The Girl

The Girl was in hiding from her demons. They had taken up residency after a very successful coup d’état in the early spring of this year. The unsavoury usurpers had subscribed to strategy and tactics in order to consolidate and then take control of the Girl’s liberty and free will. Her acquiescence was the final battle fought out in the sanatorium of her already fragile mind. The demons were now the guardians of the Girl’s existence and they ruled their subject with a tyranny that was biblical in proportion.

The catalyst for these events had begun the previous summer. On that fateful day the wheels were put in motion and very slowly began to gently rock and roll. The demons began a full out campaign to recruit extra soldiers for the task in hand. Legions lined up in full combat gear; ready to be discharged at a moments notice. Camps were set up in a variety of secret locations within the Girl. Operational manoeuvres discussed on a daily basis as to the best way to secure and capture the enemy.

Prior to these events the Girl was wild and fancy free. Not a damn care in the world. Life was an unchartered adventure waiting to be explored. The Girl exuded a joie de vivre that was infectious to all she came into contact with. She loved life and embraced it fully at any opportunity that presented itself. The Girl was confident without being conceited and optimistic without out being foolish. She was creative in the arts and excelled at her studies with a natural god given talent. The girl had an enviable large circle of friends.

Unbeknownst to the Girl though there were dark forces at play which would be detrimental to her very being.

The Girl needed a dress to wear to a party that night. It was a house party that a friend of a friend was putting on. The friend’s ignorant parents had gone away for a few days and left him home alone. He was a quiet and studious boy who was desperate for something anything to happen that might make him feel just a little bit alive. He was the only child of much older parents who had unwittingly smothered him with love and affection. He yearned to escape from their sensible claw like clutches. The boy’s craving for life was abundantly clear to all who met him. Palpable would probably describe him best. So you can understand how easy it was for his peers to coerce him into having a free for all party that night at his parent’s house. As often happens with the case though, before he knew it anyone who was anyone had invited themselves along; including the Girl.

The Girl had no money but that was nothing new. Quite often she had to pop into town to acquire something or other. The Girl had no qualms whatsoever about shoplifting. No-one ever suspected her because of her effervescent charm. You would not believe what this Girl managed to ferret away in her oversized bag. The Girl’s upbringing was unconventional to say the least but that’s a story for another day. Well just say that she lived deep in the darkest bowels of the countryside with her crazy family.

The nearest big town that had any decent clothes shops was some 20 miles away. So…The Girl had to resort to the tried and tested method of hitchhiking. This was not a problem because the Girl had been doing this for years, admittingly with friends most of the time but also occasionally by herself. There had been a few scary moments through the years but nothing too bad that the Girl and her friends wouldn’t be giggling about later.
…
So with the sun beating down on her she set off over the corn fields to the nearest main road some 2 miles away. It was late summer and as she walked along she gouged herself on the wild strawberries which grew in abundance along the hedgerow. The oppressive heat of the summer was finally drawing to a close. Humidity had been given a one way ticket out of town. Air was starting to purify. Today was an introduction for mankind to start breathing again. Life was wonderful she thought to herself as she finally got to the main road

The girl was conservative in her dress. Experiences early on in life had taught her that some men were not quite how they appeared. The girl could sense which men tried to suppress these unnatural thoughts. She could see the hidden monsters lurking in the shadows. The girl knew that these monsters were salivating at the thought of being unleashed. The girl was always guarded.

It didn’t take long before a car pulled over. The Girl got in. Silently and softly the car door shut. The girl was happy. It had only taken her a few minutes before the kind man had pulled over to give her a lift. Today was going to be good.

The kind man was conservative in his dress. Experiences early on in his life had taught him to covert his inner self. He kept that part of himself in a special box. No-one ever got to see what was inside the box. It was only bought out on very special occasions. The kind man had perfected the art of illusion over many years. The kind man was always guarded.

