Monday, December 21, 2015

Mirrored Soul Soliloquy




I had awakened and yet I still slept; restless and broken. I still dreamt of you, but I could no longer remember details, only fuzzy recollections of your beautiful face; an amber lit street, strangers and your friends, dancing in the dark.
Some of them I recognized from old photographs, but I never knew them. I was confused... had I been with you? Yes, I could still feel your presence; lines had been crossed. Reality to my dreams, my dreams into your reality. But now it was all a part of the past... or was it?
As expected, my room was unbearably hot. I opened a window onto the cool night and looking up I counted stars, your stars. Our stars. I whispered to the wind; look up at that sky; endless blackness dotted with tiny sparks. I wanted you. And I would have you. Again.
I took out my journal and jotted down the time and how I felt.
Sad? No. Depressed? Maybe a little. But tonight's ruling emotion was more like bereavement. I'd lost... something. I felt relieved and lighter... freer and yet bound even tighter to my fantasy. But it was so much more than a fantasy. This one had come true, and I knew we would be reunited once again. I felt it deep inside my soul... my bones... what was deeper? I couldn't escape you. My soul mate, my twin flame... separated by eons, years traveled in a heartbeat... love to love. Me to you.
The cool air made me shiver. Sleep beckoned once again, or perhaps it was you... calling from across time. I would go back to you. I felt your words inside my mind.
Meet me in our secret place... close your eyes and I will appear.
I did as your voice commanded.
Nothing.
I kept my eyes closed and waited... willing myself to you.
Still nothing.
My breath became shallow as my hopes fell.
I opened my eyes and let the window down gently, turning my back on the powerful shimmering orb in the sky.
I fought the urge to smash my fist through the pane. I wanted to feel the shattering glass... jagged shards slicing into my arm. That was what my heart felt like... separated from you. Bereaved? Yes. That was it. You were split from me so long ago, and never allowed to find your way home to me.
And now you wander...seeking solace with them. Your lovers. Hundreds of them; adoring sycophants willing to do anything you ask.
They are lost too... still you go to them; sleep with them and tell them you love them. For what? Only to breed dissatisfaction because they are not me.
But I am here. Silently I cry out for you in the middle of the day. My words never reaching their intended destination. Only... you do not know that I am here; how could you? Your world has been twisted, turned upside down; an amnesiac soul tossed around the unfathomable abyss. That city. The place you call home.
You catch your breath as I whisper your name. You can feel me... somewhere out there, and somewhere inside; deep within yourself, you know I exist. I must, or there is no purpose to any of it. I felt the same and then I saw you. Your smile touched the aching spaces between my heart and my soul. The empty space that was all that was left when your soul was ripped from mine. You feel it too. A longing that nothing satisfies... you search for another high, but there is no drug to replace me. Your addiction isn't for the feeling... it is for my presence inside you.
Hear me now, my love. My twin... the white hot flame of my mirrored soul can never be extinguished or replaced.

©2015 Garden Summerland



Thursday, September 10, 2015

A Fine Line



At first I struggled with the prospect of being alone. But I had gotten used to it. A new-found sense of freedom made the time pass quickly and eased my conscience somewhat.
And then today I found an old photograph taken of us when we were toddlers. A Christmas picture with Santa taken at the mall. We were smiling. We looked happy in our matching outfits. Thankfully, I didn't remember it.
And I didn't recall when things had changed, only that they did. We'd grown up together, with so many things in common and yet we were so different from each other. I'd always been the one that cared too much, until one day, I just didn't.
That day had come two years ago. It had been two years since I'd held her in my arms. Two years since she'd died. Two years and I could still feel her pulse weakening beneath my fingertips. She had passed out but I didn't turn loose of her, I couldn't. Her words echoed in my head and my grip had tightened.
"Loser. You'll never be anything, and no one will ever love you. You're ugly."
It was her morning mantra directed at me as she greeted me at breakfast every day.
Tears had streamed down my face as hers had turned an off shade of blue. My were fingers were locked around her neck, all I'd had to do was wait. I remembered it fondly just like it was yesterday. I'd counted in my head until she'd stopped breathing. Had I known it would be that easy I would've done it years before I finally did.
How odd that the old photo made me miss her. The duality of loving someone so much that you actually hated them had always been my cross to bear. And now, apparently, so was the guilt.
She had been my best friend.
My only friend.
My twin.


