bitterdiva

Happy Halloween

That's right, it's me, your fairy goth princess.

No prayers | 12:16 PM

Release from hell

The most important thing in life is life itself. Very few people have the opportunity to share a story so gruesome, so heinous that it is a wonder how they managed to survive. I thought about my life every day and was always questioning if it would be the last. Many had gone before me including my best friend, Nadia, but somehow, probably by the grace of God, I managed to survive long enough to make it out.

It was a bitter day when everyone was released. We were standing outside in the compound freezing while the guards prepared a number of individuals for their ‘shower’. I couldn’t remember the last time I actually had taken a shower, let alone a hot one. Us prisoners were huddled together using our body heat to stay warm; there must have been thousands of us. The garments we were handed upon arrival were dirty and worn out from other prisoners’ use. I had to stop myself from thinking about the number of individuals that wore this uniform before me and how they died.

Nadia was standing beside me crying. In an attempt to comfort her fears, I wrapped an arm around her and caressed her hair, even though there was not much of it. One of the first things to occur when every prisoner arrived at Birkenau was their hair was shorn to prevent lice and disease. It was of no help; the sanitary conditions were deplorable to the point that nothing could prevent the body from being covered with these bugs.

The guards had approached the group of us standing there, trying to keep away frostbite in the cold January winds. It was the typical greeting they gave us, rounds of ammunition shot off in the sky combined with orders barked at us in German. Those who didn’t obey were pulled out of the group and shot right in front of us. There was no concern for how we felt or how scarred we were. The more they showed us their power; the more we succumbed just to survive.

Survival, that’s what we all desired. That’s what I’ve managed to accomplish. I have survived through many ill events in my life. I have escaped from another work camp before I was placed at Birkenau. I’m surprised that I was not shot when they found me. I originally wasn’t the chosen one for these concentration camps, my sister was. I couldn’t deprive her three children of their mother even when I had my own to worry about. The SS soldiers barged into our home, yanked her youngest from her breast and began to drag her out into the street. I will never forget the look on her face. I ran towards them pulling on the soldiers, begging and pleading for her release. I offered myself up to them for her freedom. They didn’t care who went or who stayed, it was just a body they needed and I was young, full of health, and able to work.

A blast of wind sliced through my garment and I shivered. I began to worry that my chattering teeth would be brought to the attention of our captors and I would meet a most untimely end. I didn’t have much insulation on my body in terms of fat. We were all starved; some had died from malnutrition as their bodies devoured themselves. Others died of dehydration from bouts of diarrhea that lasted days on end. There were those unfortunate souls that didn’t die from what ailment they had, those people were brought to the hospital and were never seen of again. Not many people who entered the hospital came back to tell us what happened.

In order to keep my mind occupied I began to write a letter to my husband, I often wrote letters to him. He, himself, has endured much hardship in his life and was currently in another concentration camp. Although we were separated many times in our relationship I always felt the importance to write him in hopes that perhaps he could hear my thoughts in my mind and heart wherever he was located. I couldn't recall the actual letter that I had written in my mind but the theme was the same and so were the emotions being felt.

Dearest Sasha,

This may be the last time I speak to you. Currently Nadia and I are standing in line, waiting to be herded to the showers. My heart is heavy. I do not know if our bodies will be reunited again; I only know that if I do not make it through the day, I will be waiting for you in heaven. I now believe all the unfortunate souls that walk through these gates will be granted an eternity free of pain for we all have endured hell.

I won’t say that I’m frightened for that would not be the truth but as I’ve faced adversity before, I will hold my head up high and accept my fate. I’ve heard from several of the newer prisoners that the war will soon be over and our freedom will be given to us. I hope this is true for I miss you and Fedir horribly.

I am tired and my muscles are weak. My fingers are scabbed and scarred from the work in the factory. Our beds are infested with lice and I sleep on the floors. Some of the other women here are in worse shape than myself and shouldn’t be forced to sleep on the frozen ground. Poor Nadia is almost too weak to stand on her own and I’m scared that one morning she’ll go off to work and never return back for roll call. It’s cold today, colder than I’ve known it to be, but that could be just my health failing me.

