It’s been so long since I’ve put pen to paper, since I’ve typed any words, read any words. Depression ate me up, and spit me out. It left me for dead really and I’ve been trying to find my way back. Part of that journey has been trying to connect with the old parts of myself that brought so much joy and happiness. And this was one of them. So is anyone still out there? Are my fellow writers still writing? Are you publishing? If you’ve found me, leave a comment for me to come follow you ❤️
Alrighty my beautiful WordPress family would you mind terribly taking a moment to “like” my Facebook Page? Please feel free to leave a link for your own page, blog, twitter, etc.
Which one sounds more appealing if you’re a reader?
A) People are only allowed the memories they are given except for a small group of people who are immune to memory programming
B) A society where there is significantly more men, therefore multiple men have to court
(to the extreme) or bid for a wife
C) Neither lol
This project was flowing from me like water……why haven’t I been working on it??? Hope you enjoy 🙂
The first time he did it…it was dark, raining, and lightning was crackling through the clouds. She felt his hand connect with her face and she went down. Shocked and still hanging onto her bravery she picked herself up and flew at him with a rage she had never felt. When she heard him laugh she knew she had made the biggest mistake of her life. In seconds she was up against the wall with his hand around her throat. She could barely see him except for when the lighting flashed; there was no escaping his strength.
He leaned close to her ear and whispered “You don’t want to play this game with me”. He tightened his hand and then released her with such a quickness she had no time to get her bearings, instead falling to the floor in a heap of body parts. She sat there, silent, waiting for him to do something more, kill her perhaps. He simply turned and walked out of the room. With shaky legs she made her way to the bathroom and locked the door behind her. What the hell just happened? This was nothing like the man she knew.
To afraid to come out of the bathroom she decided to run a bath for herself instead, at least she would have a reason to stay behind the locked door for as long as she could. Dumping in some lavender bath salts her mind was still reeling from his violence. As she slowly took her clothes off she peered into the mirror to check and see if he left behind any bruises. Her neck was still pink from where his hand had cut off her airway. Her cheek was burning and red like a lobster. Damn.
The warm water cradled her like a baby and she lay there thinking. She was only 17 years old. She had left home when she met John, a shining star in this small town. He proclaimed his love for her and told her that he needed her to be with him, and her naiveté concealed any other facts she should have considered. It had only been about six months since she had shown up on his doorstep with a garbage bag in her hand and a backpack on her back. Everything seemed to be going nicely, she cooked, cleaned, did the laundry, and helped pay the bills with the little bit of money she made from working at the only coffee shop in town.
She almost jumped out of the bathwater when she heard the light tapping on the bathroom door. “Elise, unlock the door honey. I am so sorry.” For what seemed like an hour she sat there, debating in her head if she should let him in. She pulled the plug in the bathtub and dried herself off. Cinching her bathrobe around her waist she apprehensively clicked the lock on the door and stepped back.
John opened the door slowly and she could see the moisture around his eyes. “I am so sorry Ellie.” He walked over to her and lowered to his knees, pressing his head into her stomach. She stiffened, not wanting him anywhere near her. As he cried out his apologies he got into her mind just a little more. Her heart was starting to break for him, this man she loved so much in such a little amount of time. Surely he really was sorry. He couldn’t be faking such raw emotion, as he promised her over and over again that he would rather die than hurt her again. She laid a hand on the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair. He looked up at her, his eyes remorseful, and begged her to come to bed with him. She nodded and as he stood he grabbed her hand and led the way.
She lay in bed staring at the red walls. She had never liked the color of this room, and after the events of the evening the color screamed danger. John was fast asleep, curled up around her so she couldn’t move without waking him. She wondered how he could sleep so peacefully as she felt his deep steady breaths against her body. Shaking her head gently she closed her eyes and vowed to herself to try to sleep as well .Elise had promised herself that if he ever hit her again she would gather her things up and hit the road.
As the next year stretched on, the hitting turned to beating, and the red marks turned to deep purple bruises splattered across her body. Every time he cried and said he was sorry for hurting her. It had happened so many times, that she didn’t believe him anymore. Like a true experienced batterer, John knew where to hit her so others would never be able to see the marks. Elise tried to figure out what set him off so she could avoid his fists, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it, there was no stopping him.
