untitled five
The room was white and sparse, the only furniture was the bed that she was tied to and the night stand to her right that held a bottle of water and some crackers. They were just in her reach so that she could drink if she had to. There weren't any windows and the only light came from the fluorescent light above her head. She had no idea what time it was nor how long she had been there. She was propped up on several pillows and she could remember that she had been comfortable when she had first awoken there but that had been so long ago that she had lost track of the time. Now her back hurt and her body was stiff. She had to frequently shift her body weight around as much as possible in order to keep her butt from losing feeling and her left arm went numb if she let it hang since it didn't have as much slack as her right arm did. Apparently, she wasn't supposed to be able to use her left arm, only the right one if she wanted water. She knew the water was drugged because every time she drank it she got very sleepy. She tried so hard to stay awake when every time she finished a bottle, but she hadn't been able to and when she woke up, there was always a new bottle of water and now these crackers. She preferred the fruit that had come with the first bottle or the cheese that had come with the third... she thought it had been the third but she couldn't remember. It didn't seem to matter since she couldn't tell anyone what she did and didn't want to eat anyway.
She remembered screaming. She remembered screaming for a long time and no one came to her. No one answered her when she screamed for help, begged to be freed and even threatened the life of whoever, if anyone, was listening. Then her throat had started to hurt and she had been afraid if she kept screaming and lost her voice that she might not be able to scream again when someone could hear her or actually cared. Her throat still hurt a little, but she could tell it had been a long time since she had screamed. Maybe she should scream again. Maybe someone could hear her this time. She didn't think anyone could and this made her sad. Instead of screaming, she wept. She cried and cried and cried and was angry at herself afterwards because now her nose was running and she couldn't wipe it although she figured it didn't really matter anyway since she didn't have anything to wipe it with.
Her wrists still hurt from when she had tried to free them from the rope that held her to the bed. She had thought she could squeeze her hands through it if she just tried hard enough, but instead she had ended up burning them with the rope until they bled. Then she had convinced herself that the blood would help by making everything slick and instead she had only tore her wrists up even more. They were bandaged now by someone. In between her skin and the rope were cloth wraps to allow them to heal. She hadn't remembered anyone being in the room. She didn't remember being bandaged, she barely remembered fighting the ropes. But she could remember just a little and a little was all she needed. She clenched her fists and then unclenched them, trying to get them to circulate. When they felt like they were getting the blood they needed, she grabbed the rope holding them and pulled as hard as she could. She just needed one arm free. Just one. Then she could untie the other and open the door. She couldn't see the door, but she knew there had to be one. There had to be a door in this room somewhere.
This was insane. This didn't happen to people like her. People like her read about things like this in newspapers and saw the interviews with the families on the news. They thought to themselves that it was so sad, what happened to that poor, poor girl and then they skipped a few pages into the newspaper and read their horoscopes and went about their days. She didn't want everyone to think she was dead, she wanted them to fins her. She had to get out of this room. She couldn't be in this room anymore. She wanted to put her arms down by her sides, she wanted to stand up and stretch her body back out, she wanted to get a massage. She had a massage once. She remembered how nice it was to have your back rubbed and kneaded and to lay there and be completely relaxed. She could remember exactly how the room smelled and the cd that played with music and the sounds of the ocean. Would she ever get a massage again? She'd like to.
Her mouth was dry again and she reached for the bottle of water but hesitated because she knew she would fall asleep again. Maybe she could wait a little longer before she took another drink. She wasn't sure she wanted to sleep anymore. She kept losing time when she slept. How much time had she lost, how long had she been here. She tried to remember again but everything was so fuzzy. She felt like she couldn't quite get out from under the haze of the drugs that had knocked her out before. She sucked on her cheeks a little trying to pull out some moisture but her mouth still felt like sandpaper. She turned her head again to look at the bottle of water and the crackers. She decided that the crackers were there as a trick. They wanted her to eat the crackers and they would pull all of the moisture from her mouth forcing her to drink the water. She wouldn't eat the crackers, they couldn't make her. She turned her head to look the other direction, away from the water. She studied the white wall, looking for something. She tried to find a crack in the wall, a hole from where a picture had hung, but she couldn't. The wall was completely smooth and didn't even have a smudge of dirt on it. She lifted her head a little and looked at the floor. There were white tiles laid in a straight line. She counted them. From the wall in front of her to where her line of site ended, there were forty two. From the left corner of the wall in front of her to the right corner, there were fifty five.