©2015 Garden Summerland

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Ten til Six


I stared down at the phone in my hands. It seemed like I had been waiting for hours. It had only been ten minutes, it was almost 5:30.
I checked the volume. I turned it off and then back on again. I changed the ring-tone. Five times. Still nothing.
It had now been twelve minutes.
I needed an answer. The test had been positive. What were we going to do?
Maybe he hadn't gotten the message yet? It had gone straight to voice mail.
What a thing to say on voice mail.
“Danny, I'm HIV positive.”
That's all I'd said. My voice hadn't even cracked. In fact, I wasn't upset about the potential death sentence I'd been handed. I'd known since yesterday afternoon, but couldn't bring myself to call my lover until this morning. And now....
I should've told him in person. But I just couldn't face him. I was ashamed even though I'd done nothing wrong.
This didn't happen to people like us. I thought this kind of thing only happened to junkies and promiscuous amorals. Not a committed couple of three years.
We'd always been careful.
I thought for a moment... had he been unfaithful? Was this his fault? Surely it wasn't mine.
I'd only been with two other men in my entire life. But what about Dan? Somewhere deep inside me, I blamed him. Yes, it was his fault... it had to be. He had been with a lot of women before me. He had used drugs. He was... well he used to be one of those promiscuous amorals. I thought he had changed.
Still the phone didn't ring.
I laid it face down on the table in front of me. I sipped my latte and tears began forming in my eyes.
I didn't want to cry. Certainly not in a busy coffee shop.
I swallowed back my pain. No. I would not do this. There was no point in getting upset. There was nothing to be done now. And the doctor had said that with proper care, my prognosis was good. It wasn't like in the 80s; there had been quite a few medical advances, and I could live a long healthy life. As long as I followed a certain protocol.
The words echoed inside my head. “Certain protocol”.
If Danny had followed a certain protocol I wouldn't have this dread disease.
Suddenly I didn't want him to call and I wished I'd never called him. But I had been specifically instructed to inform anyone I'd had intimate contact with in the past ten years. I was thankful I'd only had to make one call.
It had been fifteen minutes.
He wasn't going to call me. How could this even be happening?
My life was coming apart at the seams because of sex. And carelessness. Oh god how would I tell my parents? My family? What had I done to deserve this?
My heart beat wildly inside my chest and my brain was swimming. I needed something stronger than a latte. I put ten dollars on the table and got up to leave. There was a liquor store around the corner.
Nausea swept over me and I felt faint. The room began to go dark... I was falling; then I felt my head crack against the tile floor.
My eyes fluttered and there was blood everywhere. And people.... they were scrambling around me.
I screamed at them not to touch me. I squinted and strained to see the huge white clock on the wall. It was ten minutes til six. I began to convulse and then everything went black again as my phone vibrated in my hand and my new ring-tone played. Mad World; it certainly was.
My last thought was of Danny and how much I had loved him. I wondered if he was finally calling me back. I'd never know.

©2015 Garden Summerland


Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Artist Spotlight: Q & A with Bella Carter



This post is to introduce everyone to Bella Carter, who has a brand new release,
"Final Reunion" available on Amazon now!!
Follow the link to download. It is currently FREE on Kindle Unlimited.








Bella Carter is the author of several titles, most recently, Final Reunion. When not diving into imaginary worlds, Bella enjoys spending time on Lake Michigan with her little dog and her husband.

At the keyboard, she hopes to draw the reader in and make them a part of the story, taking them to places they would not ordinarily go.


Okay, here we go, Bella Carter & ten questions!

1. When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

I’ve loved books and the idea of writing since I was a child. My favorite class in high school was Creative Writing and I believe the positive feedback I received is what really made me want to be a writer.

2. How long does it take you to write a book?

My latest took me nearly a year. But I did not work on it only. I tend to hop around from project to project.

