Writer. Fighter. Lover. Dreamer. The doctor's say she's generally functional.

Friday, September 2, 2011

An easy decision.

Indie Ink Challenge Aug 27 - Sep 2 2011

Prompt: An easy decision.

Claire woke up not remembering who she was. Did anyone really know? Every single time, her story replayed itself, weaving an irreversible web of repetitive restlessness, just the way she liked it.

A new name, a new identity, a new place to call home. He always found her, though, so she was always ready to go.

The old clock on the wall, lined with dust after months of neglect, still ticking - she heard the seconds tick by and though how futile it all seemed in the grander scheme of things, how important they really were when a minute meant everything.

The Cranberries came on the radio; she remembered this song well. It was a good song.

Her name was Claire, for now. The last time she'd been Sophie. Alice, before that. Sarah, the time before that. Claire always made sure she chose names she liked least. Like Sarah, in honour of that rich bitch in school who'd laughed at her surprise when she first saw a blue note; Claire had never seen a $50 bill before, it was the stuff of rich people unlike herself.

Everyone else had laughed, too. So the hated Sarah's name would be hers. She could destroy her whenever she wanted. She eventually did.

With these names, Claire formerly known as Sophie thought, she'd never be reluctant to leave, it would be least expected of her so they could never find her. 

A sudden shiver ran up and down her spine, like a ghostly hand practicing scales and arpeggios on her boney keys. Hardly as precious as ivory but surely just as rare and ruined.

"Are you ready?"
An unfamiliar voice.

A break in her still reflection suggested that it was herself. She hadn't spoken in a long time now.

She asked again, just to be sure; it was none other.

A deep breath. A slight shudder. She needed to know.

"What're you running from now?"

Her voice broke on that last word. She'd gone one syllable too far, one too many to control. Speaking was hardly like riding a bike - of course you could forget how.

Then, barely audible, her response arrived as she stared into the mirror, lips tightly pursed, fists clenched defiantly.

"I'm running from you, Laura."

Outraged, she hadn't heard that name in a long time. Her mother used to call her that, and her old friends at school. But that wasn't her name. She was Claire now.

It was then that the phone rang, and she instinctively knew it was him. Each ring pushed her further away in fear, she was trapped in a corner now. She could hear him laughing. They were all laughing. All of them. She needed to escape. A new name. Would he find her? He'd found her.

He always found her.

A knock came at the door. It always came when the phone rang. That's how she knew they were after her. They always came at the same time.

Claire knew he'd been watching. It was him at the door, too. She shut her eyes; now he was next to her, coming for her.

As Doctor Lee executed his vice like grip on her wrist, she smiled and knew what she had to do. Curling up into her unmade bed, reeking of sweat and vomit, she painted a beautiful picture in her beautiful mind, rearranging the pictures on her wall and putting a record on. She'd disappear and he'd never find her.

A new start.

She'd be Grace, now. Uncharacteristically perfect. It had such simplicity to it.

An easy decision.

Rudely interrupting her new life plan, the nurse buzzed herself in.
"Doctor Lee's waiting for you, dear," she said gently, firmly, like a preschool teacher.

Claire felt herself being led from the room as her fingers traced the soft, padded walls.

A smile of reassurance, she whispered to Grace, "They'll never find you here."

-- -- -- -- --

I challenged Marian here.
Catherine challenged me!
All thanks to IndieInk.  


  1. Yikes! I'm a little shaken by this story...which means it was really well written. My favorite line: "...weaving an irreversible web of repetitive restlessness..." so alliterative and evocative. :)

  2. ohh thank you! I'm still developing my very own writing style through writing these stories but here it is for now :) xo

  3. What a powerful piece. The madness of the mind is such a prison and you captured that sentiment brilliantly! Well done.
    - Karla