Birthing Pains

I am watching my only daughter, life of my life, give birth. I have been sober for 2 months. It is heartache. It is pain. Waves and waves of desire wash over me, not for the grandson I am about to have. And I silently weep. What is wrong with me?

The baby comes out. My daughter turns away. She does not want to hold him. She is afraid of him. The baby doesn’t cry. I feel chills run up my back. A small innocent child, not asking to be born, not asking for this life. Wanting love. I had love to give and I didn’t. Blue has none to give. She is an empty soul, anyone could fill her with anything but it wouldn’t stick. She has a leak somewhere. I think I broke her. I slapped her and broke her. It is my fault this child will be unloved and unwanted. The baby starts to cry, I feel relief. Wet streaks down my face…tears. I have not cried in years. Salt bursts on my tongue, seeping in through my thin lips. The boy is fine, he will be fine! I am lying to myself. Lies are so much sweeter. Like choosing the chocolate over carrots. I want richness to envelope my tongue, even though I know my eyesight needs something better. Clearly, my eyes are seeing wishes. Blue does not look at him. Does not touch him. He is screaming for love, for his mother. The nurses cajole her, trying to place the poor child in her arms. She does not care. “Take him away!” She screams. She thinks he is going to be adopted. She doesn’t care. She attempted abortion twice. It didn’t work, he wouldn’t die. I know she thinks there is something wrong with him. I love him. At least I think I do. I’m not really sure. I intersect the nurse as she comes out, holding him, and talking to him.

“Give him to me”.

“That’s not really protocol…”

“Give him to me. I’m family. His only family” I say. The nurse looks right and left. She gives him to me. My Tristan. My sadness birthed from sadness. I cannot care for him but I can give him a home. Hugs. Sobriety. Clean. He looks up at me with her bright blue eyes. My hears breaks.


Who We’ve Met So Far…

The characters we’ve met so far:

Blue Cabot: Counselor, mom of Tristan, daughter of Penny. Past performer of an exorcism.

New client mom: Can’t deal with her daughter, wants an exorcism for he.

New client girl: has panic attacks

Kayla: possible possessed girl?! Stay tuned…

Mom of Kayla: Attacked, left disfigured, missing an eye

Priest: A Priest Blue knows, somehow.

Penny: Blue’s mom, Tristan’s grandmother, former heroin addict, current OCD personality

Guy on phone: Dealer for Penny…who else could he be?

Tristan: 20 something adult child of Blue. Where has he been? He didn’t grow up with Blue, so how does he know Penny? Has a strong distaste for other humans. Compulsive need to be clean. Assuming because of his contact with Penny, who has OCD compulsions herself.

So far, we have visited Blue at her office and met some of her interesting clients. We got a sneak peek into some of her background. Growing up with Penny, an exorcism she was involved in with a priest, and that she had a son?! She never thinks about him, though. We met Penny, briefly, in her confused mind. We know she cared for Blue and cares for Tristan. We meet Tristan…who has some kind of adoration for Penny, but for no one else. He clearly harbors a grudge against Blue for something…we can assume it’s because she abandoned him or something. I guess we will find out!

One for Another

I visit my grandma, the only pig who I find tolerable. I bet you didn’t know those marks on her arms are from having my mom. I bet you didn’t know my mom destroyed her life, just as she destroyed mine. I bet you didn’t know, because you don’t care. Well, you should. You will.

“Hello, boy. Did you see your mom today? ” she sits creakily in a chair. Everything smells like bleach. Clean. I like it but dislike it at the same time. I know she’s doing it because she has replaced one drug for another. One obsession for another compulsion. She cannot stop this anymore than she could have stopped the heroin coursing through her veins, providing her a life source, a way to stay alive. My mother must have sucked her dry of any love. She does not love me. I do not love her. But we are clean together.

“Yes, I did. She’s always busy with her work. It’s better she was never in my life.” I sit. My grandmother stares at me. There is something weird in her eyes but social cues and facial expressions always confused me. I don’t understand the feeling there, behind the watery blue iris. “She did her best.” Grandma Penny sighs. “It’s my fault, really. I needed something….else. Now, I need nothing. I should have known.” Sometimes Penny rambles on like this. I don’t understand her rambles. Memories from a past life that mean nothing to me. “Tristan, boy. So sad. So Blue. Like your mom.” She gets up and creaks away to clean something. I don’t know what she is cleaning but it triggers something inside my brain. A switch. I remember I am dirty-like I could ever forget. I go the shower and turn the hot water on, pouring bleach on my body. I feel nothing but searing pain. I smell nothing. I feel nothing. I bet you didn’t know feelings are a prison. I am more free than anyone.

