The Visitant...

 

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(A RE-Edit of a previous story) 

Its Saturday afternoon and I'm having a moment away from my WIP... I'm creating and re-editing a previous story... This week the word count on my WIP is healthy but I've had to write a scene that's taken me almost a week, because I didn't want to kill anyone off... but, it was necessary to the story. Writer-Journal...  

 

“I’m a real being, brought into this world by mistake.

Let me share a few secrets from a journey which smoldered, within two tortured souls… There was no once upon a time, no fairy-tale to look forward to. In reality, I didn’t have a home. The truth is that there was no belonging, no loyalty, no family support, just down and out substance abuse, and poverty.  

 A young couple, beaten by life, miserable, and seeking refuge, thought it would be a good idea to travel to Ireland, looking for support with their new baby girl. In a moment of madness, they use the last of their money to buy tickets to return to his much-loved Emerald Isle.

Hidden from sight, their tiny bundle is screwed up in a dirty blanket, and semi protected from the cold wind from the Irish sea. They make their way on an uncertain journey, towards their goal. Smoke billows above the young couple’s head as they share one cigarette after another, and when they start sharing alcohol too, their already confused minds decide that this is the perfect thing, and the only thing they can do.

The new father shoves his new-born infant further into his over sized, waterproof coat; he doesn’t want to lose his cargo, not when he’s made the right decision to protect his family. With a faraway look on his drunken face, mystically, he hears the panpipes of Celtic music, and remembers home.  Home is where they should be. His mother was a hard soul, but she would accept them, she had to.

Though the journey is long and arduous, it is nothing compared to the hysterical screams of abuse, which follow as he, his new wife, and tiny baby, are chased from his childhood home.

Wind and rain thrash madly about them, and equally matches the mood of his mother.

Breathing heavy, holding her hip, she chases them.

“You are not bloody welcome; things are hard enough here without another three mouths to feed” She screams.

In that heart-stopping moment, if you’d have held your breath and listened, you would have heard the distinct sound of fear in her voice. Tears, mixed with rain that day, exhausted and defeated, he suddenly remembered why he’d left home.

By the time they arrive back in England, the impact of the whole horrendous journey on their new-born baby, has taken its toll, and in a flash of inspiration, the father takes his sick infant to a convent. The nuns waste no time, the child is whisked away, and admitted to the children’s hospital. Unfortunately, she’s diagnosed with a list of difficulties, the most apparent one being, she is struggling to breathe... It takes eight months for her to recover, and in-between that time the couple still fail to find a home; they decide on another move... But first they have to wait for the baby to be released from her magic bubble, the only home she’s ever known. Shaking his box of matches through the glass, is the only way the young father gets his little girl to smile.

The second home, is a single room in a run-down Victorian house. Invasive damp, black mould, peeling wall-paper, cold, unsavory individuals, and their ever-increasing alcohol fueled violence. Then her brother is born, which put’s further stress on the young couple. Minutes turn into hours, and hours turn into days, all of which see a definite longing in the little girl to return to her magic bubble, it had been safe, quiet, and warm with smiley faces.

Her heart is sad... her brother cries a lot and causes friction between the couple. The mother doesn’t cope and the father is never there. The couple struggle, and always find something to fight about. Another baby sister is born and dies. The damp, cold, smelly room is depressing, and sad. This is their life, her life... so why didn’t they see that all she wants is a warm, safe place, with a soft clean bed, and parents who understand the basic requirements of how to love, provide, and protect. 

The story doesn’t finish there... because despite her young years she is often found sitting in the soulless Victorian room, which inevitably becomes someone else’s version of home. She knows, as if from a magical sense of a long-held memory, that this isn’t so. And then, God help them, another beautiful baby sister is born, and dies.

By the time she is seven years old, with many moves to different addresses, and the powers that be, take an interest, there’s a change, a big shift.

You would have expected the biggest damage to have been done to this little girl, because what she saw wasn’t right, but it didn’t, she grew and unbelievably developed, and somehow, she instinctually knew the right way. She had visualised her own coping mechanisms to the madness, and chaos around her, and she believes that’s what saved her, as well as the unknown entity that was always present, especially in times of great stress.  

