The young boy slowly, experimentally leaned forward, then back again, curiously watching himself on the webcam as he moved about. He moved so close that his eye took up the entire screen and almost turned it black. Then he moved back in order to make himself look smaller.
"What're you doing there Collin?" Asked his father, approaching the boy.
"Just playing around."
"Can I join you?"
"Sure Dad." The boy shrugged. Trying not to let his eagerness show too much, Collin's father dragged a chair over and joined his son experimenting with the webcam.
Collin resumed leaning back and forth, playing with his size on the screen. He only stopped to look at his father, who was pulling goofy faces beside him, though he soon stopped when he felt his son's eyes on him.
"What?" He asked innocently, a pout forming on his face.
"Nothing." Collin said. "You're just funny Dad, that's all." He admitted with a giggle.
"Ah!" His father said triumphantly, flinging a hand in the air. "Your old man's still got it!"
"Hey, I've got an idea." Said Collin's father after a while of playing around.
"What is it?"
"Get out of the way a second."
Obediently, Collin rolled back on his chair, allowing his father to take centre stage. He watched curiously as his father slowly moved his head forward.
Calling his son back, Collin's father hit play on his newly recorded video.
Collin looked back at him, confused. "What's it supposed to be?"
"Here, watch." Collin's father tapped his two fingers on the screen, as if they were the legs of a little person walking across his recorded bald head.
His son burst into laughter, suddenly understanding. "Moonwalking!" He said excitedly.
"One small step for man, one giant leap for fingers." His father declared, making his fingers 'jump' off the screen, eliciting another burst of laughter from Collin.
"Can I try?" He asked eagerly. His father nodded and rolled out of the way. He watched as Collin moved his fingers forward, the way he'd done. A smile escaped his lips when his son started sliding his fingers backwards.
"Just like MJ!" Collin said proudly, smiling.
Paula-Rose couldn't help but laugh at her husband and son's playful antics. The saying was as true as ever with them. Like Father, Like Son, although in this case, it could have been switched around. Duncan had always been a big kid, the very reason she thought him such a great dad to their son.
She jumped when they turned around, having been lost in her own world.
"What?" They asked in unison, a similar defensive pout on their faces.
"Oh nothing." She said. "Just watching you two."
"Did you see the moonwalking?" Collin asked eagerly, a small smile replacing the pout.
"I did." She laughed. "Very clever."
Friday, September 27, 2013
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Legacy
Meredith pulled the covers gently up over her young son, Jack's chest and sat down on the bed beside him.
Jack looked at his mother, his eyes bright, hopeful.
"Would you like a bedtime story Jack?" She asked.
Jack nodded enthusiastically. He loved the stories his mother told. They were always about the same boy, Caleb.
"Well," Jack's mother began and he snuggled into his pillow, closing his eyes in order to imagine the story in his mind and listened, hooked, as always, on his mother's every word.
"Caleb was about 12."
"Around my age." Jack whispered happily.
"Yes." His mother agreed. "Around your age. Anyway, one day, Caleb went with some of his friends to a dam not far from his house. Caleb took his little dog, Sandy. They all had to climb up a very big, steep hill to get to the dam, and by the time they got to the top, they were exhausted. So, they all sat down on the rocks around the water to rest for a while."
Jack could just see it. Caleb and his friends slowly climbing up the hill, struggling a few steps because he was getting tired. His little dog Sandy racing ahead, because that's what dogs did. They had endless amounts of energy. Jack could almost picture Caleb and his friends lazing around the dam, lying on towels in the sun. Sandy standing by the edge of the water, his little paws getting wet as he lapped up the cool liquid.
"After an hour or two, Caleb and his friends had their energy back and started to take their clothes off, leaving their swimmers on to go for a little dip. But, just as Caleb finished pulling his shirt up, over his head and let it fall to the ground, he realized he couldn't see Sandy anymore."
Jack's expression turned to concern. "What happened Mum?"
Meredith laughed a little. "Well, what Caleb didn't realise was, one of his friends had thrown a stone into the water for Sandy to fetch. He'd gone in after it, but he hadn't let the stone go!"
