Creative Writing
“Dear diary, I luuuve Harry Gregory…” At this point she lunges, but is no match for her beast of a brother. He elevates the diary above his meathead, out of reach. Kendall admits defeat and slams the door to her sanctum behind her. Finally at peace, she pulls a fresh leaf of paper from her school book and begins to draw. She draws the carnival, at dark with lots of colourful lights. She imagines the smell of fresh popcorn and roasted chestnuts. She draws a stilt man, a juggler and an acrobat. She draws a clown. There is something about this clown, it makes her feel uneasy. She erases the clown. “He is gone now.” She tells herself. “He can’t find you anymore.” With the image still engraved in her mind, Kendall eventually joins the world of dreams and is asleep before he comes home. The steam from strained pasta clouds up the kitchen window and a pot of tomato sauce boils over on the stove. Marilyn clutches the envelope. Her fierce grip makes the paper quiver and crumple. She does not have the courage to open it. The front door creaks and she jumps to her feet, wiping away the mascara, two black slices down her cheeks. An echo of a workers boot on the stucco pavers and the smell of sweat mixed with grease intoxicate the house. His glare pierces her skin as if a cold dagger is forced into her spine. “I made you dinner…honey”. The final word is thrust from her lips, an anomaly. The figure encircles her in a crushing embrace. She frees herself from him and shows no attempt to hide her distress. “Sweet bird, poor bird…do I frighten you?” He slips a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles showing a misshapen row of rot. “What happened to the girl I met at the carnival, the one who loved me so easy?” He grins. He feeds off her fear. Marilyn feels sick, she - 177 -