If the inevitable happens, please take good care of Fedir, and always remind him how much I love him. I will always be by your side and watch over you.

With love,
Irina

After composing my letter I felt a cold, empty space next to me. I looked up to find her being led with other prisoners into the showers. I thought that I had heard screaming but we were too far away from the gas chambers to hear the cries of our friends and relatives. My poor Nadia was gone, taken from me, by those savages using pathetic excuses to eradicate the world. She wasn’t the first person close to me to perish, but she was the last.

The remaining group of us began to cry hysterically. We knew what our fate was going to be, how were would leave this earth. Many of the prisoners began to pray, some in Hebrew, some in my native Polish tongue, there were those fluent in German, Hungarian, and other Slavic languages with which I am familiar. Some of the rabbis in the group began reciting from the Torah holding a last mass for everyone. I could only imagine how the others were taking the events in, it was more than depressing, there is no expression for how one feels regarding their impending doom.

I was staring off towards the entrance gate of the complex contemplating escape and freedom when I noticed several military vehicles driving towards the camp. I could tell by the insignia of the trucks that they weren’t German vehicles. There were shots fired and yelling, but the language wasn’t in German, it was Russian. I was somewhat able to translate what they were saying for my husband taught me Ukrainian, and there were similarities. We were free. The Red Army had liberated all of us; we could finally go home to all of our families and live out the rest of our days. It would have been a truly joyous day if only the soldiers held out moments more. Nadia would still be alive.

No prayers | 09:24 AM

56 hours of freedom

Even with the extra hour I was given over the weekend I’m wondering where the hell it was stashed. I got absolutely no relaxing time in. Friday, I went home, made baked ziti, had Julie over, went shopping at the mall, then saw White Oleander, went home, chilled, and passed out around 12:30.

Saturday, I woke up around 8:15, got out of the house to a meeting at 9, returned bottles and cans, grabbed some coffee, went to Brunswick/Troy returned more bottles and cans, bought a huge ass pumpkin, went to the goodwill store, then to the Salvation Army. Traveled to Colonie to the mall, hit Spencers, LB, and the Costumer. Went to Target, bought Halloween candy, toilet paper, and paper towels. Traveled home. Grabbed lunch, 15 minutes of rest, cleaned the tub and bleached the bathroom. Changed. Traveled back out to return more bottles and cans, went to Price Chopper in West Gate Plaza and returned more bottles and cans. Went searching for a Renaissance shirt, headed over to Walmart bought fabric and went back home. Ordered Chinese, ate, watched Hockey and played Spooky Slots on Pogo.com and passed out on cov’s bed, awakened at 1:30 and crawled into mine.

Woke up at what I thought was 8:30 on Sunday, went out to the living room to discover it was 7:30 bitched out the world. Took apart a shirt for my costume, grabbed the paper, looked at the ads and watch the end of 13 Ghosts, Charlie’s Angels, and some other crap. Found Phantom yarfed all over the apartment, took a shower, got laundry together and went to get good cat food at Petco, had dinner with patsy’s family (yummy!), did laundry, went home grabbed pay stub, went to Borders, bought C for Dummies, vol. 2 since vol. 1 doesn’t have Strings in it, lotr book 3 because I work for an educational organization and got a 25% discount on everything. Went home, made the skirt for my Halloween costume, watched Anna, and hit the sack.

I woke up this morning and bitched out Cov because I thought it was Saturday. I was rather depressed to find out that it was indeed Monday morning. I got a shower in, dressed, and had enough time after dropping off cov to get my Chocolate Raspberry coffee. Tonight, I get to attempt to make my shirt. I did a fairly decent job on the skirt with not having any patterns, the shirt I ripped apart yesterday will be my guide tonight, but I need to find better chalk to outline the pattern.

I need more sleep. And as in Halloween 3: ~three more days till Halloween, Halloween, Halloween, three more days till Halloween, Silver Shamrock.~

2 prayers | 10:46 AM

Oops I crapped my pants

Alan sat down at a small table that looked out on the main road. One of the legs was shorter than the other three, missing a scratch resistant pad so when large parties of drunken frat boys dragged tables together, they wouldn’t scuff up the new linoleum. It wobbled horribly. He had to position himself so that when reaching for his scalding cup of coffee his arm wouldn’t upset the table and send the liquid gushing out of the opening created by the pull-tab all over his hand. He felt his heart still beating from running a mile back to civilization. He desperately hoped his companions found suitable shelter since they didn’t make it back to the designated location.

