The Twelve Days [Parody]

On the first day of Christmas my dealer gave to me:
A big bag of smelly weed

On the second day of Christmas my dealer gave to me:
Two double doves
And a big bag of smelly weed

On the third day of Christmas my dealer gave to me:
Three acid trips
Two double doves
And a big bag of smelly weed

On the fourth day of Christmas my dealer gave to me:
Four lines of coke
Three acid trips
Two double doves
And a big bag of smelly weed

On the fifth day of Christmas my dealer gave to me:
Five rolled spliffs
Four lines of coke
Three acid trips
Two double doves
And a big bag of smelly weed

On the sixth day of Christmas my dealer gave to me:
Six wraps of crystal
Five rolled spliffs
Four lines of coke
Three acid trips
Two double doves
And a big bag of smelly weed

On the seventh day of Christmas my dealer gave to me:
Seven bombs of mushies
Six wraps of crystal
Five rolled spliffs
Four lines of coke
Three acid trips
Two double doves
And a big bag of smelly weed

On the eighth day of Christmas my dealer gave to me:
Eight lumps of hashish
Seven bombs of mushies
Six wraps of crystal
Five rolled spliffs
Four lines of coke
Three acid trips
Two double doves
And a big bag of smelly weed

On the ninth day of Christmas my dealer gave to me:
Nine hits of acid
Eight lumps of hashish
Seven bombs of mushies
Six wraps of crystal
Five rolled spliffs
Four lines of coke
Three acid trips
Two double doves
And a big bag of smelly weed

On the tenth day of Christmas my dealer gave to me:
Ten bags of speed
Nine hits of acid
Eight lumps of hashish
Seven bombs of mushies
Six wraps of crystal
Five rolled spliffs
Four lines of coke
Three acid trips
Two double doves
And a big bag of smelly weed

On the eleventh day of Christmas my dealer gave to me:
Eleven pipes of pot
Ten bags of speed
Nine hits of acid
Eight lumps of hashish
Seven bombs of mushies
Six wraps of crystal
Five rolled spliffs
Four lines of coke
Three acid trips
Two double doves
And a big bag of smelly weed

On the twelfth day of Christmas my dealer gave to me:
Twelve tabs of X
Eleven pipes of pot
Ten bags of speed
Nine hits of acid
Eight lumps of hashish
Seven bombs of mushies
Six wraps of crystal
Five rolled spliffs
Four lines of coke
Three acid trips
Two double doves
And a big bag of smelly weed

The twist in the tale

All it takes is one quick twist and they snap. I am always surprised at how easy it is to break them, how simply the give up their heads. That satisfying snapping sound, that crack as my hands twist in one fluid movement.

Once that is done there is the beautiful sighing sound as they release their last breath. I could listen to that all day and never be bored.

I like to feel my grip tighten, to feel that slight burn as my fingers slip and my skin is rubbed raw. There is only that small amount of struggling, the minute amount of fighting back. It rarely lasts long before they succumb to the wrench of my two hands.

There have been times where I have not had the strength in my arms, my hands. A cloth wrapped around my hands seems to bring the urge to break, to sever. My eyes are bulging, the tendons in my hands are almost at the point of fracture and sweat breaks on my brow, but I don’t turn away from the job in hand. It must be done. I am thirsty for the feeling of satisfaction once the job is complete, once it lies broken in my hands.

It’s difficult to describe, but I know you’ve all felt the feeling at least once. Don’t deny it, we have evidence. As soon as we see red, we can’t help ourselves. Admit it. There is no need to feel remorse; the deed is done now, you can’t take it back. Ever.

Surely you know what I am speaking of, don't you?

The Box

It is essential to this story that you understand we can only surmise what happened on 24 August 2005. As no one else was present, these details are taken from accounts presented by neighbours and associates, the diary of the deceased, as well as police reports and forensic evidence. However, we could also say: we may never know.

22 August 2005
It had been a long day, a day of humping boxes from my parents’ house to my new apartment. I was tired and my limbs were aching; I felt as if I’d spent half the day being beaten by strong men. I needed to sink into my comfy new couch and sip a glass of red wine, right away. The unpacking could wait.

I lit some candles and sat back to watch the flickering shadows dance across the room’s white-washed walls. Life was getting to be good. The red wine flowed and I felt the exhaustion of the day’s events take over. Soon I fell asleep, curled around a cushion.

23 August 2005
I was woken by the sun rising over the apartments opposite. I hadn’t yet got around to installing my blinds so the window let in the glare of the early morning sunshine. I squinted my eyes against the brightness, rubbed at the crick in my neck from where I’d slept awkwardly on the couch.

Surveying the room, I realised that I had a task ahead of me in clearing the many boxes stacked around the walls, some piles going back four boxes deep. With a sigh I pulled my aching body to its feet and began methodically sorting the boxes according to which room the various contents belonged. I stopped briefly to eat some breakfast, but chose not to get dressed or washed up until I’d moved each of the boxes to the correct room; the job of sorting them could come later.

This first job didn’t take long, as I’d had enough foresight to write the final resting place on the upper flap of each box. I tried to ignore the fact that I was, slowly but surely, turning into my mother. Somehow, I’d kidded myself that I wouldn’t, but no matter how much I tried to forge my own way I was still following in her footsteps. Shaking my head, I rose to my feet and began the arduous task of unpacking each box, of finding a place for everything in my new home.

