Catch
This was all written in the last 45 minutes, and I haven't actually read it through, which is rather careless of me, but I want to go to bed. I'll read it in the morning. So please forgive any crappiness due to lack of editing. (General crappiness you can ignore.)
In terms of its relevance to the theme, it's a bit scant. I actually thought the theme was "Crash", and developed this in my head with that in mind. When I then realised it was "Catch", I liked the idea too much to abandon it, so I've included the word, and hope that's enough!
So, in all its rough and scatty glory, may I present "Untitled." I hope it's not too vague, and that I've made it clear enough what's actually going on.
I shut the door quietly, turned the key in the lock, and felt it catch, sliding the bolt into the wall. I withdrew the key, and weighed it in my hand. It was so small. It had been a long time since I had felt so calm. It was if my mind was finally at peace, filled with empty whiteness, rather than the clashing colours and discordant noise that had filled it for so long.
I walked upstairs, putting the key in the dresser drawer reserved for miscellaneous things like rubber bands, screws, and bits of paper with phone numbers written on them. I pulled the phone plug out of the wall. I was covered in dust, and I began to pull off my clothes as I walked towards the bathroom, throwing them all into the laundry basket, and makin a mental note to take them to the laundromat later. The water was hot, steaming over my shoulders as it pinked my skin, washing years of anger and confusion down the drain. I wondered whether this was what a sudden religious conversion felt like - everything washed away, and all that's left a gentle heat. The warmth of conviction. I thought that perhaps I should start going to church.
I could hear a noise through the wall, and I went to put on a CD. A symphony orchestra struck up, and I opened the kitchen window, letting the wailing voice of the solo cello sweep out the window and into the streets, rushing up and down with the wind, curling into the tops of trees. The thought disturbed me, and I closed my eyes, willing myself back to pale blankness. Calm. Empty.
After several unfamiliar days of watching television, sleeping for long hours of the day, and eating only when I felt hungry, I ventured outside. An autumn chill pricked up the hairs on my arms, and the breeze through the trees still seemed to be carrying the sound of the cello I had so carelessly let loose the day before. It moaned mournfully. I ignored it, buttoning my coat with cold fingers, and closing the gate behind me as I stepped out onto the footpath. I nodded at my neighbour in her front garden, trying not to meet her eyes, but she moved towards her fence. "Hello Jen! Haven't seen you out for a while." I smiled at her, the movement of my face feeling unfamiliar.
"No. I've been busy."
"And how are the kids?" She looked down at my hands, and I put them in the pockets of my coat.
"They're fine," I said. "They've gone away. They're staying with their grandmother for a while. With my mother."
She nodded. "I'm sure they're having a lovely time. Kids love staying with their grandparents."
I started to move away. "Have a lovely day, Mary."
I could feel her standing there, looking after me, but I refused to turn around. The cello followed me, wailing through the trees, and I began to hum to myself, to block out the sound.
A week later, the house had begun to smell unpleasant; thick, and heavy. I brought some flowers that I had taken through Mary's fence into the living room, and sprayed my Calvin Klein perfume in the air, and onto the sofa cushions. It made me sneeze, but I didn't want to leave the house. My hands were uncomfortably inflamed, and I found that I had to play music all the time to prevent the cello sobbing in my ears. It no longer needed the aid of the breeze to haunt me, but roamed through the house at will, catching me out if I wasn't on my guard.
It was only a few days later that there was a knock on the door. A policewoman smiled at me, another uniformed man behind her. I always feel nervous when I see the police, worried that I've broken some esoteric law.
"Ms Archer? May we come in?"
I stepped aside to let them pass. They sat down on the couch, and I could see his nose wrinkling at the heavy scent of perfume in the air. "Ms Archer, could you tell us where your children are?"
I looked at her blankly, confused. "They're with my mother. They went away for a while, for a holiday."
She nodded. "We've been trying to call you, but your phone has been out of order." He looked over towards the phone, the plug on the floor. "We have contacted your mother, and she's told us that the children aren't with her. That she hasn't spoken to you for quite some time."
There was a pause. "I don't understand. The children have gone away. They're with her. She's the only person they could be with." She stared into my eyes, but he looked around the room, eyes flicking here and there, foot tapping. I wondered if he could hear the cello too.
"Do you might if we take a look around?"
I didn't know what to say.
"Everything's a bit of a mess."
She smiled. "Why doesn't Constable Rogers take a look around, while you and I have a chat?" He rose, and walked out of the room, wandering down the corridor towards the back verandah. The cello seemed to follow him, and I was so relieved that I relaxed back into my chair, talking to her about the documentary I'd seen on television last night, until I heard a thumping sound downstairs, through the wall. I sat up in alarm. "What's he doing? Is he trying to get into the laundry? It's locked. The machine's broken. I don't use it anyway." I tried to stand up, and she put a firm hand on my arm, pushing me back down into my chair. The ripe heavy smell was getting worse, seeping through the walls, through the furniture. "I think you know why we're here, Ms Archer."
"I don't have any idea! I thought that Mary had called you, about the noise the music was making. I had to play it loudly, to drown out the cello."
She looked at me, and asked "What cello?", as I heard sirens drawing up in front of the house. I tried to stand up again, and again she pushed me down, waiting until the other officers had walked through the front door before pulling both my wrists behind me, and saying, "Jen Archer, you are under arrest." I couldn't hear anything else. The smell rose, racing down my throat and I gagged. I could hear someone throwing up outside the window. I closed my eyes as I was pushed towards the front door, trying desperately to find my calm mind, blank mind, but it had deserted me. I was bent through a car door, and leant back as it slammed behind me, blocking out the sirens, and the voices, and Mary screaming, screaming, standing by the fence.