The Boy

Have you ever heard of a generational curse? Well, I have. It’s goes something like: No good parents not wanting their no good children and those no good children turning into worthless pieces of adult garbage. They’re everywhere. It’s a cycle. I can’t stand them. The way they all breathe and eat and dump their waste everywhere. They are useless creatures. I can barely stand it when they brush up against me, touching me with their filth. I flinch because my skin is sensitive from the bleach I use constantly. I must be clean. It’s hard to keep clean in this world. Did you know that, too?

Nothing is ever really clean. Sterile. White. Alcohol. Bleach. Ammonia. Perfumes, by other names. The doctor told me my nose hairs were burnt off. I don’t care. Now I can’t smell them. The only one I ever wanted to smell was her. I can’t even stand to say the name. Why is she even alive? Why did she even have me? They scream abortion is murder but I crave it, deep down in my soul. Ha. Soul. Like I have one. Like any of these filthy creatures, screwing each other in the dark, sweating and slimy, have any kind of soul at all. I look up and see her leaving the building. An empty heave of my chest, where I guess my heart was once. Who knows? Who cares? I don’t.

I bet you didn’t know that, either. I bet you don’t anything, you disgusting pig.

Feed Need

I can’t shake the thought running through my mind. I can feel the sickness crawling up my back, threatening to push me to my knees in dry heaves. Blue looks at me with love in her eyes. I am her god. I am a petty, weak god. I will destroy her, I know this and yet…I love her. Not as much as I love the feeling of floating away and being safe. Need it. Need. Need. Need. Can’t shake the thought. What was I doing? My hands tremble at I hit the numbers to call my lifeline. Oh, yeah…I was going to feed Blue. Feed her need her feed her need her. Someone picks up the phone and I realize my hand is picking as well, pieces of flesh sticking underneath my nails.

“Hey. It’s me. Look…I know…I just. I need it. Need it.” I almost hear a laugh, a scoff. I need him. He knows it. He has hooked my like a fish and I can’t get the sharp metal taste out of my mouth.

“Shouldn’t you be feeding that adorable little girl of yours? The one with the blue eyes?”

“What? Yes, I remember. Feed her. After I get what I need, feed. Feed. need. Feed. Blue. Not because her eyes…because I was sad. So sad. Please, can you get me what I need? ”

“Girl, you all messed up. Yeah, I got you. But this is the last time. You owe me”. Click. Click. Click. Pick. Itchy skin, pick pick pick. What was I doing? I need a fix, I need this, I need it.

“Here you go, mommy, I find the thing for your medicine!” Blue looks at me with pride, helping mommy. I see the needle in her hand. Terror and a strike. I strike her, beautiful Blue baby. Tears fill her eyes. “Never touch this. Never. Never do this. Mommy’s sorry come here never touch don’t need are you hungry? I need to feed you. I’m sorry”. I hold her in my arms. I am sorry I am sorry but I need. I need.


I twitch in my chair. A feeling of an all powerful being is surrounding me in the priest’s office. I’m afraid to even think of a simple curse word for fear of being damned. The priest sits across from me, almost smirking. I am an ant under a magnifying glass, a little boy got in a lie-yes it was me! I threw the baseball and shattered reality.

“This thing actually talked to you? Are you sure, in your line of work, she wasn’t just messing with you?” He said. I feel scolded.

“I am sure. I’ve been doing this for a long time and I know her. Knew her. I knew Kayla. Where do you think she went?” I am almost begging. Please, bring her back.

“It’s impossible to say for sure.I’d have to meet the girl.”

“I’ll talk to her mom about it” Those were the words I want to take back, the words that are coming back to haunt me now.

The girl who was just sitting where Kayla had sat many years ago is not like Kayla. There is an essence inside her, yes, but not what her mother thinks. How do I save someone from their mother? The lover, the giver of life? I wonder about my own mother. One minute the hand is comforting, cooling the fever of my head, the next it is striking, smacking. Her porcelain arms, so strong, holding me high in the air, I’m flying. The next, they are shaking, track marks destroying the beauty, weakness oozing out the sores. My ghosts are coming back, the skeletons are knocking at the closet. Do I open the door? Do I beseech my own Marley?

The Thing Inside

I feel frozen. Ice is swelling inside me, immobilizing. Crippling. The eyes looking at me are not human. The eyes are dark, liquid pools. Black holes that suck me into them. I don’t know what to do, what to think. Should I even be thinking? I can almost feel the imaginary hands gripping my brain, sinking it’s teeth into my innermost thoughts and secrets. Who am I, really?

The girl sits, quietly. Contemplating. I am a loose pea on her plate. Should she stab it with a fork or gently pick it up with her fingers? “So..” I clear my throat.

“Before you say anything, I just want you to know, Kayla is no longer here.” She says this as a fact. “Kayla has not been here for awhile. I will destroy her family. And you can’t stop me. I have to go now. Bye” I watch her leave. I am stunned into silence.