Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 5

This is an excerpt from the novel “Confessions of an Abortion Addict.” The novel is still in progress and this excerpt might not be sequential and will be subject to additional editing. Please provide feedback. Thank you!

 

The room was a vacuum of white static. A giant corridor in a hospital except without the smell of disinfectant; it smelt more like a perfume counter of a department store. This is the beginning of your new life. There are other would-be actresses that Virchow, has lured with a promise of fame and stardom. The other girls come in different sizes, but they have the same age: under 30-ish.  Old man craves young flesh. Practicing lines, pouting lips in Vanity Mirrors, Refreshing make-up and they have brought with them the dreams that are about to be realized. I adjust my yellow dress that I’ve worn after my agent’s continuous pestering and pleas to look presentable.

I have my hair down, from what I can see in the mirror at the opposite end. It looks matte black. My skin also feels darker because I didn’t feel like going too heavy for the make-up. I’d really don’t like being here too, but my agent insists that ambition is the key. You have to make things happen.

 

“I love the yellow you’re wearing, it really compliments your skin tone,” the girl next to me says.

 

“Oh, Thanks!” I said, and it took a moment for me to realize that she was talking to me. No one had said a word to me this entire afternoon, except for maybe verifying that I was on the audition list. This girl was very peculiar; for one thing, everyone had come with portfolios, their bags and of course they were all dressed to reflect their own particular set of assets.  While she was wearing a low-cut, plain white tee, black leather vest with spiked studs, a multitude of scarves and accessories, on a skinny frame with a heavy dose of mascara which made the blues on her eyes feel piercing. “I love your get up too,” I try to mirror the compliment but it might have felt a little insincere due to the long pause.

 

“Ha-ha, please, don’t lie. I know I’m underdressed, but my agent forced me to come here,” she gently strokes her serpentine red hair.

“That sounds awesome—you have anything else lined up?”

“A couple of things. Plus, I’ve not heard anything good about, Virchow. One of my friends was telling me that he makes the girls take off their top and chooses them based on the color of their areolas.”

 

“Really?” I replied. Don’t listen to the competition, June…she just wants to see you walk out that door. “Don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t have a very sparkling reputation, but that’s low— even for him…just out of curiosity what color does he prefer?”

 

“Apparently, he really likes nipples to complement the rest of the breast, so they become camouflaged.” She says in an indifferent tone. “I have darker nipples anyway, so I’m already out.”

“No offense but if that’s the case why don’t you just walk out right now?” I ask her with a bluntness that I didn’t even know I had in me. Yeah, tell the truth.

 

“Well, it’s a rumor, and in this day and age everyone makes up their own rumors. I just want to see who is bullshitting me, right?” She says that without blinking. “Oh, by the way, my name is Sally, Sally Chrysler. Not like the car, please don’t make that joke— I probably should change my last name— anyway, you can call me, Sly. You might remember me from such classics as Prairie Shark, Wendigo: the awakening and of course Who brought the lumberjack on my fishing boat, eh?”

“Ha-ha,” I couldn’t help but chuckle at her, it was a little difficult to keep pace with her thoughts. “Hi, Sally…urm…sorry, Sly. I’m June, June Husk. I’ve also only been in Canadian Movies, mostly. I did some stuff with Tcherkov, but as it was pointed out to me by my Agent, for me to ‘make it’ I have to go to Hollywood…well nice to meet you.” I palm her hand and she goes for the cheek-to-cheek, and we end up in between a low hug and front-on spooning.

 

“Nice to meet you too, June. I can’t say, I’ve seen you in anything…but you look familiar but here’s hoping this is your big break.”

“I hope so too,” I said with a heavy sigh. There is a long moment of silence between us, and the long gap is filled with Sly’s intermittent whistling.

“Hey, once you’re done do you wanna go out for a couple of drinks?” She says in her pattern of blurts.

 

“Umm…I have to be somewhere after, but we can go out sometime later this week.”

 

“Great, by the way, it wasn’t meant as a date or anything—hmm…I just like to you know network a little bit.”

 

“You really are awkward aren’t you?” I replied, smiling back at her.

 

“Yeah, you noticed?”

 

“Yes, I did,” we laughed, and for a moment we forgot that we were sitting in a hallway filled with anxious starlets.

 

“June! June Husk!” A voice bellowed.

 

“That’s you…go! go!”

 

“Thanks!” I leaped up, pirouetting across the rows of starry-eyed, doe-faced hopefuls. She gave me an air kiss and stuck her card inside my purse in a flash. I swore that I heard her say, all the best, as I rushed towards the assistant who called me.

“June Husk…nice name.”  He said holding a clipboard close to his chest.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Previous Excerpts:

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 4

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 3

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 2

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 1

Confessions of an Abortion Addict

 

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

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It’s Ok To Be Lonely, Sometimes

“It’s ok if they don’t get your joke.”

            “None of them do…”

            “And humor is such a subjective thing.”

