started with humming.  The beginning of what I thought was the end of my engagement.

The way I met the man I am going to marry was the kind of meeting that you see in the typical romantic comedy film.  A “meet cute” I believe they call it.

We were both in the food court of the shopping centre, me trying to balance my food tray, my handbag and my ringing mobile phone and him with his tray full of food and drink in one hand and a book in the other.  Both preoccupied with our distractions, we crashed into one another.  Our eyes met as drinks and food flew into the air and that, as they say, was that.  Fate.  Love over spilled food and flying coca cola.

After mopping up the spills, numbers were exchanged; something that I had never done before.  Giving my number to a stranger?  Never!  Yet I looked into this man’s eyes and somehow, I had never felt safer in my life.

From the start I felt like I was on a rollercoaster with this man.  Adam.  And my name?  Eve.  You can imagine the jokes that we get.  A rollercoaster where it started with food flying at our faces and ended, far, far faster than we anticipated, with him asking me to marry him a year later.

Adam and I are polar opposites in many ways.  They say that opposites attract.  Well that seems to be the case with us.  Where he yings, I yang and yet somehow, we always end up in the middle.  Together.  I am the romantic, he is the pragmatic one.  I live my life by whimsy, he leaves nothing to chance.  He is a gamer, I am a film addict.  He is serious, I am undoubtedly the silly one of the two of us.

Adam is not a romantic.  But he shows his love in other ways.  He wants to make me happy and he does.  The way he makes sure my car is running properly, the way he walks next to the road when we walk along the street.  The fact that although he hates the smell of coffee, he went out and bought an expensive coffee machine for his house because I love the stuff.  But you hate coffee?  I said to him.  But I love you, was his answer.

Unfortunately, as it happens in the films where you get a meet cute moment, there is inevitably the point where an unexpected twist occurs and the relationship that you were so sure about hangs in the balance.

As I told you at the start of tale, the beginning of what I thought was the end of our engagement, was humming.  Adam didn’t hum.  Didn’t sing.  Yet suddenly, out of the blue one day, he started humming.  In the kitchen, when working on his car.  What he was humming I could not tell, although it seemed to have a melody of some description.  He also seemed to have no idea that he was humming.  I mentioned it to him a couple of times when I walked in on him humming a nameless tune and he would immediately deny it.  Odd.

Then his gaming, which I enjoyed watching, suddenly increased from playing at home, to going to gaming nights with friends.  Sorry baby, boys only he said.  The host of the gaming nights he claimed was an old friend that I had never met and "I don't think he is your sort".  

I tried to be supportive but couldn't understand why suddenly one, which then turned into two nights a week, were unavailable now.  Tuesdays and Thursdays were now off limits.  No questions.  This had now been going on for two months.

Then one night when we were cuddled up on the sofa watching a film, he went to the kitchen to grab some snacks and his phone pinged.  Not intentionally (she says) but I looked over to his screen which had flashed up with a message.  

Sarah.  "Sorry, I can't do tomorrow now, my parents are coming to town, shall we raincheck till our Thursday session?"

Tomorrow was Tuesday.  His gaming night with his friends, he said.  Thursday was the other night.  So who was Sarah?  My heart sank and I feared the worst, yet when he returned to the room laden with Doritos and dip, I said nothing.  

Some time later he checked his phone and said "Oh gaming is off tomorrow, Dan has his parents visiting, do you fancy going for dinner?"  Lying, right to my face.  I lied right back to him about a meet up with a friend and said I couldn't change my plans.  

Unable to look at him and feeling completely overwhelmed I then faked a migraine and insisted that I wanted a night in my own bed when he offered to put me to bed and look after me.  I could not understand it.  This man, who looked after me, cared for me, loved me, or so I believed; was cheating on me?

When I got home I went over everything in my head.  Maybe I had read the message wrong, maybe the name was not Sarah.  And talking about a "session"??  Was that a gaming session?  God.  I hoped so.  A session with another woman meant only one thing that I could think of in that moment.

