Insomnia
Insomnia
The bell chimes in her ears. She just sits there. Looks into the newly cleaned blackboard. All black. Her books are all over her desk, as the other student are gathering their things, and disappears around her. The bell has been quiet for a long time now, but she can still feel it in the back of her head. Like a noise coming from far away. She has been looking at the same place for so long now, that she doesn’t really see the blackboard anymore. She’s been concentrating too much. Concentrating to shut out the world. To put it off.
Somewhere behind her, someone stops. “Aren’t you going home to have weekend?” the Latin teacher says. She doesn’t turn around. No. There’s no reason to hurry out into the schoolyard, and home. Not for her. “Well, all right then. You’re welcome to stay. Just remember, the school is being locked at 4.30. Have a nice weekend.” He doesn’t even wait for a reply. Just disappears out of the door, where his steps slowly fades away in the hall, and finally dies out. The school is empty. All quiet. She wonders if there’s anyone but her and the cleaning ladies back there. Probably not. Everyone is happy and busy to get home, or out in the world having a good time. A typical Friday in April. It’s a typical Friday for her too. And yet it’s not.
With slowly motions she starts collecting her books. The heavy reference books from social studies, the dictionary, the overdrawn notepads. She doesn’t even bother to be careful about them. She just brutally puts them into the old backpack. She looks out of the window with a heavy breath. Checks the small hidden room inside of the bag. It’s still there. She just wants to touch one more time before she zips it back up. Still freezing cold, even though it’s been in the little room for two weeks now. Fascinating.
She gets up, puts the chair in it’s place and move down the hall. Doesn’t meet a living soul. All the students are off for the weekend. Only her left. Alone. She enters the yard that is filled with voices of playing children, and crying from the always bullied boy. He’s not exactly pretty, but they are kinda rough on him. She doesn’t look at them. She just looks into the asphalt. Looks on her worn out sneakers, on the little feet. Filled with holes are they. Her favourite shoes. Well, that would be her only real shoes.
She chooses the path through the woods. It’s longer. That means that she can’t put it off a little longer. She takes out her old mp3-player. It’s old and not worth a dime, but to her it’s everything. The usb-socket is loose, so she tried saving it with duct tape, the safety cap is gone, and the display is broken. But to her it’s gold. It’s her own world. The place she runs to. The only place she can truly relax.
She drags herself through the woods with her big headphones on. The wild guitar solos makes her not hearing the world around her. It overshadows the silence. The awful silence. A couple of teenagers pass her on their expensive, shining bikes. They’re laughing, and look back at her. She just looks away. She already knows what they’re saying. She doesn’t need to turn off the music to know it. She kicks at a rock, and wipes her cheek. It’s sore. Like her shoulder. No reason to have deeper thoughts about that. The only thing she thinks is;”Will it be today?”
She walks down the dusty path to the appartmentblock. Appartmentblock, tsk. It’s just big boxes of cement on a row. She puts the key into the door with the big glass window that has been taped. It’s almost been a month since the window was trashed again, and it still hadn’t been replaced. She hadn’t expected anything though. Every single toy on the playground was dangerous, and yet the kids were allowed to play there. The little squares they were calling lawns hadn’t been mowed forever, and there were weeds everywhere. The asphalt was filled with holes, and most of the mailboxes were missing the bottom. Great place to grow up. How comforting. The staircase smells like a mix of mould and urine as usual. She dips in to the pocket of the trashed leatherjacket, and takes out the set of keys, and locks up the door. She’s met by a wall of smoke, stuffy air, and beer. The sound of the TV is howling in the living room, and she hopes that Linda is asleep. She goes to her room on tiptoes, and hopes that she can make it without being heard. She quietly opens the door, but then it’s done. ”Is it you, pumpkin?” a scratching voice from the living room says. No way back. Maybe, if she doesn’t react, Linda will take that for good? Or will she come out to the hall and check? ”Yeah, i... it’s me,” she hesitates, with a lump in her throat. Hopes that she will get of it today. Even though she knows that it’s false hope. ”Aren’t you coming in to mamma, baby?” Linda rasps. Shit! Quick excuse. Quick. ”Uhm... actually... I’ve got a lot of homework, and I’ve promised to meet with someone from school to fix it before the weekend really sets in.” Pause. Maybe it worked. Does she dare to hope for it? ”What a piece of shit! Come here.” Linda has dragged herself into the hall. She isn’t drunk, cut it’s clear that she’s working on it already. There’s a new burn mark on her arm. She probably fell asleep with a lit cigarette again. Or maybe Tom has been there. Njawh, she haven’t got any new bruises. ”Can’t you go picking up some stuff for me first?” What is she supposed to say? No way, I’m not going to buy you any beer or crack today? That probably won’t be taken for an answer. ”But, I… I’ve got an appointment in an hour, so…” she stutters. Linda falls into the kitchen where she opens the fridge and clinks with some bottles. Meanwhile she takes the chance and hurries into her room, closes, and locks the door. Out in the hall she hears Linda murmuring something in a pretty nasty tone.
