The Curved Opinion Short Stories Part 8: A Witch's Curse

Today's theme I found to be an interesting one, here is what I did with it.

Write about a witch’s curse:

The woods next to the village of St Aubrens were dark and oppressive.  Sadness and pain seem to radiate out from the branches of the trees themselves and whether it was summer or winter, the leaves were always black.

The village itself was also a strange place.   There was a section in the village with rows of cottages that no one wanted to pass.  Misery seemed to hang in the air like an ever present cloud and the residents always looked like the weight of the world rested on their shoulders.

Whenever there was a celebration within the village, the festivities never reached those cottages.  Decorations were never hung, the brightly coloured lanterns were never lit, the people never seemed to smile.

Newcomers to the village never stayed long.  People were actively discouraged from buying in the area and the children who lived there moved away as soon as could.  This was not a happy village.  Because decades earlier, the village people had made a mistake, they had crossed a witch.

The villagers had always known about the witch who lived alone, or so they thought, in a tiny cottage in the woods.  Uneasy at the thought of a witch in their midst, the unspoken rule was that they left her alone and in turn, she would stay away from the village. 

After several years particularly bad harvests, the villagers started to mutter about the witch and about how she was bringing them bad luck.  One night, fueled after a night at the local tavern, those mutterings turned to anger, and the anger turned to fury.  The men of the village tore through the woods with torches alight, intent of burning the witch out of her home and getting her well away from their village.

It was only when they had set fire to the witch’s cottage that the villagers heard screams of “My children! My children!” coming from behind them.  The witch raced through the trees towards the cottage which was now fully ablaze.  There was no way anyone, even the witch, could have saved anyone inside.

The men had raced back to village, horrified at what had just occurred. 

The next day, the witch had appeared in the village square, stricken with grief at the loss of her children.  The smell of the fire was all around her and black smoke seemed to follow in her wake.   She proclaimed that every man who had entered the woods that night would suffer, that he would never know happiness again without pain.

The witch was never seen again.  Too afraid now to pursue her, the villagers never entered the woods again, and with good reason.  All the men who had entered the woods that night soon felt the consequences of her curse. 

Any feeling of happiness was followed by strong physical pain.  The sensation was described as having your heart pulled from your chest.  From a chuckle from a joke to a feeling of love or happiness caused hours of excruciating agony. 

The men soon realised that in order to survive the curse, they had to cut all happiness from their lives.  Their loved ones were sent away, they chose their food from the scraps left by others and they now each lived alone, on the same row of cottages in the village.

No one in the village knew exactly how long the cursed men had actually lived.  The years and decades passed and yet they still lived on.  Some said that they would die when the witch did. When her pain had died, so to could theirs.  

No one ever entered the St Aubrens Woods again.

Swipe Left on Love: How Phones and the Death of Nightclubs Killed Dating

I honestly am coming to the conclusion that there are two realities.  There is the reality we walk around in and see with our own eyes; and there is the reality that we seen and read about online.  Often the two seems to be at odds with one another.

Dating for example.  There are a lot of problems with dating these days.  This is going to be a two part post and I will link that post when uploaded.  

For this post, instead of talking about the usual issues (dating apps etc), I want to bring up another reason why dating is so much harder now.  You simply cannot meet people like you used to.  

I come from a regular size town.  Growing up and through my 20s and 30s the nightlife scene was amazing.  The local pubs for example.  There were three options within walking distance of my home, always guaranteed to have people in them and not just a couple of retired old men having a pint.  

I spent many a Saturday afternoon in one of the local pubs playing pool (badly) and having a flirt.  Or on a Sunday, otherwise known as "hungover, need McDonalds then pool at the pub" in town.  There were always people there to have a laugh and a flirt with.  These were regular haunts that people went to and relationships were formed as a result.

I may sound 104 when I say this, but having no mobile phone also made a difference in that.  No social media to check, no selfies.  No checking text messages, Whatapp, emails.  You were present.  Fully present, not looking at your phone every five minutes.  Even now (and unfortunately I am guilty of doing this myself) I am turned off when I am having a conversation with someone and they keep checking their phone.

Then you had the bar and nightclub scene.  You could go out on Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday if you wanted.  You did not have to drink, although most did to be fair.  I still remember the route that we used to take.

