The Little Girl's Forest

   Looking out from her bedroom window Leandra could always see the forest, looming in the distance, another world untouched by cement and brick. For a younger, more childish Leandra it had been a source of endless imaginative stories and characters; she used to envision faeries dancing in the leaves, wearing dresses sewn from spider silk with dew drop embellishments. Unicorns would hide shyly amongst the trunks, their cover exposed when sunbeams broke through the foliage and flashed against their clean white fur. Leandra even imagined an ogre making his home there; ugly, smelly and 10ft tall, but a kind and gentle soul who was actually a great cook.

   Now that she was older she knew it was nonsense to think of such fantasies as reality. The faeries were actually spiders, her unicorns everyday deer, the ogre quite possibly a bear. Still, the forest presented an amusement. It was such a curiosity to her, she a city-bred girl whose outside experience amounted to berry picking at the local farms with a favourite aunt. Despite the ever consuming mass of the city, this black forest outside her window had remained in place, never changing, a constant view.

   Home from university, sick with an imaginary flu that conveniently excused her from a midterm biology test, Leandra had found herself bored with the usual digestion of television and video games. From the corner of her eye she saw the forest. It simply sat on the horizon as always. There was nothing special or inviting about it today. Yet Leandra grabbed her sweater and sneakers anyway. The porch door slammed behind her, as if bidding goodbye, good luck, be safe.

   It was roughly noon when she left. It was not a very thrilling or long walk. Leandra simply crossed the large empty lots that separated her house and the tree line. The area had been cleared away years ago for a housing development project that never took off. Up close, the forest was almost a disappointment. Rather than giant trees with trunks so big you couldn’t wrap your arms around them, the bush was made up of scraggly anorexic birch and thinned out shrubs. Leandra had half a mind to walk away. The forest of her childhood was nothing more than sticks. But she went in anyway, and looking back at the situation now she couldn’t say why.

Anaesthetic Stereoscope

Read part 1 here!

   That's weird, thought Clarissa. I didn't think heaven would be so noisy.

   She was referring to the bleeps and clicks of the hospital room, though at this point Clarissa was still unconscious from the fall. That she could begin to hear the world around her meant she was coming to.

   The nurse in the room was busy dressing the patient in the bed beside Clarissa's. Though Mrs. Sanders couldn't speak, or move, or do anything but just stare at the wall, Lawrence always talked with her regardless. Lawrence was the type of nurse that believed in always telling the patient what was going on, no matter if they were alert or comatose. He liked to think that Mrs. Sanders could hear him, and appreciate the warnings that it was cold outside the blankets. Laying in that hospital bed, alone with no stimuli day in and day out, must be terrible, and Lawrence wanted to try and make it a tad more bearable for his patient. As he put Mrs. Sanders' sweater on, he told her about the morning newscast.

   Clarissa thought she could hear a voice; it was talking about something odd, a baby hippopotamus maybe? What was that person saying? The voice sounded pleasant. She cracked open her eyes. The brilliant white of the hospital room was painful and she let out a little moan and pinched her eyes shut again.

   Lawrence adjusted the sweater, then opened Mrs. Sanders' bedside drawer and took out a lovely pearl necklace. He draped it around her neck; now she looked just like a well dressed grandmother, instead of an unresponsive hospital patient. Lawrence caught her eye and flashed her a big grin; Mrs. Sanders only continued to stare in response.

   "There, ready for the day. I have to visit my other patients now Mrs. Sanders, but I'll stop by around lunch time alright?" Lawrence said kindly. Part of his morning ritual with her was to put the TV on the soap opera channel before leaving, so that Mrs. Saunders wouldn't be bored. He wasn't sure if she liked soap operas, but Lawrence's grandmother did, so he figured it might be okay. Positioning her pillows so that she faced the TV, Lawrence pulled the curtain aside and went to his next patient.

