amara hope

The tall row of flats looked incredibly bleak and dismal, with graffiti all down one side of the building and one small patch of green grass in front of a group of trees. The front door of the building was an off-yellow custardy colour that wasn’t exactly pleasing to look at. The couple had walked hand in hand up to the front door of the building.

The couple sat in bed together, drinking cups of tea. Just a usual Monday evening. They sit in silence, embracing the comfort of silence they have both grown use to over the years.

Small twitches on Joyce’s toes infuriate her husband although he does not dare to say a word. Her eyes are fixed upon the half empty cup of tea in her hands, thinking about the day that’s passed. Everything seems to be going through her mind, yet she cannot think of anything to break this agonising silence that is making her head throb more than before.

An hour passed and the two of them had still not yet uttered a word, although it was clear they both had something on their minds. Joyce had been starring at the cup of tea for so long, she realised that it had gone cold and placed it on the bedside table. Stretching her arms above her head, she yawned and moved to lie down on the bed, tucking herself under the duvet. ‘’I think…… um…. I just remembered I left the bathroom light on’’ Tom said in a rushed voice and jumped out of bed through to the other room. Tom wasn’t meant to say this, but as soon as he spoke the words he was originally going to say they had passed from his thoughts.

The next day: Tuesday.

The table was crammed full of plates and dishes with food still left on them. A square dish with a type of curry that Joyce had no idea what it was (and didn’t care to either) was placed in the centre. Having prepared the food all day awaiting the arrival of her parents-in-law she wasn’t impressed when they came bringing their own food supplies. Was she really that bad a cook? Probably…

They would speak about Toms week at work, while Joyce would sit there taken-a-back wishing she was somewhere far away and drinking herself into the ground. What had made her get married in the first place? All the arguments, all the debt of having to buy the flat together and stupid choices they had to make.  Always together. Wouldn’t it have all been a lot easier if she had just moved somewhere on her own?

Joyce had got up from the table and walked across to the sofa where she had left her latest copy of Vogue, she had finally had enough of the meaningless small talk she had put up with over the last hour. Flicking through the pages she began to realise how mundane her life had become. Spending the majority of time reading endless magazines and watching soaps on the TV was incredibly tiresome. Wondering to herself why she hadn’t gone on to do something more exciting than settle down into this life, knowing exactly how each day was going to go. Even a fleeting moment of happiness would have been good, but no. Not for Joyce. The thought of staying in the same flat for another five years made her feel as though her life was doomed. She felt like she was sat on a clock that was about to explode beneath her.

‘’so Joyce are you still writing that book of yours?’’ Tom’s mum had shouted across from the table after placing her glass of water on the table as slowly as possible.  ‘’yeah, I’ve done half’’ Joyce murmured and looked back to her magazine. ‘’does this one have an actual storyline this time as well?!’’ Joyce looked up and stared at Toms mum, her face was sarcastic and she had an air about her that made Joyce want to punch her face or scream at her. His mother looked away and began talking with her Husband once more.

Another agonising few moments passed.

‘’We are going. I can’t stomach this food let alone anymore of this dry conversation’’ Toms father stood up from the table after he had spoken and walked over to the door. Tom’s mother followed and they walked out of the flat.

Silence.

Joyce starred over at Tom who looked as puzzled as she was. Neither of them knew what to say. It felt as though the atmosphere had somehow been lifted above and beyond them. This seemingly senseless feeling couldn’t be descried by anything other than a feeling of meditation or hypnosis.

Three days Later: Friday.

Joyce sat at the dining table, legs crossed on her chair and her hands placed on the table matt in front of her. Tom had set off to work about two hours previous, and she had not yet moved from her seat. Tom had not said a word to Joyce who had spent the hour before he set off to work placing all the knives and forks in specific lines down the table. The table now looked like a piece of art work or the work of a child with major OCD. Blankly staring at the cutlery in front of her she wasn’t sure whether to re-arrange the cutlery again or to throw it all on the floor. Different ideas kept running through her mind about the cutlery and it was driving her mad. She just wished her mind would focus on something else.

Later that day

Covering the water drain with a piece of plastic, Joyce had begun to fill the bath with cold running water allowing nothing to escape. She spent a long time stood staring at the bath and after a while she undressed herself and neatly piled her clothes outside of the bathroom door.  Leaning over the side of the bath she reached for the knife she had left by the soap, lifting the knife up in the air with her hand she quickly hit her other wrist with the knife and began to scream an earth-shattering scream. Joyce had cut right through her arm. So much blood was dripping from her arm, she had uncontrollable tears pouring down her face and threw the knife into the water.

Joyce was feeling so out of control, she was beginning to believe that it was something inside of her making her do this. She knew deep down that she didn’t want to and she couldn’t stand the sight of blood but at the same time she needed to cut her arm, or something bad would happen. Honestly believing that if she hadn’t followed through something more disastrous could have occurred to her or Tom, and she wouldn’t want that. The pain was unbearable and the blood from her arm was continuously dripping into the water, which was now turning into a blood bath. Reaching with her un-cut arm to the shelf above the bath she gripped onto the tub of tablets and poured them into her mouth. She felt even more aggravated with everything around her, not being able to control anything she was thinking or doing was scaring her even more. Everything around her was beginning to seem like a blur, as though she wasn’t actually present but watching herself from afar.

Climbing slowly into the bath she sat down and some of the water spilled over the edges onto the white towel which she had carefully placed at the side. She was beginning to feel incredibly small and weak, smaller than she had ever felt before. There was nothing left that could be more painful, she poured the rest of the tablets into her mouth and threw the tub on the floor.

The light from outside was flooding in through the top of the open window and the bath water was glimmering red, looking as though she had fallen asleep in a tub of tomato juice. Was this what she had wanted to do? Or was this simply a moment of utter insanity?

Silence encompassed the room and she lay there in the darkening red water looking like a sleeping beauty from a horror film. The scene was so beautiful yet horrific at the same time and her face was going a paler and paler shade of grey. Looking completely lifeless she was becoming an empty shell and nothing around her mattered anymore. Thoughts were slowly stopping in her mind and becoming more and more fragmented. Her thoughts seemed like echoing voices in a cave getting further and further away as she sank into the pool of glittering red. Floating in some strawberry juice, in another story perhaps she was just taking a bath in some Ribena. But unfortunately that was so far from the truth and so far from the agonising pain she was feeling throughout her fragile body and mind. A sense of disintegrating was forming and every bone in her body was growing weaker every minute she was left alone…

© Amara Hope Melechi