Sunday 23 February 2014

Dropping off the Edge of the Earth

When I was little I thought everyone I loved was strong and invincible. My grandma especially because she was always such an amazing women and always knew the right thing to say. To the very end she was defiant. Swearing and using profanities at the ripe age of 79. She saved me more times then I care to admit and was a shinning light in my sea of adolescent confussion. My lighthouse if you will. Though I would like to think I have grown up there is still advice I wish I could get from her. And now that she is gone ever so expectadly but still so suddenly, I feel as though my ship is sailing straight into darkness. For the last couple days since her death I have allowed myself to sail aimlessly off the edge of the Earth and I have shrunk to a lost and confused child once more.
I love her so dearly and miss her so much, and I dont think I will ever stop. Here's to a new adventure into the unknown. A road we will all travel in our own way.

Thursday 13 February 2014

Christine in Real Time

I never thought outside judgement effected me until I look back into my younger years. Oh how fearful I was of others and how oppressed I made myself. Years of life locked away and forgotten for the simple fact that I was afraid and ashamed. When I was in junior high I had two very close friends. The dynamic of all three of us wavered consistently but I always seemed to share a stronger bond with one in particular. She was a beautiful girl with petite features even for her age and besides being so incredibly jealous of her I also loved everything about her. I was not always the best friend in the world and I'm afraid it was out of my own fear that I sometimes judged her. My number one goal at the time was to somehow catch the attention of an attractive popular guy and keep it. I had no idea why I wanted this so bad, it was just simply the way things were supposed to be.
One day I had long forgotten until only a couple days ago I was sitting on the gym floor in a school assembly with my gorgeous best friend. Somehow whether I had given it to her or she had grabbed it our hands met. As I remember it she had made the move and I tried to justify it as a plea for support. For the remainder of the assembly I could not hear a word being said. As I begin to remember I can vividly recall how our fingers intertwined had felt. Iwas nervous and fearful that the wrong eyes would catch a glimpse and my mind swirled with guilt and pleasure. Being called a lesbian had always been an insult as long as I could remember and if it was shot your way you would giggle at the stupidity of it and deny deny deny. Of course my views have changed immensely and I no longer subscribe to that social misconception I grew up with in school. And of course my parents had always been supportive no matter what. However at that moment I was not ready to commit much more to the confusing feelings I felt and in some ways I think I'm still not.
At least now I can addmit though I was scared I was thankful for her hand in mine and finally I can say I enjoyed it just as much as I enjoy my boyfriends hand in mine today. I can say this without shame or judgment on myself or my friend and I feel lighter for it.

Tragedies of Lorali Fragment 2: Meeting Lorali

Where we left off in Fragment 1:
Judah is a mysterious man who claims to know Emily's mother. He brings with him a tattered old journal in hopes of connecting himself as well as Em with the lost memory of Lorali. [if you wish to read for yourself click HERE 

Meeting Lorali


Jude trembled as he turned the book open revealing Lorali's handwriting sprawled across the first page. He cleared his throat terrified about how this would all play out.
"Would you mind reading, I am afraid its a little difficult for me." Jude said barely looking up from the page. Em grabbed the book reluctantly but began reading anyway. The words poured out as though she had rehearsed them a million times.

"The lengthy mirror hung a few inches from the floor smugly reflecting what was supposedly me; my odd fitted body, the tangled mess on my head, my unruly eyebrows and those annoying abnormally small lips. On any given day there were an infinite number of things I could find potentially wrong with me or my body. I looked down at my unproportionately small feet wondering if I would ever like the image glaring back at me. It was the same thing every morning and frankly I had grown tired of not looking the way I sometimes felt when mirrors weren't around.
I shifted my gaze from my feet up to my thighs, irritated by how they stuck together. I had never much liked my legs or how they slightly resembled tree stumps. Next in my careful inspection was my muffin top. I glared angrily at it and it simply giggled back. It made my outline lumpy and tight fitting clothes truly uncomfortable. My arms always aggravated me the most; how my shoulders looked normal but how a strange puffiness ensued as my arms gradually exposed themselves. And then there was my face.
“I HATE YOU” I yelled lunging myself forward with full force face first into the mirror; blood and glass decorated the floor beneath my feet…
Only I didn't yell. And I hadn't recklessly plunged my face into a god damned mirror on the wall. Instead I stood silently with my eyes closed, hearing glass shattering in my mind. I wondered if one day I would actually jump into wonderland but I didn't ponder the maybe’s to long."

