Harm

6th day of the mushroom.

Tracey is sitting on her bed, next to her is a wooden box, she is staring at it.

TRACEY: Thirteen is such a young age to understand the ways of the world, I used to wonder why people said that? Two years ago I was thirteen, but I wasn't too young to understand, what my father and his friends were doing to me. I wasn't too young to realise that it was wrong. I was only too young to realise why? Why did it happen? Why is it still happening?

She takes the lid off of the box and rolls up her sleeve.

TRACEY: If there was a cure for paedophiles, I wonder if he would take it? I hope he would, but his eyes, enjoyment is all I see in them. When it happens I leave, run out the door, my mind disappears. I tell myself, leave or... (Pause). Or die inside this way. One hour of my life everyday is all they take. I can handle it, can't I?

She pulls a knife from the box, she stares, fixated on it.

TRACEY: He laughs every time I do this. 'You stupid girl' he says. His laugh is so piercing it tries to penetrate me. I wont let it.

She holds the knife on her left arm.

TRACEY: These are my scars! Caused by my own hand. He may try to affect my mind, but I affect my body. I am in control of what I show on the outside not him, never him!

Tracey cuts herself. A moment later she takes a cloth from the box and wipes the knife, she places them both back in the box and closes it. She leaves the cut to bleed and rolls her sleeve back down.

By Zelee

Half an hour

5th day of the mushroom.

“Half an hour to go.” Clive says as he pours himself another whiskey. “Yet here we are, waiting for, 'Christmas dinner', and it ain't even Christmas!” He swigs his whiskey and starts to pour another.
“Don't you think you've had enough?” Father walks in and places the turkey on the table.
“No not nearly.” He downs another.
Father takes the glass off of him. “Go and fetch your sister and mother.” Clive hesitates for a moment, but does as he is told. Father walks to the window and looks out. The sky is black. “They've arrived then.”

The family sit down at the table.
“Well tuck in then.” Mother says.
“I'm not hungry.” Clive replies, he'd poured himself another drink.
“Well if you're not going to eat your lot, I will.” Sarah grabs a slice of turkey and begins to eat. “I am eating for two.” Clive forces a smile and for his family's sake changes his mind. A happy moment occurs as they eat. “Oh, he kicked.” Sarah grabs her stomach. They all stop and stare at Sarah. “He won't have this will he?” Sarah holds back her tears. Mother grabs her hand and squeezes it gently.

One minute to go.
“Its all going to end isn't it?” Clive asks, but no one answers.“I remember the best Christmas we ever had. When I was ten.”
“That was a horrible Christmas, the power went.” Father interrupts.
“No it was great. We just sat around talking and laughing, playing games.”
“Eating cold beans.” Sarah laughs. Father looks at his watch. They hold each others hands and close their eyes.

By ZeLee

Alive

4th day of the mushroom.

I can still see those small hands in front of me, the bones piercing the skin like javelins. A delicate face bruised and with a mangled eye hanging from its socket. Could this be human? But then it spoke “Am I alive?”

Those hands are so familiar, if only I could remember why? Sometimes when I close my eyes, I see dark blood flowing from its open wounds. It is fighting back at something, but can't breathe; its injuries must have been worse than I thought, it kept coughing, at times it even threw up a little, a red-stained vomit.

I think there was a tap dripping behind me, it had a relentless pace. It seemed to get louder and louder, forcing itself into my mind like a hammer pounding on an anvil. It's strange how this tiny sound seems so much worse than the others. Not the door slamming behind me, not the glass breaking as her arm went through the window, not the thud as the kitchen iron hit flesh.

Most nights I lie awake at night, waiting for it to come. And it always does, dragging itself by one arm across the floor until it reaches my bed. The stench of decay gets stronger as it comes closer. It stares up at me and always it says those words. “Am I alive?”

The doctor say writing stuff down will help me. I doubt it. I'm sure if she could she'd open my skull, just to see what's in there. I can see it in her eyes. I've told her about the woman, asked her to protect me. All she says is “but she wasn't just any woman, was she? It's clear we've got a long road ahead”. I don't remember, but I know her ghost will never leave.