You got off the bus at 8.00pm and hit the bars (fake names used for anonymity).  Firstly, The Side Bar.  From there, Yates, The Duck & Cover, The McMillan.  Then Pink Paradise, BBs.  By 11 - 11.30 ish you were heading to one of the five nightclubs available.  Remember, this was just a regular small town.  Five nightclubs to choose from, with a line that could take 30 minutes to get to the front of unless you knew a bouncer.

This was also a time when you could do all of it, plus a takeaway pizza and a cab home for £25.

There was so much choice in where to go.  And with that choice, so many people to meet.  Two of my good friends met their husbands in one of those night clubs.  That was the thing.  You met people.  You enjoyed yourself.  You chatted, you danced.  You were not attached to your phone.  You lived.  You were home by 2.00am.

I remember once saying to my best friend while we played pool on a Sunday "God I am glad that there is no evidence of last night".  By that by the way, I meant drunken dancing, a snog with someone that I regretted, or telling a boy that I thought that he was cute when sober, I would not have dared.

Now, it is different.  Our lives are recorded and put online.  Photographs, selfies, videos.  "Funny" stories told about your friend who did x, y or z.  There is no escape.  And more, instead of losing yourself on the dance floor for two hours dancing, now the idea of fun seems to be posing and posturing for young men and young girls with a bottle of prosecco and ten thousand selfies.

The art of conversation has died.  Banter has died.  No one knows how to flirt properly any more. 
Now, my town is dead.  There are still bars, one nightclub.  But due to the licensing laws changing, no one goes out until midnight anymore.  When they do go out, they stay in their own circles.  Selfies, group photos.  Posing. 

Or worse.  I went to a party recently for a 25th birthday and all the attendees went home at midnight.  Not even to a house party.  Home.  At midnight.  They didn't even seem to be having fun.  Girls, looking identical with their contouring and perfect outfits, but sitting their taking pictures of themselves.  Only when they got drunk did they dance, for the last hour.  Then home.  Home?

Bring back the nightclubs.   Change the licensing laws that close the clubs by 2.00am.  Stop taking your mobile phone out on a night out.  Talk to men. Talk to women.  

Live.  Have fun.  We have stopped living, except for the 'Gram.

The Perfect Life Is The One You Don't Have To Escape From

 When people talk about ambitions, they usually mean the big dreams.  The child who wants to be a surgeon, the walker who wants to one day climb Mount Everest.  We are taught from a young age that it is important to have goals in life, a plan.  Something that you want to be.  A career that you aspire to get.

That was never me.   To use a line inspired from Buffy, I was cookie dough for a very long time.  I was still baking.  As such, dreams and aspirations were not part of my life.  I was still waiting to see how I turned out.

That said, I always wanted two things.  Two things that you cannot train for, you cannot gain enough money to get; you cannot educate yourself for.  I wanted love, real, can't believe you are so lucky to have found each other, love.  And I wanted to be happy.  The latter, I prayed for.  It was like a mantra at one point in my life.  Over and over.  I just want to be happy.  I just want to be happy.

Although it was undoubtedly have earned me more money, a career was never something I really thought about or strived towards.  When asked in secondary school what I wanted to do for a job, I did not know.  Administration is what I ended up answering.  I remember some people laughing.  Others had answered, doctors, lawyers, teachers.  Then me, with no plan.

I have never been driven by money or success.  Although both would have given me a more advantageous life, would it have made it better?

The paths that I have chosen or have moved on are not is not one that others would have chosen.  I drifted in my life for a very long time.  But I do not regret the choices that I made.

I have a job that I love.  It will never earn me a lot of money, but I can sleep at night.  I have never experienced the Monday dread.  I enjoy what I do.  How many people can truly say that?  The money covers what I need and I am good at what I do.

In terms of love, everyone was a no, until the right one was a yes.  I knew the moment I met him that I had never met anyone like him before.  It didn't take long before I realised that he was the one that I had been waiting for.

I had accepted long ago that I may not meet that "perfect for me" person.  That he may not exist.  But I also knew that I never wanted to settle for anything less.  In that area, I am all, or nothing.  I could not imagine being with someone who I knew deep down, was not the one.

I never had a type.  My wish list was more about the person themselves and their personality traits than physical.  In terms of physicality I had a wide range of men that I called attractive.  Celebrity wise to give an example, everyone from Vin Diesel to Billie-Joe Armstrong.

But when I met my guy, everything fell into place.  My perfect for me person.