At that, Jack giggled, joining his mother's laughter. "Then what?" Jack asked eagerly.
"Well, Caleb had to go in after him, didn't he?"
Jack nodded. Of course. That would be the most sensible thing to do. After all, you wouldn't want your dog to get hurt.
"So Caleb dove into the water after him. Lucky he did too, because the dog was standing at the bottom of the dam, the stone still in his mouth, his fur soaked through. Caleb saw Sandy looked like he was struggling. So he slipped his arm underneath Sandy's belly and pulled him close. Then, he swam quickly back up to the surface. As Caleb took a big gulp of air, Sandy did the same, and then started panting."
By the time Meredith had finished the story, Jack had fallen fast asleep, so she carefully rose from the bed and kissed his forehead before leaving the room. Leaving Jack with his dreams of Caleb and Sandy, and how Sandy wouldn't let go of the stone and Caleb had to dive in after him.
Six years later, when Jack was 18, his mother sat him down in the living room.
"I'm really glad you're turning those stories you told me as a kid into books Mum." Jack spoke up before Meredith had the chance.
Meredith leaned forward and placed her hand on his knee for a moment. "Thank you Jack." She said, and sat up straight in the chair again.
"Now other kids can enjoy them. Just like I did."
"About them Jack. The stories I told you about Caleb. They were all true." Meredith confessed, her nervous voice almost a whisper.
"What do you mean Mum?" Asked Jack, confused. "They didn't happen to you, did they?"
"No Jack. To your uncle."
"But I don't have an uncle." Jack said slowly.
"You did. You do." She said. "I told you about him, remember?"
Jack sat frozen for a moment, lost in thought before nodding. "The one who passed away."
Meredith nodded. "I didn't want to talk about him dying. Especially when you were younger. So I told you stories instead. About some of the things he did, in his childhood and later on. To keep his memory alive."
Jack stayed silent.
"Have I done something wrong?" She asked worriedly.
"No!" Jack said, snapping out of his trance. "No. Not at all Mum. I was just thinking. These books, they're his legacy."
Meredith nodded. "That's what I was hoping."
Jack leaned over and picked up one of the books from the table. Settling back into his chair, Jack opened it to the page before the story began. For my brother. His mother had written as a dedication. Never forgotten
Jack looked at his mother, his eyes bright, hopeful.
"Would you like a bedtime story Jack?" She asked.
Jack nodded enthusiastically. He loved the stories his mother told. They were always about the same boy, Caleb.
"Well," Jack's mother began and he snuggled into his pillow, closing his eyes in order to imagine the story in his mind and listened, hooked, as always, on his mother's every word.
"Caleb was about 12."
"Around my age." Jack whispered happily.
"Yes." His mother agreed. "Around your age. Anyway, one day, Caleb went with some of his friends to a dam not far from his house. Caleb took his little dog, Sandy. They all had to climb up a very big, steep hill to get to the dam, and by the time they got to the top, they were exhausted. So, they all sat down on the rocks around the water to rest for a while."
Jack could just see it. Caleb and his friends slowly climbing up the hill, struggling a few steps because he was getting tired. His little dog Sandy racing ahead, because that's what dogs did. They had endless amounts of energy. Jack could almost picture Caleb and his friends lazing around the dam, lying on towels in the sun. Sandy standing by the edge of the water, his little paws getting wet as he lapped up the cool liquid.
"After an hour or two, Caleb and his friends had their energy back and started to take their clothes off, leaving their swimmers on to go for a little dip. But, just as Caleb finished pulling his shirt up, over his head and let it fall to the ground, he realized he couldn't see Sandy anymore."
Jack's expression turned to concern. "What happened Mum?"
Meredith laughed a little. "Well, what Caleb didn't realise was, one of his friends had thrown a stone into the water for Sandy to fetch. He'd gone in after it, but he hadn't let the stone go!"
At that, Jack giggled, joining his mother's laughter. "Then what?" Jack asked eagerly.
"Well, Caleb had to go in after him, didn't he?"
Jack nodded. Of course. That would be the most sensible thing to do. After all, you wouldn't want your dog to get hurt.
