Lady Lazarus

Writer's Block: Don't You Forget about Me

Fri, 07 Aug 2009 14:33:00 GMT

RIP John Hughes. In honor of the master of the teen movie, what is your favorite teen flick?

Definitely Sixteen Candles, however, I loved all of the Hughes movies that featured Molly Ringwald, even the little talked about For Keeps as well as the much beloved Breakfast Club. Molly Ringwald was the epitome of awesome in my eyes as a small child. She was awkward, funny, hip, cool and utterly lovable with her fairly down to earth looks and freckles.

RIP John Hughes, you made me look forward to High School and College with a snarky, self aware dialogue that went on to spring forth shows such as Dawson's Creek and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, with it's hip kids who always knew exactly what to say and a quasi-philosophical way to say it. :)

Making characters that are fully rounded, relatable and alive: Epic Win.

I Have A Theory! It could be fiiiiishies!....

Sun, 05 Apr 2009 02:58:32 GMT

Okee,

So here is the deal, I have to read Genesis for one of my english classes (Classical and Biblical Texts) and as I was reading the story of Noah and the Ark, I had a realization: what about the evil fish? A flood would not have killed them.
So this has led me to rethink all that I had previously thought of the happenings of the Bible.
Bear with me now, I know this may sound crazy and conspiracy theory-ist, and yes, it is just that. So let me rave.

FISH KILLED JESUS! THATS RIGHT! AND GUESS WHAT! THAT EVIL FISH MAFIA KILLED THE NEW EMBODIMENT OF CHRIST AS WELL:

tHE CROCODILE HUNTER HIMSELF! (Steve Irwin, bless his soul).
So now I must warn everyone of this evil and insidious fish mafia!
I must say, I know it sounds crazy but I feel like I am being watched from the murky depths. OH GOD NO! Charlie Tuna is in on it too! I won't make it, but you can! Save yourself! Spread the word of this murdering mackerel. (garble, wheeze, bubble, *dramatic death*)

Writer's Block: If Animals Could Talk

Sun, 01 Mar 2009 19:32:32 GMT

If you could ask your pet any question (and they could answer you), what would it be?

Submitted By frisinator

View 501 Answers

Are you happy being my freind?

Writer's Block: Jackpot

Thu, 19 Feb 2009 18:50:42 GMT

If you won the lottery, what would you do with your newfound riches?

Submitted By kimbereli09

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PLASTICS

Writer's Block: Animal Instinct

Thu, 19 Feb 2009 02:43:52 GMT

What creature would you choose as your spirit animal?

View 502 Answers

Voltaire/Rousseau Chimera, yes I am evil. Thanks for asking

Writer's Block: Half a Glass

Mon, 09 Feb 2009 23:42:38 GMT

Do you consider yourself an optimist, a pessimist, or a realist?

View 500 Answers

All of the above. Variety is spicy~

H'okay

Wed, 04 Feb 2009 01:27:25 GMT

So I really want to kill my sister. Why? you may ask, well because she just told me that she smokes. I know for most people this wouldn't be anything to really have a shit fit over but for me this is. She is 14 and our Mother just died of Cancer, due to.......... that's right! Smoking. I have to say, at this moment I am supremely pissed off. Why did my Mother have to spawn? I mean really, children are unnecessary, stupid and overly annoying creatures.

Sleepy Day

Mon, 02 Feb 2009 23:47:26 GMT

Okay, so laying on the bed with the intention of reading "Good Omens" and listening to Regina Spektor, I instead listened to Regina Spektor, read a bit of Good Omens and fell asleep. While sleeping I had a few odd dreams that I only remember snippets of.

In one snippet:

David's friend Beth asks me if I am a key person and then when I answer No, I do not think so, she leans down and looks intently into my eyes. I can remember her eyes, nose and freckles vividly. When she pulls away, she said something that has floated on in dreamland, far from memory.