© Ashley M. Nee 2012
*I feel like I should preface this by saying that had to kick start some creative flow today and so I ended up with this. I am posting this today in case I am too busy on Mother’s Day (doing laundry hahaha), so happy early Mother’s Day to all my fellow blogging mommies out there 🙂 Hope your day is blessed!!
The house was too quiet. There were no kids running past her door, or shushing each other so they wouldn’t get caught getting into all the goodies. There was no one jumping on her bed, and there were no sounds of little voices giggling as they hovered over her. This was surely a bad sign she thought to herself as she jumped up out of bed. She grabbed a lightweight robe from the back of her bedroom door and slipped it on and tying it loosely around the waist as she hurried down the hallway. She was still listening for noise, and growing more and more anxious as she continued to hear only silence. As she came into the kitchen, her eyes immediately settled on a piece of paper with familiar scribble. The piece of paper was a note from her husband.
Happy Mother’s Day my love. I hope you were able to sleep in a little bit. I have taken the children for a fun day out. Please do not worry about cleaning anything or trying to do laundry. Enjoy the day and we will be back at 5:30 to pick you up for dinner. I love you and couldn’t ask for a better wife and mother.
Abby felt the smile all the way to her toes. Most mother’s days didn’t work out to be anything entirely special, between his schedule and hers. It had been so long since she had been away from their four beautiful children that at first she wasn’t sure what to do (or not do) first. There were a few dishes in the sink from last night and so she shrugged her shoulders and headed over to wash them up. There was a note taped to the faucet.
I am serious, unless you’re getting sustenance get out of the kitchen! Love you.
Laughing she decided to go take a nice long shower, uninterrupted by small people banging on the door and demanding use of the toilet. After she was done performing her live concert in the bathroom she toweled off and picked out a nice outfit to wear. Usually she donned a worn pair of yoga pants and a tank top while she was running around the house, no sense in destroying nice clothes! Back in the bathroom she pulled out her barely used makeup. She had small little wrinkles, probably only visible to her. Oh the joys of children, constant worrying that they are going to get hurt…or that you are causing what will inevitably be years of therapy.
By the time she was done in the bathroom she hardly recognized herself. This was the woman that existed before the husband, the kids, the house, and all the other responsibilities that came with growing up. Abby picked a book off the bookshelf, one that she had purchased not long ago, and at the time had full intentions of reading. For the next few hours she sat and read, it didn’t even matter at that point what the book was about only that she was able to focus on it for more than 5 minutes.
Abby loved her kids, would die for her kids. That did not mean that things were always easy, in fact they often were much harder than she ever imagined. Some days ended in tears (hers, not the kids), while others ended in a deep sense of pride. The truth of the matter was that she really didn’t do much of anything besides raise small children, and most of the time she was okay with that. She wondered if her husband had picked up on her heavy heart as of late and could see that she was struggling with what should have been the biggest blessing in her life…motherhood.
By the time five o’clock rolled around she had never been so relaxed, so clear headed. She touched up her makeup and hair and was ready to go when her husband pulled in the driveway. James left the kids in the car as he got out to hug his wife. “You look beautiful babe”. She smiled at him and hugged him as if her life depended on it. “Thank you so much for today. I really needed it”. He nodded and told her he knew how much she needed it, and he was thankful for all the hard work that she put into their family.
As soon as she slid into the front seat her kids were clamoring to tell her about their day. As they shared all of their funny stories from the day she laughed with them. Staring at her amazing family she realized sometimes it just takes one day, just one step back to give you the chance to enjoy life again.
© Ashley M. Nee 2013
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were — I have not seen
As others saw — I could not bring
My passions from a common spring —
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow — I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone —
And all I lov’d — I lov’d alone —
Then — in my childhood — in the dawn
Of a most stormy life — was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still —
From the torrent, or the fountain —
From the red cliff of the mountain —
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold —
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by —
From the thunder, and the storm —
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view —
Retrieved from: http://poestories.com/read/alone
I feel it only right to honor Poe today, the day of his birth. He was a great poet and a tortured soul.