Confinement
“I’m not coming out!”
“Why not? It’s a beautiful day!”
“Do you have any idea how much bacteria is in the air you’re breathing? How many insects you could be touching, or what kind of parasites might be clinging to you?” My skin prickled at even the thought of going out into that festering pit of disease.
“Have it your way.”
I took my antibacterial gel from my pocket and rubbed some into my hands. I pumped on another lot just to be sure. You can never be too careful. I mean look around. Everything is designed to hurt you. You can't even see them but they’re out there, lurking.
You have to keep your eyes sharp. The other day I caught an ant climbing through a crack in the wall. Can you imagine, its little black body weaving its way into my house, crawling through the crevices to find me. I had to fill the crack straight away. Who knows how many more of them made their way through; their angry pincers snapping away as they anticipated the taste of my flesh between them.
That isn’t even the worst thing I’ve had to deal with. I once found a cockroach, a breeding ground in itself for numerous maladies and a travelling wad of filth. Its legs scrambled under my couch, trying to hide from my can of sterile insect spray. This was one of my strongest; I saved the weaker ones for the creatures less likely to infect me with the plague.
Once, when I was a child, there had been a rat in my backyard. My mother had pointed it out on the fence without so much as shielding me from the dangerous threat that it posed. Suppose it had been rabid, she would never have forgiven herself if it had leapt from the railing and come for me with its feral, ravenous eyes and bloodthirsty attitude.
I don’t go outside any more. It’s far too dangerous. I could get anything from anywhere. Spores and disease travel in the air too. The last thing I need is a lung infection from all of the plant particles just floating around in the wind.
I think about those people who go outside so whimsically, as if there were no threat. It makes me cringe; it makes me want to writhe around in disgust. How can they care so little about their hygiene and health? I’ll never understand it.
I pumped some more sanitiser into my hand and sat down on my computer chair. I dusted off the keyboard with my computer brush and made sure that there was no dust that would cling to my hands. Thinking about breathing in the unfiltered air has made me remember, I have to look up the new H1N1 flu. Someone put flowers on my doorstep the other day and I need to know if the flu’s bacteria can attach itself to pollen.
Pollen, yet another thing that is trying to kill you silently.
Good Business
I thought morning would never come.
The sun crept over the horizon, providing just enough light for me to find the keyhole. My eyes didn’t want to stay open. My blinks were out of sync. One eyelid would drop and the other would open. Lucky I’m not on the clock. I mean, who wants to look at that.
You got to look good in my job. You don’t get nowhere by looking shabby. It’s a competitive business.
I dumped my bag on the table and headed into the kitchen, I need a pick me up. I opened the coffee tin and pulled out a little zip-lock bag. I’ll have to get some more next time Glen visits the estate. Should be tomorrow. It better be tomorrow, I can't be running low when the weekend comes; the weekends are the busiest nights for me.
I tipped the powder onto the table and used the sides of the bag to make a line out of it. I leant over and covered one nostril.
Sniff.
God that felt better. The high ain’t always the highlight; just knowing it’s coming is better than being sober.
I stretched out in my chair and slumped down. Won’t be long for the buzz to set in.
I may have fallen asleep, not sure. But I could feel everything when I was awake. You ever feel like you could do anything? That’s what it’s like. Being high. I do it sometimes with clients, only if they produce some of course; I’m not going to waste my stash on someone I don’t even know. That reminds me of a song.
“Duh do dee dah bah bo duh… somebody I used to know…”
I heard a door open behind me.
“Who’s there?” I stood up so quickly that I almost fell back down again.
“Hi Mummy.” I looked down at Lizzy’s smiling face and beamed.
“Good morning gorgeous! You should still be in bed! Rita’s not here to take you to school yet, it’s too early.” I lifted her off the ground and pulled her in for a massive hug.
“I know, I just heard you come in.”
“Well get back to bed or you’ll get into a habit of waking up early. You know what mummy says about habits.”
“They’re bad.”
“Exactly. So let’s go back to bed.” I held her close to me as I carried her back to her bedroom.
She’s the one thing that keeps me going. I try to keep my life separate from ours, I don’t want her to see me using or when I’m working, but you got to do what’ll get you the cash to survive.
I might even be able to get her a new toy for her birthday with the way business has been going.
More customers, more reward. You got to see it that way, or you won’t make it.
The buzz helps. It’s not cheap but everything comes at a price, right?
Step One: Feel It
My alarm started ringing. It’s six in the morning. I snooze the alarm, it might only be ten minutes but it seems like I’m getting a little extra. I sit up and crack my knuckles. Then I stretch my neck out and hear the two familiar pops. I get up, get in the shower, throw on my school shirt, then my jacket, and then I start walking.
That’s the routine. It’s been like that for a while now. Sometimes it feels like I’m walking around with my headphones in my ears. Everything seems like a blur.
It wasn’t always like that. I used to be so aware. I used to feel everything, but that’s overrated. You only need to feel one thing to get through the day. Cold metal and warm blood.
Don’t ask me why it feels better, it just does. When you get the blade to pierce your skin and see that little dribble of crimson, you feel like you’ve let something out.
I’m not one of those hard-core cutters. I’m not trying to kill myself. I just need something to relieve the pressure every now and then.
My mum hardly even notices that I’m here. When she does she just gives me a look of derision, probably because I drove dad away from her. She’s one of those who craves attention and when dad had to split his between me and her she just sort of snapped. He doesn’t come around much anymore.
It wasn’t just that, the girls at school don’t really see me either, I’m just that weird kid with the crazy mum. The guys sort of leave me alone too, mainly because they don’t have anything in common with me.
So that’s when I started. It was small at first, just like scratching my arm until those little red dots showed up. It’s a good way to start actually; it kind of eases you into it.
Then I moved on to a pair of scissors. I only left small cuts though; I was still testing the waters. It was already making me feel better. There was something about it that felt good. Maybe it was the satisfaction of knowing that you’re actually doing something right.
I enjoyed looking at them after I made the cut. I’m on step three now, blades. Probably not something you should start with. They can be pretty tricky. I’m experienced and I still make mistakes sometimes, you know accidently nick a vein or something.
Sometimes the people at school call me “emo”, as in “emotional”. That’s not true, I don’t feel anything anymore. I’m pretty numb.
I’m not looking for attention, it’s just how I cope with things, and I’m not hurting myself.
Well, not permanently anyway.
About the Author
An avid writer of prose fiction, Rebekah is a self-confessed SIMS addict. Perhaps this has contributed to her love of writing by allowing her to advance her characters and bring the
m to life. Currently studying in the field of Communications and Creative Writing, Rebekah is aiming to display her talents in the journalistic world when she graduates.
Scattered Lives: A Collection of Short Stories Page 2