Snippet two:
A man of slightly looking Spanish decent is on a bicycle, stops and gives me a bag of Green Seedless Grapes (my favorite).

Snippet Three:
I was cleaning up rather late in the morning at a party where I had no clue who the people were, but that I remember the night before, one of the fellows there was plotting something in regards to his sister and since his plot seemed intrusive to me and backhanded, I suggested to him that he just talk to her. Also another of the fellows had apparently been one of those physical fitness child geniuses, kind of like that Hercules kid. He reminisced with me during the clean up about his childhood fame and good old days while showing me pictures.

Snippet Four:
Oddly enough my dream kept returning to this segment. I was standing out in front of a restaurant window that was, in the dream, near my apartment. I was eating noodles from a bowl with an oddly shaped vibrator, I believe it was pink, the vibrator, not the noodles. And I was absolutely assured in the dream that people in the restaurant were both laughing and mocking me. And somehow I feel this segment is an amalgamation of my time in Paris. I have taken on the character of "the homeless/the Rom/ the trickster/street walker", no clue what the noodles mean other than maybe a humble meal, and the vibrator must be from all the time we spent in Pigalle, in the arrondissement of Monmartre, home of the Moulin Rouge. Honestly, it is a scary place at night. It was hard seeing the seedier aspects of life so concentrated and so gaily placed before you, like a platter of delicious sushi, but after looking closely you see that the rice is indeed maggots. the sad thing is that it doesnt have to be this way. In the daylight the place is divine with all sorts of interesting nooks and crannies and a never ending supply of curious folks to watch.

So, the party scene is easy enough to figure out since David and I had a dinner party with another couple last night. It was a lot of fun. However, my apparent giving of quasi-mystical, shamanistic powers to David's friend Beth as well as having a few (what would have been deemed Circus freak fodder in the early turn of the century 1900's) characters in my dreams (and yes he had a turn of the century feel to him, I felt I should call him Philip). And lastly the grape man who I will fondly refer to as Jesus the Mexican boy, due to my love of the Iron and Wine song of the same title.

Writer's Block: From A to Z

Sat, 03 Jan 2009 19:19:38 GMT

Using one word for each letter of the alphabet, make a list of the words you most associate with yourself or that you feel best describe you.

Submitted By mesila

View 504 Answers

A--- Allegory

B--- Boudicca

C--- Charming

D--- Deft

E--- Effulgent

F--- Fragrant

G--- Gregarious

H--- Hoggle

I--- Inaccessible

J--- Jesting

K--- Kittens

L--- Lymphatic System ( I has one)

M--- Malapropisms

N--- Nananananananananananananana ( the never ending syllables of that yellow fruit)

O--- Orpheus, for his sweet sweet lute

P--- Plutarch--Sabine Women---Sobbin Women---Seven Brides for Seven Brothers---Favorite Musical

Q--- Questions

R--- Rebecca, me name

S--- Socks/Shoes

T--- Tiger Lily

U--- Uvula , I has one and so do you

V--- Vociferous

W--- Wacky

X--- Xanadu, Citizen Kane's Palatial Estate

Y--- Yowza

Z--- Zippy

Second Day with Hemingway's "A Moveable Feast"

Fri, 02 Jan 2009 06:06:40 GMT

I have decided that I want to read Hemingway's "A Moveable Feast" before going to Paris so that I would be able to trace some of his Parisian experiences while exploring my own. Also, it is the only piece of literature by this particular author that I have ever wanted to read. I know there are other options if I want to read about Paris but I am not in the mood to have to deal with the sex and squalor of Henry Miller and the "Tropic" series, have no interest in reading any Hugo at the moment and I don't happen to have any Anais Nin, so exploring Hemingway's Paris seemed appropriate. I have picked a few of my favorite quotes from Ch. 3

In chapter two, as he sat in a cafe writing, he spied this girl sitting by the window. His description was beautiful and oddly loving, this is not what all I was expecting from Ernest.
Quotes and a Few Observations Follow .