I couldn't quite believe that a man who had planned for me to move in with him next month, ready for our marriage two months later, would do this to me.  Redecorated his whole place in a way that suited both of us.  Put me on his car insurance.  This man who planned everything in his life wouldn't do all that, just to cheat.  Surely?

The next night I decided to make my lie into the truth and got my best friend to meet me at a bar.  After a bottle of wine and a chaser of sambuca (or five) had passed my lips, a plan was made.  I would follow him on Thursday.  See where he going.  If he was meeting with a woman, then at least I would know and could confront him.  It neither occurred to Jess and I to simply ask him.  The sambuca said "follow him".  So follow him I would.

In the cold light of day in the morning, a hangover brewing, I started to question my decision.  Why not just ask about the text?  But, I could not get past the fact that he had lied to me.  I wondered if I did ask him, if he would lie again?  I was certain now of what I saw.  I resolved to carry out with my plan.

After I finished work I parked up my car near to Adam's place, out of sight and positioned myself in the alley where I could clearly see him leave the house.  Hangover gone and adrenalin pumping, I was ready now.  For whatever I may see.  I just hoped that he had not already left.

At 6.30pm I saw Adam leaving the house but instead of getting into his car, he started to walk down the road, towards the high street.  I started to follow him.  I felt at this point that I was betraying his trust, but he had betrayed mine and I had to know.

After a few minutes walking down the high street, with me ducking and diving into shop doors to avoid being seen (I just pray no one was watching me), he disappeared down a side road.  When I reached the beginning of the street, he was nowhere in sight. I had lost him.

I scanned the buildings on each side of the street.  A combination of shops, a restaurant, some flats.  Dare I risk looking in the windows?  Had he gone to the restaurant?  This was getting ridiculous and I contemplated going home.

As I lingered at the corner of the street, about to leave, suddenly I heard music.  It was muffled like it was coming from a building, but I could hear it.  And it sounded a little like Adam's humming.  Listening further, the song sounded familiar.

Unable to stop myself I started walking down the street, trying to find the source of the music.  After passing a few shops, I came towards what looks like some sort of studio.  The sign above me read "Sarah McCarthy Dance".  

Sarah.  Sarah.  The name from the text message.  

The music from the studio was now clear as day and I did know the song.  Jackie DeShannon - What the World Needs Now.  

I noticed that there was a window to the side of the ground floor studio and moved around to see if I could look in. There, dancing a waltz with an instructor, Sarah, of course, was Adam.

I had talked with him many times about wanting to do a first dance together at our wedding.  He had always shied away from it because he said that he couldn't dance.  "I can only drunk dance darling and you don't want that".

This man, who cared for me and always wanted to ensure that I was the happiest I could be, was learning to dance.  For me.  For our wedding.  

I quickly moved away from the window.  I felt like the luckiest person in the world.  Because I get to spend the rest of my life with this man.  I will never tell him what I did.

I will forever be grateful that I did not spoil the surprise of this wonderful thing he was doing for me.  I vowed then and there to make sure that I made him as happy as he made me.

I walked back down the high street away from the studio.  Humming.

Creative Corner 3 - It's Just The Baby Blues

I wanted to really challenge myself with this next creative writing post, so purposely chose something I know nothing about and cannot relate to, being a mother!

Prompt – “It is just the baby blues they said - postpartum depression in the 1950s”  #triggerwarning suicidal thoughts

I cannot remember the day when we stopped being happy.  Together for two years, then married for two years.  Two years yesterday to be exact.

I remember that glow I used to feel when I was around him.  It felt like that the sun had come up when he walked into a room and everything was just that bit brighter.  He said that he felt the same. 

We were so in love.  We wanted the same things.  Marriage, a family, a wonderful life together.  We shared an interest in current affairs, books, films.  We both knew that the other was “the one”. 