The clock behind the counter informed him that it was quarter to four in the morning. The rain was still pouring outside and he still didn’t know how he got from the cemetery back to the coffee shop without so much a scratch on him. He stared out the window, towards the ground, watching the rivers of water glisten in the orange light, induced by the presence of sodium, as they flowed down the hill towards the Hudson. The color scheme fit appropriately in with the occasion, orange light with black pavement, it was Halloween after all.

October, to Alan’s recollection, has always been the gloomiest of months. It’s the first full month of autumn, the time of year when nature begins to fall asleep. The leaves on the trees are ripped off their branches from the droplets of water turned into missiles increasing in force as they plummet towards the ground. It also becomes colder to the point that the first snowfall occurs during the later part of the month and there have been occasions when snow has fallen within the first week. The main source of gloom and doom is the stigma of Halloween, when the dead are allowed to roam the Earth for one night.

Alan and his friends decided to roam the cemeteries in search of the walking dead. They had traveled to a cemetery touted as one of America’s most haunted places located in the east side of the city. It was once intended to be a park but its current status was an eyesore for the local residents who were unfortunate enough to move in next to it. The entrances were overgrown with weeds, chained up, and visibly warned all that stood before the gates that any trespassers would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

Alan was the guinea pig, first to climb through the hole in the fence that was hidden by a dead shrub. The faint beeping from his jacket pocket indicated the lack of cell phone service when he was fully inside. Matt, Alan’s best-friend and leader of the pilgrimage, tossed over the several packs of supplies they brought with them and proceeded through the hole followed by Chuck and Gary.

The ground was slippery from the puddles quickly gathering on the blanket of leaves. Walking became problematic with no light to guide their way but they had to continue for a hundred yards down a slope before they could use their flashlights and not be seen from residents. The first sight on this eerie tour was the mausoleum that was now a pile of rubble. It was destroyed ten years ago because the centerpiece of the ceiling was an eye that watched people. Teenagers found it a suitable place to get drunk and stoned at being void of watching humans.

No prayers | 05:07 PM

Imagine there's no memories

I often find that I am very disconnected to the outside world. Or rather that the outside world is disconnected from me. I live in a small city where the public transportation is a bit shoddy and you can’t really get from one place to another. I reside most of the time in a place filled with familiar people, coworkers, students, friends, and roommates.

I read magazines to brush up on my fashion sense, my sports knowledge, the latest music and movies, and how to make a killer pot roast with Guinness. There are some people in these magazines that cross over into other ones and by that I am supposed to know who they are and that they make millions a year. I try to get in touch with reality and know that these people are in fact real but something deep inside me tries to convince me otherwise.

I am bombarded with images of people. From the local meteorologist that tells me that tomorrow it’s going to snow to a supermodel soliciting a fragrance by some designer I’ve never seen. When the images are gone, I don’t remember who these people are. In fact, I have a hard time remember what anyone looks like that exists in my personal life. I know these people all have the typical facial features and hands, but I do not know what color their eyes are or what they were wearing this morning. I even have a hard time conjuring up an image of my parents in my mind’s eye. Maybe it’s like a form of Alzheimer’s or that one of my short-term memory circuits is fried. I lack the ability to create exact mental images of people.

I once dated this guy who I thought was very attractive when I didn’t see him. When I went to visit him I was rather surprised to realize the difference in his actual physical appearance and the appearance stored in my memory. I still try to remember what he looks like and when I stare at a picture of him I get angry with myself for getting it wrong. Most of the time I take small samples of their physical being and embellish them to create a perfect image in my mind and ingrain that to my memory. It becomes really disturbing when the person I believe I love turns out to be someone who I don’t even recognize.

