Tag: Caroline
11:12
11:12
Guilt is such a wondrous thing. It hold us frozen in unbreakable stasis, drives us over cliffs from unimaginable heights, spurs creativity and discovery like no other goad and can lay to rest the most towering confidence like it was but a new born child.
And no on exists without it. The legendary egos of history were often naught but massive festering tureens of guilt, bubbling and churning and spitting their contents at any that stood nearby. It is the first emotion a child learns, the guilt of bringing pain and sorrow to their caregivers.
Yet it is true that along side guilt is most often its near twin sibling: joy. One often causes the other and the two can happily coexist within even the same simple smile. To live without guilt is to live without joy, for no one can escape the price, however freely and happily paid, that joy exacts from its moments.
It is sad though, the cloak of fear and disdain that wraps and stifles the body of guilt. For guilt is engine behind many great things and can be the most powerful force for change that ever existed. Guilt, for all its cloying and smothering aspects can be sharper than any samurai’s legendary katana, slicing cleaning and without fraying the elaborate silk, lacquered wood or cleverly crafted ironmongery of the most heroic warriors defenses. And once the armour is stripped away, there is nothing left but to start again and the opportunity for rebirth will always bring the opportunity for joy.
Caroline stared at the sparking clean pane of glass. And suddenly, as she traced edges of the flaking wooden sash with her eyes, it disappeared, and for the first time since she had moved into this dirty oppressive city, she saw through glass and plaster walls that protected her from the outside. In fact, as she followed the path of the light that streamed in and danced across the shabby ochre carpet, for the first time for as long as her memory stretched back, she realized that here within her protective walls she was no safer or protected than she had ever been standing in the old corrals holding her father’s hand or walking along the edge of the lake with the morning’s dew soaking through her pant legs.
The walls that she needed to protect herself could not built built by any man’s hands no matter how skilled, yet they were there for her to erect any time she chose.
Any time she chose.
As a single scarlet leaf, curled and twisted by time and exposure to the elements of life floated by the near-invisible pane of glass that was her window to the outside world, Caroline decided it was indeed time for choices.
11:1
11:1
“That’s horrible!”
What was clinging to the outside of the poor woman’s window was a mass of flesh and fur. The dark brown bits of fur and skin were matted with semi-coagulated blood and unidentifiable bits of bone or skin or maybe insides turned out.
Despite the coolness of the season, the flies were out in force and the whole mass seemed to writhe and move. As soon as Ali’s eyes focused enough for him to catch the movement he had instinctively jerked back and only the tension on his tether prevented him from overbalancing and hurtling 3 stories down to the ground.
The noisome mess oddly enough did not smell but the visual was more than enough to give Ali’s stomach a lurch or two.
After the initial shock dissipated, Ali leaned back in. It definitely wasn’t a bird. The fur was short, soft and brown and definitely didn’t belong thirty feet off the ground. And that one bit of leathery looking skin, if Ali didn’t think it was impossible he would have sworn it was … no, it really couldn’t be.
He slid back into the apartment without touching the mess and leaned up against the window frame. “Miss, I…” Ali paused, rubbed his face vigorously and started again. “Miss. There seems to be some sort of animal smashed into your window.”
“I know,” her muffled reply was barely audible with her head down and her hands tangled in her hair.
“It seems to be, well… well if I had to guess Miss, it seems to be…”
“A beaver.”
Ali started. “Why yes, it looks an awful lot like the remains of a beaver. Did you already look?”
“No. No, but it had to be, didn’t it.”
The young woman looked up and she glanced at Ali before her eyes were drawn to the shadowed outline of the gruesome mess that clung to her window. “It had to be, didn’t it just,” she repeated.
Ah. Well then. Ali rubbed his face one more time and clasped his hands behind his neck to stretch his tense shoulders. “Um, well I guess I shall get rid of it for you then. A very odd thing that, but I shall have it gone easily enough.”
As Ali bundled up some rags and grabbed a plastic garbage bag, he thought he heard the sad looking woman mumble, but when he glanced up she was again staring down at her lap. He paused, thinking to offer some encouraging words, but then decided soonest begun, soonest done, and slid back out onto the ledge to clean.
Alone again in her apartment, Caroline dragged her red eyes up tot he revolting reminder on her living room window and and murmured, “No, it won’t be gone so easily. I will never be easy again.”
10:20
10:20
Caroline hadn’t had much of a life up until now: no friends, no dreams, no real interests. When she had first arrived in the city, she had hung out at these odd little cafes where people would get up and slam.
Slamming, or poetry slamming, or spoken word art generally, was an odd new trend where people would compete by standing up and reading their poems aloud, depending more on rhythm and flow than rhymes and structure.
Caroline tried it one particularly depressing night with no great success.
We Are Base
by Caroline D.
Have you considered the beast that’s inside you?
The animal that lurks
and screams from inside?
Have you considered,
letting it out, letting it ride
across the savannah?
Tearing, rending, chewing, spitting,
trying to derive some sustenance from the
meager flesh of the animals that scurry and hurry and pretend they are doing something important,
something real.
Those pathetic weak and childish beasts that swirl and spin
around you
every day,
every minute,
every second,
clogging your minds with the dust of their travels and leaving you nothing but a gritty taste on your lips and a brain filled with the stink of their passage.
Have you ever wondered
if you could survive on their leftovers,
the remnants of their lives, the sadness and the pain and the failure and defeat
Of your fellow man who thinks,
who believes
who knows
That he, or she, or it
is better than you,
stronger,
faster,
more wild,
more fierce,
more able
I’ve never wondered.
I’ve never had to.
