Fiction @ MindSay

As requested by a few of my Mindsay friends; they wanted to see some of my fictional work. Although this is a work in progress, I'm proud of what I have of it (yes, this is what I have.) It focuses around the point of view of a married woman who is trying to 'survive' with an abusive husband. Hope you enjoy what I gave you, even though it's not much, and isn't really what I would call 'entertaining'. I also took a twist, and decided to write in the present tense. I usually, and almost always, write in the past tense - so this was a little difficult. Bear in mind, it's incomplete! XD Enjoy! :)

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[Phase One – The Tension Builds]
(There may be a breakdown of communication, and the victim may become fearful and may feel the need to soothe their partner.)

I hear the door shutting and the lock clicking into place. I slowly prop my feet, one at a time, upon the coffee table as I continue to intently watch my favourite sitcom that airs once a week, every Wednesday, at eight P.M.

The noises following afterwards were like a daily routine after the door was shut – husband enters, drops his suitcase on the tiled floor by the dining room table, closet opens, husband hangs up his coat, closet shuts, husband opens fridge to grab a plate of dinner, microwave door opens, microwave door shut, timer beeps three times, and last but not least, husband enters room where wife is located.

I remove my absorbed gaze from the episode taking place, and place it on the face of my husband – my face suddenly drops as I notice the stern expression that has invaded
his face. The familiar feeling of fear begins to stir and arouse within me. I don’t know what to say to him.

“…How was work?” I ask hesitantly, placing my head to one side in concern. Something must have occurred over there. This morning ran pleasantly, and it certainly wasn’t anticipated on my part – so I have been feeling precautious about nearly everything for the whole day.

My partner’s eyes drift away from me, the atmosphere suddenly growing cold as he responds with a soft grunt. This makes me more concerned. I get up, stretching myself as I try to make things brighter.
“Did I tell you I got a raise, this last week?”

My husband, David, emits a growling noise from the back of his throat, sending me a clear indication that I had obviously said the wrong thing. A pang suddenly strikes my heart. I begin to worry. I carefully place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and he turns back to face me with hardened eyes of hostility.

“Good for you.” He says bluntly. Jealousy? I blink in bewilderment and awkwardly remove my hand. I continue to stare into his eyes, which continue to sparkle with a great amount of hostility.

“Come on, what’s wrong?” I ask, trying to get him to talk to me. I cautiously hug his arm to add some extra persuasion.

“Nothing.” He says, giving me the same amount of hostility as before. My arms drop sadly, and the weight of hopelessness begins to slowly mount upon my shoulders.

“…I’m only trying to help.” I whisper sorrowfully, giving a sigh as I turn away slightly.

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job of it.”

I spin back around, and my brow furrows in sudden frustration at his words. How dare he?!
“Well, at least I’m making some sort of effort!” I snap, my voice suddenly rising and my tone becoming firm.

My husband’s eyebrows knit together, He looks as if he’s about to retort. My face softens as I brace myself, preparing for anything unexpected. My partner opens his mouth, but his unsaid words are replaced with the beeping from the microwave. His meal is ready. I am saved from the microwave timer.

What an odd, unusual thing to be saved by…

My husband glares sharply at me for a final time, before he slowly retreats back to the kitchen to retrieve his dinner. Relief begins removing the hopelessness from my shoulders.

I sigh silently, walking over to where my coat is hung, and I quickly put it on. I twist the knob on the door, the lock clicks, and I swing the door aside.

“Where are you going?”

I freeze. The question lingers in the air, and stirs throughout my mind – waiting desperately to be answered. I look over my shoulder, obediently responding to his question.
“I’m going out. I need a break....”

“Be back by eleven.” – By the time my partner says this; I’m already out the door.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

I take a sip from my coffee. It feels nice against my throat. The soft aroma of ground coffee beans wafts through the air and tickles my nose. The warm, soothing sensation of my personal two cream, two sugar brew erases my mind.

The warm, welcoming atmosphere embraces me with pleasant service and a soft feeling that I can’t identify. I set my cup down. The person sitting across from me clears his throat roughly, drawing my attention towards him.

Matt, my fellow co-worker, is the one sitting across from me. He has a welcoming look that’s constantly among his face, a warm sparkle forever remains within his hazel eyes – hidden behind his personal pair of glasses.
His hair, a gentle shade of ochre, is neatly combed to the left. His figure is fairly slender, and his attire is neatly consisting of faded blue jeans and a bright blue sweater vest.

He smiles at me. The trademark smile he always gives me which made me know that I could trust him.
“So, how are things?”

“It depends on what you want to know about.” I answer honestly, fingering at the rim of my paper cup absentmindedly.

Matt raises a curious eyebrow, his lips settling naturally into a grimace.
“What do you mean?”

I remain silent. My eyes lower miserably to my finger which is still picking apart the rim of my coffee cup. I’m being distant from him, which, of course, is unfair. But I have no choice.

“Hey…” He whispers calmly, which grabs my attention and causes me to raise my head. Our gazes lock. A shiver runs down my spine. I dread the next few moments ahead, and I suddenly start to tense.