I don’t even have memories of my childhood, my adolescence, and my early twenties. I think my memory problem is linked to the distorted image problem. I can however remember images if I dream them. Only the most surreal images in my dreams remain after I wake. I assume that eventually I’ll become a stranger to myself when I look in the mirror.

No prayers | 05:05 PM

Sweet Dreams

When I was younger I don't quite remember my parents or siblings reading me bedtime stories. I know my mother had, she always read to us children. I believe that's why my brother is as good of a reader as he is, constant interaction with books. My sister is the same way, she loves reading albeit not the same genre as my brother or as myself, but that's individuality. I am certain that my mother read to me, I could see myself curled up in my bed all tucked in with my eyes closed listening to the words in the voice of my mother. If it's one thing I cherish the most it's my mother's voice. Most people will say that when they're frightened they wish for their mother's presence or simply the sound of her voice. I call my mother when I am in hysterics and sure enough she knows how to calm me.

Now that I'm older I find that right before I go to bed I watch a movie. Typically it's Harry Potter positioned the scene before Snape's first speaking appearance. The sound of his voice soothes me. Now I have something a bit better. John and Meredith gave me Gaiman's Coraline on CD read by the man himself. Last night I listened to the last CD of the three CD set. And although it sounded like he was reading to his youngest daughter I found serenity in his voice. He may say his accent's been a bit shoddy since moving here 10 years ago, but it clearly retains its foreign dialect.

It was by listening to the first two CD's that I accomplished something that has taken me at least 3 months to do, clean my bedroom. Granted, it still is messy but I have put the bulk of my clothes on the appropriate hanger and finessed them to be happy hanging off the bar in my small, dark, MacIntosh-smelling closet.

I had some surreal dreams last night, this morning however I can't remember what they were.

No prayers | 01:01 PM

Viernes Cinco!

1. If you could only choose 1 cd to ever listen to again, what would it be?
Would this have to be a legitimate cd that is produced by some big mecha company or could it be a cd that I put together with various songs on it. I think I would have to say, I don't have a favorite cd per se, but i could make myself a cd that I truly love. But I have no clue what songs would be on it. And would it be cheating if I made myself a complilation set of songs from the 80s, 90s, and now?

2. If you could only choose 2 movies to watch ever again, what would they be? Oh come on, that's an easy question. Mallrats and Harry Potter. I watch HP before I go to bed, but it's not so much as watching more than listening. Mallrats? You're probably surprised that I could watch that over and over, but it is my favorite Kevin Smith movie hands down. Shocked that it isn't Dogma that has Alan Rickman in it, huh?

3. If you could only choose 3 books to read ever again, what would they be? Very difficult, as I am not much of a reader. Neverwhere by Gaiman - the book I actually read twice, now that's an accomplishment. Harry Potter Goblet of Fire - love, hate, death, spies, friendship, enemies, blood, this baby's got it all. Now the third book, I could easily carry along Good Omens with all the Queen references, or I could bring Fellowship or Two Towers, but I think I'm going to reserve this place for something I have never read. Don't want to use up all my choices now, right?

4. If you could only choose 4 things to eat or drink ever again, what would they be? Eggplant pizza, Diet Mountain Dew Code Red, Salad, and Lindt truffles.

5. If you could only choose 5 people to ever be/talk/associate/whatever with ever again, who would they be?
Are we referring to famous people or everyday people? This is too hard to choose, of course there's cov, and p. diddy; my sister definitely has to be one of those, as for the last two people hmmm.... I would genetically engineer my friends to not be human so I could fulfill this question with as many people as I wanted. It's a total cop out but I can't distinctly say you are my friend and you aren't. I have lots of friends and people who care about me. That was made highly apparent yesterday. *cartman* I love you guys.

No prayers | 10:28 AM

Cuz it's mah birfday...

... Hot cha cha!

Magnificent! I am having the best birfday I've ever had. My sister has acted like some crazy publicist and various friends and coworkers of hers have sent me cards in the mail, e-mails, and e-cards. I'm feeling special, as well as I should because I am.

I'm 25 bitch, now just give me that damn insurance reduction. And it is the age of 25, so my insurance agent says.