3. What is your work schedule like when you're writing?


Lately it is spotty. Lots of distractions come with Summer time fun. When I do get settled in I usually write a few hours a day.

4. What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?


I’m not sure how interesting it is but I am addicted to post it notes. I have them everywhere! I can’t seem to function without them.

5. How do your books get published?


I independently publish all my books. I love having control over every aspect. This allows me the freedom to write and publish when I feel like it.

6. When did you write your first book?


I published my first book, Minnesota Winter, under another pen name, Lucy Burton in 2012

7. What do you like to do when you're not writing?

Drink coffee and visit the lake. My husband and I recently moved close to Lake Michigan and we absolutely love it! My favorite thing in the world is to drink coffee and walk my little dog on the pier.

8. How many books have you written? Which is your favorite?

I have three titles under Bella and I think my favorite is the first, Loss of Innocence.

9. What do you think makes a good story?


A character you can connect with is what I feel makes a great story. Hopefully the author is able to pull in the reader in a way that makes them experience the same ups and downs as the characters.

10. As a child, what did you want to do when you grew up?

I was madly in love with Indiana Jones and wanted to be an archaeologist. But then I discovered writing and knew being a writer was what I was meant to do.


You can find more books by Bella on Amazon

Saturday, July 4, 2015

4th of July


I forced my eyes to go blurry as I stared out the window. It made the others seem like ethereal beings floating weightlessly on the front lawn. Their white gowns flowing in the slight breeze seemed to glitter in the sunlight splintering through the foliage of the giant oaks. The beings waved and danced for me. They could be angels. I wanted to believe in them.
Then they came back into focus. They were not angels; they were just crazies. Like me.
I blurred my vision again to try to make the bars appear thinner. I wished I could slip through them and fly away. I closed my eyes and concentrated. Nothing happened. If only I knew the magic words I'd long since forgotten. How long had I been here?
I stepped away from the window.
I surveyed my room for the hundredth time that day, and it was only ten o'clock. The journal on my bedside table mocked me. I had been instructed to write in it whenever I felt... sad. I smirked. I could've filled a thousand journals by now. They had given me crayons. I laughed at them, then I ate the entire box. 48 colors. Weren't they supposed non-toxic? Idiots give those things to kids.
On the upside, it had gotten me a short reprieve from these four walls. I'd been rushed to the infirmary in the middle of the night with horrid stomach cramps. It had been worth it.
The next day I'd asked for colored gel pens. Unsurprisingly they denied my request.
How was I supposed to write you a letter?
You never visited me; and you never called.
No one did. I'd been forgotten.
I would have been sad about that, but I had figured out a way to make all of you remember me.
You'd see me on the news next week and then you'd all be sorry. Then your recollection of me would return; how you'd had me locked away. Forgotten. Not even a fond memory.
A month ago I'd taken up smoking. You'd find that out too.
Jerry, one of the night orderlies had taken a liking to me.
He brought me chocolates and let me sneak out with him to smoke.
I wondered what he expected in return. Too bad I'd never find out.
In a few days, he would burn with the rest of us.
July was about to get hotter.
Four days til Independence Day. Exactly two years since they'd put me in this cage.
A part of me wished I could escape to see the fallout. But it was more poetic to go down in flames.
You will have to live the rest of your life knowing my death is your fault.
Maybe you'll miss me as much as I've missed you. Maybe you won't.

My dying wish is that all of you will suffer as much as I have.