As soon as the Girl got into the car she sensed something wasn’t right. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was but all her instincts were screaming wildly together in unison to get out of the car. The Girl was confused because the kind man was busy chatting away to her about his wife and kids back home. Apparently he was on his way to an appointment in town with his bank manager; hoping to secure a loan in order to build an extension for his Mother-in–law who was coming to live with them in the new year. The Girl began to feel hot; she felt rivulets of perspiration trickling down her back. It was difficult to breathe. She needed to get out of the car and get out now. Her sixth sense had been whispering in her ear since she first got in the car; it was trying to warn her that she was in mortal danger. So she took a deep breath and very sweetly asked the kind man to pull over and let her out. The kind man didn’t hesitate and pulled over straight away into the next lay-by. The Girl was grateful that the journey was over. Her heart began to beat to its regular rhythm. As she leaned over to open the door she felt something pull her back into the seat…

The hazy heat of the sun was beginning to subdue in its intensity. The violent ravages that poured forth from its rays earlier were now starting to subside. A beautiful azure blue sky began to beckon with warm open arms. Shimmering distorted heat dissipated and vision reclaimed its birthright. The tyrannical brutal temperature of the summer had previously been a slave driver but was now finally redundant. Jobless. Empty. Devoid. Surplus to requirements. Birds were singing melodically in the trees and chirping away happily. Everything was calm and still and serene. The malady of the madness had moved on and found a new host to reside in.

The party was in full swing when the Girl turned up. Bee lined to the booze. Kept herself to herself and surveyed the unfolding mayhem. Drunken fuelled revelry assaulting her eyes wherever she looks in the room. The Girl is watching the boy as he is desperately trying to be a part of the scene he has somehow inadvertently orchestrated. His unformed little pigeon chest is swelling with pride. So bloody grateful. The drink has soothing qualities as its slides effortlessly down her throat. It makes her forget. She needs to forget. The Girl is detached. The Girl is dirty and needs to be cleansed. She continues to watch the boy and his pathetic eagerness to please the crowd and it is starting to annoy her. How can someone be so gullible? So naïve? So bloody desperate? So blind to the situation? He is both irritating and irksome in tandem. The Girl continues to drink. And drink. And drink.

The Girl formulates a plan and staggers off to the corner and waits hungrily. Hours pass and still the Girl waits. Her appetite is gaining momentum all the while. Eventually the party peters out and people start leaving the house. It is not long before they have all left. There is just the Girl and the boy in the house now. The Girl is very still. The Girl is waiting patiently. The boy does not know that the Girl is in the corner. He begins the unenviable task of tidying away the night before. He is happy. He is content. He feels as though he has arrived. He has waited so long for his moment he can hardly contain himself. The Girl then makes her move.

With passion intense the Girl silently slithers up behind the boy. She taps him gently on his shoulder. The boy is startled and turns around. The Girl then smashes him straight in his face with all the fury that has begun to poison and flow through her veins. Pounding and smashing and pounding his face until it is fresh, wet and dripping with crimson blood. The boy falls to his knees. He has wet his pants. What a loser. The boy’s fear is tangible. It excites the Girl. She looks at the weak specimen on the floor and feels nothing but contempt. He is having trouble breathing so she kicks him in the head over and over again. The boy has now curled up into the foetal position and is awaiting his fate. The Girl then picks up a nearby cushion and places it over his kind face. She presses down and holds it there securely. The boy’s legs are jerking underneath the Girl. The movements make the Girl laugh. It reminds her of one of the old Tom and Jerry cartoons she used to watch when she was a kid.

How can the boy be so weak?

How can the boy allow her to humiliate him?

Why isn’t he fighting back?

Eventually the boy’s legs stop jerking. He is now still. The Girl releases the cushion and surveys her work. The kind man is not moving. The boy is at peace. His little pigeon chest is as it should be. The Girl’s hunger is sated. She is calm and content. As she readies herself to leave the house she takes one last look at the boy on the floor. It crosses her mind that now the boy will be the star of his own show. Ironic really that he has acquired in death what he so desperately craved for in life. Recognition.

The cornfields have an almost spiritual quality to them in the first light of the morning. There is a beauty emitted from the corn that wraps itself around the Girl like a snuggle blanket. She draws comfort from its inner sanctum as she slowly walks home. The serenity of the open countryside permeates the Girl and stills her beating heart. She feels as though she is floating through the corn on a golden carriage flanked by angels sent from the heavens above. The angels have golden trumpets and are serenading the Girl the sweetest most beautiful chords she has ever heard. The Girl is floating effortlessly through the beauty and connects with the heartbeat of mother earth itself. They are as one. United together forever. The Girl has seen the light and willingly surrendered. Nothing can hurt the Girl ever again. Nothing.