Her throat itched and she tried to clear it but that made it tickle. She cursed herself for the screaming. She tried to swallow but ended up coughing. She coughed until her eyes watered and then gave in to the thirst and took the water bottle. She decided it didn't matter anymore. She would drink the water because then she would sleep and then maybe she would just die. She thought she would rather be dead then be laying here forever with nothing and no one and no time. She drank the whole bottle and threw it. She couldn't throw it far because her of the rope but she felt a little better that she had thrown it.
The drugs were like a wave. She felt them washing over her. She felt happy for a moment because they took away the pain, they took away the feeling that she was alone. But then she felt it. Something inside her moved. Was she just hungry? She laughed a little at that thought because it seemed so absurd. She looked at the ceiling and the lone fluorescent light and then felt it again. Very slowly, as though her head were no longer attached to her body, she forced her chin to her chest. What was that? Had she gotten fat? She looked fat. Everything blurred and she had to blink her eyes twice before she found the focus again. No, not fat. She remembered telling her roommate she wasn't fat. No, she was pregnant. She was going to have a girl, the doctor had told her she would have a daughter. She wanted to name her Christina but he had said no. He said Christina was a name for a whore and she wouldn't be a whore like her mother. Her eyes started to close again but she fought them. She had changed her mind. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to give up, she wanted to leave. She had to leave. She was going to have a baby. She couldn't stay here. Her eyes kept getting heavier and she couldn't open them anymore so she decided to close them, but just for a moment...
Annabelle sat straight up in bed. She was soaked through with sweat and her heart was pounding. No, no, that wasn't her heart. Someone was knocking on the door. She put her hand to her head and wiped it off. "I'm coming. Hang on a second!" She tried to untangle her legs from the sheets but finally just gave up and kicked the sheets and blankets onto the floor and stood up. She looked at the other bed and saw that Lila was still sleeping. She wondered what time it was but noticed that there was some light peeking in through the blinds. She looked through the peep hole and saw a badge. She swallowed and then opened the door, leaving the chain in it's place.
"Good morning Ma'am. I'm sorry to wake you, but your (car) is blocking the delivery truck."
"What?"
"Your car, Ma'am. It's parked in the red zone and the truck that delivers the gas can't get around it to the pumps for the station." He pointed to his left.
Annabelle closed the door and unhooked the chain and then reopened it. Stepping out onto the second floor walkway, she peered down to the road where a chubby truck driver waved up at her. She could see that her (car) was indeed blocking the driver from getting through. She remembered parking there and had intended to come and move the car after she had put hers and Lila's things in the room, but she must have fallen asleep.
"Oh. Oh my gosh. I am so sorry, Officer..." She looked for a name tag and found one on his left pocket: Paul Waters. "Officer Waters, I am so sorry. I must have fallen asleep. I meant to move it once I unloaded everything."
He smiled at her. "Ma'am, it's no problem. I am not going to give you a ticket for it, I just need you to move it so Harvey can pump the gas. Then you can crawl back into bed."
