Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26875863-20150811205424

''I have to make a note here. This is an alternate version of a story I already posted. I had written an alternate ending, and after explaining it in the notes, at least one reviewer thought it might be better''.

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'''Erika: '''

This is simply ridiculous. I’m 16 years old. I have a driver’s license, a car, and a job at the local bookstore. I’ll be old enough to vote and start college in less than a year and a half. And yet, here I am at the old dominion high school principal’s office. I skipped a class, and now they are planning to give me swats. Paddling? Five hundred years ago I would have already been married, and had a couple of kids.

I’m staring at Mr. Johnson’s assistant. She is a forty something short, skinny red head. At the moment she is smirking slightly and giving me the side eye. Stupid bitch.

Mr. Johnson comes out and looks at me. “Erika, you can come in now. Mrs. Green will you join us please?”  I straighten my skirt and follow Mr. Johnson and his assistant into the office. He speaks again. “Erika we already discussed why you are here. You have been skipping classes. I talked to your dad, and he seemed pretty frustrated. This is a serious offense. If you miss any more classes you won’t graduate on time. I am going to give you five swats with the paddle. I need you to bend over and put your elbows on this desk. I will not begin until you say ready. If you move out of the way, you will get the swat again. Do not put your hands back, and do not move or I will have Mrs. Green hold you in place. Go ahead and get in position and say Ready, when you are ready to begin.”

I start to cry and bend over the desk on my elbows. I am wearing a black skirt that is a little too short. It is starting to ride up. There is a slight breeze from an air-conditioner somewhere blowing on the back of my thighs. I feel my panties showing. My white halter top is loose fitting. It’s hanging down so that my breasts are partly visible. I am glad I wore a covering bra today. I wonder if that pervert is looking at my breasts. I reach back and pull on my skirt. It doesn’t help. I finally say “Ready” in a voice that is shakier than I want it to be.

Mr. Johnson:

I enjoy watching her bend over the desk. I can see her white and pink panties. She reaches back and tries to pull her skirt down. The fabric stretches down for a moment and then rides up a little more instead. I can pretty much see her whole ass at this point.

Seeing these kids in here like this always reminds me of my teenage years. Growing up on a reservation created a lot of good and bad memories. My mind is starting to wander towards the past. Some days I wonder what I’m doing here.

She finally says “Ready” in a weak voice. I can see her size D tits through the arm holes of her shirt. I bounce the paddle on her ass for emphasis.

I look up at the clock for a moment. It stares back with a simple 2:22. I don’t really care what time it is, I’m just drawing this out. I can smell her from here. It’s muted like, sweet oranges and hairspray. She is slightly acrid. My nose hairs burn a little when I inhale. I feel mildly inebriated. My head faintly swims.''' '''

After a moment, I hit her as hard as I can. I draw way back, and put my weight into it. She slumps forward. They often try to move, and it pisses me off, so I hit her again, quickly. I look at Mrs. Green. “She moved. That first one didn’t count.”  Mrs. Green nods silently.

'''Erika: '''

I am really embarrassed. The blood is hot in my face. My ears must be bright red. That asshole taps the paddle on my butt like he is Casey at bat. I can hear his quick breathing. There is a loud wooden pop, followed by extreme pain. An explosion in my bottom that runs through my core into my chest, and all the way down my arm.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">My world starts to sun set. I fall forward onto the desk. There are little points of light, in a swimming sea of twilight. My vision is dull and shapeless. I vaguely feel him hit me again. I can’t get my breath. I try to push off the desk, but I’m not strong enough. My mind is foggy. Something is wrong. I can feel my heart stopping. I hear him hit me a third time as I black out completely.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">'''Mr. Johnson: '''