Needles to say this couple didn’t hold on to their children, like so many they were taken away. And the little girl, earned the label, the little mother, the resilient one. Labels stay with you, and rightly or wrongly influence the rest of your life. The one thing I’m happy about, is that eventually I was saved. I experienced that warm bed, and having my basic needs met. The one thing I will always miss, is the love of a mother. But let me say, I have experienced being a good mother, having the love of a beautiful daughter, and gorgeous grandchildren.

Whatever you’ve been through… Don’t let it make you hard, bitter, and cynical. Thank God, when we grow up, we get to make our own lives. So be you, and don’t allow another to influence who or what you are, unless of course they are good people. 

Have a great weekend!  

 Jane

 

 

 

A Predictable World with Unpredictable Adults...

I love the above quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Once some of you read this post you might feel the title seems a bit unreal, all I ask is that you remember I speak from experience, these are my words, and in my heart I know that somewhere along the way, another will read this and it will make perfect sense.

The difference an unpredictable adult can make to gifted children... if we are able to sit down, watch a scene or a time unfold; we’d know answers... the majority of us would say hang on, ‘NO’...  Let’s address this and ensure no child is at the end of that person displaying inappropriate behaviour, and then we’d be able to do something constructive. We would be able to stop a particular scenario and realise that sometimes events do have terrible consequences. I have grown to understand that some children are resilient and able to deal with it, and are often able to self heal, but sadly some can’t. The potential in living with unstable adults is that quite often it can have a dreadful outcome, especially if the adults around are ignorant, not supportive, or worse still, in denial.  

It’s important to remember that any affected child, could be damaged before help is received. I still cringe at the thought of the amount of times; others must have simply passed us by.  It happens though, and usually it’s because the unseen or frozen children slip through the net, or the adults responsible are so clever in their disguise, that they’re able to cause a smoke screen or even worse, make others feel sorry for them and their plight... 2016 has to be a year of ‘MINDFULNESS’. And today that’s what I want to raise awareness to. The only difference for me is that I consider myself to be a story-teller, and usually in my stories there’s a lot a fact with a little fiction. Unfortunately when I was a child the fiction was the remedy, the answer, and even the solution. I use to make stories up and believe that real live angels would come and help us, and to be fair one day they did. Apart from a short period I never looked back... I consider myself to be one of the lucky children. I was rescued. 

Here is a small scene from something I’m currently working on. It’s about a father who has a lot of problems. He’s a rather sad figure but guilty of being an alcoholic and more often than not he’s the perpetrator in domestic violence. Because of his own upbringing, he also has horrendous mental health issues that are not being addressed. His anger is always aroused when he’s intoxicated however, the first time he goes to beat his baby daughter he discovers she has a gift, and that gift is responsible for her being able to calm any given situation... in this scene, he’s experiencing it for the first time. She magically stops the situation from escalating and even though he’s confused, he realises that actually, it is she whose in control.

Insanity sweeps though him as his psychiatric disorder takes over, he lifts a clenched fist, white knuckles bulging and the rage floods through him... for a micro second, a sane part of his brain realises the motion of slowness around him is not normal and it catches his breath. He shakes his head; this is not how it has gone before... what the hell is different?

Visibly he flinches, he looks at the baby and as he circles her tiny form, her eyes penetrate deep into the very essence of his being... Time slows down as anger stabs hard at him. He raises his fist higher, the intention ravaging him. He’s mad but has to let it go... His fist is six tiny inches away from her beautiful face, those big, soft, blue eyes flood with liquid, long lashes flick nervously. He is hit by her overwhelming innocence. Slowly he pulls his hand away, and as he gently picks her up; he pulls her in close and whispers how sorry he is.

Her job is done... For now! 

As a child growing in an uncertain world she knows things...  she knows stuff that she doesn’t understand, She knows how to send energy to those who need it, and she knows how to keep herself safe because others are incapable. She is a child yet she knows that she is wise beyond her years. She can’t understand it all... she knows so much. She is aware of information that's inexplicable in terms of how she would know these things at such a young age. She also knows that death is not the end, and for reasons unknown, she also knows it’s simply a transition. She does know one other thing though... she knows and appreciates that knowledge gives power, a power she's always been aware of and thankfully, that power will forever remain.

Jane Ewen