"So Caleb dove into the water after him. Lucky he did too, because the dog was standing at the bottom of the dam, the stone still in his mouth, his fur soaked through. Caleb saw Sandy looked like he was struggling. So he slipped his arm underneath Sandy's belly and pulled him close. Then, he swam quickly back up to the surface. As Caleb took a big gulp of air, Sandy did the same, and then started panting."
By the time Meredith had finished the story, Jack had fallen fast asleep, so she carefully rose from the bed and kissed his forehead before leaving the room. Leaving Jack with his dreams of Caleb and Sandy, and how Sandy wouldn't let go of the stone and Caleb had to dive in after him.
Six years later, when Jack was 18, his mother sat him down in the living room.
"I'm really glad you're turning those stories you told me as a kid into books Mum." Jack spoke up before Meredith had the chance.
Meredith leaned forward and placed her hand on his knee for a moment. "Thank you Jack." She said, and sat up straight in the chair again.
"Now other kids can enjoy them. Just like I did."
"About them Jack. The stories I told you about Caleb. They were all true." Meredith confessed, her nervous voice almost a whisper.
"What do you mean Mum?" Asked Jack, confused. "They didn't happen to you, did they?"
"No Jack. To your uncle."
"But I don't have an uncle." Jack said slowly.
"You did. You do." She said. "I told you about him, remember?"
Jack sat frozen for a moment, lost in thought before nodding. "The one who passed away."
Meredith nodded. "I didn't want to talk about him dying. Especially when you were younger. So I told you stories instead. About some of the things he did, in his childhood and later on. To keep his memory alive."
Jack stayed silent.
"Have I done something wrong?" She asked worriedly.
"No!" Jack said, snapping out of his trance. "No. Not at all Mum. I was just thinking. These books, they're his legacy."
Meredith nodded. "That's what I was hoping."
Jack leaned over and picked up one of the books from the table. Settling back into his chair, Jack opened it to the page before the story began. For my brother. His mother had written as a dedication. Never forgotten
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Behind Closed Doors
"I'm fine." She said, heading straight up to her room and closing the door. But the truth was, she wasn't fine. Not really.
Behind closed doors, tears flowed freely from Ellen's eyes.
"What is it?" She asked out loud. "What's wrong with me? Why aren't I good enough for anybody?"
The pain seemed unbearable. Ellen grabbed her razor from the vanity table against the wall and sat cross legged on the floor. She began to dig the blade into her skin, drawing blood that oozed from the cut and ran down her arm. Her face became scrunched up with the pain, but she kept doing it, trying to replace the intense emotional pain with physical.
Hours later, Ellen hastily tried to clean herself up, wiping away the blood and cleaning the razor blade so not a trace of her actions would be left behind. It was then that she lay back down on the bed and dissolved into tears once more.
"Why me!?" She felt like screaming at the world. In her final year of school, stress levels were high and the workload just kept on piling up. On top of all that, school brought with it the lovely added drama of social cliques and moods. There were people who were your best friends one day and your greatest enemies the next. Ellen couldn't help but feel like she was going insane. She was sick of it. Completely fed up. Yet, she still had the burning desire for friends. The need to fit in. She wanted to be accepted for who she was. Only, nothing seemed to be going her way.
Up until now, Ellen had been able to tuck everything away. Act like nothing happened. No one ever suspected a thing. But now she was starting to feel overwhelmed. It was all too much. The pressure of everything bottled up inside had caused the lid to pop off of it's own accord and the contents of the bottle, Ellen's emotions, were falling out in a long, relentless flow. It came out as tears, anger, self harm as she tried desperately to replace the intense emotional pain she felt with physical and negative voices in her head. A mind monster. 'You're not good enough.' It said. 'You're worthless.', 'How could anybody ever like you?'
The problem lay in winning the battle. The hardest part was speaking about it. To Ellen, her problems seemed petty. Stupid. They didn't really matter. Until her mother caught her one afternoon, alone in her room and confronted her.
"Ellen?" She said, standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock at what she saw. "What are you doing?"
Ellen froze. After a long while, she slowly looked up at her mother, pain evident in her eyes.