By ZeLee

Angela and the magic nail - Part one.

3rd day of the mushroom.

Angela was a girl of about ten years old. She was told by her mother, like all children are, that she was very pretty. But the truth is, she wasn't. She was a thin girl with ratty hair, that was never brushed. At her young age, acne had encompassed her face and hadn't been kind. Her teeth, even though she brushed them, like all good children do, were rotting away. At the end of her long chin, hair had begun to grow, this was usually reserved for old women, who had long since seen their youth pass them by. Most people in Angela's town usually did mistake her for an elderly woman, even though she was only ten. Though through all her ugliness there was always one thing that people would compliment her on, and that was her nails. They were long, but not overly so, they were strong and agile. They were also a beautiful shade of pink, with just the right amount of white mixed in. People would usually stop Angela in the streets and ask,
“my dear, how do you keep your nails so lovely?” To which Angela would reply,
“a lot of tender love and care.”

One day as Angela was applying the 'tender love and care', to her nails, she noticed a strange growth on her left index fingernail. Alarmed she rushed to her mother, who simply said,
“don't worry, it looks like a simple fungus infection. We will go an get some stuff to put on it.” Not being satisfied with her mother's answer, and not wanting the only beauty in her life to go away, she set out to the doctors.

On her way to the doctors, Angela could have sworn she was hearing voices. More people calling her names, she thought? But as she looked down at her infected fingernail, she noticed it had changed. It now looked as though a face had grown where her nail used to be. On closer inspection she saw a small mouth had formed at the bottom of her nail, and two very small eyes, at the top. Angela's first instinct was to scream, but before any words could escape, the nail began to talk.
“Well hello Angela.” A stunned silence fell upon her, its not everyday your fingernail talks to you. “I see you're not the most talkative person, so allow me. For too long have you let people call you names and push you around. I'm here to tell you - no longer will that happen. Me and you kid, are gonna set things right.” Now for most normal people, their initial reaction would be to question their sanity. But for Angela her fingernail was making sense. She had been made a fool of for far too long. Now her and her fingernail were going to change all of that.

By ZeLee

Bear in the Kingdom

2nd day of the mushroom.

Feeling the soft press of the enter key didn't come as a new sensation to Peter. Nor the message confirming his email was sent or the ladder of ninety two still remaining in his inbox. His eyes needing a break, he peered over his desk and noticed a great bear; its gaze firmly fixed on Peter's eyes. Then he heard the words: “You - are dying”. Though no movement came from the bear's jaw. Ignoring the words, he moved to read the day's stock reports. Again the words: “You are - dying” and the bear, now so close, he could feel its breath upon his neck.

As he strained to look past the bear's head he caught - a reflection of himself - in the window. He got up guardedly and started to run. Past the King holding court in his gilded office. Past the bloated Lords on the floor below. Past the Peasants eating grass on the ground floor. Out the orbiting door, ripping off his shirt, feeling his chest hair stand erect in the winter air. And standing next to him once more, the bear, looking into his eyes. Finally turning its back, walking off- into the masses.

By ZeLee

The Man outside my window.

1st day of the mushroom.

At a window of a house there is a child who sits and stares, staring down onto the street. Where a man stands underneath a street lamp, his face obscured by night. She knows though, that he is smiling, waiting, patiently.

“It’s time for bed.” Mum enters the room. She takes her child by the hand and leads her to bed.
“But what about the man outside my window?”
“There’s no man. Now time to dream of the angels.” She kisses her child and leaves.

The house now lies in darkness. The child, still awake, can hear footsteps cross the pavement towards her house. Outside the door, the man sees no barrier, he simply enters. At the bottom of the stairs, he begins his rise. Outside the child’s door, he breathes slowly and enters.

He stands calmly at the foot of her bed. Staring. She is hidden under her cover. His arm slowly slithers round her leg. She tries to scream, but nothing escapes. She is dragged out of bed. She is pulled down the stairs. Out of the door. She claws at the ground, nothing works. Under the street lamp she finally screams.

By ZeLee