In terms of its relevance to the theme, it's a bit scant. I actually thought the theme was "Crash", and developed this in my head with that in mind. When I then realised it was "Catch", I liked the idea too much to abandon it, so I've included the word, and hope that's enough!
So, in all its rough and scatty glory, may I present "Untitled." I hope it's not too vague, and that I've made it clear enough what's actually going on.
I shut the door quietly, turned the key in the lock, and felt it catch, sliding the bolt into the wall. I withdrew the key, and weighed it in my hand. It was so small. It had been a long time since I had felt so calm. It was if my mind was finally at peace, filled with empty whiteness, rather than the clashing colours and discordant noise that had filled it for so long.
I walked upstairs, putting the key in the dresser drawer reserved for miscellaneous things like rubber bands, screws, and bits of paper with phone numbers written on them. I pulled the phone plug out of the wall. I was covered in dust, and I began to pull off my clothes as I walked towards the bathroom, throwing them all into the laundry basket, and makin a mental note to take them to the laundromat later. The water was hot, steaming over my shoulders as it pinked my skin, washing years of anger and confusion down the drain. I wondered whether this was what a sudden religious conversion felt like - everything washed away, and all that's left a gentle heat. The warmth of conviction. I thought that perhaps I should start going to church.
I could hear a noise through the wall, and I went to put on a CD. A symphony orchestra struck up, and I opened the kitchen window, letting the wailing voice of the solo cello sweep out the window and into the streets, rushing up and down with the wind, curling into the tops of trees. The thought disturbed me, and I closed my eyes, willing myself back to pale blankness. Calm. Empty.
After several unfamiliar days of watching television, sleeping for long hours of the day, and eating only when I felt hungry, I ventured outside. An autumn chill pricked up the hairs on my arms, and the breeze through the trees still seemed to be carrying the sound of the cello I had so carelessly let loose the day before. It moaned mournfully. I ignored it, buttoning my coat with cold fingers, and closing the gate behind me as I stepped out onto the footpath. I nodded at my neighbour in her front garden, trying not to meet her eyes, but she moved towards her fence. "Hello Jen! Haven't seen you out for a while." I smiled at her, the movement of my face feeling unfamiliar.
"No. I've been busy."
"And how are the kids?" She looked down at my hands, and I put them in the pockets of my coat.
"They're fine," I said. "They've gone away. They're staying with their grandmother for a while. With my mother."
She nodded. "I'm sure they're having a lovely time. Kids love staying with their grandparents."
I started to move away. "Have a lovely day, Mary."
I could feel her standing there, looking after me, but I refused to turn around. The cello followed me, wailing through the trees, and I began to hum to myself, to block out the sound.
A week later, the house had begun to smell unpleasant; thick, and heavy. I brought some flowers that I had taken through Mary's fence into the living room, and sprayed my Calvin Klein perfume in the air, and onto the sofa cushions. It made me sneeze, but I didn't want to leave the house. My hands were uncomfortably inflamed, and I found that I had to play music all the time to prevent the cello sobbing in my ears. It no longer needed the aid of the breeze to haunt me, but roamed through the house at will, catching me out if I wasn't on my guard.
It was only a few days later that there was a knock on the door. A policewoman smiled at me, another uniformed man behind her. I always feel nervous when I see the police, worried that I've broken some esoteric law.
"Ms Archer? May we come in?"
I stepped aside to let them pass. They sat down on the couch, and I could see his nose wrinkling at the heavy scent of perfume in the air. "Ms Archer, could you tell us where your children are?"
I looked at her blankly, confused. "They're with my mother. They went away for a while, for a holiday."
She nodded. "We've been trying to call you, but your phone has been out of order." He looked over towards the phone, the plug on the floor. "We have contacted your mother, and she's told us that the children aren't with her. That she hasn't spoken to you for quite some time."
There was a pause. "I don't understand. The children have gone away. They're with her. She's the only person they could be with." She stared into my eyes, but he looked around the room, eyes flicking here and there, foot tapping. I wondered if he could hear the cello too.
"Do you might if we take a look around?"
I didn't know what to say.
"Everything's a bit of a mess."
She smiled. "Why doesn't Constable Rogers take a look around, while you and I have a chat?" He rose, and walked out of the room, wandering down the corridor towards the back verandah. The cello seemed to follow him, and I was so relieved that I relaxed back into my chair, talking to her about the documentary I'd seen on television last night, until I heard a thumping sound downstairs, through the wall. I sat up in alarm. "What's he doing? Is he trying to get into the laundry? It's locked. The machine's broken. I don't use it anyway." I tried to stand up, and she put a firm hand on my arm, pushing me back down into my chair. The ripe heavy smell was getting worse, seeping through the walls, through the furniture. "I think you know why we're here, Ms Archer."
"I don't have any idea! I thought that Mary had called you, about the noise the music was making. I had to play it loudly, to drown out the cello."
She looked at me, and asked "What cello?", as I heard sirens drawing up in front of the house. I tried to stand up again, and again she pushed me down, waiting until the other officers had walked through the front door before pulling both my wrists behind me, and saying, "Jen Archer, you are under arrest." I couldn't hear anything else. The smell rose, racing down my throat and I gagged. I could hear someone throwing up outside the window. I closed my eyes as I was pushed towards the front door, trying desperately to find my calm mind, blank mind, but it had deserted me. I was bent through a car door, and leant back as it slammed behind me, blocking out the sirens, and the voices, and Mary screaming, screaming, standing by the fence.