Stories from the depths of my demented mind 


The little imp peeked from behind her mama's leg.  It took some coaxing. but she came out from her safe place.  Her sky blue eyes glittered as a toothy grin spread across her face like the ocean's tide.  Her speckled nose wrinkled up and her strawberry blonde hair swirled in the breeze.  She was her mother's little princess.  Becky had no idea how special she was to her mama.  
She was only 6, but already, she was being prepared for the most devastating event to occur in her short years.  This would mold her into a creature like no other.  Becky would adapt herself,  becoming resourceful, clever, manipulative, and cold.  She would  evolve into a survivor. 


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     The story could begin with "Once upon a time" but that would be out of character for this tale, it is not so much a tale of whimsy, but that of woe, tragedy and sorrow.  Let us begin before the end and start with the happy times before the devestation.  Somehow, you will just have to keep up with the whirlwind known as Joan's life.  

   From the moment Virginia knew she was pregnant, she began to plan for this child to be born on her parent's wedding anniversary.  She was determined to create a special bond with this child and her parents.  During the pregnancy, the baby was loved and wanted more than anything in Virginia's life.  Despite the rocky marriage she was in, she stayed and tried to make a stable, happy life for her child.

As Virginia had planned, her little bundle of joy entered this world on her parent's wedding anniversary, and Joan was showered with all of the love and prestige that was customary for this family.  Grandma and Grandpa were a constant source for spoiling little Joan.  Her hair was naturally curly and bright, shiny soft red-brown and her perky little nose was speckled with freckles.  She was such a beautiful little girl who was always dressed in the sweetest dresses that were hand made by her momma. Her fierce little spirit was so strong that she even made her momma's dog, Laddie, jealous. 

Grandma and Grandpa doted on Joan at every chance possible and she adored them.  She was the apple of everyone's eye with a perfectly round cherub face, brilliant blue eyes, curly hair that was lightening from red to a dishwater blonde or "mousy brown" as daddy called it, with her innocent but captivating smile, Joan enchanted everyone with whom she came in contact. 


Momma created the sweetest outfits for her little princess.  Grandma kept her in little patent leather shoes and matching purses and once potty training started, little flowered panties with roses on the back, and naturally, Grandma put rose scented perfume on them when Joan went potty without an accident.  She was raised by people who thought she could do no wrong, well, except for daddy.  Daddy was difficult, he always seemed to find fault with things at home, with momma, with Joan, with the food that was prepared, with just about everything.  Joan learned quickly, to stay out of his way once he got home from work. 


For a while, life was peaceful, and then momma announced that another bouncing baby was on her way, Joan was two years old. The whole family was now going to be moving to a new house.  As typical people used to do when they moved, the house interior was stripped of the old paint and a fresh new coat was put on before the old house was sold.  Joan was having such fun helping her momma peel paint off the walls when daddy came in to the hall way, he looked down at her with anger in his eyes and said to her " I could never love you because you weren't born a son, why couldn't you have been a son?" and Joan began to cry.  How could daddy not love her? She was his first born child.  Momma ran to scoop her up and wipe away her tears.  Later that evening, Joan could hear the angry words between momma and daddy as she drifted off to asleep.


And so began her undoing.

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     His eyes scanned me from across the room, watching my every move. I felt him burning holes through my clothes as his wife reached for his hand breaking his concentration on me. Thankful for her interruption, I glide across the room to place a chart in the window for the nurses to check before they call the patient back. my eyes dart up as I feel his glare still fixed on me, scanning me from my waist to the top of my head. he watches me through the check in window, his wife's eyes draw the line from his eyes to me, as I try to ignore him.