   Clarissa had opened her eyes again, just a crack, to try and adjust to the light. Everything around her was a sickly bright white. The beeping that she had heard was much clearer now, but the voice had stopped. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of green. Clarissa made a little noise in surprise. A man dressed in green hospital scrubs stepped into her view. He wore a bright orange stethoscope around his neck, and his smile was warm and friendly and handsome.

   "Good morning Clarissa," he said softly. She tried to greet him back, but all that came out was a mumbled mess. The nurse must have seen her worried face, because he chuckled and approached her bed still wearing that nice smile.

   "You're still a tad drugged up from the surgery, you'll be speaking normally in no time. My name is Lawrence. I'm your nurse for today. Do you remember what happened?"

   Clarissa recalled something about a wheezy police officer, and that she had felt very scared, but nothing more. The anaesthetics must be why she felt so groggy when she tried to think too much. Lawrence was taking her vital signs now, checking her pulse, her breathing. As he did this he was speaking to her kindly, gently unbuttoning the top of her gown to check her heart.

   "You fell off the city dam yesterday morning. You were in pretty bad shape when you arrived Clarissa, a broken back being the worst, but the doctors rushed you into surgery," Lawrence told her, removing his stethoscope off her bare chest and buttoning up the front of her gown. The news terrified her. A broken back? Surgery? Was she paralyzed? How was she going to get to work tomorrow? What about rent? Would she be in a wheelchair? Clarissa burst out into tears. Grabbing tissue Lawrence wiped them away, trying to soothe her. The doctors don't think there will be paralysis, he said, and that right now she needed to focus on resting. He would let them know she was awake, and they would come talk to her once the drugs wore off.

   "We also contacted your family," Lawrence told her. "They stopped by earlier, and said they would be back tomorrow," The thought of seeing her father made Clarissa cry all over again. Lawrence's smile faded and he gave her a concerned look, still wiping away her tears.

   "No visitors," she sobbed, her first coherent words of the day. Lawrence nodded.

   "No visitors, okay. Do you need anything else Clarissa? Would you like to talk?" Clarissa shook her head. She was feeling very tired. Lawrence grabbed the tissue box and placed it by her right hand on the bed. Then he put a little egg shaped device in her left.

   "Okay Clarissa, I'll let you be for now. This is your call bell, push it if you need anything. I'll come see you right away," he said in that pleasant, soft voice. Clarissa tried to say thank you but it came out 'fhankz yew' and she blushed a little at her fumbling. Lawrence grinned. He gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder, then got up and left the room. Clarissa watched him go.

   Aside from the beeping of her machines, the room was quiet. Clarissa noticed that she was in a double, but the curtain to the bed beside her was drawn shut. She was too tired to wonder who was in the bed next to her, but she hoped that person hadn't heard her crying.

   Her eyes felt heavy and Clarissa's lids fluttered open and close. She didn't want to go back to sleep. She wanted to get out of bed and pretend this never happened. She wanted to go to work and then go back to the dam and draw. No, she didn't want to go back to the dam. She'd find a new place to draw.

   As the drugs won and Clarissa began to drift off to sleep, her last thought was that the river water had probably ruined her art supplies. Replacing them was going to be costly.

That Damned Girl

(photo source)

   To understand Clarissa Simeon, one had to understand the city she grew up in.

   Nestled on the tip of a lake within the oft-forgotten Northern area of Ontario, her hometown of Lanmeadow was a balance between natural beauty and the modern way of life. One could take a walk through a natural forest and admire flora & fauna normally only found in conservation areas, all within the city limits. And when you got tired of fishing for walleye, participating in an Aboriginal powwow, and picking up amethyst rocks you simply hopped on the bus for 5 minutes and got yourself some fast food. For the residents of Lanmeadow this was as normal as breathing, but tourists often found the experience riveting. The beauty of the area and connection to nature was about the only good thing tourists had to say about the city however.