My beast
cannot be caged,
my beast cannot be held back,
my beast cannot be denied.
From the moment I was conceived,
my beast has roamed,
and torn
and attacked
and run away.
My beast has lost and won
and lost again.
My beast has survived on the leavings,
scavenged the corpses of others less strong,
gnawed on the edges of their success
My beast has known hunger and desperation and fear and emptiness.
My beast bears the scars of the struggle,
the aches of constant failure
and the price of its existence.
But my beast survives where others
lie in heaps and piles and mounds and walls
of bleached-out bones and scraps of fur
and teeth
and the small, tiny treasures
that every beast, every soul,
carries with it
to the end.
I once considered recalling the thing,
bringing it home to rest,
to curl up in the warmth of my mind
content, peaceful, happy with itself
and full.
Full of hope and sustained by the future.
I once considered caging the animal inside
And feeding it
And caring for it
and loving it
And trying to make it,
and me,
happy.
But I hate the beast
I hate its teeth, its claws, its smell
and I hate the way it hungers and slathers and whines and
spins
round and round trying to get comfortable
trying to rearrange my mind to suit its dirty needs,
its slimy, selfish, horrid ways
I hate the beast and so
I cast it out.
Let it
work for me,
let it
bring me its tribute,
its trophies
its prey
Who cares about its victims,
who cares about their lives
No one cares about
my
beast
Not even me.
So if you’ve ever wondered
What it would be like
to set free the animal inside
and free yourself from the pain
and anguish
of cowering in fear of your own soul
Don’t.
Don’t wonder,
don’t fear, don’t hide,
don’t dither and dodder or wither and whine about
why or why not or how, or what or when
Set free the caged creature, just cast open the gates
There is no need to worry
Leave the prey to their own
fates.
6:4
6:4
As Caroline dragged herself off the floor and into her bedroom, she reflected on the tiny ironies of the world. And decided she really, really hated the tiny ironies of the world.
She flipped on the tv and flopped back onto the pillow-laden bed with a soft moan.
The tv’s volume had been left up and her room was filled with some reality tv show’s radio calls.
“Mayday Mayday Mayday
This is Castor Castor Castor
Mayday Castor
Position is unknown, last recorded position was heading north, northeast, latitude two three degrees, seven seven minutes, longitude five seven degrees, two three decimal four minutes.
My engines are dead and we are caught in a current headed for shore.
Fourteen foot wooden trawler
Two on board and unable to abandon ship
Castor
Over”
There was a moment of staticky silence and then:
“Castor, Castor, Castor
This is Gman, Gman, Gman
Received Mayday
I am at your last known position. Can you verify last heading and speed?
Will proceed to your location.
Gman
Over”
“Gman
This is Roeland,
Where you at? We should hook up.
Over”
Caroline was just drifting off to sleep when the voice from the tv jumped in volume and intensity.
“Mayday
Roeland
This is Gman
Seelonce Mayday
Distress traffic in progress
Stop transmitting
Over”
Something about the exchange bothered Caroline. It was like a miniature reflection of reality playing out in her ears, but she was too tired to open her eyes.
Then she heard:
“Mayday
All stations, all stations, all stations,
This is
Castor, Castor, Castor
Zero nine three zero Eastern Standard
Castor
Seelonce Feenee
Vessels has drifted clear of current and we are disembarking on beach. All crew safe.
Castor
Out”
“Gman
Out”
Caroline felt a cold chill down her spine and was suddenly no longer tired.
5:30
5:30
In the other room Caroline’s cellphone began to ring. She paused in her scrubbings for just a moment, then bent her head and renewed her efforts with even more vigour.
The phone buzzed insistently, but she continued to ignore it. “Why the fuck did I ever agree to this? What was I thinking?” she muttered almost incoherently. In her ears the sound of the phone seemed to grow louder and louder, but she focused on the sound of the water and the sharpness of the cleansing pain as she worked the rough stone over her violently red hands. “This isn’t right. Dirty animals. This just isn’t right!” she spat out, trying to drown out the insistent noise of the phone.
“I have no time for you!” she screamed at last and the phone fell silent. “I have no time for you,” she repeated in a soft whimpering tone. “I have no time.” She slowly stopped scrubbing her now bleeding hands and watched the blood and water mix into a pink foam as it poured down the drain in front of her.
Caroline looked up into the bathroom mirror and her face started to collapse. Tears slowly leaked from her eyes although she knew she wasn’t crying. She didn’t cry; she hadn’t since she had left home. The mixture of fear and rage that had fueled her since she left the park was gone and all that was left was pain. And right now, right at this moment, pain was not enough.
“Not fair,” she told the mirror as she slowly slipped down to the bathroom floor. “Not fair.”
5:29
5:29
Caroline washed her hands again. They were already raw from related scrubbings with her pumice, but she just couldn’t seem to get them clean.
Whatever had possessed her to get involved in this? She’d actually had to touch that disgusting pair of wild animals. Carrying them across the field had been like holding onto dead flesh. They had flopped and rolled in the most unsettling manner and the drool rolling off the putrid pink tongue of that rabbit had dribbled down her arm, almost making her throw up. After dumping them in the crate she had literally run for her car and been trying to wash the stench off ever since.
Caroline looked up into the mirror. What she saw was a haggard-looking woman stripped down to her bra. She stood with bright-red hands and forearms and a look of desperation wrapped her features like an opaque veil.
“Why did I ever get involved in this?” she asked the desperate woman. “I will never be clean again…” She received no answer and resumed scrubbing her hands, wringing them desperately and slathering on even more antibacterial soap from the pump dispenser.