     I catch his wife, now watching me intently, as she can imagine her husband considering the possibilities of being with someone like me. I wonder if she is watching me to see my reaction to his attention. Up to this point she has spoken for him in English, I let them believe that I don’t speak Spanish as she comes to the rescue of her Spanish speaking husband. His eyes still intently fixed on my every move, I make eye contact with his wife to try and silently communicate to her my disinterest in her man, even though he is strikingly handsome. she faintly smiles at the thought that she is better than me because of her ability to speak both languages, even though her English is very poor and broken, she still feels superior to me. They sit directly in front of the window where I am working. His eyes rest on my face which I try and keep lowered from his view. My eyes scan the pages of the intake forms I am typing into the computer. A man approaches the window and requests someone who speaks Spanish, and with a friendly smile, I speak as a native to him behind him, the man and his wife exchange shocked glances, as her eyes lock on me, I give her a reassuring smile so that she knows that it was for her benefit so the interest would be lessened from her man.


     His eyes never drop from me until they are called back into the room by the nurse. I feel less pressure by his absence as I continue on with my work. Close to an hour passed. The man's wife emerges from the room where they had been. He trails behind her, his gaze intently fixed on me, I can almost feel him undressing me in his mind, his wife takes care of checking out as he watches me move from my chair to the window to leave another file in the window for the nurses. His eyes caressing me up and down, his wife is short and manly with a faint mustache on her upper lip, I study her as she stands in the window waiting, wondering how such a manly woman could catch such a truly handsome beast as this man, I try to imagine her younger and thin, wondering if at one time, for just a moment in time, she could have been a true beauty, or if she was just lucky enough to have tricked him or gotten him drunk enough to sleep with her so she could get pregnant, and trap him for the rest of his days.


   My mind wanders a moment at the thought of his touch, wondering what his lips would feel like as the hot breath of him warms my neck, as his lips caress my skin and suddenly she speaks in her gravelly manly voice to my coworker about the amount she owes. His eyes never leave me even as his eyes close to blink, I feel the intensity growing. As the wife controls the 2 children, and maneuvers them out the door, he glances out of the corner of his eye to watch me, and he hesitates to leave, Then, he is gone. Through the window I watch as his wife begins to argue with him, hitting him in the arm and the back of the head, They get in the car and start to drive off. Her anger is apparent even through the windows and from the driveway.


I am certain that he will be alone next time he comes in, and I am sure he will come in again. Had he been alone this time, he would have been  bolder, as they all are. I have felt the violations from many sets of hungry eyes, the eyes of men who want to devour me sexually. My waiting thoughts drift to the one I want, the man who holds my heart without knowing it. The man who could complete me if he chose to be mine. But he has yet to allow his eyes to gaze upon me face to face so that I can capture him visually. If he would succumb to my sight, he would surely be mine, but he is the elusive love that I cannot seem to capture, the one who makes my arms ache for him my eyes long to caress him as the others have caressed me, my mouth waters at the thought of kissing his sensual lips.

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                             Unanswered questions


Today’s the day I have chosen to start my journey.  I have made an appointment with a lovely lady to do some past life regressions.  I hope to find out who and why I am, was and will be.  This journey will be a touching one, more because of what I hope to learn about today’s life, and why I keep falling for the same old tricks over and over. 


   Why does my mind go places that it shouldn’t? Why do I have homicidal thoughts so far as to how I would do it, where I would hide the body, how to keep my hands clean of all evidence?  Was that one of my past lives? Did I kill someone? Did I succeed in hiding all the bodies and get away with it?


    Why do I feel like I was born in the wrong era? Why do certain things from other periods beckon to me as if they know me better than I know myself?  When I touch things, why do I feel a connection or an instant dislike? Same with people, why do I automatically have an automatic dislike for someone?  Who were they to me before? Why are they still in my lives, and how do I rid myself of them?


    I also feel like I was born into the wrong financial class, I know how to be poor, but I don’t ever consider myself to BE poor.  I have contemplated how to create some grand thing that would bring me more money than the world has ever seen one person obtain.  It’s there, on the end of my tongue, right in the front of my brain, WHY won’t it come out?


     Memories that I know could not possibly be mine come seeping through the crevices of my brain, and pour out of my eyes as if I am seeing an old home movie.  I do not recognize the characters, but I am seeing them from my own eyes, watching them interact with me, feeling the emotions and the physical interactions that are happening around me.