Ch. 3 "Une Generation Perdue" A few favorite quotes

{I thought of Miss Stein and Sherwood Anderson and egotism and mental laziness versus discipline and I thought who is calling who a lost generation? Then as I was getting up to the Closerie des Lilas with the light on my old friend, the statue of Marshal Ney with his sword out and the shadows of the trees on the bronze, and he alone there and nobody behind him and what a fiasco he'd made of Waterloo, I thought that all generations were lost by something and always had been and always would be and I stopped at Lilas to keep the statue company and drank a cold beer before going home to the flat over the sawmill} (30).

{But the hell with her lost generation talk and all the dirty, easy labels. When i got home and into the courtyard and upstairs and saw my wife and my son and his cat, F. Puss, all of them happy and a fire in the fireplace, I said to my wife, "You know, Gertrude is nice, anyway."

"Of course, Tatie."
"But she does talk a lot of rot sometimes."
" I never hear her," my wife said. "I'm a wife. It's her friend that talks to me."} (31)

The more and more that I read about Gertrude Stein, the less and less I like her. Her poetry is dense and horrifyingly repetitive and frustratingly enough, that is her point. Maybe she will grow on me. Authors are like that, fungal.

A RED HAT.

A dark grey, a very dark grey, a quite dark grey is monstrous ordinarily, it is so monstrous because there is no red in it. If red is in everything it is not necessary. Is that not an argument for any use of it and even so is there any place that is better, is there any place that has so much stretched out. (Stein "Tender Buttons")

Wed, 31 Dec 2008 15:25:30 GMT

I am spending my final night of 2008 with two old high school friends, one of which I see and talk to quite regularly via online messengers and whenever I happen to be in town visiting with the g-rents. The second friend, I haven't seen since June when I attended her baby shower, she had a little boy and this will be the first time I get to see him. The three of us were very close all through middle school but during senior year of high school began to drift apart a bit from the power trio we had been. I hope this meeting of the three yet again is auspicious of new beginnings with people who mean a lot to me.

2008 has been a hard year for me, as most of you know, I lost my mother in April after finding out two weeks before that she had liver cancer. She had been sick since January on and off but it was not until the two weeks before her death that we were all aware of how dire the situation was. I was able to visit with her twice before she passed and that is something for which I am very grateful.

After my mom passed away I decided to take a leap and go for something I had always wanted to do: travel. So I signed up for the Short Term trip to Paris, went through the interview process and was accepted. I leave on the sixth of January. I am incredibly excited about this opportunity and having this trip to focus on has really helped me to weather the grief the year has brought. I think, due to the help of some truly amazing people, I have come out better than anyone ever could have expected under the circumstances.

This year has been one of healthy thinking, becoming a stronger person and gaining a ton of confidence. My Sophomore year was a challenging one grade wise, but this semester I was able to prove to myself that I can handle this college thing and do well in classes that I find challenging.

and last but certainly not least, being able to meet David has made a huge difference in how the rest of my 2008 turned out. He is a truly special person who makes me incredibly happy and I am glad and honoured to be starting the New Year with him.

It is going to be a good one. Come on 2009!

Grades Are In--Fall Semester Rundown

Fri, 19 Dec 2008 06:15:36 GMT

Latin 103- B- (huge omg wowowowowowow surprise *happiness*)

Women in Religion- B+

Understandings of Christianity- B+

Walking for Fitness- B (pissed about this, I KNOW it should be higher, teacher was a douche, I had an A at midterm)

Medieval Texts- A+ (very very happy about this one, validates my choice of major)

It was a really tough semester for me and honestly, a lot of the time I feared that my grades would be much lower than this. But things worked out and I am very glad they did. Well, here comes Paris, and then a semester of four literature classes and another PED.