Addiction in suburbia

I watch Him
I watch Him every night
He always arrives home an hour before Her
Regular as clockwork
Not missed a working day yet in the last 6 years
Impressive
I know
By anyone’s standards
Anyway … I digress … Apologies
Let’s try again
I’ll tell it as it is my friend
I’ll try to explain it as though I am filing a police report
That will be fun
Kind of official like
But that obviously cannot be guaranteed because of the nature of this peculiar beast
Let’s have a go anyway
Ok

At 1755 PC Bathsheba reports in for duty

At 1800 his beloved company car slides effortlessly into the drive
At 1805 he enters the house
Now here we have to allow an extra 10mins in order for him to settle and prepare
Sometimes though I have to wait as long as 13mins
Those nights are tough ones
Believe you me

See I’m already loosing my train of thought

Ok screw the PC shit
Ill just say it as it is then
Again

So obviously when this anomaly (the extra 3mins – in case you’d forgotten) happens
it does cause me a certain amount of anxiety
Heart palpitations
Sweaty palms
I need my fix
And I need it now
I sit patiently and wait
And wait

Then the bedroom light goes on
It stills my beating heart
I position myself correctly
This is my cue

I know his secret
I watch him every night

Then he appears in all his glory
Standing there naked as the day he was born
He proceeds to sit down on the chair facing the vanity mirror on the dressing table.

Well … I say naked!!!

Perched on his head at a jaunty angle, I might add, is a 1920s straw hat. The crown fits
close to his head, rather like a cloche. The brim is narrow on the left side and wide on
the right side. It folds back on the front left side. Where it folds back there is a red and
navy silk faille ribbon art flower. In the back of the hat by the neck is a large navy faille bow.
The red flower is slightly soiled but otherwise the hat is in good condition.

I’m impressed because I haven’t seen this particular beauty before. It sets my heart all of a
flutter. A hot flush then spreads up from my nether regions immobilising all of my sense
and sensibility. The balmy heat is addictive in its nature.

Slowly very slowly my hand moves down …

You see he normally alternates between:

a) The 1920s turban style hat. This is rather fetching on him because of its beautiful brown silk
velvet with mauve, black, white and tan print. It is also decorated with a brown feather that is
made to look like a bird. I personally find this one somewhat alluring on him.

Or

b) The 1930s black seal skin hat. Now this hat is round and covers the top and the back of his head.
It also has a large fur covered bow on the top of the head which is lined in black silk velvet.
It is lined in mauve rayon silk. Not really to my taste I might add.

Or

c) The 1940s black wool pill box hat. This has a black faille band in the back of the head.
On the top of the hat are 3 black rayon silk leaves with black iridescent feathers that drape over
the top of the hat in the front. This is a great 1940s hat. The only flaw that I can see from my
vantage point is some slight staining to the back of the hat.

And what pray tell does he do whilst he is wearing these hats in his birthday suit in front of the
vanity mirror. Well I’ll tell you what he does. He does absolutely nothing. He just sits there
and stares at himself.

With me, unbeknownst to him, watching him watching himself.

He enthrals me each and every night. Sometimes I fantasize about putting on one of my
little hats and sneaking over there to surprise him.

Would he want me too?

Would he die of shame?

Would he encourage me?

Then I get scared and think that I’m better of just being voyeuristic. Maybe one day though
in the not too distant future I might be brave enough to venture over there. And if I’m welcomed
with opened arms then I might partake a little myself!!!

Now I am sorry if you were expecting something of a more salacious nature.

I could, some might say, be guilty of leading you up the proverbial garden path.

But you have to understand that I have studied this man for 6 long years and I find his peculiarity
strangely intoxicating.

Odd I know but then which of us in all honestly can say that they are truly normal, whatever that is?

Have you not got any little odd quirks that are only indulged upon when you are alone?

Come on be honest with me. … . Please

At 1855 She pulls into the drive and parks next to her husband.

At 1900 PC Bathsheba reports off duty