She throws the backpack on the floor where she sees a new hole on the side of it. She has to sew on a new patch. She unbuttons the old jeans and let them slide down to reveal her skinny legs that a filled with bruises. She falls down to the bed and stares int o the wall. But she can’t sleep. She can’t remember when she ever had been able to sleep. She just closes her eyes with the mp3-player rolling. Dreams herself away.
There’s hammering on the door. ”Will you open the djoor, you stchupid punk!!” she hears from the hall. Linda’s definitely drunk now. It’s dark now. She must have been lying there for a few hours now. It’s 9.30. ”you have to go to work. Tom will drive you...” Oh no. Then she’d rather walk. If she could only get out of it. She hates it. Why can’t Linda just do it herself? ”Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she shouts through the door. She pulls on the trashed nylons, and the little corset gets tied tightly on her chest, just enough for her to being able to breath when she sits. Finally the little patent leather skirt and the red boots zipped all closely. Hair and make-up is quickly done. It has become routine. She grabs the little purse where her metal friend has been moved to from the backpack. She hurries into the hall where Linda is lying on the floor. She better helps her into the couch before she leaves.
She walks down the little dirty alley. The neon signs make the skirt shine in different colours, even though it’s clear that it really is black. A big, black Audi on German plates pulls in beside her. She gets in, and drives away with the man.
Then she lies there again. Naked. Letting some strange, suit guy enter her, without putting up a fight. The only thing she can think about is Linda. How much she hates her. Despise her. It’s impossible that she is her mother. It’s impossible that she’s even human. SLAM! The big German has hit her. ”Hey man! That costs extra! If you wanted that you should have said that before we started!” The German just looks uncomprehendingly at her, and knocks into her again, with that creepy look they’ve all got in their eyes. He pushes his nicely done nails into her already sore arms. Tenses, and then relaxes. He falls down beside her, and she hurries into the bathroom. Throws some water in her face, and gets back into the room to get her clothes on. ”I need to get on quick.” No reaction. ”Hallo! Any life in there, or what? I’m busy, dude! I need some money!!” Still no reaction. Checks if he’s breathing. He does. She knees down, dips her hand into his pocket. Bingo! An expensive leather wallet filled with cash. Empties it, but leaves $200. Then he can get home. Doesn’t take the wedding ring. There’s no reason getting him into trouble with the wife. She doesn’t wanna be mean, just try to survive. She’s never really got why they take of their wedding ring anyway. It’s not like she cares. She knows that they’re pigs. And it’s obviously not for the wife. Maybe it’s only for their conscience.
The door slams behind her. Fuck! She had hoped to close the door quietly so she wouldn’t have to listen to all of Linda’s bullshit. Drunk bastard. She reaches the door at the end of the hall. ”Then you deschided to come home, huh. You little slut! Have you been out schrewing the wholje world agaijn, have yeh?” Linda’s voice echoes behind her. She scoots, but continues to unlock the door to her room. ”Isn’t that what you make me do every weekend? So you can get hammered, and high?” Linda’s long nails with the shelled red polish cuts into her arm through the gradually thin leatherjacket. ”Don’t be rude, young lady.” Linda’s tight, bony hand get her turned around and a breath of beer and weed wells into her face. SMASH! Slaps her right on the side of her face, so she slams her head into the door frame. She feels the warmth spread in her face, and the blood fall down, dripping on the floor. Now it is. She tucks her hand into the little purse, and closes her grip around the cold metal. Linda doesn’t registries it and lifts her hand to hit again, but doesn’t make it. BAM! Right on the floor of the hall. In a pool of brains and blood lies Linda. She looks down on the lifeless body, and glides down with her back to the wall. Sit son the floor with her legs pulled closely to her body. Tears on her cheeks, mixed with blood from the smashed eyebrow. The hall is filled with a mix of laughter and crying. The relief floats in over her. She drags her cell phone out of her pocket, and calls the police. Lies silently on the floor, her hand still in a firm grip around stock on the cold metal. The holed pantyhose are soaked with blood, and the corset is a bit too tight. The tears are still running down her cheeks. Finally she can sleep.