I was pleasantly surprised at work today when my T gave me a goofy spooks halloween brownie cake. It had 'bugs' on there made out of gummie worms, spiders of marshmellow and licorice, caterpillars out of gum drops, creepy eyes and what not. She also gave me cute Halloween decorations because I was asked to take down my Halloween lights yesterday. That's what sent me over the edge from serenity to anger. Now that everyone in the office now knows what happened, they are all upset. I think I might be able to do something if they're rigged to an alternative power source, like batteries. Must investigate this.

My roommate, P. Diddy, gave me the awesomest thing that I've been wanting for a while. It's a Vodka Service Set. It appeals to the alcoholic and chemist inside me. I have been wanting this thing for a long, long, long time! You're the mother fucking man!

My boss, Tracy, she rocks. She gave me an authentic card from the 70's. It's adorable. Also she gave me a key chain with a skeleton that collapses in on itself which is also glow in the dark. Along with a print she worked on, she's an artist, that was a Norman Rockwell painting of a woman holding a phone gossiping but instead of the phone she put in a Rat and titled it, "Who gives a Rat's Ass".

I don't think I could have any better of a day. As long as I'm not asked to take down the rest of my decorations. Damn stupid Mongorians breaking down my Schitty wall!

2 prayers | 01:25 PM

I am a werewolf, hear me roar

I am crying. I’m sitting at my desk crying for no reason at all and yet for every reason there is. For all the injustice in the world, for all those who have died from cancer, for the cut I just received on my hand from searching on the floor. I’m crying. It built up slowly; the tightness in the chest, the feeling of no control, the eyes become painful as the tear ducts prime themselves for release, and the nose begins to run.

I’m sitting at my desk crying because I had to take down my Halloween lights, something about policy. I was standing in the hallway bringing back a bouquet of roses for a coworker that was delivered to her for some reason. My boss seizes the opportunity to strike up a conversation about the roses that I’m currently embracing. They aren’t my roses which I’m upset about, not that the recipient shouldn’t receive them, it’s just that tomorrow’s my birthday. It would be nice to receive flowers from someone on my birthday. Back to my boss who never talks to me and is now having a conversation about roses. The conversation passes and now he’s in for the kill, I am to take down my lights because of some policy. I stare down at the roses and contemplate for couple of beats of my heart chucking the dozen long stemmed roses in their heavy vase at the head of my boss. The urge subsides because my brain realizes this would be a Very Bad Idea.

I’m sitting at my desk crying because I’m pre-menstrual. Men don’t understand and I’m surrounded by them. I am choking on myself trying not to be caught by the people in my office, hoping they don’t see me crying. I’m convinced that I am going insane because this behavior is irrational but I know why this behavior is irrational and I know I shouldn’t be crying, but I’m vulnerable. I’m a victim to my emotions and hormones and thus I am sitting here pounding my fingers against the keyboard attempting to bring myself back to something that resembles a busy worker bee.

I’m sitting at my desk with a pile of tissues in the trashcan because I couldn’t hold it in. And as each wave of angst and pain passes someone comes up to me and asks why my cute little skeletons are no longer up. With a deadly look and a stern face I look at them and reply, “I don’t want to talk about it.” The evil side takes control and the pain on my face disappears leaving only anger to be seen. It’s the Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde syndrome coming out - the duality of my persona. I start to believe I am a werewolf; there is no moon to be the onset of my symptoms, it is however based on a 28-day schedule. And around blood. Except it’s my blood, my hormones, and my fucking body sending me into this dizzying rage of emotions and it’s all because I have two sets of lips.

1 prayer | 02:41 PM

Dear Human,

You are an idiot. Your feeble mind cannot understand logic nor is it able to use common sense. You as a race should be annihilated and removed from the face of the planet. Your ability to not get along is annoying and playing the small dick game further frustrates me into smiting each and every one of you.

The female population is not inferior to the male population. You are just different. Who the fuck cares if your genitalia is external or internal? Without one or the other you would cease to reproduce and the world would become void of humans. Go ahead and shoot someone, clean up the world so that I have less work to do. In fact, you humans are procreating too much. China, India, America. Just because you can bring a child into the world doesn’t give you the right to do such. I am sick and tired of seeing poor innocent creatures discarded because you couldn’t keep your schlong in your pants or equally, couldn’t keep your legs closed.