Short Term- Paris (2 papers, and a final test to pass)

Spring Semester

Classical and Biblical Texts
19th Century Texts
Queer Theory
History of the English Language
Survival Swimming

It's coming whether I want it to or not, so...bring it on!

My Brain is Weird

Tue, 16 Dec 2008 03:25:28 GMT

I've always experienced anxiety dreams when doing something new, or not so new really, I mean anytime a new semester rolls around I have the naked, without a schedule or books dream. But this time I had the falling out of the plane dream because I was using the bathroom and the toilet fell in and out of the plane. I know that I'm getting kind of nervous about the plane ride, having never done that before, but really. Most people would worry about the plane crashing or something, I guess my subconscious is really self centered, only I get to die in my dreams dammit! I have an ego- maniacal dream state. Figures.

Finals Week and the Beginning of Christmas Break

Sat, 13 Dec 2008 01:36:39 GMT

My room is finally clean and now I am all packed up for going home (Virginia) for Christmas. I just realized that I will essentially be living out of a suitcase for two months since as soon as I get back to Berea, I repack and leave for Paris directly. OMG! It is going to be fun though and now all that stands between me and relaxation is a 10 to 12 page research paper that I got an extension on, that Professors gift of an extension saved my life, there was no way I was getting that paper done today to turn in tomorrow and still have time to sleep, clean and pack. Suffice to say, she has my first born (children, gremlins, puppies, no bake cookies), whatever I spawn in the future. And the extension enables me to spend tonight with Researcher which is doubly nice since I won't get to see him for near to two months.

I feel like my brain is back on somewhat straight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
WOWZERS!

Dis be Me Now...Too Many Finals

Thu, 11 Dec 2008 03:35:17 GMT

http://i216.photobucket.com/albums/cc47/bornbad1/zombie_student_web.jpg

Life

Mon, 24 Nov 2008 15:42:08 GMT

After tomorrow life will start to move rather quickly.
Tomorrow I leave for TN to spend Thanksgiving with my roommate's family.
Then on Sunday its back to Berea.
Then that weekend, Friday night, Roxanne's Christmas party,
then later that night, Lexington with David, then Saturday, Louisville with David.
Then reading period and Finals starting Monday, last final on Friday,
then home to Va for Christmas break that afternoon.
Back to Berea on the fourth of January.
All day on the fifth in Berea for final meeting for Paris,
the the sixth, we leave for Lexington airport, short layover in Chicago, arrive in Paris on the seventh.
Paris for 20 day, 2 days in Nice,
then leave for the states on the 29th, arrive, I suppose on the 30th,
and then short rest,
my birthday on the 9th of February,
then on the 10th second semester starts.
OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG. THIS IS GOING TO BE AMAZING, EXHAUSTING, BUT AMAZING.

Yay!

Thu, 13 Nov 2008 14:26:22 GMT

My only class was cancelled, I am happy for that, but sad that my professor is still sick. So I have a meeting for coffee with my advisor and I suppose this is the part where I tell her what I hope to do with my life after undergrad...

I kinda have a clue, I know a master's degree is in the works for me, perhaps in comparative literature or library science.
Hopefully she will have some tips. Either way it will be an enjoyable experience, I've always enjoyed our talks.

This is a rant

Mon, 10 Nov 2008 22:00:57 GMT

*utter scream of frustration*
I had my GSTR 310: Understandings of Christianity today and it was a doozy.
To start off, the professor had a Jehovah's Witness come and speak to the class and discuss the particulars of his faith. This portion of the class was good, the young man gave a good overview of his beliefs as far as he was capable, not being a scholar of the faith. We had a question/answer session where I asked a question and I felt that he answered with dignity and still preserving his own beliefs. However.