   Lanmeadow was born from two neighbouring towns that had grown to overlap one another. To keep things simple, the two towns merged into one larger city. The attitudes and communities of each respective town however did not, creating a conflicting cauldron of competition and refusal to change. Despite merging over 60 years ago, the city continued to think in terms of 'one side' verses 'the other side'. If the section of town that used to make up Brunsback got a movie theater, then the section of town that used to be Riverdam had to get one too. Rather than focusing on a main downtown core for the city, Brunsback & Riverdam competed against one another in maintaining their old cores and trying to 'be' the main entertainment/business/cultural area for Lanmeadow. Always the two sides were fighting one another, crying about how it wasn't fair that council focused all the development products to the 'other side' of town. Attempts were made to quell the fighting and establish a central core between both sections of the city through the construction of a major mall and shopping center; this 'Intercity' area only created yet another place for Brunsback and Riverdam to compete against. Competition was suppose to encourage growth and production; the fighting between Brunsback, Riverdam and Intercity only turned Lanmeadow into a divided mess of a town fighting over which side of the city should get the new Multiplex. The letters to the editor in the local newspaper were full of riveting reasons as to why such and such a side was better than such an such a side. Often time the number of drug dealers and street prostitutes in the opposing section of town was brought up.

   (By the way, Lanmeadow has one of the highest murder per capita and violent crime rates in Canada. Because Lanmeadow is too busy trying to figure out where the downtown core should be, addressing the social issues that contribute to their high population of drug dealers and persons with mental health disorders is something the city will 'figure out later'!)

   Also important to mention is that no one in Lanmeadow can drive; bent bumpers and collusion damage are a badge of citizenship. Cyclists are oft fearful of riding down the main streets. Despite the addition of bike lanes, motorists in Lanmeadow continued to drive like they were the only care on an abandoned rural road. Bike owners were known well at the local hospital.

   In short, Clarissa grew up in a town that is essentially a highschool beauty queen; it's in a never ending popularity contest and will run you over if you get in its way. At least the sights are beautiful.

   When you live in such a town, there are three outcomes: #1) you become petty and selfish, #2) you live full of apathy and inner conflict, #3) you move the hell away to Toronto. Clarissa fell into category #2, and one day hoped to advance into category #3.

   Today was an ordinary day for Clarissa. She rolled out of bed at 10 a.m., spent a grand total of 5 minutes getting ready (hair in a messy bun, jeans, sneakers, a white shirt with a plaid jacket over top), and hopped on her bike with a backpack full of art supplies. She was headed towards 'her spot', the water dam by the city golf course. It was easy to get to, just being off a popular walkway, and offered a nice mix of drawing subjects. Here Clarissa could sketch out trees, the river, birds, foot traffic, and fat old rich guys swearing as they tried to hit a tiny white ball with a stick. No one ever bothered her when she sat on to the top of the dam; those walking by assumed she was a schizophrenic hooligan doing Oxycontin and drawing phallic images on the cement, so they let her be. This suited Clarissa just fine. She didn't like to be bothered by others.

   After bravely dodging traffic and pedalling down the pathway, Clarissa was delighted to see that no one was around. Locking her bike to a street light she climbed up the ladder to the top of the high dam. She may be fearless when it came to heights, but the thought of tumbling into the river one day always made her pause at the last rung. This time of year, a fall would be particularly nasty, as the water level was quite low and rocks stuck out like daggers from the river surface. In the end her desire to draw where no one could reach her always won. The view was beautiful today, with the colours of autumn at their peak as leaves lazily floated down the river. Clarissa imagined they were manoeuvred by little ant people instead of the wind. This was what she decided to draw; grabbing her sketchbook and pencils, she began to scratch out a close up of the leaf, with a whole crew of sailor ants on board. It was silly, but Clarissa liked to draw abstract.

