I lean over the sink and throw up.
I feel seriously sick, but I don't care. My suffering is mediocre compared to the weak girl in the living room.
As soon as I think of her I want to cry.
She's been through too much for someone her age. She's only sixteen - still a teenager. Yet already, she's bed - ridden. She doesn't speak anymore. She doesn't eat, hardly ever drinks. She doesn't do anything. Because she can't.
And why?
Six years ago, she was stuck down by some mysterious disease. What disease, I don't know. No one knows, not even the doctors. She was in hospital for three years, but it was impossible to find a cure. Or even diagnose her with an illness.
So they gave up on her. The hospital staff gave up on her. They said they had 'other important' matters to pursue.
Yeah, right.
They secretly thought that she was an odd child, struck down with some mutant disease who'd probably die anyways. They saw no point in her. To them, she was just a nuisance, taking up a bed when others needed it. So she was kicked out.
Bastards.
How could anyone be so heartless?
I couldn't let her stay so helpless. In a desperate attempt to help her in some way - despite the shit the staff at the hospital had given me - I looked around for a private doctor. Sure, it'd blow my savings, but what the hell, what does that matter?
I wish I hadn't.
Dr. Lance. Just the name makes me angry.
He tried ever so hard to be friendly at first, smiling whenever he saw her, getting her to call him by his first name - Jacob - rather than 'Doctor,' giving her sweets.
He told her she'd get better.
She didn't get better.
He gave up on her.
To him, she was going to die, and that was that. No questions asked, lesson over.
He still visits, yet now, he's like a relative of hers, instead of a doctor. He brings sweets, he talks to her, he tries to make her laugh.
Idiot. I hate him.
Assholes, all of them - the nurses, the doctors, the surgeons.
They just care about how they'd appear to other people. People see them and go "Whoa! You're a doctor!" and immediately assume that they're the children of God or something. I'll admit, that's what I thought at first as well. I've learnt since then. They're good-for-nothing spawns of Satan - that's what I believe.
I thought doctors were supposed to help people?
Don't they care for what I think?
No. Forget that. Don't they care about her? The child who's health is rapidly deteriorating, racing towards death?
My baby. My only baby, spiralling towards her death.
She's sixteen. Sixteen. She should be out, dating boys and breaking my curfew rules, just like every other teenage girl in the world.
Not lying at home, every single day, frozen to the couch in the living room. I can't even remember the last time she saw the outside world.
I've watched her fade; watched her face, now a pale sketch of what was once a vibrant, detailed painting, twist in pain, heard her cries in the middle of the night, felt her fragile frame underneath her blankets.
She doesn't deserve this. No one does.
I sigh deeply as I come back to the present. I reach for a glass of water to wash my mouth out, which still tastes of vomit.
I reach for another glass for her, hoping she'll drink something today.
My hand passes her tablets. I freeze for a minute.
'Just four of those could put her out of her misery,' I think.
No. Why did I just think that. What sort of a mother would think that?
But.
No.
She's dying anyways. Slowly and painfully. What sort of freak would just leave her in pain? Why not put her out of her suffering?
No.
She'll go to heaven. I know she will. She's done no wrong. How could she have done?
I shudder.
Why is life such a bitch? I wonder. Full of hurt and complications. What happened to living happily ever after?
I think of the girl in the room next over.
Before I know what I'm doing, I'm reaching for the tablets. I fill the glass with water, then stare at the little white box for a while, feeling as if I'd been sucked into a tornado of emotions.
Who knew they had so much power?
A tear oozes out from beneath my eyelids as I push four tablets out of the casing. I drop them into the water and watch them dissolve, releasing a string of tiny bubbles that soon disappear.
The water looks so innocent now.
I wipe my eyes with my sleeve, then pick up the glass.
Slowly, I walk into the living room.
Absolutely enthralling- brilliant! I could not stop reading. Your tonality was very subtle, ranging from questioning to anger in a mature way.
ReplyDeleteA very touching and shocking read about a controversial issue- extremely well written. if there are any criticisms, I'd say maybe a little more visual imagery, more of the girl in living room, maybe? But that's just a suggestion. I think this is great
Crazystar, this is a great piece of writing. Very immediate - right from the arresting opening sentence, down to the awful, inevitable, is-she/isn't-she ending. the voice positively reeks with exactly the kind of bitterness and despair you would expect to find in such a terrible situation, and the way you develop the woman's train of thought, from present pain, to the past history that got them there, and then back to the present, and the bottle of pills, is completely believable - it takes you with it. The language is precise, and admirably calm - no over-egging of emotion. Lines like "I wipe my eyes with my sleeve, then pick up the glass" are all the more powerful for what they don't say, as for what they do. My only quibble would be the way you withhold the twist that the girl is the narrator's daughter. if you go back to the beginning and read those first few paragraphs, they don't read like someone describing their own child. describing her as "the weak girl" or just using "she", rather than using a name, seems wrong - i guess that you're trying to show how alienated the mother is from her own child, but still, it sends the reader off a bit on the wrong track, and so when you come to the line "Sure, it'd blow my savings" it seems weird - who is this person that's spending their money on some random person? it takes a few more lines to get the confirmation ("My baby. My only baby"). nevertheless, that's a minor thing, and easily fixable, if you wanted to. well done - an admirably controlled and effective piece of prose.
ReplyDeleteCrazystar,
ReplyDeleteI really enjoyed reading this piece, it had me hooked! You really draw in the reader, slowly revealing all the important details in a controlled manner, great work! There are lots of really nice details, like the mother wishing her daughter was able to break the curfew. It speaks volumes in one simple line, very astute.
If I were to change one thing, I think it would be the deliberation about whether to put the pills in the water, 'what sort of freak would just leave her in pain?' I feel like the 'No. But' is much more effective, saying a lot through not saying much at all.
I like that you leave us in suspense, not revealing whether the daughter drinks the water or not. This is a great piece of writing to end the blog on, and I hope that you've enjoyed it as much as I have!
Frances
Heya!
ReplyDeleteThis is brilliant--so emotional, and you use great imagery. I love how you start with the vomiting, then fill in the back story, then return to the vomiting, having your narrator return to the present also.
I think at times you've gone too far into how the narrator feels about the doctors--you kind of reiterate the same thing, but in different ways, towards the middle of the piece, and I think it would be beneficial to leave some out. However, the anger is strong, and it's great that you've included it--it really works.
I think you need to work on your voice a little too. At first I thought the narrator sounded like a teenager, and then when you mention that it's their daughter I thought it was a father, and I didn't realise it was the mother until you state it. It's good that you don't explicitly tell us at the beginning, but some work on phrasing things in the way a mother does would make this better.
Great work, though, and don't stop writing!