mistymidnight
Author's Notes: Well, I was in the mood to update, which is rare for me nowadays. Nobody reviews me anymore! (Think of me saying that in a very whiny voice. Like mosquito-whine.) I stuck a note about this in my user profile, but I guess no one reads my user profile anymore. Sigh. Well, anyway, this is what my note said:
WARNING! Danger, danger, Will Robinson! Okay, had to get that out of my system. This note is to let all readers know that due to a lack of feedback, I may discontinue updating "Nonsense". I'd really love to continue, but I'm not feeling the same urge to update I felt before, and it doesn't seem to be generating the same interest. That's why updates have been slower lately. If I don't get the feedback I'd like (yes, I'm being bratty) then the updates will be fewer and far between and will probably stop altogether. So please think about whether or not you want "Nonsense" discontinued. If you want to continue reading new chapters, let me know and review, review, review! (Email would not go unappreciated either...hint, hint.) If I don't get any response to this, I will devote my efforts to something more rewarding (novels, anyone?). Remember: it only takes thirty seconds to review, a minute tops. It can take me up to forty-five minutes (most days) to get a chapter just right (and not because I'm a slow typist.) See how it doesn't really balance out? =)
Yep, that's me. I'm a whiner.
To anyone who's remotely interested: my AIM screen name is now mistymidnight45. So if you wanna talk to me, or just add someone else to your buddy list so you can beat all your friends in the who-has-the-longest-buddy-list contest, that's the way.
I haven't been writing Little Dawn fics lately (or anything, as a matter of fact.) For those of you who are only reading this to pass the time between Dawn fics, sorry. I'll try to get working on some new ones. I'm running out of ideas. Requests? Please?
On with the chapter!
Chapter SixteenThe woods were cool and Tara felt herself being calmed right away. Just breathing the air felt good. Because, Tara realized, the smell of cigarettes isn't hanging around. She closed her eyes for a second and just breathed in the freshness of everything. Then a bug buzzing in her ear brought her back to reality.
My mother is dying.
This couldn't be right. Moms were supposed to grow old so that someday when you had kids they could spoil them rotten. They were supposed to cry at your wedding and call you after every doctor's appointment and you were supposed to take them out for lunch on Mother's Day.
I'll never reminisce about old times, Tara thought. We won't look back at my yearbooks and laugh about this time and that person. She won't see me graduate college—she might never even see me graduate high school! Tara frowned at herself. Don't think like that. She can get better. She'll get therapy. Dad will quit smoking.
Tara swatted the bug and continued on her way. She walked deeper into the woods and then stopped.
The spot where she was standing was nothing extraordinary. There was no view, no interesting trees, no flowers, no lake or pond or stream. But Tara cherished this spot. Whenever she felt overwhelmed, she came to this place.
Tara sat down by the grave she had dug so many years before and asked, "How are you?"
She knew it was stupid, really. Dead birds don't talk to you, and even if they did, they would not be doing well at all. How could anything buried underground be doing well? Besides seeds, of course.
But it was all right. Tara didn't expect an answer anyway. It was just soothing to talk to the bird. It helped. Sure, the bird didn't answer, but it never said anything hurtful either. It never told Tara the truth she so desperately didn't want to hear.
So she focused on the gravestone, which was half-buried by leaves and woodsy things. Tara cleaned the gravesite every Memorial Day, but October was a long time past Memorial Day, and the grave could use another neatening up. Tara leaned forward and brushed some of the dried and caked-on mud from the engraved rock that served as a tombstone and continued her conversation with the bird.
"My Mom has lung cancer. She's dying." Tara paused. "Daddy's killing her. Sort of how Donny killed you." She stopped and tears stung her eyes. "My family is full of murderers!" She flung the handful of leaves she collected into the woods. She knew calling her family murderers was melodramatic, but it was how she felt. She couldn't help it.
"I wish—" Tara began, but didn't finish. If wishes were horses… wasn't there a saying like that or something?
There was no point in finishing. Wishes wouldn't change anything.
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It was very quiet at dinner. A sense of sorrow had settled over the family. It was like Mom was already dead.
As Tara finished her lasagna, her father sat back in his chair and said, "Tara, be a good girl and get me the Marlboros from the counter."
Tara's breath stopped. She couldn't believe it. She felt light-headed with rage and she felt the need to do something drastic. So she did.
"You're going to smoke?!" she demanded, standing up and banging her hands on the table. "You're killing Mom! For all I know, you could be killing all of us! That's rat poison! I bet you didn't know you smoked rat poison, Daddy, but you do. Rat poison and nicotine and tobacco. Tar! You're killing us with road pavement!"
"Tara," Mommy began.
Tara turned to face her mother. "He's killing you, Mom! He swore to honor you, til death do you part." She turned to her father. "Guess you'll be parting soon than planned, huh?"
"Tara MaClay," Daddy growled dangerously. "You shut up right now."
"No!" Tara shouted. "I won't! You're killing—" Tears spilled over and Tara choked on her words. "You're killing my mother. My mother."
There was silence at the table. "You worthless girl," Daddy snarled. "Do you think you can tell me what to do? You think you can control life and death? I'll smoke if I want to, and you won't control me. You are my daughter, Tara, and you will do as I tell you!"
Tara's sad sobs turned to sobs of utter depression.
"You are not necessary to this family! You can't do anything right. I could have put you up for adoption the second you were born. But I didn't. You owe this life to me!"
Tara put her elbows on the table and leaned on her hands, shaking with sobs.
"Donny," Dad said, "get my cigarettes."
Donny obediently got up from the table and went to retrieve the cigarettes. Tara put her head up. So Dad wants to smoke, she thought. Well, let's show him what real smoking's all about.
"Ignis."
Donny jerked his hand away as the cigarette pack burst into flames.
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Okay, so it was kind of an abrupt ending, but I'm getting tired. To Paula—I was planning to incorporate some of your ideas in this chapter, 'cause I really like them, but, alas, my mind is a strange creature. Despite my full intentions to do something, it goes and decides otherwise. Darn mind.
mistymidnight