When the professor later asked if there was anything of interest that we would like to add to the discussion (earlier, after the young man left, we had discussed the differences between Jehovah's Witnesses, Mormons, Christians, etc). So as it seemed natural and pertinent to the class, I gave a little blurb about the Prop 8 and the Mormon Churches involvement. This is the moment of utter fury. A certain fellow in the class who also by the way has a complete monopoly on the school news paper (he is Editor-in-Chief), and has used the news paper as his intensely conservative platform, proceeded to speak DOWN to me in the class and in not so many words, but tone, mocked me and my statement to the class saying that I was misleading the actual purpose of Prop 8. He is an arrogant bastard. That is all, I shall not think on it any longer.

Writer's Block: Reading Aloud

Fri, 07 Nov 2008 02:54:53 GMT

One of the highlights of going to a literary festival is hearing authors read from their own works. What author, living or dead, would you most like to hear read?

View 501 Answers

Rupert Brooke, Georgian poet (era neither state nor country), some would call it propaganda, either way, it is beautiful. To hear him read from Libido would be amazing,

Or!

Kahlil Gibran reading from The Prophet. T'would be heaven!

Let it be known...

Sun, 07 Sep 2008 06:19:14 GMT

that I just had the most wonderful day and night ever, all thanks to a special someone ;)

Becca

FIRST DAY OF CLASS

Wed, 27 Aug 2008 11:47:57 GMT

Lets see how this goes....

Will Becca's classical knowledge fail her?!
Will her religion profs turn out to be quacks?!
Will Becca ever find that damn Waldo?!

TUNE IN NEXT TIME TO FIND OUT! *BADA DUNNNNNNNN!!!!!!* *BAT MASTERSON THEME*

Out of Exile

Sun, 24 Aug 2008 15:52:50 GMT

I am finally out of exile my exile in Virginia and back to the not quite Elysian Fields of Berea. I am so glad to be back and be surrounded again by the people i love. I missed my friends so much! So I snuck my way into the dorm, thanks to the help of my beautiful roommate, and I got officially checked in this morning. So everything is cool. The girls and I watched this really weird but good Japanese movie last night called Tampopo, it was interesting, even more so due to our exhaustion. Hopefully this year will be good school wise, either way, I have my friends :)

Becca

Last Day of Internship Summer 2008

Sat, 23 Aug 2008 01:52:40 GMT

Today was the last day of my internship, working primarily with the Head Start Program. It has been a wonderful experience. I have met some really amazing people. They all work so hard and really seem to enjoy what they do, even though their work can be frustrating and hectic, they don't give up because they truly believe what they do is important, and it is. So this summer has been about making good friends, getting real world experience and oh yeah, that love affair I had with the copy machine. No one scans me like he can ^__^. I named him Pierre. My amazing co-workers threw me a going way thank you party and had cake and ice cream. They got the surprise on me because I thought it was a staff meeting, so I just went in a sat down as usual. So clueless haha. All my friends said something nice and they told funny stories, making sure to let me know how much they appreciated my help. Then they all presented me with a gift, a sewing machine with a sewing kit! This is the best thing ever! Last semester I took a costuming class and now I have the sewing bug, I cant wait to start tinkering with it! This has to be in the top five of nicest things ever done for me. I will really miss them all and will cherish the time i got to spend with them and the memories made.

The slogan for Summer 2008 : Be All You Can Be from a Double A to a triple D!
(ask me about the story if you wish lol)

~~Becca~~

hell

Tue, 29 Jul 2008 00:28:50 GMT

Found this on a quotes page, quite funny:

The following is an actual question given on a University of Washington engineering mid-term. The answer was so "profound" that the Professor shared it with colleagues, and the sharing obviously hasn't ceased...

Bonus Question: Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or Endothermic (absorbs heat)?

Most of the students wrote Proofs of their beliefs using Boyle's Law, (gas cools off when it expands and heats when it is compressed) or some variant. One student, however, wrote the following:

"First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate that souls are moving into Hell and the rate they are leaving. I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, let us look at the different religions that exist in the world today. Some of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell. Since there are more than one of these religions and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to Hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially.

