The War in my Head
I stared out the window that the erie trees clawed at with their split-off branches. It was a grey chilly day, and I had to complete my column for Bridgeview Magazine. I was having issues writing about whether physical education would become compulsory or not because I had a strict tick of an idea itching at my head, so I began to fork off into a different document…
I took a bite out of the sweet corn that I had harvested for the fall; the crop turned out especially good this year. I’m not sure why but I had a feeling… The whole town was still torn up about the disappearance of Karen Winfrey...
My mother always said that the only thing that matters in a story… is the ending, and this ending is going to be great. My thought was suddenly interrupted by the doorbell. My dog woke from his slumber and began barking. I rushed to the oaky wood door -- to see Sarah holding a packet of papers. It didn’t take me long to realize they were divorce papers. It all took me back to the night I found her cheating. Although I was mad, a part of me didn’t want to give up on our bond.
“No, I won’t sign it.”
“Come on, why do you have to be so difficult with this?”
I ignored her remark and continued back to my writing desk. She continued to blabber on about how we simply weren’t good for each other, but I just tuned it out and abruptly stood up from my desk and walked purposefully across “the room.” I passed a long mirror to see my reflection wearing a raggedy t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. I quickly picked up some bundled jeans from the day before and slipped them on. I could still hear her yap in the background but it didn’t bother me; I just grabbed my hat off the table that was coated with random stuff like screwdrivers and junk mail. I went to get some fresh air. As I left, Sarah just stood in my doorway speechless.
The cool air bit my face. It felt chilly and fresh. I got lost in my thoughts and walked for miles. By the time I circled back to my house it was dark. I re-entered my home to see a mess of junk and the rough drafts of all my stories all throughout my house. My immediate thought was my dog. I started calling for him, “Charlie!” I repeated his name several times in the house then I went to see if he was outside. I opened my door but just my screen door this time because I had forgotten to close the wood door that traced behind the screen. I called his name out a few more times as I turned the corner, and I was horrified to see a Phillips head screwdriver inserted into my chocolate lab’s neck. I could hardly move. I felt the blood pumping through my heart quicker and quicker by the second. I decided to call the police.
The officers soon arrived to my doorstep, and I took them around to see the scene. They started rambling about how sometimes accidents just happen, and I soon had to interrupt the detectives, “Accidents do happen, but who in their right mind would put a screwdriver through my dog’s neck?” They just looked at me and said they would try their best. We then agreed on meeting the next morning at 10:00.
That night I was having trouble sleeping. I tossed and turned. I got long chills up and down my body until my eyes were forced open. I checked the clock, and the time read 3:22 am. My mind had drawn me upstairs and into my bathroom. It was like I couldn’t feel myself, as if I was watching myself from afar. I saw a reflection in my mirror. All I could see was an auburn sweater, so I grabbed an old piece of copper pipe that had been lying on my floor for no particular reason and held it, ready to strike. I quickly jolted my whole body into the bathroom, screaming... just to see no one. I looked in the mirror once more and saw nothing but my own reflection. I felt out of my head. I walked back down my stairs and lay down on my old beaten couch and shut my eyes.
I suddenly woke from my slumber. The sun bounced off my greasy mid-length hair. My skin felt hot, yet I shivered. My hands were blotchy and my figure felt heavy. My thoughts were racing, and my eyes were bloodshot red. Then, it was almost like my eyes reopened, and I was holding a black sharpie marker, and I was upstairs. I didn’t know what I was doing or what my intentions were. My eyes then reopened once more. I was on the couch, just… staring into space. It was like a spark went off in my head and suddenly I could notice the space around me and what a cluster it was. Papers scattered over the floor and heavy black words written on the walls. My door was wide open, and I could feel the air run across my beet-red sweat-filled face.
I heard a loud bang in my head; it was repetitive and fast and made me want to cleanse my brain of any noise at all. Then it was as if my whole body snapped once more, and I just heard a quit knock. I traced my way to my door and when I opened it, I once more saw Sarah with the divorce papers. Then it happened, a switch in my brain flipped. I could see myself standing face-to-face with Sarah, and I knew what had to be done. “You know the best part of a story is, the ending...”
Sarah looked frightened. Her eyes began to drift along my ink-stained walls, and my eyes followed hers. A little grin peeked upon my face as I saw her whole body fill with fear. “Killer” was written all throughout my house.
“I have a feeling this ending is going to be amazing,” I said with almost a permanent grin. She began to run, and I grabbed the copper pipe off my messy floor. She got in her car and immediately locked and tried to start it. The car kept buffering and not starting.
I took the Phillips head I had impaled Charlie with and slammed it into her window. The glass shattered all over. I reached my arm threw the hole that my screwdriver made. I unlocked the door, opened it, and got a solid grip on her beautifully highlighted blonde hair. I began to pull her into my shed where I kept all my gardening tools. There were a few screams, and then sudden silence.
3 Weeks Later
I woke up this morning in a particularly cheery mood and went to pick some corn from the garden. I began to boil it in a pot when I realized I had run out of salt. So I got in my old truck and took a quick drive up to the market. Everyone around me seemed so sad and cold, but I just got my salt and a roll of paper towels. The cashier rang me up, and I was on my way home. By the time I got back, my corn was all done. I took it from the hot pot and put some salt and butter on it. There were about five ears I put into the bowl. I took my bowl to my writing desk and began writing.
As Rick Ways took another ear of corn from the steaming glass bowl, he thought, “I’m sure it will all pass, and all will be forgotten, and with time her death will be a mystery…even to me.”