Doll Parts: Part 1

I've decided I am going to dedicate the rest of my blogs this year (or a good deal of them) to writing the rough draft of a story. I figured I have this obligatory blog i have to do so I might as well put it to better use than reflecting on events in my life. Also this section will be larger than those to come because this is the cumulation of many months of undedicated effort. Also this is just a rough draft...


It had nearly been three years since I had last seen their faces, three years since my wife and child were killed in some freak car accident. Eh, you know Alena, my daughter would've entered her first year of high school just a few months ago. But I guess not every story ends with a “happily ever after.”
Some maniac decided decided to test the limits of his mortality by downing a bottle of gin then getting behind the wheel of a 1987 Honda Civic. There was hardly anything left to them as their still bodies were scraped from the pavement. It's quite remarkable how fragile people are created and yet it's remarkably tragic that they had to be created so fragile.
Their image from when I saw them in the morgue burns so magnificently in my head it casts a shadow over any other memory I may have had of them. They were laying completely still, strewn across a steel bed. Not a breath to be taken nor a word to be spoken.
Presently, I take a swig from a gin bottle that had been comfortably sat on a nightstand beside my bed, inviting me, tempting me. Quite ironic when you think of it, the one drink that has caused me so much pain is the only thing there is to get me through this never-ending loneliness.
Then I see her, my angel, my green eyed angel smiling down at me with her auburn curls hanging over her face. She will forever be beautiful in this moment. Then, smiling at me adoringly, her image takes a turn, it mutates into the disgusting creature, so beautiful, now twitching in death agony. What have I done? But why play such a game on me? Why appear so ugly. It's your fault, your fault! But please, I can't stay mad at you, as long as you remain in my company for a while. Please stay with me! I can't handle this alone. You can take care of me and I will protect you so this will never happen again, just please stay with me for awhile. Just a word, I can't stand this perpetual silence. I need to hear from you. Please.
Then I suppose this is our parting for now. We will meet again, I just hope you will stay with me.
I continue with my bottle, each shot down brings me one step closer to my euphoria, my nirvana. It may not be the most ideal way to spend my evenings but I prefer it over the alternatives I've had since. I soon find myself completely blacked-out. Here is peace, however artificial it may be.
I'm awakened several hours later to a blaring alarm clock, it enters through one ear and resonates in my skull for seemingly an eternity. As my head continues to pound, I realize that my lower half had become soaked in urine sometime during the night.
I turn off the alarm and strip my bed of the sheets. Then I head for the washroom where I strip myself down and shower.
“If you can make it through today, everything will be all right,” I know its complete and utter bullshit, but in spite of it, I still find those words comforting.
Water hits my face as I shower. It feels warm and comforting as it rushes passed my body and for a short while I forget everything. The only thing my brain is thinking at this moment it the here and now – the warmth surrounding every inch of my body, trickling down my spine, the steam that the hot water creates as it enters into my sinuses and welcomes me to the new day. The warmth, the safety. It never lasts, after only a few minutes I'm brushed back out into the harsh reality of a cold brisk day.
I dry off and get dressed. I check myself in the mirror, I hate what I see. The once well fitted suit now comically hangs off of my limbs. I am nothing, merely a ghost of a man that I used to be. I hate you.
I rub my fingers over my eyes and swallow hard, “just make it through the day and everything will be all right, just make it through the day and everything will be all right, just make it through the day...” sometimes the words do nothing to comfort me at all.
After a brief commute to work, I show up late I show up late with the gin still strong on my breath. Late to work, as usual. Not like they care, I could disappear for a week and they wouldn't care, they wouldn't even notice. They've treated me different since the accident, they've treated me differently.
Once their powerful boss, when I walked in a room a demanded attention and respect, now they just treat me like a charity case, like I'm some sort of lost soul. Lost soul? Perhaps- more likely a lost cause. I walk past some co-workers who look at me with piteous eyes, but I know as soon as I'm passed they'll continue with their nonchalant gossip.
“Hey Richard,” my friend Joseph greets me with open arm.
I accept his embrace but I make no attempt to return the affection.
“Listen,” he begins, “I know this last while really hasn't been easy on you.”
I look at him blankly and mutter, “you don't say.”
He begins to look as he realizes he's dug himself into a nice little hole. Why hasn't he realized yet that I don't want his charity, “well just my wife and I were going out this Saturday at seven and she thought it would be fun if she brought along a friend. So I was thinking if you didn't have any other plans then perhaps you would want to come along?”
I just stare coldly at him. How could he do this to me, what would make him think I wanted this? I stood silently, my gaze growing increasingly cold.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” he began, “just my wife has this idea... that everyone should have someone... and no one should be alone.”
“I'm not alone,” I say, signally towards the a half empty bottle in my coat pocket.
Pretending not to hear me he continued, “and she was just thinking that it would be good for the two of you to have a fun night together. I mean, well just nevermind. Pretend like it never happened. I feel like such a jerk for even asking. Just pretend it never happened.”
I do sometimes pretend it never happened, in fact. I really do try, but the fact is it did happen and my imagination is wearing thin; and there is not enough imagination in all of the fairy tales we're told growing up to change the facts.
Joseph by now was practically shaking. Poor bastard. He was afraid, but it isn't like he didn't deserve it. He and his wife, in fact had never had a conversation like what he was saying, in fact his wife didn't say anything. How did I know? Simply put, she hated me. If she would have her way, Joseph would never see me other than professionally again. Then, why was he offering me this. What could his angle be? I had to find out.
“All right, pick me up at six. But this girl, what is she like?” I asked. I didn't really care, I just wanted to know.
He chuckled nervously and told me I would have to wait until saturday night to find out.