     Why, suddenly, do I reach out to touch something and then my now instantly rushes back into my consciousness?   Why do songs, images, fabrics and scents permeate my mind and take me to places I can’t seem to remember? Why does the old Deja vu drag me back to places I don’t recognize and the eyes of people I don’t know seem so familiar to me?

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                                     Stolen moments 

    His fingerprints were all over my flesh. I feel his hands manipulating me, his attempt to mold me into what he wants. No matter what he does, I am still me, surely falling short of what he desires to create. His hands are rough and calloused, dry and peeling at the tips of his fingers I am sure from the cold weather. From a distance I can make out the coarse lines that made his fingerprints his own. He seems so familiar, yet dirty, exposed and unclean somehow but maybe just from this place we were in. I want to run, to escape this exposure to him. His eyes scan over me through the ski mask as if he were seeing me without clothes, seeing through my body into my soul where all of my secrets are hidden away. It is a most difficult moment.

     My skin feels chilled; the hairs on the back of my neck are trying to rise as if to warn me. Aching for something to happen; anything really, just something to distract him from me so I can make my escape. He comes near; his breath is hot and smells heavy with cigarettes.  I turned away from him, the heat of his breath spills down my neck. For a moment, I almost think that I felt his lips there grazing a place they never should have been.

    Silence crashes down over the dimly lit room; no longer do I hear the mundane noises of a household or of the creatures of the night. The ominous silence has frightened the world away and left me here in the company of a stranger. Softly, I pleading with him to free me from this place, but his eyes simply scanned me more intensely as if to intimidate me into submission. My breath is shallow, fearing that I would anger him; my words remain captured in my throat. 

     His darkly dressed body seems unnaturally bulky, his steps lumber across the floor as he keeps me in the corner of his sight as if to tempt me into making a move. I remain on the chair, containing my urges to run for the door across the room. I see a light under that door, beckoning me to come through. Thoughts race through my mind, remembering the words of my cop friend, I scan the room trying to remember everything I could. To my left was a window covered with a black garbage bag with some holes and a dirty stained fabric to weigh it down. Boxes and a barrel under the window caused me to consider that this was a place that few people visited often. I sit in the only chair; there is a table under a swinging light bulb suspended by a cord in the middle of the room, a sink to my right, where my unnamed host is standing with his back to me.

     Panic begins to creep into my thoughts. The sound of his footsteps clomping across the floor grow louder as he approaches again. His hands on my face, the smell of cigarettes filled my nose as he forces my head back to look at the ceiling. A soft grunt escaped him as he loweres his face to my shoulder; he breathes me in as a bit of fresh air. One hand slowly creeps around my neck, pulling my hair back, his fingers intertwined in my long hair. Suddenly my desire to escape vanished. There is a familiarity to him, my eyes close, and my head tilts back as his face draws near to mine. Eyes of chocolate brown look deeply into mine, I feel drawn to him. I feel as if I know him somehow, I want to save him from himself. At the base of his mask, I see dark hair poking from underneath. I reach to touch him; he forces my hand back down. He is controlling my world now without my permission.

     There are things I want to say, my lips begin to open to utter these things, but his mouth is on mine so quickly it startles me. As his passion grows, I feel the effects I am having on him as he pushes over the chair with me still sitting there. His large hands move to my wrists to keep me from fighting or touching him. His body, now heavy on mine, his lips relentlessly taking me in, my fight turns to submission. The dimness of the room sets a perfect mood for the loss of control in the moment. 

    He loosens his grip on my wrists and my hands slowly move to his face and remove his mask, he reaches to stop me and lost himself as I return his kisses. Pulling the mask from his face slowly, revealing the face of the man who has controlled me for so many hours, as familiar to me as my own reflection, the man I adore. Peeling off layer after layer of clothes he used to disguise himself from me, our eyes meet, his face erupts into the most loving smile I have ever seen from him. His eyes sparkled with satisfaction knowing that he has succeeded in capturing me once again, even if by force, he has won, again. This man who can do no wrong, has become my hero once again. 


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