Humans don’t think. Honestly, you people just don’t think about the repercussions of your actions. Every day you trash the environment; eliminating beautiful flowers, trees, plants, and animals because you have to make paper or do some other crazy shit like that. You don’t realize what detonating a weapon of mass destruction will have on the ecology. Maybe someone pissed you off but think about the animals. They didn’t do anything and they outnumber you immensely. So because of your poor anger management skills you’re going to allow them to die as well?

Renewable resources? You don’t want to use paper because it destroys the trees so you turn to plastic. You joke about saving the plastic trees and you attempt to recycle. Only very few of you humans actually care enough to recycle. I’ve seen your garbage heaps piled high with plastic materials. Very few of you actually understand that plastic although it can be recycled is just as bad as paper, if worse. Did you know that plastic is a petroleum substance? Currently there’s movement towards war because some human doesn’t have better things to do or doesn’t want truth to rise to the surface so he goes about and tries change the focus to war, a war that involves petroleum. So want to be a anti-environment, anti-world, idiot human being? Drive your SUV around the town getting 8 miles to the gallon, use up your entire non-renewable resources by using plastic everything and throw into a heap and light it on fire. Hopefully you’ll drip lighter fluid all over yourself that will ignite and turn you into a pile of ashes.

I could go on further but judging by the lack of brain cells you actually use throughout the course of the day, I’ve already wasted good time in trying to reach you. I will end it here.

Sincerely,
Peace, Hope, and Kindness

No prayers | 11:28 AM

It's friday that must mean it's time for...

the Friday Five. What a rather unoriginal title.

1. What size shoe do you wear?
My gargantuan feet wear a size 11 in women’s. I used to wear 10, but when I was out searching for sneakers over the summer, I measured my foot with one of those feet things and I was just a hair over 11 which basically means I theoretically could wear a 10 but for comfort purposes, I best be purchasing 11s. And that’s okay, given that one of my friends in school, Katie, wore a size 12 at the age of 14.

2. How many pairs of shoes do you own?
Currently hanging on my shoe rack are 3 pairs of slippers; a pair of Doc Martens boots; Timberland hiking boots; 2 pairs of Birkenstocks (one in black and one in tan); 2 pairs of sneakers (one that are men’s and should be chucked); a pair of black dress sandals; a pair of Doc Marten men’s dress shoes; pair of Timberland men’s dress shoes; a pair of 3” black and gray chunky heeled loafers. So that makes a total of 13 - my favorite number. I’m pretty sure I am forgetting something. But those are the more important ones. As an addendum, I realize I forgot two: two pairs of sandals from Easy Spirit (one that’s currently being held together with florist wire).

3. What type of shoe do you prefer (boots, sneakers, pumps, etc.)? I prefer boots. I love boots; one day I’ll get a pair of black pvc knee-high boots. I prefer having my feet protected from every possible element. And being in NY state where the winters can be harsh, it’s a necessity to have a pair of boots that are grippy enough to deal with ice and snow.

4. Describe your favorite pair of shoes. Why are they your favorite?
I think right now my favorite pair of shoes would be a pair of Red Sequined Mary Jane shoes. I’m in love with the color red and I think to complete an outfit nothing could go better with an all black outfit than bright red shoes. Then I can listen to Elvis Costello’s song about Angels wearing red shoes. And if anyone knows where I can get me a pair, please, please, please, let me know!

5. What's the most you've spent on one pair of shoes?
I’ve spent over a hundred dollars on a pair of shoes. I don’t believe in spending $10 on a pair of shoes that are going to fall apart after one wearing. Star Jones can lick my slit because those pieces of shit at Payless are exactly what you pay for: cheap shoes for cheap people built by innocent children in some unheard of country. Sketchers and Doc Martens are my favorite brands and I don’t mind shelling out a little extra bling for kickass shoes. However, my sister doesn’t mind shelling out that money for a pair of shoes that in essence are a rectangle with a couple of strings attached. Sometimes it’s the brand name of the shoe. I’ve heard of problems with shoes from J. Crew, my sister one time bought a $60 pair of brown dress shoes that broke during her first wearing. I don’t believe they offered to repair or fix them. I even had a problem with a pair of sandals I bought from Easy Spirit, spent $35 on them, and they broke after the third wearing. Got them fixed, they broke again, got them fixed again, and they broke again. I finally gave up and bound them with florist wire. I am an engineer!