 © Garden Summerland

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

ARTIST SPOTLIGHT: Liam Rooke

Today's Feature:
Liam Rooke 
Actor, VOA, Author, Personal Trainer

 Biography
Growing up in South Yorkshire, a small ex-mining town called Barnsley, I was the little chunky child who quietly watched the world pass by. Family and friends viewed me as reserved, an introvert. Primary years passed by as I watched others succeed at school, not being aware of what, if anything, I was good at or knowing which direction my life would take. My motto was, 'if I keep quiet, no one will know I'm here.' Trying hard in my studies, I couldn't quite find my calling until the final year in primary school when there was an announcement for a production of Sweeney Todd. Unknown to anyone, I put my name forward for the part of Sweeney Todd, the demon barber and fortunately, as no one else wanted the part, the teachers had no option but to give it to me! Everyone was sceptical that I could ever learn the lines, never mind speak them! How I amazed everyone!! My mother cried at each performance and others stood in awe - they couldn't believe what they were seeing. The transformation was unbelievable. In front of an audience, I had finally found my niche in life. I will never forget the headmaster at school saying to my parents, 'Of all the children in the school, Liam was the last person any of us would have imagined could have done that. Brilliant, you have a budding actor on your hands.' I had been 'bitten' and from then on took every opportunity to pursue acting. My confidence and self esteem, from being non existent, soared and I truly believed I could do anything if I applied myself. Having gained the necessary qualifications, I applied for College to study Performing Arts. Distinctions across the board led me to University; maybe not the right avenue, but I needed to prove to myself that I, ‘Liam Rooke’, could study for a BA Honours Degree and graduate. Not being academically favored, I had to work harder at theory, but sailed through practicals and performed lead parts in numerous productions. Gaining a BA Honours Degree 2:1, I progressed into the entertainment industry and have T.V., film, short film and voice over credits, and have performed at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. I also have my own projects including traveling to Sweden to take a role in a Swedish comedy which has been aired throughout that country. I am currently taking on various workshops and seminars to continue my professional development. Alongside this I decided to pursue a Personal Trainer qualification, not only to add another string to my bow, but to keep myself in tip top shape and have a thorough knowledge of body transformation. My experience ranges from academic to intense practical work in all areas of the business. I love what I do and am eager to climb the creative industry ladder and get involved in what I can when I can. This is who I am and people know me for my creative spirit.

Liam has also authored five books:






Please visit his Amazon Author page:



Follow Liam online:







Friday, May 1, 2015

The F Word



Allie pushed the cart down the aisle, as Noah trudged along behind her. She stopped in front of a pastry display.
"What do you think we should get?" she asked him, his face already aglow with glee.
Before he could answer, the old lady's voice broke into their bubble of happy contemplation.
"Lard-ass needs to eat a carrot."
It was louder than a whisper, and although not specifically directed at them, it was clearly audible. It echoed in Allie's head.
Noah turned around with angry tears in his eyes and spat at her, "Hey lady, I'm fat not deaf. I have feelings ya know."
Allie tugged at the sleeve of his jacket.
"Come on, let's just get out of here."
She threw down the bag of chips and the box of donuts she'd just picked up and then nudged him towards the front of the store.
"We'll stop at that little place down from the house and get Gramma's snacks. I'd rather pay double there than subject you to shit like this."
He pulled away from her and hurriedly headed for the exit. People stared. They always did. At 6'1" and 375 pounds, he was three times her size. He wasn't unhealthy, he was just... large. He'd had lab tests run and blood work done, and every imaginable medical scrutiny you could imagine. There was no reason for it. Except as the last doctor had said, Noah liked to eat. And eat he did.
Allie was one of those people that most would call, "lucky". She had a high metabolism and burned up everything she ate seemingly as soon as she ate it. She could stuff herself on junk and although it made her feel like crap, she never gained an ounce.
Noah on the other hand, need only look at a donut and poof, five pounds would appear out of nowhere.
Allie had accepted him as he was from the moment they'd met, but her friends and family had been heartless and cruel. They called him Orca, even to his face. Needless to say, their time spent with anyone she knew had been cut to the bare minimum. She was in love with him, and as far as she was concerned, there was just more of him to love. As long as his health wasn't endangered, what was the problem?
Judgy people were the problem. Nosy people were the problem. Stupid people were the problem. And most of all, Noah's resultant lack of self esteem was the problem.
They rode home in silence. This wasn't the first time, and Allie knew it wouldn't be the last. Uneducated bullies. That's what they all were.

