WEP October Challenge - The Scream

 

The WEP Challenge is back.  Huge thanks to the organisers and participants.  A visit HERE will give access to a range of talented (so very talented) and different takes on the theme.  I do hope you will visit others and applaud them.  Names will be added over the next couple of days and a revisit is always worthwhile.

 

I have been absent from WEP for a while but have rejoined for this challenge.  Due warning, my story is dark. 

 

 

Un…

 

The farmhouse they rented was isolated.  It was also both shabby and spartan.  No phone, she had no transport and the nearest town was five miles away.

He was away for work.  Again. 

He was due home in another ten days.

She was alone.  Again.  Still. 

High summer, and outside it was blisteringly hot, dry and cloudless.  Water was at a premium and the house tanks were all but dry.  If she was to wash herself or her clothes she had to travel. She could have walked into town and caught the train to do the washing and to see friends.

She didn’t.

It was quiet at home;  baaing sheep, bird song and, twice daily, a train chuffing through, its whistle echoing across the empty paddocks.

Her earworm was louder and more intrusive than those sounds.

 

‘It's already over in my head
It's been cloudy with a chance of anxiety
Can't keep out the demons inside of me
Maybe I'm just better off dead’

She hated the song, most of which had no relevance to her or her situation.  Just the same ‘better off dead’ set the metronome to her days.  Its regular hard hitting beat was always there.  Only the volume changed.  Sometimes it was a murmur and at other times a scream.

She was unEmployed, unHappy and unNecessary.

Oh hell, let’s not beat about the bush.  She was me.

Drowning in and beaten down by that earworm I walked into town and was lucky enough to get an immediate appointment to see a doctor.

Lucky?  UnLucky. 

 

He was dismissive.  UnKind. UnHelpful.  'Snap out of it!' was the best he could offer.  When pushed he said he could refer me to a psychologist where there was at least a three month waiting list.  Cursing the wasted expenditure of money I didn’t have and couldn’t spare I walked home again to an empty and unWelcoming house. 

Maybe I'm just better off dead

Essential tasks called.  I fed the chooks, fed the cats and faced my empty days. Continuing to exist like this was unAcceptable.

Maybe I'm just better off dead

A solution was close to hand.  Twice daily (at midnight and at midday) the train ran through the bottom paddock.  It came round a bend and if I lay down on the tracks the driver would be unable to brake in time.  A short walk (less than half a mile) and my despair and pain would be over.  The midnight train would probably be best.

I thought about it.  I thought some more.  It would work.  I felt for the train driver, but the trains ran over other animals quite frequently.

Timing.  The animals at home needed my attention.  It would be unFair if my solution caused them to suffer.  Nine days left now.

Finding a solution, a solution that meant I would no longer be a burden to myself or anyone else was wonderful (the world would not miss me).  Calming.  Comforting.  Freeing.  My mind (despite that chant) was less despairing than it had been in many a long dark day and night.  I had a plan, I had the means and I had a time frame.

Waiting for the day and the hour I sat on the floor ripping pieces of paper into smaller and smaller pieces.

… better off dead

 

… better off dead

 

Maybe I AM  just better off dead

 

The pile of confetti beside me grew.  Night followed day followed day followed night.  I didn’t eat, I barely slept.  The animals were fed and watered.

Old letters, half finished pieces of writing, newspapers and bills fed the pile.  There seemed to be no end to them, as there was no end to my pain.

Maybe I'm just better off dead

 

Day eight.  So close now.

… better off dead

 

Day nine.  Less than 12 hours to endure.  I picked up the piles of confetti.  Leaving things tidy was a must.

… better off dead

… better off dead

… better off dead

 

Then I heard a car pull into the driveway.

His car.

… better off dead

 

‘You are home early. ’

‘The job took less time than we expected so I came straight home.  What have you been doing while I was away.’

‘Not a lot.’

For some reason I couldn’t sneak out and down to the train tracks when he was home. 

Fortunate?  UnFortunate? 

Action postponed but not cancelled.

I still, decades later, hear that siren call.  I can usually distract myself and shift my focus now.  And hope I always will, but cannot guarantee it.

… better off dead

… better off dead

… better off dead

 

Still there, but much quieter.

I suspect it is a part of the reason I volunteer on the crisis line.  Their circumstances, triggers and solutions may not be mine, but the pain and the despair are so very familiar.

If they can live it, I can listen.  Some people at least do not go unHeard.

 

***

Word Count:  830

tag # Sometimes no-one else will hear your screams.

Comment rather than Critique please.  I suspect I would take critique personally.