Skip to main content

The Mental Ward - Her Name (16)



     Tears welled in Emery's eyes and she blinked them away.  "Hi."  She forced a smile.  "Are you hungry?  Let's see if we can find some food."
     Beastly released her hand and trotted up the hallway.  "I know where some is."  She disappeared into the office.
      Emery followed.  She found Beastly rummaging in the bottom of a metal cabinet.  "There's probably only paper and office supplies in here, Beastly."
     Beastly's head emerged and she shook her hair out of her eyes.  "My name is not Beastly."  Then her face disappeared again.
     Emery puckered her eyebrows.  "Then...what IS your name?"
     "Elizabeth," came the muffled reply.  "Or sometimes just Beth."
     "Beth." Emery said it slowly, awed at the difference a name makes.  "Why do they call you Beastly then?"
     Beth scooted back from the cabinet, her arms full of tins and glass jars.  "Because of IT."  She shoved her shoulder in the cabinet door, slamming it closed.  "When IT takes over me, then people call me Beastly."
     A jar slipped in Beth's arms, and Emery rushed to help her.  They set the things on a desk, and then Emery peeped inside a tin.  It was full of peanuts.
      "Good work!"  Emery opened another one.  It had old, stale Christmas cookies.  "Are these all full of food?"
     Beth nodded, stuffing a Christmas cookie into her mouth.
     Emery lifted herself onto the edge of the desk and sat there with her legs crossed at the ankles.  She scooped a handful of peanuts and then asked, "Who is IT?"
     Beth licked her finger and used it to pick up cookie crumbs that had fallen on her white gown.  "IT does bad things and I can't stop IT.  IT is too strong.  Big men can't stop IT.  The asylum can't stop IT."  She cocked her head up at Emery.  "But you can.  Every time you tell a story.  You stop IT.  Why?"
     Emery didn't know what to say.  She had never heard of anything like this before.
     Or maybe she had.  In a Bible story about Jesus.
     "I suppose..."  Emery looked up into Beth's hungry face, and the words suddenly came quickly.  "It's not me.  It's the One in me that IT can't stand.  I'm a Christian, and IT can see that.  And IT hates it.  Because there is power in the name of Jesus that is stronger than IT."
     "You're like David."  The crumbs fell from Beth's finger and she set about picking them up again.  "And IT is Goliath."  She licked the cookie crumbs from her finger.  "And I'm Israel."  She looked up at Emery and a shudder ran through her body.  "IT hates you.  IT wants to kill you."
      The peanuts in Emery's mouth suddenly felt dry.  With difficulty, she swallowed them.  "And you, Beth?  What do you want?"
       Beth pressed her hands against her head and started rocking.  "I think you should tell a story, Emery."  She whimpered.  "You have to stop IT."
     Before Emery could answer, something beeped and crackled.  Then a voice squeaked through the intercom.  "Miss Clayton?"
     Beth yelped as if she had been struck.
     Emery leaped from the desk and grabbed Beth's hand, dragging her from the room.  "Come on -- I'll tell you a story in this other room where it will be quiet."
     
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Hard Goodbye

     "You're more poet than anything." I folded my arms and glared at Ian.  He sat perched on the edge of the roof, dressed like an adventurer.  I coveted every part of his outfit -- the breezy shirt made of course cloth, the sturdy breeches, the leather boots that laced up to his calves, the dagger on his hip.  Tomorrow he would set sail to a life I craved more than anything.  But did he appreciate his opportunities?  No. And I hated him for it.      "Do you despise poets, Ingrid?"  His voice was sad, but a grin twisted at the corners of his mouth as he finished his question.  Those blue eyes of his cut in my direction with a teasing flash.       "They don't DO anything."  My thoughts and emotions ran in torrents, but I could see his flowing smoothly and quietly.  Even in his uneasiness about the morrow, his face was a peaceful as a child falling asleep in his own bed.     ...
9 comments
Read more

The Countdown: Eight Days

Eight days.  Do you know what that means?  Barely over a week.  Tomorrow will be one week from the announcement date. Are you excited? I am. So, today, I want to talk to those who wrote something for the contest, whether or not you entered it in the end. What made you start writing your story?  What was the first inkling of an idea that tickled your brain?  What was it that you liked about your premise?  As you wrote, did you have a favorite character or a favorite scene?  And are you glad you wrote it down?  Do you feel like you learned and grew in your ability as a writer as you tried out things for this contest? And, if your story isn't included in this year's Rooglewood anthology (either because you didn't submit it or because it didn't fit with the other four stories selected), what will you do with it?  Will you market it elsewhere?  Or will you lock it away in a drawer?
20 comments
Read more

Goodbye and God Be With You

It's rather fitting that some things come to a close on this day -- the last day of the year. I submitted my last entry into the Rooglewood contest this morning.  I can hardly believe it took me until the day of the deadline to send it in because I'm usually earlier than that.  And, even with the extra time I took, I still felt a little bit like maybe I could have done better if I had more time. But there was no feeling of regret when I hit "send."  Mostly it was just a prayer that Rooglewood would hear the heart of the message when they read it and that maybe, if I win, they could help me bring the full potential out of my little story.  And there was also a feeling, after working on these stories for more than six months, that it felt good to close that chapter and move on to the next one. I did it.  I wrote them.  And I'm really proud of them. Last year, the act of hitting "send" on my contest entry catapulted me into an anticipatory state....
18 comments
Read more