Em paused for a moment to catch her breath. This seemed all to familiar to her and she wasn't quite sure that she liked it. The words jumped out at her and stung with forceful pain, like sharp needles piercing her skin. Jude wondered if this had been a good idea and reached forward to retrieve the book. Em's hand shot forward and pulled the book back towards her; she soon carried on as though nothing had happened.

"It was a lovely brisk April morning and rain fell slowly pitter pattering the ground methodically.  Not a single thing had to be done that day so after tearing myself from my own reflection I made my way to the window with a cup of hot tea. I loved to watch the rain and every so often I would just simply listen. Rain pooled in predictable little spots on the streets and I hoped it would last all day just for the simple fact that it gave me an excuse not to leave the house. Just as I was pondering life's greatest questions Ryan sauntered up the steps of my building. I watched as he skipped over puddles almost childishly with his guitar securely in a case on his back. My heart skipped a noticeable beat as I tried to play it cool.
"Ry!" I smiled as I met him at the door. He walked past soaked to the bone but returning my smile. There was something so intriguing about the way he smiled. He was a deep confusion to me but I loved just being in his presence; it made me feel alive and gave me every reason to be myself. There was never a moment that I felt uncomfortable around Ry; though ironically I was always afraid of telling him how I really felt about us. Truthfully "us" was an entity I had created in my mind in hopes that it would eventually come true. I knew he was fragile and he had plenty of reasons why we were all wrong together but that had never stopped us from fooling around. Ry mirrored a more desirable me in many ways. And I wanted so badly to capture this that I had grasped to tightly onto the idea suffocating the truth about the matter.
"Hey kiddo" he said making himself at home. His wet jacket draped over my kitchen table and he sat guitar in hand on the edge of the couch. "I missed ya L". Ry was almost fourteen years older but it had never really seemed like it to me. The age gap was nothing of a problem in my eyes but somehow it had always held him back. I sat beside him and listened as he strummed absent-mindedly on his guitar. Ry rarely said anything that made him vulnerable and I had never actually heard him say he missed me.  But then again most of the time I had no idea what to expect from him. I wanted to return the sentiment and allow the words I so desperately wanted to say to pour out. But the moment passed and instead I leaned into his shoulder. We sat for a while, him playing guitar and me listening contently. The music soothed the ache I sometimes felt around him and I imagined a scenario where our friendship was not so confusing."

Em watched as emotions played across Jude's face. She couldn't quite read them but she instinctively knew that this was hard for him to hear. In some small way she felt almost sorry for him; although he was strong and looked tough he reminded Em of a big teddy bear and she wanted to console him. She closed the journal knowing that the last bit of the entry would devastate Jude but having no idea how she could possibly have guessed. "I think that might be enough for today" she said without looking up. "Would you like to stay for dinner?" Jude looked surprised by the invitation however agreed quite quickly.
Jude could still feel a pang in his heart from the mention of Ryan but eased up as the evening carried on. The two cooked together in perfect harmony and for just a while Jude could forget the past. He could pretend that Lorali was still okay and that they hadn't skipped a beat. But Em, although very much like Lorali was in many ways very different. She was jaded and unforgiving and it made sense. Life had betrayed her, had beaten and bloodied her, had strained her beyond breaking point and had left her behind without so much as a warning. Perhaps Jude could have prevented some of Em's pain and maybe that was why he was there; maybe part of him needed to do this for his own conscience. Though memories of Lorali destroyed every fibre of his being he decided to carry on with what he had started.  Em agreed to meet Jude the next morning at a coffee shop to read the next entry and she waved goodbye from her window as he drove away.

Wednesday 12 February 2014

Rigmor Manor

HEY Blogging World :) 
Unfortunately there will be no Memoirs of a Mermaid this week as I have been unable to properly formulate my ideas around it. But Fragment 2 of Tragedies of Lorali will be posted tomorrow as promised. To read Fragment 1  click HERE. In Fragment two we will meet Lorali through the first few pages of her journal and gain insight into the mind of a women that Em strives to forget and Jude simply can not. 
As for today I hope you will enjoy this short story.