Somewhere behind her, someone stops. “Aren’t you going home to have weekend?” the Latin teacher says. She doesn’t turn around. No. There’s no reason to hurry out into the schoolyard, and home. Not for her. “Well, all right then. You’re welcome to stay. Just remember, the school is being locked at 4.30. Have a nice weekend.” He doesn’t even wait for a reply. Just disappears out of the door, where his steps slowly fades away in the hall, and finally dies out. The school is empty. All quiet. She wonders if there’s anyone but her and the cleaning ladies back there. Probably not. Everyone is happy and busy to get home, or out in the world having a good time. A typical Friday in April. It’s a typical Friday for her too. And yet it’s not.
With slowly motions she starts collecting her books. The heavy reference books from social studies, the dictionary, the overdrawn notepads. She doesn’t even bother to be careful about them. She just brutally puts them into the old backpack. She looks out of the window with a heavy breath. Checks the small hidden room inside of the bag. It’s still there. She just wants to touch one more time before she zips it back up. Still freezing cold, even though it’s been in the little room for two weeks now. Fascinating.
She gets up, puts the chair in it’s place and move down the hall. Doesn’t meet a living soul. All the students are off for the weekend. Only her left. Alone. She enters the yard that is filled with voices of playing children, and crying from the always bullied boy. He’s not exactly pretty, but they are kinda rough on him. She doesn’t look at them. She just looks into the asphalt. Looks on her worn out sneakers, on the little feet. Filled with holes are they. Her favourite shoes. Well, that would be her only real shoes.
She chooses the path through the woods. It’s longer. That means that she can’t put it off a little longer. She takes out her old mp3-player. It’s old and not worth a dime, but to her it’s everything. The usb-socket is loose, so she tried saving it with duct tape, the safety cap is gone, and the display is broken. But to her it’s gold. It’s her own world. The place she runs to. The only place she can truly relax.
She drags herself through the woods with her big headphones on. The wild guitar solos makes her not hearing the world around her. It overshadows the silence. The awful silence. A couple of teenagers pass her on their expensive, shining bikes. They’re laughing, and look back at her. She just looks away. She already knows what they’re saying. She doesn’t need to turn off the music to know it. She kicks at a rock, and wipes her cheek. It’s sore. Like her shoulder. No reason to have deeper thoughts about that. The only thing she thinks is;”Will it be today?”
She walks down the dusty path to the appartmentblock. Appartmentblock, tsk. It’s just big boxes of cement on a row. She puts the key into the door with the big glass window that has been taped. It’s almost been a month since the window was trashed again, and it still hadn’t been replaced. She hadn’t expected anything though. Every single toy on the playground was dangerous, and yet the kids were allowed to play there. The little squares they were calling lawns hadn’t been mowed forever, and there were weeds everywhere. The asphalt was filled with holes, and most of the mailboxes were missing the bottom. Great place to grow up. How comforting. The staircase smells like a mix of mould and urine as usual. She dips in to the pocket of the trashed leatherjacket, and takes out the set of keys, and locks up the door. She’s met by a wall of smoke, stuffy air, and beer. The sound of the TV is howling in the living room, and she hopes that Linda is asleep. She goes to her room on tiptoes, and hopes that she can make it without being heard. She quietly opens the door, but then it’s done. ”Is it you, pumpkin?” a scratching voice from the living room says. No way back. Maybe, if she doesn’t react, Linda will take that for good? Or will she come out to the hall and check? ”Yeah, i... it’s me,” she hesitates, with a lump in her throat. Hopes that she will get of it today. Even though she knows that it’s false hope. ”Aren’t you coming in to mamma, baby?” Linda rasps. Shit! Quick excuse. Quick. ”Uhm... actually... I’ve got a lot of homework, and I’ve promised to meet with someone from school to fix it before the weekend really sets in.” Pause. Maybe it worked. Does she dare to hope for it? ”What a piece of shit! Come here.” Linda has dragged herself into the hall. She isn’t drunk, cut it’s clear that she’s working on it already. There’s a new burn mark on her arm. She probably fell asleep with a lit cigarette again. Or maybe Tom has been there. Njawh, she haven’t got any new bruises. ”Can’t you go picking up some stuff for me first?” What is she supposed to say? No way, I’m not going to buy you any beer or crack today? That probably won’t be taken for an answer. ”But, I… I’ve got an appointment in an hour, so…” she stutters. Linda falls into the kitchen where she opens the fridge and clinks with some bottles. Meanwhile she takes the chance and hurries into her room, closes, and locks the door. Out in the hall she hears Linda murmuring something in a pretty nasty tone.
