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Date Posted: 13:23:56 04/03/12 Tue
Subject: Thought I'd post my homework here rather than as a new post. Check it out >>>
In reply to:
's message, "Since it is so darn quiet here I thought I just start with a new assingment." on 14:52:30 02/27/12 Mon
Excerpt from working title ‘Pander’
by E. M. Sawatzky © 2001-2012 All rights reserved.
Posted for critiquing purposes only and does not constitute publication.
Remember him? I couldn’t forget him. Here I sat, on the bed I shared with my husband, thinking of another man. Two weeks had passed since I woke up in the car, the locket clutched tight in my palm; my fingers stiff and half moons imbedded into my skin from my nails. I remembered everything, including the words he spoke when I blacked out.
I discovered I was capable of feelings. Guilt. Was he okay? Did he get away? I watched the news, worried about what the police found at the site, but the only report was that one was dead from suspected gang activity.
“I’m a coward,” I whispered. Despite how terrible I felt, I could not go back to that street. It was easier to pretend it never happened. My thumb moved over the engraving on the locket I held in my palm. I could pretend, but I couldn’t forget.
In my fantasies he did dwell. If the ebony eyes haunted me during the day, by night they seduced. He invaded my dreams and left me trembling with want. Passionate kisses drugged my senses, lips brought me to release...
“What’s the matter with me?” With an angry curse, I hastened to my feet, and took the couple of steps to the dresser. “I don’t even know his name!” Or where he was buried. What I knew was that he’d been dead for a century.
With another curse, I looked at the clock on the bedside table. Damon would be furious if he came home and dinner wasn’t ready. I opened the jewellery box, stashed the locket under a couple worthless pieces, and then slid the earring tray over top.
My steps faltered as I came down the steps. In the kitchen, Damon sat at the table, a cracked beer in front of him. He reeked of perfume, smoke and booze, of an afternoon spent in the pursuit of lascivious consumption, and still he was home early. It was just after four, but his shift wasn’t over until five. But what did time matter when he he didn’t show up for work.
“Hi Damon. I didn’t expect you.” Nervous, I kissed him and then went about getting supper started. His icy stare didn’t waver or help with my unease. He didn’t even acknowledge Warren or Hannah when they came to greet him. I almost sank with relief when I heard the empty can hit the table and his chair scrape back on the floor. I released the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
With him upstairs, the tension eased, and I went about the tasks to prepare supper. At the kitchen table, the kids settled into their routine, with me helping Warren with his reading homework when needed and my encouraging Hannah to draw me a picture with her crayons. It was easy to pretend today was just another day. But the feeling of foreboding told me different.
“Okay. Chicken is in the oven. Potatoes are steaming and the vegetables are cut.” A quick swish of the dishcloth under the running water and the cutting board was clean. “Hannah, supper is just about ready. Clean up time. Pack up your crayons and put your paper away. You too, Warren. Put your book on the shelf where it belongs. And then you can help me set the table.” I picked up the knife to put in the dishwasher.
“Where did you get this?”
Startled, I turned away from the counter and stifled a cry when I saw Damon swing the locket on the broken chain. At first I felt guilty. Then violated. He had been searching through my personal things. Then realization hit; I became afraid. His intent had been to find something incriminating, and thanks to my stupidity, he had.
He took a step toward me. “Where did you get it?”
“Warren, could you take Hannah upstairs?”
“My crayons, Mommy!”
“I’ll put them away for you. You go wash up. Have Warren read you a story. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”
My son took his sister by the hand and led her out of the room, the clutter left behind on the table. He knew this routine as well, and didn’t ask any questions or protest in any way. Later, when it was quiet, he would come to help me. I wanted to cry. Instead, I opened the dishwasher and placed the knife on the rack.
The door closed, I turned to face my husband. “I…I’ve had it…” I stopped speaking when I recognized I was going to lie. The man, the stranger from my dreams, had come to me when I needed him and had protected me. After the demonstration of his courage, was I really going to belittle his efforts as if it wasn’t important? No. I couldn’t. It had cost him to come to my aid. I wouldn’t mock his integrity. “Someone gave it to me.” My chin went up in defiance. “A friend.”
“Which one? Gareth? Or Grey?”
“Grey,” I whispered, a shiver going up my spine. I met Damon’s furious gaze. “Gareth? What are you implying? I don’t know anyone by those names.”
He came toward me, his stride even. “If you said Gareth I might have believed you.” His thumb traced over the pulse in my neck, gentle, in a caress that was almost sensual. “But we both know you wouldn’t come up with a ridiculous name like Grey all by yourself and you wouldn’t have said his name like a lover.”
“I didn’t come up with it. I never heard it until you mentioned it.”
“Then explain to me, dear wife, why you’re restless. Why you toss and turn all night.” His fingers tightened on my throat, the pressure not enough to choke, but enough to get my attention. “Why you cry out those names in your sleep.”
Stunned, I couldn’t answer. Rather abruptly, he released me.
His calmness spoke of his fury, his demeanour a casual acceptance of yet another disappointment in his wife, when underneath it all, I imagined he was plotting to teach me my place. He opened the fridge door and took out another beer, sitting back in his chair at the table, as nonchalant and unconcerned as I was panicked and frightened. He tossed the locket down beside his beer.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how Damon would react. It was obvious he was angry. I didn’t know if he’d respond to me with violence or with the deceitful affection that would lure me into a sense of false hope. Not that it mattered. Whatever I chose would be the wrong thing so I stood there, backed up against the counter, waiting. The expectancy stirred up an anxiousness all on its own. I did nothing. I said nothing. Paralyzed, I just watched him drink his beer.
The clock ticking down the seconds counted time as it waited for Damon. When I thought I was mad for wanting him to just get on with it already, the empty can hit the table.
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Re: Thought I'd post my homework here rather than as a new post. Check it out >>> -- Lady Morilka, 07:14:25 04/06/12 Fri
Hmmmm, you go my mind working, did you post this before? I am somehow sure I have read a thing about that locked before. But it might have been another scene.
As for your work, I don't have time for a detailed analysys, and since it is a homework I don't think it is aimed at one anyway.
I like this piece, there is a lot of silence that speakes volumes in there and a gtreat sense of forbording. But I am missing some depth here, her feelings are between guilt and fury, ok, but the range that is possible there (esp. with here remark to her own stupidity) is not really shown imho. And I would like to see some of here thoughts as she puts away the knife ;) she holds it at a precarious moment, does she put it away to have it out of reach? or because she knows it won't help anyway? It feels so much like a symbol but is than simply gone without having been used.
Great to have something to read again here :)
Hugs Lady Morilka
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Hey LadyM! Glad you could stop by >>> -- Myxtress, 22:11:51 04/07/12 Sat
Yup. You got me. I do believe I have posted something about this before, but it's been so long I can't remember for sure. And how sad is that??? Anyway...I started another homework, and you know with the whole life thing getting in the way, its only partially finished, and well...yeah, thanks for the whole being accountable thing. I'll do better next time. Promise. :-)
And you're right again that I wasn't expecting anything detailed, cause it's just a homework. But then you come up with the following, and wouldn't you know it? You're insightful comments let me foresee the potential in this little piece. So for sure, I'll strengthen the emotions and definitely put more attention to the knife and all it symbolizes.
And yes, it's good to have something happening on this board again. It's been silent for too long!
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