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I hit her again. She slides forward a little more. Mrs. Green starts to speak “I think something is wrong…”  I cut her off. “Nonsense! She just doesn’t want to take her punishment. Erika, I know this hurts but you need it.” I say through gritted teeth. This spoiled little bitch isn’t going to get away from me with a little faking. I hit her again. She doesn’t move much. I hit her again. I hit her one last time and she slides off the desk onto the floor.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Mrs. Green jumps on the ground and grabs her “Oh god, she’s not breathing, she has no pulse.”  Mrs. Green starts doing CPR. I’m watching as she does chest compressions. After a few she holds Erika’s nose, puts her mouth on Erika’s and blows, then goes back to doing chest compressions. She alternates this pattern for a long time. My stomach is sick. I need to vomit. I keep checking the clock. I am terrified. I could go to prison for this. I’m the first guy to make a good prison rape joke. I’m squeezing my asshole closed thinking about it. A full ten minutes passes. Erika doesn’t wake up.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I look down at Erika’s blue lips and realize it’s over. The sound of that woman pounding on her chest and blowing hollow air into her dead body starts to annoy me. It is like a slow water drip that I can’t stop hearing. I push Mrs. Green squarely on the shoulders to get her to stop. “She’s gone. We need to move quickly or we are going to jail” Mrs. Green looks shocked and on the verge of tears. I explain “If we can put her in a bathroom stall across the hall, someone else will find her, sure she’ll have some marks, but they’ll never know she died while we were spanking her if we move her now.”  Mrs. Green looks disgusted, but she doesn’t argue.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I check the hallway. It’s completely empty. So I pick her up while Mrs. Green keeps watch. The 30 steps from the door of my office into the women’s toilet are the longest of my life. Again, to our luck, all of the stalls are empty. I set Erika down on a toilet. She slopes back. I look at Mrs. Green. “Pull her panties down.”  Mrs. Green starts to cry. I grab her shoulders and shake “No bitch, no time for that. We are both going to die in prison if you don’t hurry the fuck up. So no crying right now. Hurry up!”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Mrs. Green pulls Erika’s panties down to her ankles and then starts to cry again. I slap her hard across the face. “Pull your shit together!”  We exit the bathroom. It appears we haven’t been seen. I feel extremely relieved, but I can tell Mrs. Green is falling apart.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">About an hour later the janitor finds Erika. I call 911. I act properly upset, and properly surprised. We bury Erika on a sunny Wednesday afternoon. I call off school for the day. It’s a sad affair. I manage to squeeze out a tear or two. Mrs. Green cries like it is the end of days. The entire town of Friendship, Oklahoma comes out to push Erika into the ground with some roses and carnations.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I’m not what you would call traditional. I spent the time from age 11 to age 18 on the White Mountain Apache reservation in Arizona. I am a voting member of the White Mountain Apache tribe. My grandmother taught me that the Apache believe that the dead resent the living. It was common place to burn down someone’s house when they died. Helped them move on. I considered burning Erika’s house down, but decided I didn’t like the ramifications if I got caught.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">              The next week, it all goes back to normal. I go to work. I come home. I cook dinner. I clean up a little, do the dishes, and watch some TV. I keep talking myself out of burning down Erika’s house. Then, at a reasonable hour, I sleep.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Tonight I come home from school and do my normal routine. I eat tacos for dinner, I finish the dishes, and mop the kitchen. I then marathon watch some Mama’s Family on Netflix, until about 10 o’clock. As usual I turn off all the lights, and lay down to go to sleep. My house is dark and cold. It smells faintly of pledge and old wood. It is comfortable and safe. My bed sheets are cool and my comforter is warm and soft.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I start to doze off, right on the border of the dark abyss, I hear footsteps approaching my bed. It is the light scraping of women’s flats on my hardwood floors. Somewhere in the fog of twilight I say out loud “Who’s there?” At that moment, I feel her warm breath in my ear, as she says that one word, weakly and quietly, “Ready”. She is 3 inches from my right ear. I can see her in my peripheral vision, but I don’t want to turn to look. I smell sweet oranges and hairspray, and something else, like meat that isn’t quite bad but is on the verge of being rotten. I look at the clock. It’s 2:22. I can still feel her warm breath in my ear. I stare at the clock. It’s reddish orange numbers burning in the dark. When I look sideways there is nothing. I hear faint wails somewhere unseen.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Just as quickly, she is gone. I can’t fall back asleep. At 6:00 AM I get up and go back to work. I’m tired all day long. At around 2:00 PM I start to doze off at my desk. Just as my head tips forward I hear it in my right ear again “ready.