Concern in her eyes, Ellen's mother came closer, sympathy in her eyes and helped her daughter to her feet. She slipped her arms around the young, vulnerable girl and led her over to the bed, sitting down and allowing Ellen to fall back into her arms.
Ellen dissolved into tears as her mother hugged her tightly.
"Ellen, what's going on honey?" Her mother asked after a while. It took a bit of time for Ellen to regain control of herself, but even when she did, talking was a struggle.
"I'm not anybody." She said through her heavy sobs. "No one cares about me."
Ellen's mother rubbed her back as Ellen tried to get the words out. "No you're not. I love you, your dad loves you. Everyone in the family does. We'd all miss you."
"You're the only ones." Ellen said as negative thoughts took over once again. "I bet you're the only ones who would even come to my funeral. Everyone else would be having a party because I was gone. They'd be celebrating it."
Ellen's mother was suddenly serious. "Hey!" She said seriously, pulling away and holding her daughter's shoulders firmly, studying her face. "Don't you ever talk like that. You hear me?"
Ellen nodded weakly, staring down at the bedspread.
"You are loved." Her mother said again. "You are loved very much. You are not worthless. You're so beautiful. You're funny, you're outgoing..."
Ellen looked up at her with sad eyes, causing her mother to stop talking. "You really think so?" She asked quietly.
"Yes." Her mother said firmly, demanding the girl's attention. "Now Ellen, I want you to hear me when I say this."
There was a short pause and then Ellen nodded.
"This is only the start. It's not going to get better straight away. You've got to work at it. Fight it."
"The voices in my head?"
"Yes." Her mother answered. "The voices in your head, the urges to hurt yourself. But, you've got to do it one day, one step, at a time. Ok?"
Again, Ellen nodded.
Her mother held out her hand. "And, I'll be here every step of the way."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you are hurting, you are not alone. There is always help available. Belle's Recovery Project is one such help, run by my friend Isabella https://www.facebook.com/BellesRecoveryProject
Behind closed doors, tears flowed freely from Ellen's eyes.
"What is it?" She asked out loud. "What's wrong with me? Why aren't I good enough for anybody?"
The pain seemed unbearable. Ellen grabbed her razor from the vanity table against the wall and sat cross legged on the floor. She began to dig the blade into her skin, drawing blood that oozed from the cut and ran down her arm. Her face became scrunched up with the pain, but she kept doing it, trying to replace the intense emotional pain with physical.
Hours later, Ellen hastily tried to clean herself up, wiping away the blood and cleaning the razor blade so not a trace of her actions would be left behind. It was then that she lay back down on the bed and dissolved into tears once more.
"Why me!?" She felt like screaming at the world. In her final year of school, stress levels were high and the workload just kept on piling up. On top of all that, school brought with it the lovely added drama of social cliques and moods. There were people who were your best friends one day and your greatest enemies the next. Ellen couldn't help but feel like she was going insane. She was sick of it. Completely fed up. Yet, she still had the burning desire for friends. The need to fit in. She wanted to be accepted for who she was. Only, nothing seemed to be going her way.
Up until now, Ellen had been able to tuck everything away. Act like nothing happened. No one ever suspected a thing. But now she was starting to feel overwhelmed. It was all too much. The pressure of everything bottled up inside had caused the lid to pop off of it's own accord and the contents of the bottle, Ellen's emotions, were falling out in a long, relentless flow. It came out as tears, anger, self harm as she tried desperately to replace the intense emotional pain she felt with physical and negative voices in her head. A mind monster. 'You're not good enough.' It said. 'You're worthless.', 'How could anybody ever like you?'
The problem lay in winning the battle. The hardest part was speaking about it. To Ellen, her problems seemed petty. Stupid. They didn't really matter. Until her mother caught her one afternoon, alone in her room and confronted her.
"Ellen?" She said, standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock at what she saw. "What are you doing?"
Ellen froze. After a long while, she slowly looked up at her mother, pain evident in her eyes.
Concern in her eyes, Ellen's mother came closer, sympathy in her eyes and helped her daughter to her feet. She slipped her arms around the young, vulnerable girl and led her over to the bed, sitting down and allowing Ellen to fall back into her arms.