Now, we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand as souls are added. This gives two possibilities:

1. If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.

2. Of course, if Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.

So which is it?

If we accept the postulate given to me by Teresa Banyan during my Freshman year, "...that it will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you.", and take into account the fact that I still have not succeeded in having sexual relations with her, then, #2 cannot be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is exothermic and will not freeze."

This student received the only A.

I finished my short story...kinda

Mon, 28 Jul 2008 02:26:27 GMT

Portrait of a Modern Love

(Is that Sulfur I Smell…?)

Emily plays. Emily likes dolls. She likes the feel of holding a tiny replica of human life in her hands. She likes the all encompassing power it yields. I suppose that is what drew her to me. I met her in a diner in Bay View, a little fishing town on the shore of Lake Erie. She was sitting at a corner table when I walked in, out of the rain. I was greeted by a few indifferent glances, I had come to expect, as I was a very ordinary, perhaps even droll looking person. The glances returned to their pie and coffee, all except one pair. They were green with gold flecks and seemed to pierce through me. Her eyes-- they seemed to dismiss me but as I sat down across from her, they brazenly slid upon me again. It seemed like hours before the waitress came to take my order. I ordered a cup of coffee and as I sipped the bitter brew, I watched her, watching me, and seeing her grow aware of my awareness was as near to a voyeuristic experience as I have ever been.

From that moment it was like she had known me from birth, she knew I was for her and that is what I became. If someone were to ask me who I was, I would simply answer “Emily’s”, but no one ever asked. She outshone me in everyway and I was content with that, contented with the warmth of the glow. Our relationship progressed quickly, the pace she set, the pace she demanded, and I happily complied. I soon moved into her doll house and lived among all of her other baubles and pretties. She wore the proverbial pants in the family. She was exquisite. She became my world; I saw nothing without her framing it, skewing my perception. We were perfect together, two half’s of the same whole. We would talk for hours and tell each other stories about our past lives together, our origins in Greek lore. She was the light to my darkness, the left to my right. She seemed to compliment me in every facet. As the years past my co-dependency for her seemed to grow, so much so that I never noticed her gradual growth of loathing of me. As I look back now, I cannot help but to believe that the roots of her hate for me began after the birth of our first child. She was a beautiful child. Full of life and near to identical to her mother. Emily seemed to go into a very dark state after Antha’s arrival. She gave me such simple joy but it was overshadowed by Emily’s depression. Lying in bed all day, she would ignore our child’s cries of hunger, not bothering to rise from her lethargy to breast feed. I became Antha’s only hope. One morning I awoke to find Antha peaceful and cold. The doctor said she had died of SIDs. These things just happen sometimes.

************************************************************************

As the weeks past Emily seemed to come alive.

Emily is a shopping machine. Six months into mourning and she is a shopper now. I feel so betrayed, how could she care about window treatments at a time like this. I broke when she redid the nursery. I just got in my car and drove. I drove all day and all night until I no longer felt the need to hurt her as her insensitivity had hurt me. When I came home, she didn’t ask where I had been; she nodded and continued to paint the parlor. Stroke after stroke of gaudy fuchsia, she use to hate fuchsia. I bought her fuchsias once for our first anniversary. She didn’t speak to me for weeks. How could I not know her favorite flowers, she yelled. I know now. Daisies. She had always loved daisies. We considered naming Antha, Daisy but we decided it sounded way to redneck for our taste. It was around this time that her libido went into overdrive.