                            “You just have to try a little harder…”

“Maybe, a little more to the right.”

“If you stick the landing then they’ll respect you…”

“Oh! When are you getting published?”

            “You just don’t drink that much.”

 

“Please, please another pint… that’s all I have left.”

“Is the weekend over yet because this egg won’t crack itself,”

            “If there is a movie to masturbate too can we please watch something surreal?”

“If your breasts like mountains bow I would be able to see again!”

“I can paint the world with your freshly stippled legs.”

 

“That pure waterfall is my release, and the cliff is your face changing shape.”

 

“Our evergreens and my heart are rooted in you.”

 

“If there a distance between a star, let me immolate between your thighs.”

 

 “I have lied to you inside a convenience store.” “And I know of the other entity that

                                                                  resides below you.”

 

“If there is flesh, let me have a light…”

“And smoke is blessed and falls on all of us with carcinogenic precision.”

“It’s ok, loneliness comes in small bouts.”

                                                          “It will kill you in small amounts.”

 

“And maybe one day you won’t be so disappointed that you ended up this way.”

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 1

This is an excerpt from the novel “Confessions of an Abortion Addict.” This excerpt might not be sequential and will be subject to additional editing. Thank you!

 

          It’s been 27 years since I’ve been trapped in my own head. I went to walk on the streets that were familiar, but it’s been too long since I can remember what it was like to transcend. Everything I can remember has been stained by time and memory. Altered by it and ultimately become indifferent too; it was always like that. I look at people as objects in a petri dish. I observe them— the way they laugh, hold conversations, the stares that linger too long and hands that get rebutted ever so softly. I do this because of my craft; I want to be an amazing actress. I’m sitting in a great Hall with other travelers who are waiting for their trains, to go elsewhere, somewhere they were destined to go.

            I see the hug of close friends, lovers and how they are so easily replaced by other people on the waiting bench who too are waiting for the same relationships to enter through that platform. The great Hall has a large dome-shaped ceiling, the lights on the scaffolding provide a mauving effect, smell of recent construction— sawdust floating in the spotlight of the sun… a clanging of metal that has a strange blue ring. Suitcases half the weight of their carriers. Men who look like they have been war torn by life, women who carry themselves with litheness. Shopping bags, hair curled buns and the little wheels making sounds like small locomotives. The voices reverberate, and the pool of conversation gathers into a flood that spills everywhere.

             I go out to smoke. The corner is unlittered with cigarette butts, and I leave one behind with my red lipstick marks, showing that I was there. There are large faces of buildings that look down on me; it’s the feeling of being looked down upon that gets you. Bloated with empathy, my feet yellow-calloused from walking around in these white flats, I hobble around the block, the cars rush by me… Doppler Effect in transit. Pedestrians, jaywalk with deftness that I’ve never possessed and the homeless sit on corners—peripheral curiosities, becoming a part of the city landscape rather than living, breathing organisms. I feel guilty of that thought, but I let myself off with a slap-on-the-wrist. I detach myself walking upwards, and then I catch a glimpse of myself in the green-tinged reflective glass windows of the I-trade building; I can’t help but look. The black flowery blouse, my tight jeans billowing with my body and finally hair untethered in pristine spring weather and the ever so slight curls caressing my face; skin unblemished and proportionately tanned. ‘There were a lot of reasons to smile’ I tell myself to provide excuses for my unearthly grin. As I get closer, the sun dips at that angle which gives life the color of fading polaroid pictures.

“Lady, get some info,” this tall, dark-skinned man said. He was waving flyers with crescent shapes stepping in and out of my path. He was wearing glasses that blind men wear and his scarred white stubble, made him look even more malnourished.

“No, thanks,” I said in my barely audible speaking voice, but my open arm wrist protest along with my head bobble should be more than enough disinterest. I’ve learned to ignore men with flyers. You might think they’re giving you ‘info,’ but they only waste your time. I’m beginning to realize the city, surrounded by a mass of people does make you a little cold and callous but at the same time perceptive of people’s naked interests.

             Getting closer to Dundas, I walk avoiding the subway grates; I might also be avoiding them because I fear falling down further… there is a lingering smell of baked bread floating through the open windows, the steam howls from the belly …the raging of the union southbound line, trembling with unrestrained ferocity. If you look at the pavement closely you can see the small shoot of grass jutting out of the corners. I’m getting a little woozy because I’m also noticing the bubble-gum carcasses and bird-droppings forming small bulbous protrusions infecting the street… like diseased skin. I retrieve a cigarette from my purse, and now it’s dangling on my lips…. I’m going pass the theatre near Wellington Street; I’m not sure if I should do theatre? Nonsense my agent would say and she would berate me about thinking too small. She isn’t with me today; she might’ve finally been satiated by my victory to not show up. Sppt! The lighter fidgets like a fire-dancer near the square, I hear the four toned announcement: ‘Walksignisonforallcrossings’. There was a certain buzz in the ear as if everyone was excited that I was finally meeting, Sly. She was insisting to meet up after our audition and I guess I finally had a reason to celebrate. I wonder now if I were to celebrate my accomplishments, do those accomplishments diminish as I celebrate them, I wonder if everything becomes much of the same. Everything eventually becomes old. I hail a cab.