He continues, “It’s okay, you know. You can tell me anything.”

I sigh hopelessly, taking another sip from my coffee. I set my cup down, knowing everything will spill out from my mind and mouth with future persuasion on his part.
“…I don’t know, Matt. Things are running along okay, but…” I stop abruptly, shaking my head slowly. I really don’t want to tell him. Ever since I’ve been in a relationship with David, I feel like he’s planted some sort of shield around me that’s preventing me from getting to close to other men.

“…But?” Matt questions, raising an eyebrow – an indication that says it’s safe for me to continue what I was saying. He slowly removes his glasses from the bridge of his nose and quickly pulls out a cleaning cloth from a pocket in his sweater vest. His eyes shift from me, to his glasses, and back again as he waits impatiently for me to continue.

“…It’s Dave.” I croak, my husband’s name making my heart stop. The image of his face reappears in my mind. I gulp. I can feel my face burn in response to an unusual sensation that’s taking over me.

“Oh?” Matt asks. A hesitation leaves a silence between us, and he places his glasses back to where they should be.
“He hasn’t… Hurt you again, has he?”

“…No.” I whisper slowly, my voice growing hoarse. He, again, raises a suspicious eyebrow in response to my clear hesitation that leaves us wrapped in a cold blanket of silence.
I continue on, my voice growing thick. “I just don’t know, Matt… He hasn’t been speaking to me lately… It’s at those days again where I feel there’s this wall between us… It’s getting to that point where I’m putting in extra hours at work just to avoid coming home…”

Matt hesitates for a moment. My mind is spinning. I bite my lip.
“I’ve noticed that, too.” He finally comments, taking another swig from his coffee.

“I just don’t know what to-” I’m suddenly cut off by the loud, shrill ring of my cell phone – which attracts many curious and annoyed stares from those around me. I chuckle anxiously, quickly removing my phone from my pocket. I quickly flash an apologetic glance towards Matt, and he nods in reply.

The white, flashing envelope flashing onscreen indicates that I have a new text message. My thumb presses the OK button. My eyes widen and my heart quickens its pace as I read the message that was sent to me.

‘Where are you?’ it says. I look at the time it was sent. 11:17.

“What’s the matter?” Matt finally asks, showing deep concern and worry in response to the expression on my face. My hands are shaking. I read the received text over again; my pupils dilating as they continue to scan the digital lettering – over and over again.
‘Where are you?’

I will offer the following statement.  I am completely ignorant as to what Scientology is.  What I do know involves moronic celebrities and science fiction type elements.  I've also heard of L. Ron Hubbard, who is the founder of the following.  That is as much as I knew going into last weekend, when I was in Ocean State Job Lot with Lindsay getting some last minute gifts.  In the book section, I saw some novels by L. Ron Hubbard.  Well one novel really.  A science fiction novel.  In his list of other works, I saw various other science fiction novels.  The flap proclaimed him as one of the most successful and influential science fiction writers of all time. 

He makes his living writing science fiction.  He founds a religion centrally themed around science fiction.  It took me two seconds to deduce that Scientology is nothing more than a very large work of science fiction.  A quick reading on wikipedia and you can see quotes from contemporaries stating how Hubbard created this ploy for monetary gain.  Is everything you read true?  No.  But given that it is quite obvious without those quotes, and a cursory check on the matter reveals them says something significant. 

I think someone needs to tell this to Tom Cruise, because I hear Katie Holmes is soon to be the vessel for Hubbard's cryogenic frozen sperm.  It's mind numbing watching out of touch celebrities with obscene wealth expounding the virtues of that faith.  Old women with 8 cats eating cheeto's all day?  I expect this from.  Middle aged men who read comic's all day and watch star wars all night as well.  I Shouldn't be surprised though.  Nearly every celebrity put on a pedestal by the masses is undeserving, minus a small minority.  Unfortunately, there are even more members of the Church of Celebritology than there are Scientology.

“The bad blood in his veins had flown out and the tears which had welled up in him all this time, had come out. He was a new man now, fresh blood as if his system had been flushed off all the negativity….”The last lines of the novel very well indicate the rationale of the novel “The Final Awakening ” The author does a very neat job of leading all characters to a denouement, life takes a full circle for all five of them.

Ashish Mohan’s short, action packed novel “The Final Awakening” is based on life, love, lust, loss, and redemption. The narrative style of the novel is racy, and down to earth. The author has a heightened sense of imagery and does a wonderful job with simple English. All through the novel the reader cannot help but visualize Arjun, Nisha, Sanjay, Anuj , Richa and their lives unfolding before their eyes- they are real people, no fantasies or imaginations.

The short and compact nature of the story should go down well with today’s generation, which does not have the time or inclination for long narrations. The story has all it needs to capture the minds of young intellectuals – love, lust, action, emotion and surprise.

A very realistic and interesting description of characters so different in nature, yet part of a single story line- This novel should make an interesting read, worth spending sometime!

CONFIDENCE IS SEXY