No prayers | 11:47 AM

Sean and the Whumpus

Sean had left directly from his software engineering job in Boston and arrived at the cottage late Friday night. He didn’t think he was going to make it safely when two hours into the drive his ’91 Volvo 240 began to overheat. He drove the remainder of trip with the heat blasting and windows rolled down; it didn’t help matters that the northeast was currently a furnace with temperatures hovering around 90 degrees. He eventually arrived at the cottage on the lake a little irate but safe and sound.

Fourth of July celebrations had commenced when he walked down to the dock. Some of his relatives were sitting in lawn chairs, some were on the dock, and others were out in boats stationed at the middle of the lake. The fireworks display was remarkable, the sky and the water were bright as day as the brilliant colors exploded during the finale. Sean’s favorite parts of fireworks displays were the haze and the scent of gunpowder that linger about even when all was quite again. Shortly after, everyone had retreated back inside and found their sleeping arrangements and fell asleep to the sounds of the country.

The next day, Sean stood at the edge of the water skimming rocks across the surface. The sun was midway through its diurnal cycle and its rays were reflecting off the small waves. He was enjoying the small reprieve from city life here at the cottage. It had been at least 10 years since he last saw the place and it still retained its magic. No matter how fast the outside world changed and progressed, the cottage remained free from its troubles. There were no televisions, DVD players, game consoles, computers, Ethernet or dial-up connections. In fact, most of the children of his big Irish Catholic family always hated the first day at the cottage because of being away from all their material possessions.

He had spent many weeks of his youth here vacationing with his immediate family. Often, one of his many aunts would bring him along as a companion to an older or younger cousin and to baby-sit them so his aunts and uncles could relax with their gin and tonics. As one of the youngest children in the large family, his older family members would taunt him. Vacationing at the cottage brought both physical and psychological torture but it was only the psychological torment that scarred him.

Now that he was an adult with a college degree and his own life, the pain of being at the cottage was nonexistent. He knew the difference between fantasy and reality and his then immature relatives have grown up to become responsible parents. According to his mother, the torture had shifted to the next generation with the myths and legends being handed down from the younger adults to the children. His fear of water stems from his cousin giving misinformation about the habitats and eating habits of fresh water creatures. From sharks and eels to man-eating fish recurring theme was that no matter what you did, you would be the main course.

Sean was brought out of his daydream by the sound of a little girl screaming, it had started off softly from the distance and grew louder. He turned around to face the porch when he saw his little cousin Molly running down the stone stairs. He ran over and picked her up before she could stumble on the last stair that always seemed to catch those fleeing. Her cheeks were tear-stained and her breath was fast, “Sean, Patrick said that I can’t go swimming because the whumpalompus would get me. Is it true?” He held her closer to him as he walked back down towards the dock. “No it’s not true. There is no such thing as a Whumpus,” he said still trying to calm her nerves. He put her down and it became apparent to him how tiny she was. His 6’3” frame towered over her 3-foot body like a tree, blocking the sun from getting into her already sensitive eyes. She wiped her nose with the back of her arm, “what is a whumpuh-”

“Whumpus,” he said finishing off her attempts of saying the name. He knelt down before her and placed his hands on her shoulders, “your brother Patrick was just trying to frighten you. There is no such thing as a whumpus, it was made up by members of the family when they were younger to frighten us children. Unfortunately the myth of the whumpus continues by kids slightly older than you.” She stared intently into his blue eyes and the expression of fear on her face disappeared, “if there is no such thing will you go swimming with me later?” Sean was now presented with his worst dilemma, go swimming and face his fear of water along with proving to his cousin the truth or succumb to his own childhood torture. He paused for a moment and inhaled deeply, “I would be most honored.”

No prayers | 05:29 PM