Allie pulled into the drive and shut off the car. She turned to Noah but he jumped out of the car, slammed the car door and rushed into the house. She followed him in and opened her mouth to kick in with her usual speech to try to make up for the ignorance of the general public.
"Noah, it's not you, they just..."
"Don't use the 'f word', " he interrupted her before she could finish.
"Why not? I don't think it's a bad thing."
"Because it's judgy that's why. It's.... shaming."
"Shaming? What the hell are you talking about? You own it. It's SEXY. You're sexy. It's you... it means you are being YOU and not caring what anyone else thinks."
He chuckled. "Because I like to eat?"
"Yeah," she nodded approvingly. "Because you like to eat." She laid her hand on his rounded cheek and caressed the smooth plumpness. He smiled and his dimples deepened. She loved to see him happy.
"You know, most people don't share your affection for..." he trailed off.
"Fat? Come on, it's not like that. You make it sound like it's some kind of fetish or something. I'm not attracted your weight... I love you. I love you for who you are and how you are. I want to see you happy. That is what makes you attractive to me. Not six pack abs, or rock hard bi-ceps. It's your smile. The way your eyes light up when you're eating a cheeseburger or chocolate ice cream. You know the real reason I love you, right?"
He nodded his head and looked away from her.
"Yeah, sure."
She kissed him on the cheek.
"I'm gonna go get a bath... soak off this day."
"You okay?"
He turned back to her and kissed her on the mouth.
"Yeah, I'll be just fine."

The next morning Allie was up early. She turned on the television and was shocked that the local news had pre-empted her usual national morning program. She turned it up as she grabbed a cup and filled it with coffee and cream. There was a missing woman, last seen yesterday afternoon at Tomlinson's Grocery on 5th & Main. That's where they had been. Then they showed the woman's picture. Allie dropped her coffee. It was a picture of the woman that had called Noah "lard-ass".
She jumped when she heard Noah laughing. He walked up behind her and put his arms around her waist and began kissing her on the neck.
"Now see, that is what I call Karma."
A cold chill swept through her, but she didn't pull away from him. No, absolutely not. He'd been with her the entire night. Except... he had taken Gramma her snacks after they'd gotten back. But he'd only been gone an hour. No. It was unthinkable. She shook her head. Not Noah.

Noah looked up at the picture on the television screen and smiled to himself. The old lady had clawed at him as he'd heaved her body over the side of the bridge into the icy water below.
He breathed a happy contented sigh and nodded his head. Every now and then he struck a blow for the fat guys.

 © Garden Summerland


Thursday, April 9, 2015

What Price for Love



"My god Jamie, what have you done?" I said it out loud as I shook my head and scanned the damage. He'd left a huge mess this time. Blood spattered on the walls; it was everywhere. And pieces of... flesh. It was going to take me hours to clean it up. I hadn't gotten used to it. I never would.

He had blacked out again. He was lying on the floor next to what was left of her. His hand still gripping the knife and a piece of her dress. Her head was turned towards him, her brown eyes open and a half smile on her face. He had done that; positioned her afterward.

"Oh James..." I tried to speak but I felt it rising in my throat; the sandwich I'd had an hour ago mixed with bile and stomach acid. I opened my purse and threw up inside it; all over the plastic baggies I'd brought. I should have been better prepared. It hadn't made me sick like this before.

I told myself I didn't care. I looked down at him; lifeless like the corpse next to him. He was a beautiful monster. Light blond hair with curls at the nape of his neck and honest blue gray eyes, with the longest, darkest lashes I'd ever seen on a man. He looked like a harmless California surfer instead of the serial maniac he was. And I was in love with him.
Years ago I'd found him like this with another dead girl lying next to him. He'd strangled her. I'd disposed of her body then sat with him until he came back around. It had been the start of a three year love affair, and there was no turning back.

I went outside to look around. My car was parked on the street. Apparently he'd left his somewhere and they'd returned in hers; it was parked in the drive. I wondered why she hadn't pulled into the garage, he should've insisted. There were no neighbors with a clear line of sight; the house was on a lot at the end of the street. A cul-de-sac; it was a rule.

I couldn't keep doing this. It was sick. He was sick. And I was no better. I ran down the steps and fell to my knees next to a flower bed in her front yard. I heaved, once, then twice... thankfully nothing came up. There was nothing to be done about it; I loved him. But how many more would pay the price for my demented obsession with James Albright?