(4,952 words)
(45,048 to go)
Cases of Writer's Block: One, lasting thirty six hours
Words per day to finish on time: 2,145
Times I've considered deleting this blog and forgetting about NanoWrimo: 14
Number of emails I've received asking what will happen next: 7
Phone calls I've ignored: 23
Sanity levels: dropping
How many times we've had frozen pizza for dinner this month: 5
She remembered screaming. She remembered screaming for a long time and no one came to her. No one answered her when she screamed for help, begged to be freed and even threatened the life of whoever, if anyone, was listening. Then her throat had started to hurt and she had been afraid if she kept screaming and lost her voice that she might not be able to scream again when someone could hear her or actually cared. Her throat still hurt a little, but she could tell it had been a long time since she had screamed. Maybe she should scream again. Maybe someone could hear her this time. She didn't think anyone could and this made her sad. Instead of screaming, she wept. She cried and cried and cried and was angry at herself afterwards because now her nose was running and she couldn't wipe it although she figured it didn't really matter anyway since she didn't have anything to wipe it with.
Her wrists still hurt from when she had tried to free them from the rope that held her to the bed. She had thought she could squeeze her hands through it if she just tried hard enough, but instead she had ended up burning them with the rope until they bled. Then she had convinced herself that the blood would help by making everything slick and instead she had only tore her wrists up even more. They were bandaged now by someone. In between her skin and the rope were cloth wraps to allow them to heal. She hadn't remembered anyone being in the room. She didn't remember being bandaged, she barely remembered fighting the ropes. But she could remember just a little and a little was all she needed. She clenched her fists and then unclenched them, trying to get them to circulate. When they felt like they were getting the blood they needed, she grabbed the rope holding them and pulled as hard as she could. She just needed one arm free. Just one. Then she could untie the other and open the door. She couldn't see the door, but she knew there had to be one. There had to be a door in this room somewhere.
This was insane. This didn't happen to people like her. People like her read about things like this in newspapers and saw the interviews with the families on the news. They thought to themselves that it was so sad, what happened to that poor, poor girl and then they skipped a few pages into the newspaper and read their horoscopes and went about their days. She didn't want everyone to think she was dead, she wanted them to fins her. She had to get out of this room. She couldn't be in this room anymore. She wanted to put her arms down by her sides, she wanted to stand up and stretch her body back out, she wanted to get a massage. She had a massage once. She remembered how nice it was to have your back rubbed and kneaded and to lay there and be completely relaxed. She could remember exactly how the room smelled and the cd that played with music and the sounds of the ocean. Would she ever get a massage again? She'd like to.
Her mouth was dry again and she reached for the bottle of water but hesitated because she knew she would fall asleep again. Maybe she could wait a little longer before she took another drink. She wasn't sure she wanted to sleep anymore. She kept losing time when she slept. How much time had she lost, how long had she been here. She tried to remember again but everything was so fuzzy. She felt like she couldn't quite get out from under the haze of the drugs that had knocked her out before. She sucked on her cheeks a little trying to pull out some moisture but her mouth still felt like sandpaper. She turned her head again to look at the bottle of water and the crackers. She decided that the crackers were there as a trick. They wanted her to eat the crackers and they would pull all of the moisture from her mouth forcing her to drink the water. She wouldn't eat the crackers, they couldn't make her. She turned her head to look the other direction, away from the water. She studied the white wall, looking for something. She tried to find a crack in the wall, a hole from where a picture had hung, but she couldn't. The wall was completely smooth and didn't even have a smudge of dirt on it. She lifted her head a little and looked at the floor. There were white tiles laid in a straight line. She counted them. From the wall in front of her to where her line of site ended, there were forty two. From the left corner of the wall in front of her to the right corner, there were fifty five.
Her throat itched and she tried to clear it but that made it tickle. She cursed herself for the screaming. She tried to swallow but ended up coughing. She coughed until her eyes watered and then gave in to the thirst and took the water bottle. She decided it didn't matter anymore. She would drink the water because then she would sleep and then maybe she would just die. She thought she would rather be dead then be laying here forever with nothing and no one and no time. She drank the whole bottle and threw it. She couldn't throw it far because her of the rope but she felt a little better that she had thrown it.