I was wildly attracted to him.  But also, and more importantly for a long term relationship, he was everything I wanted from a personality point of view, his morals, his code.  The way he made me laugh.  The way he loves me.

I feel absolutely loved, in just the way I always wanted.

So no, my dreams may not be like others.  I do not have a successful, money making job.  I am not wealthy.  But I have a job I enjoy and I found the love that I dreamed of.  I found true peace and a calm I never thought possible.

Because of that, I feel like I won the lottery.  Who can argue with that?

Butter, Bodies & Backlash - When Indulgence Breaks The Rules

 I have just finished reading a book called “Butter” by Japanese writer Asako Yuzuki.

 The central character is a female Japanese journalist, Rika, who is attempting to interview a woman, Manako, who is currently awaiting a retrial for the murder of several men.  She needs to find an “in” with this woman where all other journalists have failed.  In doing so, she ends up discovering so much more about herself.

Manako is a cook who is accused of murdering several of her previous boyfriends.  The authorities allege that she seduced these men with her food to lure them into being her boyfriend, before killing them in various different manners.   

One of the themes running through this book is that the lady is fat and as such, she is far from the accepted norm to be able to get a boyfriend in Japanese society.  What seems to fascinate the Japanese press and the public in this book is not so much the why/if she killed them, but how she got them to be with her in the first place.

The crimes committed in this book are not the main focus.  Neither is whether Manako is guilty, or not.  Indeed, they are a side note to it.

Food is the language of this book.  The writer talks about simple ingredients, such as butter, as being filled with meaning. Meals are not just to fill you up or for fuel; they are expressions of the way that you enjoy food, indulge in it, give yourself permission to have it.  The way that it makes you feel.  The control, the intimacy, and the rebellion of simply eating.

"When I'm eating good butter, I feel somehow as though I were falling"

As Rika delves further deeper into her interviews with Manako, her relationship with food changes and soon after, the way that she understands herself. When she starts to think about, truly take the time to enjoy the food and the start to cook herself, she feels at first liberated and then strangely, like every mouthful is an act of confrontation.  Yes, I am allowing myself to eat this thing.  And? 

It is a taking back of power that she did not realise she had lost.

It did make me think about the relationship we have with food and drink.  Simple pleasures, or big indulgences.  Taking the time to enjoy them.  Be in the moment.  Whether it is a icy cold glass of water that tastes like it has come from a mountain pass, or a piece of chocolate so divine that you do not want it to end.  Yet, instead of letting it sit on our tongue and luxuriating in it, we swallow and then feel guilty for eating it.  We do not pause to truly enjoy enough.

Butter focuses sharply on the societal expectations placed on women. Beauty, appearance, ambition, motherhood, each one is scrutinized and judged.  Manako is not the norm in Japanese society.  She enjoys herself, enjoys food, enjoys sex and pleasure and makes no apologies for it.  She does not conform and finds the idea repulsive.  This makes her fascinating, not just to Rika, but to Japanese society.  Learning more about Manako forces Rika to look at her own life and how those same expectations have shaped her, unseen and unknowing.

What I found interesting about the book was the accurate description of how much we unconsciously change ourselves to fit with the “norm”.  The accepted.  We are given goals based on societal expectations.  Goals that may not align with who we are and what we want.

The book looks at the female journalists on Rika’s newspaper who go on to have families.  Society expects them to juggle a career and be the perfect mothers.  They are judged heavily for both.  One who was blamed for the death of her son, because he went out to buy a meal at the shop instead of her being there to serve him.  You can have it all, but you will be condemned if you do not do both perfectly.

Then there was the male journalist who gave up his love of a band, because his favourite singer gained weight and therefore became unacceptable in society’s eyes.  It was no longer cool or acceptable to like her.  So he hid it despite his love for the band.

The idea that unless you confirm to societal expectations, you are a failure.  When Rika gained weight herself as a result of her cooking experiments it was shocking to those around her.  Because she had fallen out of her box and they no longer knew where to put her.

By the end of the book, Rika has managed to throw off the restraints of society and for the first time, in years, decades even, she is living for herself.  Rebellion is attractive.  Instead of her world becoming smaller, she bring more people into it, whilst throwing off the chains of expectation.  It is a beautiful thing,

There are many other things in this book that I have not talked about there, otherwise there would be no point in you reading it.  The story of Manako.  The story of Rika's best friend.

I recommend a read.

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.