A trickle of blood

Page 62…  in a fiction series

Miranda felt the knife graze her skin, her warm blood seaping through a T-shirt already stained with red paint.  There was a loud crack as the blade crashed through her rib cage and into her heart.

She asked again in a louder tone, “What are you talking about? We both know that’s not possible!  How in the world did you make a baby?  And how could you do it without me?”

“Medical science has come a long way since you and I went to the doctor to find out if we could have a child.  You remember that, right?  I know you were pretty upset.”

“Do I remember?  Harry, it was my thirtieth birthday!  I found out we would never have a family!  I was so depressed I started drinking every night!  Do I remember?  Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do.” 

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Did you get married the day after you were on my boat?  The day you asked me to come home?” 

“We had been seeing each other… ”

“And she got pregnant.”

“Something like that.”

Miranda felt another prick against her skin, a trickle, a surge, more blood.  The blade found its way in, deeper this time, the sensation painless compared to her suffering. Coughing, choking, it was getting hard to speak.

“Harry, how could you do this to me!?  That’s my baby!  A girl named ‘Mandy’ is having my baby!” 

Miranda thought about Mandy, eight months along, a scary apparition with a big belly, fangs, and big dirty feet.  She sounded gross.

It was just like that Barry Manilow song, “Mandy.”  Everyone in her class at school hated that song.  “Oh, Mandy…. well you came and you gave without taking… but I sent you away, awe Mandy.”  Some people even said that song was about a horse!  Can you believe it– a friggin’ HORSE!?   Harry should send her away, just like in the song.  Miranda knew him all too well… he would never be happy with a pregnant girl named Mandy.

Miranda had completely snapped.

“Miranda… hun… I shouldn’t have said anything.  I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Miranda felt faint.  She was seeing stars.  Like an old person who takes blood pressure pills and stands up too fast.  She imagined Harry’s new wife sitting in her old office, scribbling on her Vera Bradley desk blotter, a big ugly trench coat on the polished hook behind the door.  That girl has, no doubt, screwed up every account Miranda worked so hard for.  And as far as her walk-in closet back at the house… the thought of it made her sick.  She heard somebody calling her name.

“Miranda!  Miranda!  Listen.  We can talk about this another time.  Sometime when you’re feeling better.”  He worried about what she was going to do next.  He’d seen her this way before, didn’t know how she could handle a full-blown manic epidose all alone. 

“Are you taking your medication?  You said you were going to cut back on your drinking.   You doing okay with that?”  If she went out to a bar and something bad happened, he would never forgive himself.  Miranda didn’t mention that she had nine months of sobriety.  What did it matter now anyway…

Miranda said, “I have to go.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

A pause…

“Don’t ever call me.  And don’t call me hun.”

To be continued…

*This story is based on some true events, however, has been fictionalized and all persons appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.    


© 2012, Shoes for an Imaginary Life. All rights reserved.

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15 Responses to A trickle of blood

  1. Jan says:

    Much worse than being punched in the stomach. What vivid imagery. That kind of pain that seems worse than death, as if death would be a tremendous relief, just not to hurt like that any more, ever again. Wow.

  2. Larry Who says:

    “…Miranda felt the knife graze her skin, her warm blood seaping through a T-shirt already stained with red paint. There was a loud crack as the blade crashed through her rib cage and into her heart…”

    Ouch! I like this scene with the analogy of the knife and the pain.

    Okay, I’m ready. Let’s turn the page.

  3. Theresa says:

    I echo Larry…powerful writing! You are such a talented writer.

    I have a hunch the next few posts are going to be heart wrenching. :(

    But I’m hanging in there looking forward to happier times for Miranda that will eventually come.


    • Linda says:

      Thank you, Theresa… Yes, things are going downhill, and while the knife didn’t kill her, other events in Miranda’s future just might.

  4. Debbie says:

    I am hurting now, for Miranda. That is how you know you are a good writer, Linda, when you make us feel things, when we all become emotionally invested in this. I want to fly to her and keep whatever is about to happen next from happening. I want to scream at Harry and stuff a sock in him. Okay . . I feel a little better now. But I’m awfully tense as I wait for the next page. love and hugs!

    • Jim Travis says:

      Wow Deb, me dear gentle friend wants to accost Harry, I would say you have pricked our hearts Linda.

      • Linda says:

        Yeah… Debbie is the last one I’d expect to turn on anyone, but in this case, she’s right on!

    • Linda says:

      Ah yes… about Harry. He has certainly played a part in Miranda’s troubled life. But this, above all else, will nearly destroy her.

  5. Jim Travis says:

    Painful writing, yet courageous writing, so many never reach the point of being able to open up and share their hurts. Brings to mind a friend who is a succesful inspirational speaker. He and other Insp. Spkr’s were at a convention for “you guessed it” inspirational speaking. A youngish man approached the group of seasoned and succesful speakers and asked if he might ask them some questions, it seems the business in Insp. Speaking that he was starting was not going well, and he couldn’t figure out what he was doing wrong. He had gone to school, read many books on the subject, but people just weren’t responding.
    One by one they questioned him, are you married? yes, happy? yes, children? yes, happy and healthy, two kids, one of each. How was your upbringing? Great, mom stayed home with him and dad worked, very loving and supportive, functional family, they were still alive, healthy and happily married. The men all looked to one another seriously, nodding. It was apparent, the young man could see they saw the problem, he eagerly asked “what is it, what can I do?
    Get another job, you weren’t meant to be an insp. spkr., they all concurred. The young man was disturbed, why would you say such a thing, he asked angrily? Because all of our lives have “sucked big time”, every sussesful I.S. comes from a life that sucks. If someone comes from a life where everything has always been good, what do they have to offer to a person who is going through a storm, “nothing”! Through our pain, and having to climb out of our mire pit of misery, we have learned the way, and are now able to serve as guides to those who are lost. If you haven’t been there, you can’t possibly help anyone else. The man was sad, but he got it. This story reminds me of that, because it shows where you have been, how steep the walls of the pit were, how hard to climb out it was, but you made it and now you are able to have empathy for others who may be trying to escape the same pit, and not know how. Had your life been bumpless, you would not be able to help, just saying. Anyway, sorry so long winded, God Bless-Jim

    • Linda says:

      I agree, Jim… pain and consequences go a long way toward personal growth. But climbing out of that pit can be so exhausting. Maybe the challenge is to stay strong, climb is baby steps, and never look down. I’m still climbing, so we’ll see…

  6. .endtransmission. says:

    “Miranda felt the knife graze her skin, her warm blood seaping through a T-shirt already stained with red paint. There was a loud crack as the blade crashed through her rib cage and into her heart.”

    I thought this was the end of Miranda…. I really did. Powerful writing, Linda. Intense, graphic, and oh so perfect. Well done! Bravo!!

    • Linda says:

      Thanks, e.t… She’s hurt, but she’s not dead yet. If Miranda can defeat her own demons and survive the coming fury, she may even have a happy future… or maybe not.

  7. Janeth says:

    Voile de nacresur l onde qui frloisnnesa voix de la nuit>> la nuit, le frisson au bord de la nacre. Tu as tout dit, che8re Maria, de l indicible. Une onde qui se de9ploie, un fre9missement de la peau.

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