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