Ellen dissolved into tears as her mother hugged her tightly.
"Ellen, what's going on honey?" Her mother asked after a while. It took a bit of time for Ellen to regain control of herself, but even when she did, talking was a struggle.
"I'm not anybody." She said through her heavy sobs. "No one cares about me."
Ellen's mother rubbed her back as Ellen tried to get the words out. "No you're not. I love you, your dad loves you. Everyone in the family does. We'd all miss you."
"You're the only ones." Ellen said as negative thoughts took over once again. "I bet you're the only ones who would even come to my funeral. Everyone else would be having a party because I was gone. They'd be celebrating it."
Ellen's mother was suddenly serious. "Hey!" She said seriously, pulling away and holding her daughter's shoulders firmly, studying her face. "Don't you ever talk like that. You hear me?"
Ellen nodded weakly, staring down at the bedspread.
"You are loved." Her mother said again. "You are loved very much. You are not worthless. You're so beautiful. You're funny, you're outgoing..."
Ellen looked up at her with sad eyes, causing her mother to stop talking. "You really think so?" She asked quietly.
"Yes." Her mother said firmly, demanding the girl's attention. "Now Ellen, I want you to hear me when I say this."
There was a short pause and then Ellen nodded.
"This is only the start. It's not going to get better straight away. You've got to work at it. Fight it."
"The voices in my head?"
"Yes." Her mother answered. "The voices in your head, the urges to hurt yourself. But, you've got to do it one day, one step, at a time. Ok?"
Again, Ellen nodded.
Her mother held out her hand. "And, I'll be here every step of the way."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you are hurting, you are not alone. There is always help available. Belle's Recovery Project is one such help, run by my friend Isabella https://www.facebook.com/BellesRecoveryProject
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Voices
"Brian." A voice called out. The voice seemed to echo as if it had bounced off a few walls before entering his ears. "Brian."
On the hospital bed, Brian froze, staring straight up at the blank, grey ceiling of the hospital. He closed his eyes and soon fell asleep. lulled into the land of nod by the steady, rhythmic chorus of beeping machines of other patients in the ward.
He was chained to a wall, unable to move an inch. Suddenly, he heard echoing footsteps, growing louder as they drew closer and his body became more tense than it had been to begin with.
"Brian." There was that voice again. The dreamlike, echoing, other worldly voice.
It took everything Brian had not to scream when the figure belonging to the voice and the footsteps rounded the corner and came into view.
"I'm so glad you're here." The voice said, slowly approaching him. Brian opened his mouth and the creature, because Brian didn't really think you could call it human, quickly closed the gap between them with a few side steps that looked like something out of a creepy horror movie and raised a bony finger to his lips.
"Uh uh. Shh." Said the creature. Brian closed his mouth abruptly and stared at the creature before him. It could have been human, Brian realized, once, maybe. To him, the creature looked as if it had hitched a ride on a time travel machine to get there and that it had come from a Nazi Concentration Camp from the second world war where it had been tortured before it had managed to escape. The pillow case like dress it wore hung loosely from it's skinny, sickly frame. All the creature's bones and veins were easily visible and it's head was completely bald. It was a short thing, around the height of a six year old child and on first glance, it looked harmless. But, Brian was scared out of his skin.
Brian woke with a start, sitting upright to see a kindly nurse smiling at him.
"I saw. There was someone. They looked sick. Near death. I don't even know if it was human" Brian stuttered. The nurse continued to smile at him as she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"It's ok Brian. There's nothing there. You're in the hospital remember? The institute."
Brian lay back down, but he was still uncomfortable. Cautiously, he leaned over to look underneath his bed. There, laying motionlessly under his bed was the bony, sickly, tortured looking creature he'd seen in his dream. Startling him, the creature opened it's eyes suddenly and looked up at him, winking once.
Brian shivered, a mixture of cold and fear, returning to lie flat in his bed. He shook his head vigorously in an attempt to erase the image from his mind. But had the creature really been there? Had he really heard those voices? Or, was it all in his head?
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