“90 Ossington”, I say depositing my purse on the other seat. The driver moves with a sense of reckless preciseness; moving his head supernaturally, as if to have an omniscient view of the streets. He was darting across traffic manoeuvring around logjams barely avoiding the cyclists, pedestrians that were unlucky enough to find him in the way of his path— I was sure he had at least grazed many of his would-be victims. In that 30 minute drive I saw my life pass by several times.

Please read the original short story:

Confessions of an Abortion Addict

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

A dream that could’ve happened

I could’ve dreamed for a better outcome

But reality brings me down

It brings me down like that third drink

On a Sunday night

 

I could’ve dreamed about you for hours,

Months           if I wanted to

 

But I would’ve done to you what I do to my cigarette stubs

And I know what this world is like

But more importantly

I know what I’m like

And I’m not that pleasant to deal with

Buried beneath the foundation of my house

Curb-stomped to nothingness

Your perfume lingers always

And I fail to capture what you smell like

But I know you’re better than lilacs in spring

 

I’m hoping you actually smell like that still

I sometimes dream of meeting you on another planet

“Let’s share oxygen together!”

And maybe a conversation or two

Could you imagine what it would be like to share a living space?

Can you break the ice?

Forever and Ever and Ever…

 

Drowning, I don’t want anything from you

Maybe I just like the thought of things

Maybe everyone just likes the thought of things

 

I don’t want anything from you

And Maybe we’re just cursed to dream

Of whatever could be

And instead we’re here

Locked in fishbowls.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

The Locust Universe

 

I have come to the realization

And I look down on you

Cross-legged

(Cosmos on my tongue)

Sitting underneath that tree

The black void behind me

 

This wasn’t meant for you

I’m not meant for you

And I’m like the universe

Indifferent and lifeless

Spiralling, I see every path leading to you

Non-existent

Stranded, the gaze follows you

My voice is held, and it screams

“I’m not it.”

 

It’s someone else’s voice

The actions of someone else

You are a stranger

Trapped in a room between insignificant

Infinities

Vertigo…

That paralyzes you white

And makes you into that special shade of purple…

 

That’s how it gets you

And that is why I’m calm

I see locust eat the grains

I observe them with indifference

I’m not to be noticed

I’m not to be disturbed

 

I’m only here to observe

The Chaos.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

Shade-Loving plants

“I’m not alone on purpose”

That’s what I tell people these days

But loneliness is the best outcome

 

I can’t hurt others

Without hurting myself

Bleeding hearts

Better stay away from me

“I’m a shade-loving plant.”

 

Stay away from this carcinogenic body

I like my dark green corners

Or hope for a morning that isn’t too bright

For my Eyes

I admire my darkness

Fondness grows in the shade

Coolness of Blue solitude

No expectations

My words might betray me from time-to-time

And I’m unreliable from time-to-time

I have a voice that says unspoken things

 

Chaos soothes my soul

I’m clearing a path

And you might understand it

From time-to-time

But they will never fall exactly the way I meant them

 

Not in Love

Not in Loneliness

Just like a carousel

 

Encircling the snake

Golden water

Facing the other way from the sun.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

Lost Sight

 

It’s a parade of defeats!

“I welcome you to this.”

A disheartening affair

The amount I will sink to

 

How many depths are left?

“I haven’t answered any questions.”

But I will leave you with this sweet fruit…

Let the red juices swirl on your lips

 

Meet me at the planetarium…

 

Stars separated in their burning

By a black mass

A whorl on your thumb

Press it firmly on your eyes

 

The soreness is illusory

This kiss is not

And certainly not your scent

 

I have lost sight of my obsession

Maybe when you had enough…

 

A darkness that can be heard

Gurgling to be spat out

The stars are so far away from each other

And only the aching darkness gives them company.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

Ailments

 

What ails you?

My back hurts     the guilt has spread its bony wings

 

Dissolved throats     regurgitating acid

A cup spills that orange substance

And the stomach lining touched with rust

It is only an irritation

A flesh wound                      Arteries make a body

“I don’t feel a heart anymore”

I lost it in that blue confession room

Along with the goddess that lived there

It was I who tortured it…

What ails you?

I haven’t hated myself enough

But suicide is not good enough

Too cynical for apologies,

But alienated enough to sink underground

 

Lynchian Stillness

There aren’t moments I hope

Only events I regret

I want to fight this discomfort

But I have become too use to this

 

Feeling like this

 

These are my ailments.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2016

 

(Unrequited love isn’t curable but you can live with it– in discomfort)