************************************************************************

I don’t know her anymore. We talk as if we are strangers. We are desperately polite. She is the despot of my world. It was around this time that we created Delia. I recreated the nursery and handled Emily with care. During the fourth month Emily began to lose the baby. The doctor put her on bed rest. Emily was never one to listen to the good advice of others. During the sixth month the false labor began again and Delia was born. Small and still we laid her next to Antha in the cemetery a quarter of a mile from our house. Emily seemed relieved. I blamed her; I never let her know that I blamed her. One morning I woke up and she was staring at me, with what I recognized as disgust and she said get out. She gave me no explanation, just two benign words. So I left. I got dressed and I left. I walked down to the peer and sat on the end of the dock. I dangled my feet in the cool September water. I looked around at the fishermen as they readied their boats for the morning catch. No one saw as I slowly slipped into the water. I wrapped my arms and legs around the round leg of the pier. I shimmied down the old wooden leg deeper into the viscous water; my lungs began to burn as my small gasp was gone. My vision blurred and my body felt so tired, but I knew I couldn’t allow myself to rise. I looked up and could see the impression of the sun rising over head as my vision went dark. I breathed in the water, a welcoming friend, filling my lungs as I let go of the pier and sank into the darkness. My last thought was that this must have been what Monet saw when he painted. A distortion, a vision, a song.

************************************************************************

Funny thing about death, it never seems to end. It’s kind of like a long ride on a Ferris wheel, when you want so badly to get off, but it just keeps going; and sometimes you’ll get stuck on top for hours. It’s at this point that everything seems so clear. Some people never get this moment of clarity and if you do, it’s usually not appreciated.

************************************************************************

Emily is a widow now. They found her husband bloated on the shores of Lake Erie.

I know it’s my fault, pushing him away as I did, but I just didn’t care. I hated him. I loathed the very sight of him. I don’t know how it happened. It just did. One day I looked at him, and I saw that I didn’t love him anymore. I had never loved him. He was a project; a nice little experiment that I watched, and despised more and more each day. He was my worry stone, and I knew no matter what I did to him, like the little mongrel he was, he always came running back. Every thing was okay as long as I had my little pup to drag around with me, it wasn’t until I realized I had become like every other woman in the world, relying on a man for my happiness, and I was happy, that I began to hate him. My complacency made me weak, and I couldn’t stand the thought of becoming one of those women; you know the cookie cutter desperate, Stepford housewives they show in Betty Crocker commercials. I saw myself in the mirror with my mom hair cut and seed pearl twin set, as I stared down the pink line, positive line to nowhere of a do it yourself pregnancy test. It’s funny how the test is DIY, when the conception certainly isn’t. I don’t know how it happened. I’ve been on the pill for the last three years of my marriage, and we always used protection. I know Liam wanted kids, but I never did. It’s just another of those things we never got around to talking about. Whirl wind romance doesn’t sound so great now, does it ladies. We didn’t know each other when we got married, we were infatuated with the person we thought the other was. I wonder if you ever see who the other person really is. We just never see people the way they are meant to be seen. It’s disgusting in a way, pathetic, and useless, the way we roam around the earth like lost ants at a picnic. The ants with there heads full of sugar, our brains fever filled with lust. That is what it comes down to, lust. Anyone who tells you they believe in love at first sight is full of shit.

************************************************************************

Liam sat watching his wife, with her perfect composure as she wrapped her widowhood around her like a mantle. Clinging to it like a diver with the bends. He hated her as she accepted condolences of loved ones and friends. The loved ones who never knew of her coldness, and silent subtle brutality, I can hear their thoughts rattling around in their materialistic minds: what nice drapery Emily picked thought the women. That hot, little number is back on the market, thought the men. Oh ho boys! Don’t go there; she’s more trouble than she’s worth! Oh Mrs. Chomsky, I never knew you though of me that way…

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Emily is sick, her head is over the bowl and putrid filth is flowing from her. A lovely dinner of one scoop of mashed potatoes, half of a pork chop and a side of six green beans, all prepared by condolence giving busy bodies. Old men and women whose main form of entertainment now revolves around reunions, recreational vehicles and funerals, they come to judge. Was the coffin as expensive but not so much so that it was distasteful, was her skirt the appropriate length for grief, the right shade of black. The drapery, the lining, the coffee ever refilled, the opening and closing, flowers and burial plot, were all these things up to par with what others had done to make a somber experience more comfortable and keep everyone’s mind off the decaying wretch in the parlor room. To keep the thought of death as far a bay as possible, to keep the thought of the black hole he would be lowered to as a peaceful ideal rather than the cesspool of insects and rotting flesh that it would become.