Rigmor Manor 

The clock ticked almost vigorously in the dark cold night as the wind howled tirelessly. It had been days since her brothers funeral but she could still hear him pacing the room across the hall and humming to himself. Time had no place in the halls of Rigmor Manor; all but the rooms in the west wing were empty of signs of aging. Even Mrs. Rigmor had managed to maintain a youthful glow. It seemed that life went on as per usual for Mr and Mrs Rigmor but their only child left was wilting away at a rapid pace. Constance sat absentmindedly at the tiny desk residing in her room. She was in some sort of a trance most of her waking hours. And if she slept she was haunted by reality still. Their parents had never shown much affection toward them but Constance and Will had always been close. Family was not of much importance at Rigmor Manor; all the money in the world could not buy compassion. Constance played over the day in her head. Her mothers cold features, her fathers busy pace. Nothing had changed as though Will was simply an old fixture in the house. She contemplated writing something. Anything. But it really wouldn't matter.
"Will" she whispered closing her eyes; hoping to resurrect him if only just on the back of her eyelids. She could feel his presence everywhere and wished that the past few weeks had simply been a dream. Constance felt as though the world had teeth and in that very moment they were snapping hungrily at her. Suddenly she felt the wind tugging gently at her hair; throwing it west and south. Something was jolting Constance up out of her seat and forwards; away, to be free. Free of her fears and constant pain.
It wasn't long before she had reached the window and was staring lifelessly at the hard unforgiving ground far bellow.
She felt a hand lightly rest upon her shoulder. She wanted so badly to hurl herself over the windowsill and and drift into the same world her brother now lived. But the hand though light held her in place and Will whispered gently "go find your own home". Constance snapped into a conscious state and looked around the room. Will was no where to be found and the hand that had held her steady was gone. Constance remembered a time when they were young; Will would joke about leaving her one day so she could stand on her own. He would say "go find your own place to play, I wont always be here to hold your hand".
It was time for Constance to live her life for herself. All the walls in Rigmor Manor could not hold her back. The wind tickled her face as she reached up and slammed the window shut. Life would go on as per usual at the Rigmor Manor but Constance would have no part in it.

Saturday 8 February 2014

Hopeful Doubt

Its easy to love but forget to be loved; to fall and forget to get back up; to hurt but forget why and to tremble but forget its okay to be scared.    
Sometimes its just saying yes when its what you need to hear. Saying yes because all you've heard is no. Picking up the dead leaves others have pulled from your branches and starting over.
Its like falling asleep because you don't know what else to do or making a mess out of everything you thought you knew. And feeling lonely even when everyone's around and you're stuck in a big empty crowd, with nothing to say. Its pointless tears when no ones around, or heartache so deep you're going to drown. And speaking out but no one hears and singing loud for your own ears. Feeling lost with no direction.
But you're okay. Or atleast so they say. And you'll get there someday.

Thursday 6 February 2014

Descending

As I watch you so obscenely walking towards me, I'm mesmerized. 
It's as though the worlds beauty has meshed into one being, one awkward albeit perfect being. 
The clock is an hourglass thinly disguised so that life is not discouraged. 
But you look at the clock and you turn it ahead anyways, making time speed up. 
Have I become a pass time? Perhaps an object that allows you to move forward more quickly?
I'm not certain that I enjoy being objectified but the bigger question is where are you off to so suddenly?
To be held, to feel loved and understood. Rare commodities in a busy selfish world. 
You continue to walk towards me, eyes set, face stern. 
Have I upset you? If I have I'm sure I could fix it ! 
Just sit and I'll make you feel special, I'll rub your tense shoulders and kiss your skin gently. 
It's a gift if you will. Or a cry for your affection in return. 
I'm denying you my soul but I will sacrifice every other bit of myself for your pleasure. 
And now I've made an object of myself without a thought otherwise. 
It makes me numb and yet I still do it time and time again. 
Your stride remains slow but strong and your face is still fixed in a scowl. 
And I begin to wonder whether the disgust that sometimes surfaces is for me or for yourself. 
I can't watch you anymore, it's simply unnerving. 
I want to run I want to cry I want to do anything but just sit here. Waiting. 
I can't move. 
Your features soften as you walk right past me with not even a nod of acknowledgment. 
I can't look backwards only ahead. 
Admittedly my features soften eventually too and all is in line once more. 
Except this time you are behind me and don't have power to persuade me. 
This time I am stronger and I am me.
This time I've put my self loathing and judgments on myself far behind me. 
I am moving away from a perfect me. 
I am okay with me.