It was dark before I’d finished unpacking. I took a shower, ate a small meal of scrambled eggs on toast and crashed out on the couch with another bottle of wine for company. Within minutes I was asleep again.

24 August 2005
This morning I was woken again by the first hint of the sun’s rays glinting through my window. I was determined to get some blinds up to shield me from these rude awakenings; it was my first task for the day, I had decided. After the weekend, I needed to get back to work – the mortgage wasn’t going to pay itself, as my father was fond of saying.

The cardboard boxes were piled up against the far wall, waiting for me to take them to the communal rubbish chute. I cursed as I realised I would need to rid the room of all detritus before I began to hang my screens. I manhandled the cardboard boxes out of my apartment and dragged them unceremoniously across the landing to the chute opening that led to the communal rubbish area housed beneath the building. I opened the flap to the chute and immediately my nose was bombarded by the stench of rotting food. I gagged slightly as I tipped in my own rubbish, finally letting the flap clang shut so I could breathe the sweeter air again.

No sooner had I shut the door when I spotted a lone box out of the corner of my eye. I could have sworn it wasn’t there but five minutes ago, that it had materialised as soon as my back was turned. I called out to see if anyone was in the apartment – I had after all given a key to my parents so that they could satisfy their own curiosity that I wasn’t living in a crack den or prostituting myself in order to pay the rental charges. No one answered my voice. I made a quick tour of the apartment, mostly to convince my own brain that I was alone, that no one had snuck in behind me and was waiting, sharpened knife in hand, to slice me up.

I looked again at the box. It had nothing written on the top or the sides that faced me. It had no branding printed on it, no postmark. It was blank on all sides. A thin line of brown parcel tape held the flaps down. How it had got there I had no idea. Approaching with caution, I took my time in bending down to pick it up. I shook it carefully, but it gave me no indication of what was inside. I knew it had something in it, as I could feel the weight of something, of whatever secret this box held. My heart was beating faster than it would after a workout; throat dry and legs that quivered I carried the box over to the small table I’d rescued from a thrift store two weeks’ previously. I backed away, deciding to leave the box for a day or two until I knew my interest would be piqued to such an extent that I would rip it open and discover its contents.

But, I couldn’t leave it alone. I needed to know what was contained within this cardboard shell. I thought about whether there was something I was missing, something that I hadn’t yet unpacked and put away in its designated place. I could think of nothing. I had this feeling that the box was urging me to open it, that somehow it had command of my body, my mind. It seems stupid to say that, but that’s how it felt.

Again, I approached the box with caution. There seems no reason for this unnerving feeling, but it’s as constant as my breath or my pulse. I watched, detached, as my hands grasped the box, a nail slipping under the tape that held it closed. I pulled up a corner and drew back the tape, my hands trembling as I pulled apart the top flaps of cardboard.

The top was open; I was able to look right in. Nervously, I stepped back, expecting some horror to explode from the box. Nothing happened. The clock I had mounted earlier clicked through each second. I held my breath. The urge took me again and I stepped forward, my face looking directly into the box.

Nothing prepared me for what I saw, the horror of it. I felt the sickness rising from my stomach, burning my throat. My legs gave way and I vomited on the floor.

It was out and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it, to prevent the inevitable disaster.

Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?

Holding breath

Long shadows fell over the airstrip. We were all craning our necks, searching the clouds for the silhouette of the aeroplane. I swear everyone held their breath at that moment, no one daring to breathe in case it had an effect on Davy and Jeremy.

But I’m getting ahead of myself here. Let me backtrack slightly.

I’m Marianne. I’ve been married to Davy for a day; actually, it’s less than 24 hours. I didn’t want him to go up in the damn plane. I told him so, too. He chose not to listen.

“Honey, what could possibly go wrong?” he’d said.

It’s not as if I could simply list them out, ticking them off on my fingers as I went. Some of them he would have dismissed instantly, others he would have laughed at; some may have made him stop and think, but still he would have buried any fears and stepped on that plane, even if I’d lay on the ground and begged him to not to. Like I say, we’d only been married a short while.

We met while on a cruise of the South Pacific. That was back in 2001. We dated for the intervening years, bought a house, kept some pets (only the dog is left) and generally lived like we all do. Life got on with itself and we travelled along with it by clinging on to the coat tails of time. Now, I had the feeling it was going to shake us off and we’d land with a big bump.

This was going to be more than cuts and bruises.

There were cries from the others that stood around me, encircling me as if they could possibly protect me from… not sure what they thought I needed protecting from. I held my hand to my face, shielding my eyes from the low winter sun. The plane was twirling as it came towards the ground; I could hear the whine of the engines above the rustle of the wind in the trees and the gasps of the other spectators.

I instinctively looked away, pointing my gaze to the ground. I noticed things in those last seconds: bugs crawling through the grass, each separate blade an entire eco-system; I saw each granule of dirt, the tiny droplets of water clinging to the grains’ surface and the bacteria performing the front crawl in these bubbles of liquid.

I almost didn’t dare look back up. I forced myself to lift my eyes. At that point I saw Davy and Jeremy’s plane disappear behind the screen of trees that stood in the distance.

We all waited for the explosion, the flames and the column of smoke that is inevitable in these situations.

All I could think was: breathebreathebreathe.