I felt safe when I was with him. I knew he'd never let anything happen to me, I kept him out of jail. I was his safety net, and... he loved me.
And in the eyes of the law, I was an accomplice. An accessory after the fact. I couldn't stop him now even if I wanted to, and he knew that.

But I didn't want to. He knew that too. I enjoyed his devotion and it made me feel special that he allowed me to live. But I couldn't keep cleaning up after him; it had begun to make me physically ill. And it was my DNA that was being left all over everything. I was as careful as I could be, but forensics were tight these days. They knew what was going on. And as much as I took away evidence of him, I left some of me behind. Maybe he knew that too.

I forced myself to calm down. Slow breaths and a little blue pill did the trick. I could do this.

I retrieved plastic gloves and towels from the car, and my 'kit', which contained garbage bags and disinfectant cleaner. I pried the knife from his hand and took the piece of her dress. I washed the knife in the sink and put it back into the wooden holder on the counter. The small ripped piece of cloth went into my purse, along with any pieces of her. The purse would have to be burned now anyway. I was having to improvise, and I didn't like that. That's when stupid mistakes were made. Jamie had taught me that.

I wrapped her body in one of the huge black bags from my kit and dragged her to the garage. If he'd had her pull in like he was supposed to, I could've put her body in the trunk of the car. Now I wasn't sure what to do. I rolled her out the door onto the garage floor and left her there. I'd have to wait until dark, or until Jamie awoke. He would be disappointed in me. I'd let him down.

I feared no retribution, he would hold me and love me. Kiss me and tell me it was okay. I lived for those moments of approval. And I'd worked hard for each one I'd gotten. But I was at a loss this time, I couldn't carry the body by myself. He would have to help me. Wasn't he the one that hadn't followed the rules? I wouldn't dare point that out.

I returned to the bloody mess in the living room, sized up the situation then headed to the kitchen. I filled the sink full of soapy water and got to work. Within an hour I had most of the blood mopped up and the dirty towels in my trunk.

I sat on the sofa and flipped through fashion magazines as I waited for James to awaken. I watched him for another hour. How I wanted him to kiss me and tell me how much he loved me. Why wasn't he waking up?

Now it was getting dark. I'd been there for three hours. Something was wrong. I knelt down, placing my hand against his cheek. It was ice cold. He was dead.
Later I'd find out that he'd had a cerebral aneurysm. His death had been quick.

It was better than he deserved.

©2015 Garden Summerland




Thursday, March 12, 2015

Cheater



John asked me to meet him at a diner two blocks from our apartment. Reluctantly I'd agreed. I knew he was upset with me, and I wasn't in the mood for a confrontation. But I'd been caught, and I had to face the music; smooth things over, make my apologies and promise not to do it again. I had a speech memorized.
"So what now?" I played with a pink package of sugar substitute, flipping it over and over with my fingers. I didn't look at him; it was part of my act.
"What do you mean 'what now?', nothing now. You go do whomever you wish, and I'll do the same." John's voice was calm and steady. He meant it.
"Just like that? It's over? Come on I'm sorry. Look, I made a mistake. I..." I didn't get a chance to finish, he angrily interrupted me.
"Don't, okay? Just don't."

He snatched his jacket from the back of his chair, threw twenty dollars down on the table and rushed for the door. He paused when he got to it but didn't turn around to look back. I heard the bell on the door jingle and our waitress call after him to 'come again'. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. It didn't matter now. It was done. We were done. And I hadn't even gotten to recite my well rehearsed apology.

I was entering new territory now. I hadn't been single in a long time. Not since junior high when Frankie Anderson dumped me after I'd kissed his best friend Tommy on a dare. I guess things hadn't changed much since then. I'd promised not to do it again, but by the weekend, Tommy and I were going steady, and Frankie was a faint memory.

