(Hey precious — Happy new year! 🎈🎈🎈
2016 was an amazing year for me and for my blog, LemonsLemonade.com.
Thank you for contributing to that if this isn’t your first time here (and hey there if it is!) — I am honestly grateful.
I am however looking to try a lot of new things this new year.
Vlogging would be second.
But first, because a lot of my most dedicated readers have constantly been asking for this, I’d be starting an Inspirational fiction series on the blog, this one called Damaged.
It’ll be about life, about love, hope, courage, strength,vulnerabilities and mostly how damaged too many of us have become, because ourselves, and because them.
Do leave me a comment about your thoughts on this Prologue or anything else please, I’d really appreciate it — Enjoy!)
“Or you could simply throw down a few inches of compost and fake it. That’s what we do, isn’t it? Do the best with what we have? It’s not lying, dear. Don’t look at it that way. It’s hopeful pretending. Consider it your patriotic duty.”
― Na, I’ll Be Seeing To
Yes. Yes, it was pretty.
And black. My favorite color.
How did she possibly find something this perfect?
Bless her beautiful face and make those adorable dimples on her cheeks go deeper.
Best maidservant ever.
Yes. Yes, it was perfect.
Maybe Simon might even say something tomorrow night.
I smiled at the pleasant thought and slid into the soft warm comfort that was all mine.
“What is that?”
I turned to the door.
It was she.
How does one human with just two round organs called the eyes, sap out every life from another?
She motioned for me with her index finger, standing at my door.
“I said come closer!” she ordered out loud this time.
And I suddenly felt my mouth go awfully dry.
Is that normal?
I’m not sure how my feet find its way, but those babies did.
They’re heading the wrong way.
I was backing away from her.
She approached me swiftly and then I saw it in her right hand.
And then it was all over me.
Slicing all over my pretty black dress.
It happened too fast for me to react, and then it stopped.
I could only look at the result.
“It was doing too much on you,” she finally said, “look how happy it made you, is that how sad and empty your insides have been?
That a piece of clothing could feel it up so quickly and so well?
Is that how desolate and bare your soul has become?
Is that how needy and dampened your spirits are now?”
She snatched the red lipstick I had in my hand and pressed it against the wall with such force, right above my head.
I dropped to the ground.
“Where did you get all this?” she continued, her black pointy scrubs tapping against the slippery tiles.
Maybe if I stayed quiet, she would go away.
She pulled me up from the floor and out of my thoughts.
“What are you doing with this?” she screamed, shoving the disfigured lipstick into my face.
“Don’t tell me that new slave got all this for your birthday?”
“I knew I didn’t like that one.
Like a fat snake in those dreadfully tight dresses of hers.
She’d be gone by morning, I’d make sure of that.
She’d turn you to a little lost thing right under my nose.
All those magazine girls with their skirts too short and their make-ups too loud.
With more skin than clothes, and with more vanity than dignity left.
And that’s what’s making you happy? The thought of being like one of them?”
I didn’t want to look up into that face.
The fear of what my eyes would see was disturbing.
I felt dirty.
Then she crouched down to me.
With one cold finger, she lifted up my chin.
“This is for the ones craving attention my darling, the ones burning to be used by the wicked one for evil works.
The ones with needy emotions and with gullible hearts.
The ones who attract in the serpents and still cry when they’re bitten.
You want to be like them now?
You are not like them.”
I turned away as my lips trembled.
“You smell like insecurity.”
But I just took a shower, I thought.
“But you also smell like shame — good.”
I could hear the smile in her voice.
I placed a hand over my lips and the other on my chest.
It was starting to hurt again.
Why was it so moist in here all of a sudden?
It was also quiet now, and all I could hear was my heartbeat.
Hammering louder than Uncle Peter’s chisel when he was nailing up that ugly old family portrait of my ancestors.
Was she still there?
I looked up slowly.
Mother was gone.
I dragged myself up to my feet and wrapped my skinny arms around my body, my eyes fixed on the red lipstick stain that had tainted the fresh white walls.
I walked to my mirror.
I wasn’t allowed to look into it too much, Mother said that was vain, but I looked into it.
Maybe I should have locked my door first but I looked into it anyway.
My dress was ugly.
I tore it off mercilessly, dragging my tiny fingers and finishing what mother’s razor blade had started.
Ugly ugly dress.
Look at you — have you no shame?!
I knelt before my mirror.
Now I looked like insecurity.
This must be what it looks like.
Tattered, ugly, worn out, leaking and wasting into emptiness.
What did I smell like?
What does insecurity smell like?
Was it insecurities hurting in my chest or was that the shame that didn’t crawl out with mother?
I looked at my stained white wall.
I just liked the color red.
Was that wrong too?
I rubbed my pinky finger over the stain.
Such a lovely color.
I touched it to my lips.
Maybe insecurity didn’t smell so bad after all.
I saw a bit of the red on my teeth and rubbed my tongue over it.
And maybe it isn’t such a bad taste to carry all through your life.
Maybe you could wash it down every once in a while when a new dress came and didn’t get ripped off your body while on your body, and maybe you could wash it down when you got a smile from the boy you like, and maybe you could wash it down when you and your mother aren’t screaming at each other.
Maybe you could smile and maybe smile so wide no one notices that stain against the whiteness of your teeth.
Maybe I could live with this.
Maybe I could live like this.
( Thoughts, anyone? Pretty please? )
Deliciously Yours To Savour,
Ima | LemonsLemonade.com