| A Long Trip in New York(fiction by me) |
[30 Jul 2004|02:02am] |
This is an as yet untitled, unfinished fiction work by me. Enjoy or ignore. Whichever.
Chapter One- A long trip in New York City
It was cold inside the tiny, cramped apartment, especially in its mildew covered, dirty bathroom . The tiny baby sat inside the chipped, gray tub surrounded by filmy,filthy water and its mother was shooting up on the toilet. Her leopard print belt was wrapped tight around her twig of an arm as she shoved the ancient looking syringe into her thin,emaciated skin. A light trickle of blood sprayed from the deep black hole that had clearly been used one too many times as she withdrew the needle. Her bones protruded from her grey flesh in a manner that looked almost as if they were cutting her and her eyes looked broken, at least as broken as someone's eyes can. She looked vacant and there was fear in the infant's eyes. Perhaps terror of what its mother was becoming or even something that she was trying to avoid. She was a special baby, born in the least sacred, most unceremonious of fashions, to the lowest class of people. She was a blessing given to those who could not accept kindness, a pearl thrown before swine. And at that very moment, she was the center of a cyclone her tiny mind, no matter how superb, could scarcely grasp.
But her mother seemingly knew nothing, cared for nothing- except the drugs, which slowly dripped through her body. It looked as though a rain had begun to fall behind her black eyes as the drugs took effect, they became glazed pools of ebony ice. She was empty now, finding herself in the way every drug addict thinks they're finding themselves in their high. When in reality they are paying with a part of themselves for a bus ride on a long trip. A trip away from sanity, from grief. The only kind of vacation a part time stripper could afford. She heated the vicious mixture in a bent and heat marred spoon over a lumpy and nearly used up candle on the back of the toilet as her child watched her, taking in her mother's pathetic attempts at happiness with a nearly sympathetic sideward glance. The mother puts her head down in between her hands, elbows on her knees and starts to sob drunkenly, words so badly slurred they are barely discernable over her flapping, numbed lips and worn out teeth,
"It can't be time yet, not now. It's not Decemeber yet, only November and I haven't got nothing at all for it. Why can't she just stay here for awhile with her..Ma.."her words slowly slurred out of existance as her face fell into her lap, her body folding in half and looking most unnatural. Her bones stuck out like pins in an unfinished dress as she slumped there, the infant ceasing to be amused and beginning to splash about in the murky looking puddle of a bath. A figure slides against the crumbling wall of the apartment, an apparition that would have appeared to have been nothing more, save for the fact that the towel hung against a rusted pipe slid off with the presence's motion.
The weather was stormy that day, a mixture of rain and snow that looked like mud as the wind slung it against cars and houses, rich with the filth of the city air. It was winter in New York City, the Big Apple in which they were part of the big worm eating a hole through the center of it. You could see your breath in that bathroom, that's how cold it was. The pipes rattled as the decrepit hole tried to warm itself , making the sloppily put together bathroom quiver at the walls, knocking half open tooth paste and cosmetic bottles to the ground. The woman had fallen asleep, but this woke her and she reached into her pocket , grabbing a cigarette from the crinkled pack. She put the thin white twig to her mouth, snapping her "Florida" lighter far too near her Aquanet covered hair. Slowly, tiny strands of it begin to glow fiery red as the shiny , plastic like beads of hairspray pop in the heat, turning amber and melting into a gooey caramel consistency. She doesn't notice until the ash reached her scalp, scalding her forehead. She blinked her eyes quickly, awakening and dropping her cigarette with a start. She puts a hand to her forehead, feeling the warm ashes with horror. She lowers her heel to the floor to stomp out the cigarette, which has begun to smolder against the worn shag carpet. Then, she begins to leap around almost comically, howling in pain.
The baby cooed and giggled at Mommy's humorous final dance, still in the tub. It seemed as though there were something or someone unseen in that room and the child knew it. She could see it and her chubby face lost its expression of glee as her mother's body went rigid and was snapped and whipped about furiously by this force. The child let out a blood curdling shriek as its mother's neck was twisted and her lifeless body was tossed to the ground like so much garbage. The child's terrified cries filled the room as a thick, red stream of blood flowed from the woman's mouth and nose. Colored with fury, the infant's face turned crimson and it's cries became a silent pant of terror as her mother's thin blood spread, seeping under the worn, thin linoleum of the bathroom and soaking the numerous bits of rubbish on the floor, creating a stew of gore. Meanwhile, fingerprints of the rich mixture found themselves on the doorknob and drizzled down the hall way...
Chapter 2-Lost and Found
"Absolutely, Mr.Henderson. Today would be fine and please do bring your wife. I believe the arrangements should take no time at all;just paper work, an interview, legal nonsense and the like,"the nun explained, hiding her anxiety well as she eyed the somberly dressed stranger in the corner of her warm, yet sparcely furnished office. It was really a simple broom closet renovated to occupy another young secretary in the already over flowing and underfunded state children's institution. She fidgeted, tapping her feet against the rungs of the folding chair the served as an office seat. The stranger eyed her seriously, raising his eyebrows and indicating a stack of papers on her desk,
"Oh yes! Don't forget, Mr.Henderson, we have just the perfect child selected for you and Mrs.Henderson. Don't even think twice about it,"she gushed, almost too enthusiastically, making the stranger turn and cough lightly. She hung up the phone,looking at the man dressed in the clothing of a man of the cloth, nearly in tears.
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hang overs are a bitch
apathetic
bitchy
cynical
drained
distressed
pissed off
contemplative
bored
artistic
giddy