Anger coursed through her as she thought about these onlookers, rubbernecking, passing in and out of her life by the grace of a plane ticket that would take them back to their condominiums in Florida and Arizona, these migratory quacks feeding off death to reaffirm their livelihood.

Emily swallows the lump in her throat, wishing the one in her breast was as easy to dislodge. She had talked to the doctor; he said operation was the only option. Operation: an intrusion for medical purposes to rip out one’s soul financially and physically. Funny how the breast cancer had become a welcome friend after the death of her husband and children, she had lived her entire life expecting it, like a six year old waiting for Christmas.

I slowly invaded her, taking her limbic system by surprise, all that fatty tissue in which I thrive, feeding. Feeding on the lively hood where no child had ever suckled, not for lack of wanting. Two babes she had, two babes she lost, never bringing them to her teat. Now I am here suckling, suckling the life from her. I just want to play. Play a little game called wither. I will make her wither away. Do not think harsh of me, its merely my job, she must wither and die, it is her place. She must die in order to begin again. She must face past actions, they all must. The rest she took care of in one way or another, and now I am taking care of her. My darkness is swallowing her body, I have already moved to the lungs, next the liver if she doesn’t give out soon, the brain. They will try to cut me out, but I will just be back, it is her time, it is her way. She must play the game.

The toilet bowl was becoming much too familiar, I mean really. This is just ridiculous. I think God is being cruel to me. The woman always gets it in the end. And if this woman made a distinction of herself, if she were anymore than a mere extension of a man, well HA! God forbid. Literally.

Emily is dead. I mean, really, what else were you expecting? A happy ending? Those only happen in porn these days. Little Debbie still does cream pies though, so don’t you worry your pretty lil’ head none.

So this is what hell is, Emily thought to herself. She was sitting in a vacuous room with a concrete floor and plaster peeling from the walls. A dim light was suspended from the ceiling by a black wire, the plastic peeling to reveal the copper innards. The lack of noise howled around her and caused the bulb to swing back and forth by the force. She isn’t afraid. She isn’t anything, although she expected feelings of relief, but like millions of housewives every year, they never came.

The door creaks open and Emily wakes startled from her sleep in the chair. She tries to move but realizes that she has been tied to the chair. Looking down she fails to see any bindings, yet she is immobilized. Panic begins to fill her as a dark figure glides into the room. She asks “Are you the Devil?”

The stranger laughs and replies, ‘no, sweetheart, I’m your husband.’ At this point he stands in front of her, allowing the light from the bulb cascade over his features in a ghastly manner. She sees that it’s true, Liam stood before her looking pale and waif like. He laughs again and says “well I suppose “till death do we part” was somewhat of a lie on our parts, right Darling?” He says with a snarl. Two more shadows begin to ooze from under and around the door. Sliding across the walls before lighting on either side of Liam. “Meet your daughters Emily.’ He said as the shadows became corporeal. Two golden haired little girls looked down at her with big owl like eyes. “Welcome Home Mommy” they say in unison as Liam hands her an apron, a mop and the room begins to change into a bright and shiny home with a white picket fence. She found herself surrounded by utter perfection. “I don’t, I don’t understand” Emily stutters out as she finds herself clad in stylish Capri pants, twinset, and her hair perfectly styled. Over this Liam places the apron and each little girl attach themselves to each of her legs. “Now you can be our mommy forever” the little girls say as Liam looks at her and gently strokes her face and places the wedding ring back on her finger “You have a lot of making up to do, don’t you think darling?’

The End