Kia Storm lives in England. She graduated from Middlesex University with a degree in Writing and Media and English Literature. You will find her Twittering words of inspiration, blogging on MSN or networking with her friends on Bebo and MySpace. Kia loves life and admires creativity. Occasionally, Kia daydreams about sky diving over the Pacific Ocean, climbing Mount Everest and having a mini party on Virgin Air Balloon. She is currently learning how to kickbox and dreams of that magical day when she can sleep for two weeks straight, without her thoughts intervening and waking her up in the middle of the night to jot down ideas.

Two Stories (December 20, 2009. Issue 12.)

Shadows of my mind

“No! Not now.” I am in sheer panic. My body feels as though I am smoldering from the inside out, as if I have drunk acerbic liquor. I feel a proverbial irritable consciousness, that sad endorphine feeling, consuming my mind. I stop dressing; place my bright pink lipstick, in a slow rhythmic movement, precisely on my dresser table. Then I pick it up again, gaze at it as if I am seeing it for the first moment before repositioning it, this time lining it up with the other lips sticks.

“Neat and tidy.” I smile despondently.

I sit on my bed, staring up at the ceiling in amazement for a few minutes, before burying my face in the palms of my hands and sobbing, un-controllably. It is nine am in the morning. The interview, my second interview is at ten thirty.

“I can’t do this, today.”

I dial the firm and tell them I am unable to make it. “I’m unwell” I say. They like my designs, they are willing to reschedule. I should be happy but I am overcome with numbness, nothing matters anymore. I spend the day, eating ice cream, with my curtain draws, until I am surrounded in complete darkness, while sobbing in my pillow.

This is how it starts. First a feeling of pure sadness hits you like a flood of water. Then you feel irritable, sometimes even having a sudden outburst of the giggles and then that twinkle in your eyes begins to fade. Abruptly followed by the thought that the world and everything in it is out to get you. Nothing feels worth it, not even you.

This aggressive mood swing, lasts about two week, each days getting worse. I spend my days sulking and tucked in bed in the same pyjamas; staring at my phone ringing, too afraid to answer it, because I don’t want to explain to my friends why I am avoiding them and no longer have the urge to return their call. Mid week is normally the scariest, at this stage I feel so terribly alone; reminiscing about how much I have messed up my dreams, declaring that my life is a shambles? Tears flowing non-stop, overpowered by this intense sadness with no logical reason why I am lonely. I have lived with this all my life, so I know the drill.

After Two weeks my sadness is replaced with the intense feeling of happiness. I live for this feeling, which almost makes my condition feels worthwhile.

“I’m Queen of the universe!”

It’s at this stage I feel at my most creative- as if I am on top of the world. I return my friends calls, some friends don’t respond back to me. Other friends act as if I hadn’t been gone at all; they are use to it, which makes me fearful that if I ever go missing, maybe no one will come looking for me.

Three weeks later I’m beaming with energy, waiting in the waiting room, when a tall gentleman approaches me. We shake hands and I am grinning animatedly.

“Gosh, you’re excited.” He says, hesitantly, then smiles and adds. “Just the kind of quality we are looking for in an employee.”

“That’s because I’m on top of the world.” I say, and I truly am.

“Are you listening to me?”

I nodded shyly, staring at James, hanging on to his every word. He was devilishly handsome, with broad shoulders and thick dark curly hair. He was wearing a pink top that clothed his muscles elegantly, and white shorts that exposed toned legs.

“That was the last question he ever asked, before he died”

I smiled sweetly and peered up at James sheepishly, in a kind of lazy but dreamy movement and thrust my chest far out so that his gaze rested on it, but only briefly, before he repositioned his attention to the conclusion of his story. Hands clapped together, so that it floated freely between my right cheeks and gently grazed my shoulder, I inhaled a deep breath, the way a woman would, when she realized how much she was loved by her future husband to be. “I’m listening to you.”

Dark eyes. Full! Juicy! Kissable lips. Smile that lights up even the darkest room. His face was animated as he told the story of the time he saw the ghost of his dead grandfather, right before his eyes. “The old man was covered in blood, looking at me as if I knew his secret and he had come back to claim it.” he said, jumping up and down in excitement, trying to demonstrate the ghostly ghastly movement. “My heart was in my throat. I couldn’t scream. It was dark but I could see him moving towards me, all aluminous like. I tried to scream but my voice had suddenly disappeared.”

He stopped dead in his sentence and glance at me. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You sure you’re not feeling ill or something?” He enquired further. “You look awfully pale…ohm…”

I smiled again, staring into his eyes, but this time he held my gaze and his expression softened. Within that moment I knew he loved me back. No one could show such tender an expression, if they weren’t feeling strong emotions.

“Rachael”

“Sorry?”

“My name is Rachael, we went to the same college for three years” I beamed. “You said hello to me, once, but you were in such a hurry, so you couldn’t stop to talk but, you helped me with my fallen books anyway and you… well… our hands touched briefly.”

A tall impatient man gestured for James to continue with the story and he did but with a hint of slight hesitation. Perhaps he knew! He could feel it, I am sure. The cosmic energy between us. He smiled at me and I knew then that he wanted me to do it. It was time for us to be together. I reached for my bag nesting by my ankle and rummaged through it until my hands rested on the small shinny object, lying heavily in the bottom of my bag. I pulled it out, swiftly, pointed it at him and pulled really hard. The noise was loud and the close proximity of the blast hurt my ears. The crowd of fans franticly dispersed from their seating position, jumping over each other, running for cover. Stop it! The panic! The fear! Stop screaming! This had nothing to do with you all! I was feeling mildly agitated by their melodramatic response to faith. This was our destiny. Two souls interconnected, through time. One by death, the other through life. It was a perfect mixture of the creator, the pure intoxicated power of feeling immortal! The excitement, the lustful taste for the ability to play God. James must have known that I was his God. This was the only way he could be mines, all mine! No one else’s! Why else would he ask me if I was okay. Undeterred by the immersing crowd, and determined to complete my mission, I pulled twice. He fell to the ground and I gracefully picked up my bag from the floor and put the object in it. Neatly!

James’ body lay lifeless on the floor, blood slowly forming a pool beneath him. I knelt down and softly touched my lips to his. He kissed beautifully. He smelt wonderful. He looked peaceful. I cradled his body in my arms.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now. We are together, just the way we planned.”

I had given life to the man I loved within that instance. He was free, to visit me in my dreams, as often as he wanted, now. I was cuddling the man I loved and hated, from a distance. The man I had needed for the past three years but was too busy to notice me. Yes, it was the biggest achievement of my life. James Underwood was finally mine. I was his Creator! He had chosen me, to love him back.