Todestrieb
Back downstairs, you make a beeline for the diminishing drink table. Not seeing a garbage anywhere, you stick your chewed gum on the window sill.
"Disgustin' girl," you hear in that unmistakable, thick Irish accent.
"What was that, Aunt Fiona?" you demand angrily, spinning around to face her. She pretends not to have heard. In fact, she begins to sing.
"Last night she came to me
My dead love came in
So softly she came
That her feet made no din
Then she put her hand on me
And this she did say
It will not be long, love
Till our wedding day "
You shake your head and continue your business of pouring yourself a stiff drink. You stand staring out the window, at the little enclosed backyard and the house next door. The whole scene lies dim and undefined in the dusk. You tilt your head back to let the last golden drop trickle its way down your throat. You begin to pour another when that same evil voice interrupts you.
"The drink is the devil's invitation to spend all eternity with him in Hell."
"You fucking bitch! This is my mother's funeral, goddamit! I can do whatever the fuck I want! Get the fuck out of here, you miserable old cunt!"
"The guy" glances furtively at you as he scurries into the kitchen.
"What the hell is going on here?" your red-cheeked father comes bumbling into the room, expressing all his confusion at the various walls and the ceiling.
"The girl has evil in her eyes! The devil I tell ya!" Her obsidian skull holes have locked onto you, holding shark-fast.
"All right, Fiona, I think it's time you went back to the home," your father says. "It's been a long day for all of us." Obviously quite drunk, but too whatever he is to care, he escorts her out the door.
Finally released from those witch eyes, you race up the stairs and back into your room, slamming the door shut. How dare that bitch talk to you like that? Mom would never have allowed her to abuse you so blatantly. Mom!
"You want evil! I'll show you evil!" Suddenly you find yourself grasping at everything that isn't nailed down and hurling it across the room. The computer keyboard crashes into the wall, falling down onto your bed. The table lamp seems to smash to pieces almost before it hits the closet door, which swings open to reveal a space full of clothes and shoes that likewise find new places on shelves, in corners, hanging upside-down from curtains. You are heading for your old cross-country running trophy when your eye catches sight of a skimpy purple tank top and suddenly a new idea fills your head.
"I'll show you evil," you smile to yourself, grabbing the shirt up from the floor. Before you know quite what you're doing, you are dressed in tight satin on top of a miniskirt on top of long bare legs and heels. You dig out some old makeup from your dresser drawer, smearing it on with almost clownish heaviness. You smile at your trashy reflection in the mirror.
"If I stay in this house for one more second, I will kill someone."
With that, you grab your purse and leave your room. You slip on the faux Oriental runner, steadying yourself on the banister, then leave the house without meeting a single person. You forget to lock the door behind you.
The night is black and uninviting. Where do you go?
"Disgustin' girl," you hear in that unmistakable, thick Irish accent.
"What was that, Aunt Fiona?" you demand angrily, spinning around to face her. She pretends not to have heard. In fact, she begins to sing.
"Last night she came to me
My dead love came in
So softly she came
That her feet made no din
Then she put her hand on me
And this she did say
It will not be long, love
Till our wedding day "
You shake your head and continue your business of pouring yourself a stiff drink. You stand staring out the window, at the little enclosed backyard and the house next door. The whole scene lies dim and undefined in the dusk. You tilt your head back to let the last golden drop trickle its way down your throat. You begin to pour another when that same evil voice interrupts you.
"The drink is the devil's invitation to spend all eternity with him in Hell."
"You fucking bitch! This is my mother's funeral, goddamit! I can do whatever the fuck I want! Get the fuck out of here, you miserable old cunt!"
"The guy" glances furtively at you as he scurries into the kitchen.
"What the hell is going on here?" your red-cheeked father comes bumbling into the room, expressing all his confusion at the various walls and the ceiling.
"The girl has evil in her eyes! The devil I tell ya!" Her obsidian skull holes have locked onto you, holding shark-fast.
"All right, Fiona, I think it's time you went back to the home," your father says. "It's been a long day for all of us." Obviously quite drunk, but too whatever he is to care, he escorts her out the door.
Finally released from those witch eyes, you race up the stairs and back into your room, slamming the door shut. How dare that bitch talk to you like that? Mom would never have allowed her to abuse you so blatantly. Mom!
"You want evil! I'll show you evil!" Suddenly you find yourself grasping at everything that isn't nailed down and hurling it across the room. The computer keyboard crashes into the wall, falling down onto your bed. The table lamp seems to smash to pieces almost before it hits the closet door, which swings open to reveal a space full of clothes and shoes that likewise find new places on shelves, in corners, hanging upside-down from curtains. You are heading for your old cross-country running trophy when your eye catches sight of a skimpy purple tank top and suddenly a new idea fills your head.
"I'll show you evil," you smile to yourself, grabbing the shirt up from the floor. Before you know quite what you're doing, you are dressed in tight satin on top of a miniskirt on top of long bare legs and heels. You dig out some old makeup from your dresser drawer, smearing it on with almost clownish heaviness. You smile at your trashy reflection in the mirror.
"If I stay in this house for one more second, I will kill someone."
With that, you grab your purse and leave your room. You slip on the faux Oriental runner, steadying yourself on the banister, then leave the house without meeting a single person. You forget to lock the door behind you.
The night is black and uninviting. Where do you go?