The waitress came over and picked up the money and the check. She smiled at me, oblivious to the scene that had just gone down.
"Would you like a refill on that coffee, hon?"
"No, thank you." I replied, still trying to remember how it felt hiding under the bleachers with Tommy; our lips pressed together and my eyes wide open, hoping we wouldn't get caught. And of course we did. Frankie and Tommy had fought over me; both of them got suspended for two days, and I got a reputation. One I'd never live down.
Now fifteen years later the same scenario was playing out. Only this time, I hadn't been dared. I'd chosen to meet Colin at Mason's Motor Lodge just because I wanted to and I hadn't kept my eyes open. I hadn't cared if I got caught; I knew John would never leave me. He loved me. He had too much invested; we'd been married for nine years. He would forgive me, just like he had the last time. And just like I'd done to Frankie, I'd promised it would never happen again.
I lied.

But this time, John didn't forgive me. Now I'd lost my husband and my lover. I hadn't considered that one. Colin bolted as soon as he found out that John knew about us. I guess he was afraid John would confront him. I kind of wish he had. At least then I would have known he cared. Or maybe then I would have felt something.

What made me cheat? Not just with Tommy or Colin... there had been many others. A long string of lovers I'd kept on the side; even before I'd married John. There was always someone else... a back up. I lived for the excitement, the thrill of almost getting caught, but there was more to it than that. As long as I cheated, there was a part of me that could never be known; never be shared. It was a secret I kept for myself. That made me selfish and a liar; but I could live with that.

For just a few minutes, I sat feeling for sorry for myself, sipping my coffee and eyeing the apple pie on the counter. As my eyes sought out the waitress, I noticed an attractive man at the end of the counter. I looked him over, visually undressing him and imagining how he would look fresh from the shower, wrapped in one of my towels. It wouldn't be cheating now.
I finished my coffee, thanked the waitress and left her to tend to the hot guy at the counter. I was practically a single woman, free to be with whomever I chose.
Where was the fun in that?

 © 2015 Garden Summerland









Thursday, February 5, 2015

Blurred



My hand was numb from holding a bag of frozen peas to the side of my face. My head ached and it was difficult to open my mouth. But it was my own fault, wasn't it? I'd consented, I'd said it was okay. And now... he was gone and I was left nursing my wounds. There were marks around my wrists where he'd tied me with cord. Did I trust him? Did I trust myself? Sexy and mysterious. It was just a game. No it wasn't.
The safe word.
I'd said it once and he hadn't stopped. Then I screamed it. I was scared and crying. He cut me loose and then he left.
I was alone and hurting, inside and out.
It wasn't anything like it was in that damn book. And it had sold millions. I was sick in my soul.
There was no gray, only red, it was the blood on the sheets.
I fell back onto the bed and curled into a ball and cried. I was afraid to get up, afraid to try to walk. I was injured, and I wasn't sure how badly. I was going to have to call someone. I had no idea who. I was ashamed and embarrassed. Who could I tell?
I was going to have to tell someone.... I needed to tell everyone. To make sure that it wouldn't happen again; to me, or to the countless other girls that had believed the lie. The real story held within the pages of that now famous book was subtle, and no one ever noticed; it was fiction after all. It had seemed romantic and glamorous, yet it was very convincing on a whole other level. It was a demented fantasy, and I'd bought it, I'd read it, and I had loved it. I was learning something very dangerous.
But mere knowledge just wasn't enough, I'd sought it out in real life; I wanted the dark mysterious man with an all consumming desire for me, a love beyond compare. He would make me feel special and cherished, and I would do anything he wanted. I'd sought him out because I'd made myself open to it, open to be abused. I had said it was okay. I had been wrong, it wasn't. It was a twisted fairytale I'd read and wanted to live, and he had taken it even further. Where was the line? It had been blurred.
It was 'okay' he said.
We had a safe word.
I ended up calling my dad. I will never forget the look on his face when he walked into the room and found me, his little girl, broken and battered, sitting on the edge of my bed. I'd been used by a man I thought I knew, that I thought I cared about, that I thought cared about me. A man who had called what he'd done to me 'love'. I think my dad was even more hurt than I was.
It was a lesson hard learned; I will never again put myself into a position where I need a 'safe word'.
Because there isn't one. None that will protect your heart and your spirit once they have been broken.

