Blind Elephant (one shot.. short story...)

[PancaKe]

This was originally a major work that I submitted for a subject in high school. Figured I'd share it with you guys. I quite like it. It's an experimental piece, that aims to play with both differing perspectives and interlinking stories. It's three parts, less than 8,000 words in total Here we go


PS if it's not a one shot but a three part one shot, then what is it called?

Blind Elephant Fiction



Trapped In the Wake of a Dream


I run through to the night, weeping through a cloud
Darkened, by a tainted dream, of me, being pummelled by the tide
Crushing, killing me, but I can’t wake up

You walk away from the store, shaking.

Was it all real? Did it really just happen? It doesn’t seem real, yet it was.

The air is clean and cool. You take deep breaths, calming yourself, focusing only on making it back.

You approach the unit, and shaking, unlock the door, entering the darkness of the room.

Kayla and Nayia are still out and you wonder if they’ll be able to find their way home. You fumble for the light switch, wanting the darkness to go. The light offers little comfort, but you’re grateful for it anyway. The empty apartment seems a little brighter.

Shutting the door, and double checking that it is locked, you sink down into the nearest chair, shivering, although it isn’t cold. It’s the emptiness. The peace and quiet should make it easy to sleep, but instead the silence is deafening. It accentuates the constant pounding at the back of your head. You close your eyes, a weak attempt at falling asleep.

You had gone to the store for some Panadol; nothing major, just something to cure your persistent headache from the party last night.

Images.

The scene repeats itself every time you close your eyes, an unwanted screening. A reminder. It plays as a silent film that cannot be switched off.

Over and over and over again.

A shadow moves and you leap from your seat. Your sigh of relief is audible as you realise it is only the breeze moving the curtain.

This is insane; you’re sitting alone, in a quiet, empty unit, doing nothing.

Sleep evades you.

You shuffle your cold feet towards the fridge. It’s chilly for a summer’s evening.

Or is it the mood?

You open the fridge. The little light flickers at the back. The shelves are bare and you blame Nayia. A half-consumed bottle sits alone on the door.

Nobody is going to miss it, are they?

Your head still throbs, and a little voice warns you that this is not one of your best ideas, but you push it to the background. There is too much else going on in your mind that you can’t stop.

Alcohol will fix that, won’t it?

The glass you neatly pour could pass as a cup of water.

Where are the mixers?

There are none, but another retail expedition is out of the question/

Straight up, then.

It burns a little on its way down, leaving a stinging on the tongue and in the throat. It warms you, but the shivers aren’t so easily conquered.

* * *

“Hey!” a voice yells through the house. You hear a loud thud at the front door. Nayia calls again. “I can’t find the door handle.”

You move to let her in. The room follows you in slow motion. Warily, you open the door.

There’s no-one.

Nayia looks up at you from the floor, blonde, tousled hair spilling over her face. She greets you from behind her hair.

“I sang karaoke and forgot to stop singing, because the song ended when I was singing karaoke, but I didn’t know the song ended because I forgot.” Nayia sways on the floor. You help her up, and she staggers into the unit. “And then, when I was singing, Kayla saw that ban, no, moy… PERSON from the beach…”

Nayia natters on. Your temple gives an almighty throb; your headache is alive and kicking. You hold your head in your hands. It’s an effort to stay on your feet.

“Kayla decided to go get something to, umm… eat with him. I don’t remember his name? Was it Cory? No… it was Coby! No… Logie? It couldn’t have been Logie, that’s an award! Hmmm… Moby?”

You close your eyes. Your head throbs. The fear still clenches your heart, and remembering isn’t helping at all. All you want to do is forget.

Is that such a bad thing?

You can’t escape the memories.

You can’t run away.

You can’t escape yourself.

“Are you okay Ashley? Nayia interrupts your train of thought. Only your name brings you back to reality. “You look…pale.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reply, concentrating hard to make sure you enunciate clearly. You realise that Nayia, although intoxicated, still has enough sense to know that you shouldn’t have been left alone drinking in the unit. The past speaks for itself.

“Okay,” Nayia shrugs, stupid enough not to notice the smell of vodka that taints your breath. She struggles to stand, and falls again, this time into the apartment. A chuckle is your response. The vodka sees the humour. Nayia manages to stumble her way into the kitchen and you follow.

“You probably shouldn’t have any more to drink.” You exhibit your best ‘mum’ concern. Nayia looks up at you from the kitchen floor, watching you take a drink from your own glass. She nods quietly and you catch the odour of nicotine as her greasy blonde locks fall across her face once more.

“So, if I’m not allowed to have anything to drink,” Nayia begins, “why are you drinking? You’re a hippopotamus!” She glares in your direction, and frowns, deep in thought. “I meant hypocrite. Not hippo.”

“Because I’m drinking water,” you lie. “Water is good for headaches, you know.”

“Magic water, I see,” Nayia teases, nodding knowingly.

“Shut up! My head hurts and you’re an annoying twit!” you snap. Nayia gazes at you in shock, her blue eyes behind masses of hair. It isn’t normal for an outburst of that kind to come from you – even when drinking.

What’s happening?

A sick feeling sprouts in our stomach. It churns, whirring around like a washing machine on spin cycle.

Not sick again!

You breathe deeply, in and out, hoping for relief. The whirring slows. Your head now reels.

No, not again!

You recall last night. The tiles, the stench.

Who’ll play nurse?

Nayia follows a baby moth intently, watching it fly around in circles, open-mouthed.

Your stomach tightens. Your throat is dry, closing up. You are churning.

Just cose your eyes, rest.

