Scattered Lives: A Collection of Short Stories

Scattered Lives: A Collection of Short Stories

  By Rebekah Mathieson

  Copyright 2012 Rebekah Mathieson

  New Life

  The sunset was glorious; the golden orb of life, surrounded by swirling pools of blood, began to drown in the dark abyss of the ocean. The sky reflected in his eyes as they gleamed with passion. It must have reflected in mine too, the light would be dancing in my tears.

  He held me as I felt my golden orb drowning, in seconds it would be gone. The sticky pool that surrounded me grew larger and pulled me into darkness.

  My last sight would be the sunset in his eyes and the blinding reflection of the sun in the knife, dripping with the remains of my life.

  I felt detached from my body. The searing wounds had become a dull distant throbbing, a weak reminder that I was still among the living. I couldn’t feel my blood pumping anymore; I couldn’t hear my heart beating in my ears like the sound of the ocean in a seashell; I couldn’t see.

  I saw nothing ahead of me but swirling colours becoming less intense as the time passed. And then it happened. I didn’t feel the need to breathe anymore. It was almost like my body knew I had no need to.

  I was slowly slipping into a world where my senses were useless, primitive and unnecessary. All the things I had learnt in my life would be useless. What use would I have for them where I’m going? Where am I going? Maybe everything we know is wrong.

  None of it mattered now. I had lost all of my senses, and so began my descent into death.

  Perspective

  Jenna

  I sat under the shower head, the water bombarding me. I could feel every individual drop as it crashed into my skin. How long have I been here? I don’t even know. I hardly even noticed the water turning to ice. I’d had my eyes fixed on the same mouldy patch on the shower wall since I slumped to the cold tiled floor. I reached up and wrapped my fingers around the faucet, turning it until the water pressure weakened. I dropped my hand and turned the second nozzle until the shower stream was reduced to a few meagre droplets, falling lazily onto my shoulders.

  I started to push myself up, but I was too heavy for my arms to lift. I twisted my body around so that I was on my knees and pulled myself up using the wall as a support. I lifted my feet up and over the bottom of the door and tucked a towel around my naked body.

  I looked up and into the mirror; the condensation was acting as a frame. I stared at myself intently. I opened the towel and followed the lines of my body with my eyes. My wide shoulders slumped over, emphasising the extra flab that extended from the top of my shoulder and onto my upper arms. My stomach bulged, any chance of a moderately striking frame hidden beneath a layer of bloated fat and skin. The cellulite on my legs stood out like the red bulbous lumps that plagued my face.

  I turned my face away and covered myself again. I lumbered out of the bathroom and headed down the hallway. I could almost feel the carpet sinking under my oversized feet. I looked out as I passed the doorway to the living room, my mother stood in the kitchen with her hands clasped tightly to her coffee mug. Her face was so petite and structured and her arms were so slender and toned. Her elegant figure was visible even under her bath robe. I wish I had inherited her form instead of this sloppy shapeless mess. I stumbled into my room slowly and shut the door behind me.

  I threw down the towel; it felt so heavy as it left my hands.

  Caroline

  I stood in the kitchen twirling the spoon in my teacup, listening to the sound of the shower running. I know she’s in there, probably sitting on the bathroom floor because she’s too weak to stand for too long. My little baby girl is wasting away in front of me and I’m powerless.

  She used to be such a beautiful young woman; her auburn hair was the perfect frame for her full-blushing cheeks and stunning smile.

  One day everything changed. She had come home crying and locked herself in her room. It wasn’t long after that when she started refusing her dinner. I was so surprised at the speed of her decline. The first thing I noticed was her eyes. The grey stains under her eyes became a permanent feature of her once plump face, her cheekbones and brow lines jutted out, looking like they didn’t belong.

  Now it was me who felt like I didn’t belong. She wasn’t talking to me about it. She hadn’t said a word. It’s eating me up inside. I’m afraid that she will head off to school with her pack on her back and break something; she could hardly weigh more than it does.

  The pipes creaked as the shower finished running. Thank god, she’s still there. Any longer and I was ready to launch myself down the hall and claw my way into the bathroom.

  I took a sip of my tea and anxiously held the cup in my hands. I waited; I waited for so long that I could hardly stand it. Finally she emerged in the hall. Her emaciated frame was terrifying. Her face was more akin to a skull and her body a skeleton draped in thin folds of skin. I tried not to look as her desperate eyes found me. It would only take one short glance for me to fall into a fit of tears.

  I heard her shut the door meekly and my cup fell to the ground with a clang. My hands were shaking and I inhaled sharply. My stiff fingers tangled in my hair as I began to wail. I don’t want her to disappear, but I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how to help. I can't do anything, I’m helpless…