I was 19 when got married, Michael was 22 and an insurance agent.  I had always been raised to be a stay at home wife.  This was expected not only by my family, and Michael; but also was and is still the done thing in the society we live in.  But Michael always knew that I wanted more than just that.  My interests took me to places far from the stove and the bathroom floor.  I wanted to know, learn, do, be.

We talked before we were married about my doing a correspondence course.  We planned on having a library of sorts that we could read from and discuss.  He was proud of me he said.  My clever girl he called me.   We were perfect for each other.

We decided that when we married, we would hold off a few years before we started a family.  To have a time that was just us.  We were still young after all.  Children were absolutely wanted, just not yet.

We both walked into this marriage so excited for our future together.  Now, today, I am walking out of it.  He doesn’t know.  No one will remember me fondly or kindly when they realise I’m gone.  Not only leaving my husband of two years, but also my child, Lucy.  The child that I thought that I wanted so much. That I had always planned to have.  Knew I would love.  Except, I didn’t. 

For the first six months of our marriage, everything was perfect.  Although I struggled at first with settling into the stay at home wife role, I soon found that I loved it.  My house was my show piece, the meals I cooked showed my love to Michael and how hard he worked for us.  He encouraged me to start the correspondence course we had talked about and I was already enjoying it.  We still went on dates and talked about everything, from politics to travel to what was on at the movies that week that we might like to see.  Life was good. 

Then, I missed my period.  I didn’t think too much about it as I had not always been perfectly regular, but when the second one was missed; I went to the doctors and took a pregnancy test.  We had been being careful as children was not on the cards just yet, so I was sure that it must be something else. 
It wasn’t.  I was pregnant. 

We were both shocked but after the initial shock had wore off, Michael was so excited.  We can still live as we have been darling, he told me.  But now there will be three of us.  I was not happy that I fallen
pregnant so soon, but fate had decided so I decided to go along with it.  What could I do after all?

I didn’t have an easy pregnancy but was determined to be the best mother that I could be.  I read everything I could about babies.  Decorated the nursery.  Made plans about how to schedule keeping up
my home, cooking and the baby.  My course would have to go on the back burner for a while of course, but the baby was more important.

We decided on names.  George, after Michael’s father if it were a boy and Lucy, after my favourite aunt if it was a girl.  I felt that I was as prepared as I could be and waved after offers from my family to come and help after the baby was born.  I could do it all.  My mother had.  With four of us.  Michael was not really involved in any of the planning or baby talk but why should he?  I would be looking after it.  Michael had his job.  I had mine.  The house and now the baby.

Lucy arrived at 6.15pm on a stormy night on the 15^th October 1953.  I could hear the torrential rain and lightening bolts bang and crash outside as I delivered her.  It felt strange, wrong.  Surely the world should be calm and peaceful for the arrival of my baby?

I don’t know what I expected to feel when the doctor told me that we had had a girl and put the baby to my chest.  Love, elation.  But I felt, nothing.  She looked alien to me.  Like she was not even from me.  A part of me.  She was a screaming bright red creature, a demon that seemed to have come from hell itself.  I felt terrified.  I said nothing.  All others in the room were saying how beautiful she was.  They didn’t see what I did.

Soon I was moved back into my room and after being cleaned up, washed and dressed more appropriately, Michael was let in to see me and meet his daughter.  See me first though I thought, make sure I was alright, but yet he ran straight to her.  I didn’t get a second look.  It was excitement of course, joy at his newborn daughter, a completely normal reaction yet I had never felt more alone in my life than I did in that moment.

I hoped that these feelings would leave me.  No one actually noticed.  Why would they?  Everyone visited the hospital to see our new baby, she was the centre of attention.  As she should be.  Michael showed her off to visitors, the proudest father you have ever seen.  As he should have been.  But me, I was just not, there.  I felt cold, detached, like I was looking at everything from behind a mirror.  I looked at my baby and still felt nothing.