The drugs were like a wave. She felt them washing over her. She felt happy for a moment because they took away the pain, they took away the feeling that she was alone. But then she felt it. Something inside her moved. Was she just hungry? She laughed a little at that thought because it seemed so absurd. She looked at the ceiling and the lone fluorescent light and then felt it again. Very slowly, as though her head were no longer attached to her body, she forced her chin to her chest. What was that? Had she gotten fat? She looked fat. Everything blurred and she had to blink her eyes twice before she found the focus again. No, not fat. She remembered telling her roommate she wasn't fat. No, she was pregnant. She was going to have a girl, the doctor had told her she would have a daughter. She wanted to name her Christina but he had said no. He said Christina was a name for a whore and she wouldn't be a whore like her mother. Her eyes started to close again but she fought them. She had changed her mind. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to give up, she wanted to leave. She had to leave. She was going to have a baby. She couldn't stay here. Her eyes kept getting heavier and she couldn't open them anymore so she decided to close them, but just for a moment...
Annabelle sat straight up in bed. She was soaked through with sweat and her heart was pounding. No, no, that wasn't her heart. Someone was knocking on the door. She put her hand to her head and wiped it off. "I'm coming. Hang on a second!" She tried to untangle her legs from the sheets but finally just gave up and kicked the sheets and blankets onto the floor and stood up. She looked at the other bed and saw that Lila was still sleeping. She wondered what time it was but noticed that there was some light peeking in through the blinds. She looked through the peep hole and saw a badge. She swallowed and then opened the door, leaving the chain in it's place.
"Good morning Ma'am. I'm sorry to wake you, but your (car) is blocking the delivery truck."
"What?"
"Your car, Ma'am. It's parked in the red zone and the truck that delivers the gas can't get around it to the pumps for the station." He pointed to his left.
Annabelle closed the door and unhooked the chain and then reopened it. Stepping out onto the second floor walkway, she peered down to the road where a chubby truck driver waved up at her. She could see that her (car) was indeed blocking the driver from getting through. She remembered parking there and had intended to come and move the car after she had put hers and Lila's things in the room, but she must have fallen asleep.
"Oh. Oh my gosh. I am so sorry, Officer..." She looked for a name tag and found one on his left pocket: Paul Waters. "Officer Waters, I am so sorry. I must have fallen asleep. I meant to move it once I unloaded everything."
He smiled at her. "Ma'am, it's no problem. I am not going to give you a ticket for it, I just need you to move it so Harvey can pump the gas. Then you can crawl back into bed."
(4,952 words)
(45,048 to go)
Cases of Writer's Block: One, lasting thirty six hours
Words per day to finish on time: 2,145
Times I've considered deleting this blog and forgetting about NanoWrimo: 14
Number of emails I've received asking what will happen next: 7
Phone calls I've ignored: 23
Sanity levels: dropping
How many times we've had frozen pizza for dinner this month: 5
typed as quickly as possible by katehopeeden at this ungodly hour: 8:11 PM
2 attempted to destroy my confidence
"Times I've considered deleting this blog and forgetting about NanoWrimo: 14"
Well, maybe it isn't as much about NanoWrimo as it is about writing something in one month. Personally, I consider any metric which measures your work by its length quite stupid. O'Henry wrote very short stories. People are still reading them.
Is the count 15 now? Gotcha!
"Phone calls I've ignored: 23"
Hah! Fat chance I'm gonna call ya ;-)
Hang in there, it doesn't get any better frustration wise, lmao. Look at it as trial by fire...um, ha-yeah, that's it.
Only 14 times? You're a saint! I think I passed the 14th time of considering throwing the towel in around day 4. I'm still plugging away though. Slow to update, but still plugging away.
It's a good exercise to fire up your production levels. Production of absolute crap in my case, but production, none the less. OK, enough pep talk that you don't need, I already know you're going to finish, you've got that backbone of steel and clear eyed resolve and all those DASP posts of yours to cannabalize if all else fails! (Bwahhhhahaa-insert maniacal evil laughter here)
Shann
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