Oct 2011 Christine Scherger 

Tragedies of Lorai Fragment 1:Beginning of the End

Beginning of the End

The street was crowded with slim town houses and apartments that all looked alike. The street lamps added some character but not much and the street was otherwise not overly extraordinary. Though the neighbourhood was rather boring, it was safe. A man of a fairly decent height with thick brown hair glanced at a piece of paper he kept tucked away in his right palm. He latched onto the paper as though it were his life and in his other arm he carried an old coiled book so tight that the rings imprinted ominously into his skin. It was a bitter cold day but hope hung in the air as Judah approached apartment building 1926 and rang the bell for room 36. Emily Monroe had nearly faded from the small sign that now read "m Monroe" which Judah found just slightly wary. 

"Hello" said a fragile voice over the intercom "who is it?"

The man stepped forward ready to give the speech he had rehearsed with his car mirror about a million times. "Hey, my name is Judah..." he paused for a moment as though he was waiting for an old friend to recognize his voice. When nothing happened he quickly went on. "I'm, um, a friend of your mothers". Her psychiatrists had warned him not to be abrupt right from the start so he had formed a slight lie just to make the transition easier.

The buzzer rang at his last sentence and he bound quickly up to the door. Emily was standing there cautiously but still managed to smile.

"Hey Jude" she sang playfully. Judah's heart skipped a beat and he gazed at her hoping for more. 

"How did you know?" 

"Know what?" Emily said as she glanced sideways. 

"Oh nothing" Jude whispered almost inaudibly "can I come in for a moment?" Emily had the posture of an insecure little girl and hid her eyes behind a veil of hair. She seemed reluctant but nonetheless she stepped aside and gestured her guest inside. 

"You said you knew my mom?" Emily pulled her sweater tightly around her body as if she was suppressing something tightly inside. 

"Knew?" Jude stared blankly at her. He truly hadn't expected this.

"Yeah, she uh killed herself years ago, docs said she was pretty crazy, something like schizophrenia and borderline or whatever" There was a raw genuine pain in Jude's eyes; like a fresh crack in ice. He slowly mustered up the courage to speak.

"I'm sorry to hear that" he said almost distantly. 

"Me too" Emily said bitterly "but she never was much of a mother, she could barely take care of herself let alone take care of me. You know I almost died before I was even born" she looked scornfully at the wall behind Jude. 

"I heard..." he said softly "I guess now is not the best time to tell you I brought you something of hers; it's her journal. I found it years ago but haven't had the heart to read it. I was hoping we could read it together." 


Wednesday 5 February 2014

Memoirs of a Mermaid: What's to Know of Land Dwellers

Picture Originally from Carrolyn Lakowski Illustrations
We are all born inherently good or evil or so the men of the land believe. Thus when we perform bad deeds we are evil and when we are kind we are good. It is one without the other over and over. But good can not exisit without evil and neither can exist without judgment.            

            We believe there is no good or evil and associate with neither. There is only time and judgment. Unfortunately your minds can not comprend neutural. Your belief in right and wrong is ridiculous and laughable. It would be silly for me to fear my own kind. We share a flesh and we bleed for eachother we do not make eachother bleed. Mankind is a fearful breed that attacks whatever they do not know. I have walked clumsily amoung your species and felt very little at home.

Tuesday 4 February 2014

Watching as You Go

I am standing on a beach with my eyes open wide and I am looking at the sand; there is nothing. So I decide to build a person out of sand. The only problem is that this person cannot move. I fall in love with it and try to protect it. But one day it is swept away by the tide. I am devastated because the one thing I loved and held dear is gone. It is my tragedy. I open my eyes once more and look out at the ocean. I see my sand person floating away. He can finally move and he waves goodbye. But I choose to never remember seeing him smile, because it is my tragedy and I am much to busy looking at the sand where his footprints now forever stay, where his feet use to lye, and where my heart made its home. Death is not the tragedy. It is the stories we tell ourselves after what we chased and tried so hard to preserve is gone. I'd rather be the movement and the freedom then the footprints in the sand.

My grandmother has been a very special person in my life and has taught me so much about life. Unfortunately her time is coming to an end with a battle against cancer with no treatment; and although it makes me sad, I will be happy that she will be free. This piece is a tribute to my grandma.. the strongest women I have ever known.