She throws the backpack on the floor where she sees a new hole on the side of it. She has to sew on a new patch. She unbuttons the old jeans and let them slide down to reveal her skinny legs that a filled with bruises. She falls down to the bed and stares int o the wall. But she can’t sleep. She can’t remember when she ever had been able to sleep. She just closes her eyes with the mp3-player rolling. Dreams herself away.
There’s hammering on the door. ”Will you open the djoor, you stchupid punk!!” she hears from the hall. Linda’s definitely drunk now. It’s dark now. She must have been lying there for a few hours now. It’s 9.30. ”you have to go to work. Tom will drive you...” Oh no. Then she’d rather walk. If she could only get out of it. She hates it. Why can’t Linda just do it herself? ”Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she shouts through the door. She pulls on the trashed nylons, and the little corset gets tied tightly on her chest, just enough for her to being able to breath when she sits. Finally the little patent leather skirt and the red boots zipped all closely. Hair and make-up is quickly done. It has become routine. She grabs the little purse where her metal friend has been moved to from the backpack. She hurries into the hall where Linda is lying on the floor. She better helps her into the couch before she leaves.
She walks down the little dirty alley. The neon signs make the skirt shine in different colours, even though it’s clear that it really is black. A big, black Audi on German plates pulls in beside her. She gets in, and drives away with the man.
Then she lies there again. Naked. Letting some strange, suit guy enter her, without putting up a fight. The only thing she can think about is Linda. How much she hates her. Despise her. It’s impossible that she is her mother. It’s impossible that she’s even human. SLAM! The big German has hit her. ”Hey man! That costs extra! If you wanted that you should have said that before we started!” The German just looks uncomprehendingly at her, and knocks into her again, with that creepy look they’ve all got in their eyes. He pushes his nicely done nails into her already sore arms. Tenses, and then relaxes. He falls down beside her, and she hurries into the bathroom. Throws some water in her face, and gets back into the room to get her clothes on. ”I need to get on quick.” No reaction. ”Hallo! Any life in there, or what? I’m busy, dude! I need some money!!” Still no reaction. Checks if he’s breathing. He does. She knees down, dips her hand into his pocket. Bingo! An expensive leather wallet filled with cash. Empties it, but leaves $200. Then he can get home. Doesn’t take the wedding ring. There’s no reason getting him into trouble with the wife. She doesn’t wanna be mean, just try to survive. She’s never really got why they take of their wedding ring anyway. It’s not like she cares. She knows that they’re pigs. And it’s obviously not for the wife. Maybe it’s only for their conscience.
The door slams behind her. Fuck! She had hoped to close the door quietly so she wouldn’t have to listen to all of Linda’s bullshit. Drunk bastard. She reaches the door at the end of the hall. ”Then you deschided to come home, huh. You little slut! Have you been out schrewing the wholje world agaijn, have yeh?” Linda’s voice echoes behind her. She scoots, but continues to unlock the door to her room. ”Isn’t that what you make me do every weekend? So you can get hammered, and high?” Linda’s long nails with the shelled red polish cuts into her arm through the gradually thin leatherjacket. ”Don’t be rude, young lady.” Linda’s tight, bony hand get her turned around and a breath of beer and weed wells into her face. SMASH! Slaps her right on the side of her face, so she slams her head into the door frame. She feels the warmth spread in her face, and the blood fall down, dripping on the floor. Now it is. She tucks her hand into the little purse, and closes her grip around the cold metal. Linda doesn’t registries it and lifts her hand to hit again, but doesn’t make it. BAM! Right on the floor of the hall. In a pool of brains and blood lies Linda. She looks down on the lifeless body, and glides down with her back to the wall. Sit son the floor with her legs pulled closely to her body. Tears on her cheeks, mixed with blood from the smashed eyebrow. The hall is filled with a mix of laughter and crying. The relief floats in over her. She drags her cell phone out of her pocket, and calls the police. Lies silently on the floor, her hand still in a firm grip around stock on the cold metal. The holed pantyhose are soaked with blood, and the corset is a bit too tight. The tears are still running down her cheeks. Finally she can sleep.