Your whole body begs you to lie down, to sleep. You refuse it, fearing what you could possibly see, or dream.

The fridge restarts with a loud hum. You start nervously, and glare at it. A noise from the front of the unit draws your attention.

Panic!

Paranoid, you eye the front door suspiciously.

Anybody could be there. Maybe they want more than just your wallet now? Maybe they want more than just your phone, or whatever was in the register?

“Ashley!” the voice yells, demanding. Hammering. The door rattles in its frame. You scream. Whoever they are, they know your name, and are determined to get in. The queasiness reminds you of your predicament.

“You know, you should open the door for Kayla.” Nayia, laying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, glances over at you. “She probably wants to get down and dirty.”

“How do you know it’s her?” you shoot back, refusing to move.

Nayia raises herself to a sitting position. “If I could stand up and walk straight, I’d open the damn door and prove you wrong. Go and open the door, would you? She’ll start having sex on the door step otherwise!”

Trembling, you shuffle to the front door, and open it slowly. Kayla giggles and affectionately kisses her latest companion on the neck. He looks uncomfortable, standing there, clutching his kebab, as though he would rather be anywhere else.

He is the lamb, and Kayla’s the slaughter.

Nayia lies still on the kitchen floor.

Kayla pushes past to get inside, pulling her lamb along.

“Is Moby with you?” Nayia yells from the kitchen.

“No, but Cody is,” Kayla replies. Cody swallows nervously, looking around at the apartment, at everything but Kayla. Your legs collapse from under you. The floor hurts. Your whole body aches.

“Are you okay?” Cody asks, handing Kayla his kebab and walking over to you. You shrug, tears welling.

“I’m sick of it!” you cry, tears flowing.

Kayla frowns. “Are you sure you’re okay, Ashley?” she asks.

How can you answer? You’re so confused it hurts. You could pretend everything is okay. Sure, you could always pretend. That worked before, didn’t it? It worked back when you started school, avoiding questions of parents, and avoiding questions of family. But Kayla is smart enough to see through the façade. She won’t cop a lie.

“Why are you crying?” Cody asks calmly. Kayla looks impatiently at him, and shoves his kebab back in his hand.

You shake your head. The world is blurry, and you curl up by the base of the lounge, holding your knees tightly. Crying makes you short of breath and you take small gasps of air between sniffles.

“I don’t know,” you reply finally. “I’m so confused. I’m so scared.”

“Scared of what?” Nayia asks, struggling to sit down beside you. She looks genuinely concerned. Kayla looks annoyed. Her chance of having a schoolies sleepover is fading fast before her eyes.

“Will you be okay, Ashley?” It’s a demand rather than a concerned query. You nod slowly. “Good. She’ll be fine, Cody.” She tugs at Cody’s sleeve and drags him from the lounge.

Another lamb.

“So, what are you scared of?” Nayia repeats, this time sounding more sober. You shake your head, still crying. Your nose runs and big sniffles aren’t helping. “Are you going to be sick?” You shrug, then nod slowly. “Right, up you get. Toilet time.”

With Nayia’s support, you find the bathroom and kneel over the bowl.

“Where are you going?” you ask, panicked as Nayia turns to leave.

“Just to get a stool. Why are you scared?”

“Because,” you begin slowly. “I don’t have my wallet or phone any more.”

“What?” Nayia asks, confused. “What happened to them? Where did you lose them?”

You gasp for air in between sobs. “I didn’t lose them!” you shriek.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… Wasn’t the whole point of staying home not to get drunk?”

“But I didn’t mean to get this drunk,” you sob. “I went out for medicine because my head hurt so much. It hurts Nayia, it still hurts!”

“I know it does.” Nayia is showing a surprisingly patient side of her personality.

You hear shouts floating down the hallway from Kayla’s bedroom. Doors slam and Kayla’s screeching fills the house.

“I have to go!”

“You can’t go now!”

:”I’m in love! What am I doing here?!”

“I’m sorry for ruining your good holiday,” you wail. “I’m sorry! You don’t know!”

“What don’t I know?” Nayia sighs.

“They took everything!” You are a mess with tears and hair everywhere, on the verge of throwing up.

There, you have said it. It is finally a reality, not just some scary nightmare that you can’t wake up from. It is actually real, and now somebody else knows about it. Rolled, mugged, held up, involved in a robbery, it’s all the same. Now it’s real.

“Oh Ashley, is this what it’s been about all this time?”

You nod, overwhelmed by your revelation and the contents of your stomach. Warm alcohol and stomach acid splash into the toilet bowl, leaving a burning aftertaste in your mouth. The stench from the toilet forces you to lift your head. Kayla enters, tears in eyes, mascara coursing down her cheeks.

“Did you find out what was wrong? Was it just another case of ‘something happened years ago that I’m sad about now’?” Kayla asks, mocking and hurtful.

Nayia shakes her head. “Today she didn’t cry about being mean to me in year seven. Today she cried because people stole her phone and her wallet.”

“And they stole that guys money,” you correct, still crying into the toilet. “That guy who worked at the shop.”

Kayla’s eyes widen. “Shit,” she mutters.

She and Nayia help you up and lead you to the lounge room. You are echausted. So much has happened: things that happen only to other people. Your eyelids shut themselves and this time, no horrible silent films replay those horror-filled scenes.

The conversation drifts as if a dream…

“…something about loving some other girl or something. The guy was almost crying. Something about regretting and he had to go back before it was too late. I don’t know…”

Speak to me now and the world will crumble
Open a door and the moon will fall
All of your life all your memories
Go to your dreams, forget it all
Sleep my child