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I snap awake with a shiver. I look around at my empty office. I’m fully awake now but exhausted. I push papers around my desk, and do nothing for the rest of my day.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">As soon as I get home, I eat a TV dinner and get in bed. I am nervous but sleep takes over after about 10 minutes and I start to fall into unconciousness. Just as I reach that darkness, I feel her moist breath in my right ear “ready.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I scream and jump out of bed. I spend the rest of my night on the couch watching episodes of The Golden Girls on Netflix. At around 4 I start to slip into sleep again. Once more in my right ear “ready.”  I scream again.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">This goes on for 7 days. I can’t sleep. I stop going to work. I’m so exhausted that I often laugh at nothing. I sometimes break down into racking sobs. I make a doctor’s appointment.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">The doctor says I’m just stressed and gives me some powerful sleeping pills. I take the pills and try to pass out. As I near the darkness of sleep, it happens again “ready.”  Except this time, it’s worse. I can’t get up. The pills have trapped me in the bed. I try to move and I am completely stuck, and she keeps breathing in my right ear. Rhythmically, fast and slight, and warm. It is maddening.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I lose control of myself and start to sob. I unashamedly piss the bed. The seconds run long, and the minutes drag on into hours. I try to fall asleep several times. Each one ends with “ready.”  But I still can’t move. When the light of dawn finally comes, the drugs have worn off enough for me to be able to move again. I resolve to fix this problem. I go the garage and get the lawnmower gas can. I take out one of my canning mason jars, and put a rag in it. I fill up the jar with gas, and drive to Erika’s parent’s house. I fall asleep twice at stop signs on the way there. Both times, I am woken the same way “ready.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">When I show up at Erika’s house her mom is working the garden. I get out of my Toyota Tundra holding my jar of gasoline like it is a precious stone, grasped tightly to me. That bitch’s mother says some stupid thing to me in the way of a greeting. I dismissively wave my hand in her face and keep walking.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">She says something else that I don’t hear. I light the rag on fire with my lighter, and she says something really panicked sounding. She starts screaming when I throw the jar through one of her bay windows.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">She charges at me in a furious rage still saying something I don’t care about when I try to get back in my car. I punch her square in the eye and she disappears. I step on her while I’m getting back in the truck to drive home. The house is flaming up good. For the first time since that little demon died, I feel good.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I manage to make it all the way home without falling asleep. I almost don’t make it across the house to my bed. I’m starting to black out. I snuggle into the covers and start to feel relief as the joy of missed sleep consumes my world. Total blackness, followed by “ready.”  I’m awake again. I start to openly weep.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I hang my head in shame as I drag myself into my home office. I sit down at my old oak desk. In the last drawer on the left, I find my Smith and Wesson .38. I open a box of hollow point rounds and load the chambers one at time with shaky fingers.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">The gun in my mouth tastes like a pocket full of pennies mixed with motor oil. I hit the front sight on the roof of my mouth while I’m getting ready. I’d say a prayer, but I believe in nothing. I remember my gun training. I don’t pull the trigger, I squeeze the trigger. I mash my eyes closed, and keep on squeezing.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I can’t express the pain and desperation I feel upon waking up. My head hurts. I am totally immobile. It took me a couple of days of listening to other people around me to figure out what is happening.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I missed. By about half an inch. The police kicked in my door, found me, got me to the hospital and now I’m here. In a coma. The doctor thinks I’ll never wake up. She doesn’t realize, I’m awake right now. In fact, I am nothing but exhausted. It hasn’t stopped. I am blind, but fuck me, I can still hear well.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Every week now Mrs. Green is my lone visitor. She doesn’t read to me, or talk to me, or do anything but slap me around, and cry and beat me up. Last week she punched me in the legs for about five minutes. I live in waves of terror. I fear Erika, who still never lets me sleep. I fear Mrs. Green, who comes here every week to beat me up. And I fear how long this is going to last. I’m 37 years old as of two months ago. I could live for another 40 years. I can’t sleep, I eat through a tube, and I hurt.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I figured it out. 40 years is 2000 weeks. That’s about 14, 600 days, exactly like today. I’ve been here for three days, and I don’t know how I’m going to get through the rest of today like this. I’ve tried to hold my breath until I die and this machine makes me breath.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">So I sit like the dead, and pray to nothing for death. <ac_metadata title="Erika (Unreviewed)"> </ac_metadata>