When it was time to leave the hospital I decided to pull myself together.  Lucy's birth had not been easy, and also earlier than expected.  I was not ready.  This was all new to me.  I simply had not found my feet yet I decided and love for Lucy come quickly now I was out of hospital.  I was sure of it.

The problem was, that love never came.

At first I put it down to struggling with keeping the house up to the same standard and making dinner.  Michael would arrive home to a house in disarray and food only half way prepared, or not at all.  Take it easy love he would tell me, this is all new.  You will find your way.  But my world was turning dark and I feared that the path was being hidden from me.

The world seemed to be turning against me.  As soon as I got into some sort of organised mode where the house no longer looked like a tornado had hit and meals were, mostly, on time again; Lucy got colic.  She screamed.   All of the time.  It never ended.  Except when Michael came home and was able to miraculously sooth her.  Something I seemed unable to do.

I thought perhaps that Lucy knew.  Knew that I didn’t love her.  Didn’t even like her.  I could not understand why, but I felt nothing.  Nothing however was turning into dislike.  Why would she settle for
Michael but not I?  

Thoughts that I knew to be irrational started to float around in my head.  Michael preferred Lucy to me.  She hates me.  I was never meant to be a mother.  This is wrong.  This is wrong.  This is wrong.  I want to die.

I told no one for a long time.  What could I say?  I didn’t like my child?  I regretted becoming a mother?  I wanted to run away?  I could not say any of that.  Everyone else managed, why couldn’t I?  Everyone else loved their children, why didn’t I?

But then Michael started to notice the difference in me.  The coldness.  The detached way I looked at Lucy.  That I cried at the drop of the hat.  I admitted to him that I was not coping well.  I told him that I didn’t think Lucy liked me.  He didn’t understand.  He tried.  But he didn’t get it.  He got to leave the house, go to work and the baby was much happier when she was with him.  He slept through her screams in the night.  He always slept through everything.  I remembered joking once that he could sleep through a hurricane.  I wasn’t joking any longer.

When Lucy was four months ago I tried to talk to my mother, telling her that I was not doing as well as I had thought.  That Lucy never settled for me.  How the screaming was starting to get to me.  In truth, the screaming was driving me slowly insane.  I had started to hate her.  She insisted that it was just a little of the "baby blues".  I would get over it in no time she said.  Just keep at it she said.  So I tried.

Although the colic thankfully dissipated after a few months, it seems that the damage was done.  This baby, whom I now realised was indeed beautiful and not a demon, was not meant for me.  I was not meant to be a mother.  I was a bad person.  A terrible person.  I didn't deserve her, or Michael.  I wasn't event the same person that he married.

They say that crazy people don't know that they are crazy, but I knew.  I knew that I wasn't normal.  This wasn't normal.  That I alone was the problem.  I tried to keep up a façade to Michael and my family that everything was fine, but it was not fine.  I was drowning.  Michael had started to look at me differently.  Demanded to know why I cried, all the time.  Why couldn't I be happy he said?  We have a wonderful life, a perfect baby.  You want for nothing.  It was true, yet I was dying inside.

That brings us to today.  Michael and I's second wedding anniversary.  The plan was to leave Lucy with my mother, spend the afternoon getting ready and go out for a meal with Michael at night.  I had taken my bath and was supposed to be getting ready.  Yet I had been sat on the bed, with one thought running through my bed.  Run.  Get away.  They will do better without you.  Lucy will be better off without you.  She doesn't like you anyway.

Decided, I got up from the bed and headed towards the front door.  I was leaving.  I didn't realise that I had not packed a bag, or even put on a coat.  I was leaving.  That was all that matters.  All I hoped is that I could run far enough away that I even lost myself.

This was the end, wherever it led.

Creative Corner - Writing Prompt 2

 

Today's writing prompt is:

A houseplant is dying. Tell it why it needs to live.

