liddlebitz

shadowwolf13  is spreading the love here. I shall go back and add some more names later, but in the meantime, why not chip in with how great everyone is?? You can also still get in on my own version of Christmas cheer by asking me for whatever LJ can provide. Your wish is my command!

The clink of china teacups was a strange song in my living room.

My daughter Abby fluttered from here to there in a sea of pink tulle and ruffles, charming even stodgiest of the neighborhood wives with her gap-toothed smile and infectious giggle. Some of the ladies even chuckled along.

“Polly, she is so charming,” Mrs. Reinert gushed. I smiled my thanks.

“Lovely to find such a gifted child in your household,” she continued. “With you and Richard having only attended state schools, you know.”

My jaw tightened, but I pursed my lips into an awkward smile. “We certainly are fortunate.”

“Certainly!” she agreed. “I very much hope that you will be sending Abigail to a proper school. I find that creative minds left unlearned and undisciplined tend to produce social degenerates.”

My face was impassive. “We plan to send Abby to Rincon Valley Elementary. It has a wonderful academic reputation, and many of her friends are also going to attend.”

“A public school?” Mrs. Reinert gaped. “But Polly, it just isn’t suitable. The students she would be mingling with – what an awful thought.” She laid a hand on my arm and fixed me with a motherly stare. “Polly, you simply mustn’t.”

The room gradually quieted. A little hand tugged mine, and I broke eye contact with Mrs. Reinert to lift my daughter into my lap. The sleeves of her party dress scratched my arms and I frowned, wondering how she had so patiently worn this frilly mess.

“Which students are you concerned about, Mrs. Reinert?” I finally asked.

“Why, the poor ones! They have no sense of propriety. You can’t allow them to influence Abigail. They will ruin your daughter, Polly.”

Before I could react, I felt Abby stir in my arms. I looked down just in time to watch her pull apart her little tuna and horseradish sandwich – and plant both halves, tuna side down, on Mrs. Reinert’s cleavage.

Even amid her shrieks, I’m sure Mrs. Reinert heard Abby whisper, “You aren’t a very nice lady. I think you should go now.”

Mrs. Reinert was on her feet, a flurry of cackling hens at her elbows, nervously patting her décolletage with cocktail napkins and shooting me indignant glances.

“Why! You! You reprobate!”

She spun to glare at me. “I’ve never endured such treatment in this neighborhood! I demand you censure this repugnant little ingrate!”

Mirth sparkled in my eyes as I hugged my little ingrate closer.

“I think she’s got you pegged, Mrs. Reinert. How about you get the fuck out of my house?”

therealljidol topic 8: reprobate

“What do you mean, ‘You’re dead!’”

“Just that Madam. You have ceased to exist.”

I stood at the Pearly Gates in shock. The last thing I remembered was walking into the store to buy a pack of cigarettes.

“You’ve got to be joking! It’s not my time; I’m too young to be dead. There must be some mistake.”

“I’m sorry, but you are indeed dead. Too many days of fast food and liquor- had a heart attack. Dead before you hit the floor.”

“Well, FUCK!”

St. Peter, (at least I assumed it was St. Peter) stood before me in a suit and tie with his clipboard in hand. The after life’s ultimate Mâitre Di.

“I’m afraid that sort of language will not change the situation. Will that be smoking or non-smoking?”

I gave him the nastiest glare I could, then frowned.

“If I’m dead, and about to enter heaven, where are my fluffy wings and halo?”

St. Peter smiled, his perfect teeth flashing in a quick humorless grin.

“Good dental plan, eh?” I muttered under my breath.

He chose to ignore me.

“My dear, who said anything about you entering eternal paradise? I’m not entirely sure you have fulfilled your quota of lives on Earth.”

“Angel say what?!” I was shocked. Of course I would get into Heaven; there was no reason I shouldn’t. I had been a good Catholic girl, on my knees every Sunday, singing with the congregation, and atoning for whatever misdeeds had occurred the night before. Surely the Almighty wouldn’t reject his humble servant.

“I said that you haven’t filled your quota of time spent on Earth. Really, Bridget, we went over this last time you were here.”

“Let me see that,” I said, grabbing his clipboard. I scanned the few pages detailing my past lives.

“A salmon? Really? I was a salmon last time!”

“Yes, quite a naughty one too. Killed a whole dinner party when they made you into a mousse.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Oh no, Dear. I never kid.”

I handed back the clipboard, dejected. There would be no entry into peaceful eternity this go-round.

St. Peter gave me his same sympathetic smile, and began ruffling through a large appointment book that he had conjured out of thin air.

“Now let’s see what shall I send you back as…” he trailed off, lost in thought. “Oh! This will suit you perfectly, mon petit chou.”

There was a burst of purple smoke as I was hurtled back towards land.

Once the transition was complete, I looked around at my new surroundings. There was nothing but fields and greenery as far as I could see.

Fuck. That bastard had turned me into a cabbage! I just hoped I didn’t become someone’s Kimchi.

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Poll #1498176 LJ Idol, Season Six – Tribe Photodiva02's Beauty, Week Seven
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The warmth of the room was a sharp contrast to the chill of the doctor’s table beneath me.

My nerves were on edge, fingers twitching of their own accord. I kept taking deep breaths, frantically trying to calm my pounding heart.

What had driven me to this point, why was I doing this? I closed my eyes as the harsh light by the table switched on. It was time.

His voice was comforting as he explained the procedure. Simple and easy, it would be done before I knew it.

I needed release; something to calm the buzzing in my head, clear away the pain and confusion that had shrouded me for so long.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” I whispered, my voice catching slightly.

He traced the pattern against my skin with his work-roughened hands, making me shiver in anticipation. I took a breath, held it, and let it out slowly.

My life was changed with one touch of the tattooist’s needle. The pain was marginal, and I lost myself in the sensations.

I’ve been tattooed twice since that first experience. It’s my release, a way to take all my pain and anger, and turn it into something beautiful.

Turning me into something beautiful.

Okay, so he called you fat.

He’s not the first selfish, insecure man to complain about his wife’s body post-baby. He won’t be the last.

I imagined you standing there, just out of sight, feeling the tingly rush of color to your cheeks as you realized something was wrong. Your fragile self-esteem was under attack, and he was carving new wounds into existing scar tissue.

We offered to come get you that weekend. We told you that he wasn’t worth it, that he didn’t appreciate or deserve you, and that you were beautiful. We told you we’d be happy to kick his ass. We offered to hit him where it really hurts and delete his World of Warcraft characters.

But at the end of the day, you just seemed to need some affirmation, and then you let it go. I tried to let it go, too.

Things seemed to get worse after that. Honestly, I think you just couldn’t hide it anymore. I began to pick up on subtle references to past abuse, which implied but never promised that all was safe now.

I was relieved and proud when you kicked him out – and I know that you were, too. I worried, but understood, when you took him back in. He’s the father of your child, and it’s Christmas.

And now he’s done the unthinkable. He’s violated you, his wife. The woman he swore he’d love, forsaking all others, for the rest of his life. Over the years, he has stolen your sense of self-preservation.

My brain shrieks for vengeance, and you are morosely vowing not to rock the boat until the holiday season has passed, and your little one has opened gifts with Mommy and Daddy together one last time.

You deserve so much better – and your daughter does, too. Someday, she may face the same decision you do now – and I hope that she can proudly follow your lead, to step out in courage and expel the source of violence from her life.

In the meantime, I will honor your wishes, and simply be there for you, and for her.

But if he lays a finger on you again – if he so much as touches you one more time – I’ll fucking kill him.

therealljidol topic 7: one touch