   This was how she spent her free days. This year she had dropped out of school, realizing her ambition to be a great art history teacher was being destroyed by a lack of funds. The scholarships she applied for always went to someone else who was just a tad smarter than she. The part time job she held at the mall barely covered rent, and Clarissa watched in distress as her savings began to dwindle away into the red to support her survival. She had ditched everything; cellphone, morning coffee, internet, tv, and even started hand washing many of her clothes to save on coinage from the laundry mat, yet every pay day she still found herself pocketing only a few dollars. The breaking point had been when she found her father had been withdrawing money from their shared account to help fund his weekend dates. That money was suppose to have covered her next year's tuition.

   That event had made her angry, and scarred her heart. Though she had already been living on her own by this point (her father had asked her to move out on her 18th birthday, which was when her support cheques stopped coming in), she closed all contact with her family and withdrew the last of the savings. Her father had tried to take her to court, but his sketchy record and Clarissa's statement that the account was intended for school money won her the case. He had been ordered to pay her back, but Clarissa knew she would never see that money again. Now she worked 6 days a week at two minimum wage jobs to support herself. Her finical situation was better than when she had been in school, but living at the modern level of comfort was still a challenge. She was using the laundry mat again, but the cellphone & morning coffees were still an absent part of life.

   The picture of the sailing ants was giving her trouble. Clarissa had been trying to draw them in a sea battle against a pirate ship sailed by honey bees, but she couldn't capture the expression she wanted on the Queen Bee. So engrossed in the task was she, that Clarissa didn't hear someone climbing up to the top of the dam. When she felt a tap on the shoulder, she was so started that she accidentally scratched a giant line across the picture. Now she would have to redraw the entire picture. She looked to see who had ruined her work.

   "Excuse me miss, but you can't be up here,"

   The person who had tapped her on the shoulder was a cop. He was fat, and out of breath, probably from having to exert some physical activity. Clarissa didn't know if she should be impressed or worried that her apparent trespassing had warranted him actually coming up here.

   "Excuse me officer, but there are no signs that state otherwise," she simply responded, returning her attention to the ruined picture. The office was not pleased with her reaction.

   "You can't be up here! Dams are property of the city, so you need to come down right this instant," He grunted, tapping her on the shoulder again. Clarissa sighed. Putting on a sarcastic smile, she looked back to the cop.

   "Again, there are no signs stating this is private property, or that I am trespassing by sitting here. Why don't you go enforce some actual law? I'm sure there's a Mac store being robbed right now that you could intercept," she said sweetly. The cop's face flushed red in anger. He roughly grabbed her by the shoulder and tried to yank her up. Clarissa did not fight the action, but she didn't make it any easier for him either. It made her glad to see him wheezing and gasping just to get her to her feet.

   "Get... down... now!" He screamed between breaths. So Clarissa did; she firmly planted her ass back on the cement and gave him another sarcastic smile.

   "Well, I'm down like you asked, though I'm not sure why you pulled me up in the first place if you just wanted me to sit back down," This only further enraged him. The cop grabbed her once more and pulled her up again with a surprising rush of strength. Perhaps he was part Hulk.

   "Off the dam, you little brat!" Clarissa sighed in defeat and decided to stop playing with him. Bending down to gather her sketchbook and pencil, the cop mistook her actions for disobedience; he grabbed her by the hair causing Clarissa to shriek. As he tried to drag her over to the ladder, Clarissa tried to wiggle out from his grasp. Remembering back to a self defence lesson she had taken as part of her gym class in high school, Clarrisa turned her body to face the cop, causing his hand to twist awkwardly. The cop let go. The momentum of her movement caused Clarissa to lose her balance. She stumbled and took a step backwards to catch herself from falling.

   The dam wasn't underneath her foot. As Clarissa fell, it seemed like slow motion. The cop stared at her, wide eyed. He reached a hand out, but all he grabbed was air. Clarissa was already tumbling down to the river. Before she hit the rocks below, she saw the cop lean over the edge to watch her, and someone was screaming. Suddenly, everything went black.

Part 2 here!

Just a little something I thought of while driving today. This is going somewhere, and I'll have more to add on later!

Side note, does anyone else have trouble thinking of titles for things?