 

Jenny looked at the dying Snake Plant in front of her.  “Please don’t die.  You are supposed to be  indestructible!  I’ve loved you, watered you, why are you dying on me?”  The plant of course, didn’t reply.

This was no ordinary plant to Jenny, this was the only thing left that she had some control over, the last thing before everything in her life collapsed, or so it seemed.  In the past two months she had lost her job, her boyfriend had left her and now her landlord was threatening eviction if she didn’t make up her payments.

Everything that Jenny touched lately seemed to crumble away.  Her world had shrunk down piece by piece until suddenly; the only thing that she felt that she still had control over was that goddamn Snake Plant that her mother had bought her.  Now even that was dying.

Jenny wheedled and cajoled the plant over the coming days to revive; convincing herself that if the plant made it, so could she.  The plant ignored her and got worse by the day, with its now brown and black leaves falling all over the old carpet.

By day five Jenny had given up.  The plant was showing no signs of recovery.  She started packing boxes up around it, readying herself for the move back to her parent’s place.  She didn’t know what road lay ahead of her but couldn’t see anything good.

On moving day, Jenny was carrying the last box out of her apartment when something small and green caught her eye.  Hidden near the centre of the plant was a small green shoot.  New life amidst all the decay. 

The plant went into the box and Jenny left the apartment with a small smile on her face.  Maybe things would work out after all.

Creative Corner - Writing Prompt 1

Writing prompt for today - 

You are looking down through the skylight as chefs prepare dinner for your ex-fiance’s wedding.

I am sat here, on the roof of the hotel where my ex love is getting married, peering through the skylight.  There are a million questions running through my head right now.  How did I get here?  How did it come to this?  Why has the bastard got the same cake design that we chose for our wedding?

Mark always used to tell me that I was too organised.  So organised it seems that I have helped him plan his wedding, to someone else.  How can it be that only nine months ago we were planning our own wedding yet here I am today, staring down at everything we had planned, but I’m not invited.

The kitchen is busy with waiters running around, chefs shouting to get the first course out; I see Mark stayed with the prawn and mango salsa starter that we had decided on. 

I only meant to take a peek around the door of the venue, how did I end up on the roof?  Now I am here, I’m not sure if I'm insulted or if I just want to laugh.  The menu looks to be exactly the one that we chose, the bespoke wedding cake that I had designed is there; I have no doubt that if I could see into the reception room, the place settings and decorations would be the same too.

Where is the bride in all this?  Where is Sarah?  When Mark left me, he told me that he wanted someone who wasn’t so fiercely independent.  Someone who would stay at home, have the children, become the perfect wife that he always wanted.  That has never been me. 

I always used to notice the way my friend Sarah looked at Mark.  The look of longing that she thought I didn’t notice.  Well I did, but never thought anything of it, until a week after he broke our engagement and I saw the two of them strolling hand in hand down the street.

I wonder what life she has chosen for herself.  Her own wedding, chosen down to the napkin holders by someone else, by me, the friend that she betrayed.  Not the best start to married life.  I thought I was over all of that, yet here I am, sat on the roof like some deranged stalker.

Ashamed, I move back to the edge of the building, looking round to make sure I won’t be seen as I descend the fire escape.  I wonder, have I made a lucky escape or has he?  He is the one in the wedding suit and I am crawling around on a roof.

I made it back down to street level and start walking around the building, anxious to get away.  I spy the wedding car pulling up to the front entrance in the distance and my heart starts to beat faster.  Do I hide, do I walk past; do I turn back?  Instead I linger at the corner, unnoticed by the people now crowding at the entrance.

Sarah looks happy, but also a little nervous (perhaps she thinks I am going to jump out of the bushes?).  Mark looks smug.  His loud voice carries down the street.  I hear him telling people that they are going to be amazed by the reception.  All his own work and planning.  He's taking credit for everything, as he always used to.

I smile to myself.  My heart stops it's relentless pounding.  I'm done with this man.  I wait for them to enter the hotel and then walk away, entering my own new life.