©2015 Garden Summerland







Friday, January 9, 2015

Dirty Angel



      I opened my eyes slowly and looked at the ceiling. It was late, maybe around midnight or one in the morning. The room was mostly dark, with only a sliver of light from the outside streetlamp finding it's way around the tightly drawn blinds. I rolled over pulling the thin holey blanket up around my neck. I wished I'd had socks, my toes were like ice. I stretched my legs out and moaned. My back was stiff from sleeping on the floor for the past several weeks, and I'd had a hard time adjusting to sleeping all day so I could stay up nights. As a knee-jerk reaction I said a silent prayer. I knew I should have been grateful I had a roof over my head and a blanket; some didn't. I closed my eyes again to try and get more sleep. I hoped I'd been forgotten. Then the door creaked open and I heard voices in the background.
     "Christa? Get up." It was the gravely cigarette ravaged voice of a boy two years younger than myself; Davin. He'd helped me get set up here; introduced me to his friends, and made sure I'd stayed mostly sober. His program seemed to be working this time. I hadn't had a drink in four days, but I still craved it; I wanted one now. No, I needed it. Of course I could get it if I really wanted it. Liquor was cheap and easy to come by here. But if I got caught with alcohol this time, I'd lose more than blanket privileges. I wasn't afraid of Davin, but his older friends were hardcore. I'd learned my lesson the last time; my wounds had healed, and I'd missed a nights work. But now I knew how to behave. They were nothing if not effective.
     I held my breath and didn't move. I wanted him to think I was still asleep. I'd brought him over $200 the day before. He could give me a break.
     "Hey... I know you're awake. Come on, we got shit to do okay? This place ain't free you know. Don't forget who got you off the street and brought you here. You owe me."
     Yeah, I did know it wasn't free. And he was right, I owed him. Only the jury was still out on exactly what his repayment should be. Reluctantly I rolled back over. I could see his dark silhouette outlined against the bright lights coming from the hallway. He looked like an angel. A dark, dirty, smoking angel. My hero. In another life I think he might have been my baby brother, but in this one, he was my pimp. He had kept me sober all right, and given me food and a place to sleep. All of the other girls said it was more than I deserved; and they would know, they'd been at this longer than me. I was the new kid on the block. Six months ago I had a nice bed to sleep in, inside a warm house, with hot food and nice clothes and a mom and dad that loved me. Only I didn't love them, or at least I thought I didn't. All I wanted was to get away, to have my freedom from them telling me what to do. Now I cried myself to sleep every morning, sleeping on a cold hard floor in a broken down abandoned house, after performing unspeakable acts in the middle of the night. I hadn't gained much freedom after all.
     I sat up and pulled a cigarette pack out of my jeans that were rolled up as my pillow.
     "Got a light?" I asked in my now usual monotone. Soon my voice would sound like his.
     He extended his hand and tossed a lighter to me. I lit the cigarette and sat smoking it with the blanket pulled around my naked legs. He kept standing there. Waiting.
     "Well I'm not gonna get up with you just watching me. Go on. Lemme get dressed. I'll be out in a minute. Jeez."
     "That's my girl." He took a long drag on his own cigarette and laughed as he closed the door behind him.
     I put my jeans on and gathered what few items were my own; a comb, a lipstick, ten dollars and a fake id. I shoved the pieces in my pockets and slipped on my filthy sneakers. Then I took the blanket and laid the cigarette down on it and watched it until it began smoldering and finally caught fire. It was an old house, it wouldn't take it long. I went to the window and pried off the last two boards I'd been loosening every chance I got. I scraped my arm as I climbed out, and the fall jammed my right ankle. But I walked away. I limped across the street, and slowly made my way up the hill heading towards the main highway. When I felt I was at a safe distance, I turned to watch as the entire house was engulfed in flames. I could see a few of the girls in the yard, and I think a couple of the older men escaped. But I never saw my dirty angel emerge from the house.
     I didn't wait any longer. As I heard sirens blasting their way through town, I turned and painfully started on the long journey back to the home I'd mistakenly ran away from six months ago. And I never looked back again.
     Sometimes I wonder what happened to Davin. Is he alive today or did he burn to death in that decrepit shack that had been nothing more than my prison. I felt no remorse for anything I had done; I wondered if he ever had.

©2015 Garden Summerland