I haven’t really been commenting as this is a personal worst week of the year for me. Will make up for that.
There is a page on the sidebar that contains two excerpts from my book. It’s also the post below this one.
This post is the first post in a series. I have already written the second. Just need to fit the words in
She was 40 for the fourth or fifth time. Hell if she could remember. There was so much she couldn’t remember. People said it was a blessing that she couldn’t remember the night Denny had been killed and she had been beaten and raped over again. But she would like to remember their life together. She would like to remember Denny the person, not the pictures people showed her and the letters he had written to her.
She wanted to remember their initial meeting. She wanted to remember just about anything. Music that they had loved, nothing triggered any memories. All music sounded like noise to her now. She was told that once she could sing and had been in a college band. She would see the videos and it was as if she was watching strangers.
She couldn’t even remember her original name. The name she had before all this happened. People said that it was a blessing her parents had died two years before the incident. The incident, that was what everybody called it.
She couldn’t use that name, the one she could never remember. Too many newspapers and blogs had written it in the name of the people needing to know. Knowing what? That she had forever been damaged and would never be the person she once was?
Her lawyer had wanted her to sue but she didn’t want to. That was used as an example of how her thinking wasn’t right. Every thinking American wants to sue. But she had so much money from insurance, inheritance, and money she had made when she worked as a book designer.
Now she looked at books and wondered how they were designed. She knew that she had once loved to read, she had so many books, but the words ran into each other. She paced the apartment and went to sit on the terrace. The sky was blue, the weather fair but she had no desire to go outside. It was too overwhelming.
As if in her sleep she heard somebody knock at the door. Nobody knocked at her door. The knocking increased and increased. She was scared, but found herself opening the dead bolts as the voice asking to be let in was familiar.
The bell must have shorted. I didn’t have my keys.
Oh, Denny, I had another one of those dreams. They seem so real.