The Bloodstained Poem Chapter One : The Dreams

The soft rain that had begun falling hours ago began to stop, just outside St. Peters street. The street was quite nice, rows of painted white houses shimmered in the moonlight, but at the end of the street, Number 99, there was one solitary house. Number 99 hadn't seen a lick of paint in years. One of the windows had cracked slightly, the bottom living room window. The door colour was a mouldy brown, but everyone knew, the original colour was in fact red. 1

Inside the house a man lay slumped on the fading green-blue sofa, his thinning grey-streaked brown hair dishevelled and untidy, and his face was unshaven and unwashed. His eyes were closed, he was snoring loudly, breathing hard. The small TV in front of him flickered, and his full pint-glass whisky was beginning to get warm in his grasp. He was still in his work clothes, an overlarge factory suit, which had several stains down the front, from whisky, baked beans, coffee and tomato ketchup.2

The room next door was the kitchen, which was damp and grey. There was an nonworking washing-machine, where the glass was cracked and chipped. Next to it was an old cooker, on which stood the leftover meals of yesterday, burnt beans on toast. There was a fridge, which surprisingly, was working. It issued torrents of ice cold air through the kitchen, but it also froze the mucky floor around it, making it slippery. The kitchen was joined onto some wooden stairs, which were equally dirty as the first room. 3

Upstairs, the wind howled ferociously outside the brown moulding bedroom window which was open slightly, letting in the cold air, making fifteen year old Erin Thomas shiver, pull the thin greying blanket closer around her, and drift off once again into an uncomfortable sleep. Darkened red hair like a sleek waterfall stretched out across her pillow, slowly moving as she breathed. Her skin was soft and pale, contrasting against her dark lashes, which lay casting shadows along her cheeks. Her lips were slightly open, the colour of watery blood. She turned restlessly in her sleep a moment, then began breathing normally. She pulled her arms out from the cover of the blanket as the wind died down, on her arms you could see faint white scars, and on her right arm, you could see two fresh cuts embedded deep in her milk-pale wrists. Her room was small, more like an office sized room than anything. 4

As you came in through the door, the ugliness of the room hit you. The walls looked as if they hadn't seen a lick of paint in years, they were bare and the plaster was chipped away. Directly in front of you was her bed, beside it a small cabinet, which held an empty glass of water, an old tattered library book that had been due back over a year ago, and her Pepsi glasses. 5

There was also three photos. One of her mother, Angie, who was cuddling Erin. Both their red hair was sleek and shiny, dripping down their back, except her mothers was far more curlier. Then there was a picture of a baby, a small baby boy wrapped in a wool blanket. He was under a week old in this picture. His name was Caleb, Er ins little brother. He had died five days after he was born, from a rare disease. 6

Then there was one other, of Erin as a little girl. Her cheeks were rosy red, not as pale as they were now. She was a sweet little thing, nothing like how she looked now. Her sleek red hair was quite short, and pulled up into two little bunches which stuck out from her head in tattered sticks. She was wearing a green and red dress, which made her look very Christmassy. At the bottom of the picture, in a scribbled child writing, said, "Father chrismases little helpeer."7

There was a few posters above her head on the wall, one of the band Placebo, and one of Evanescence, there was also one that was ripped, almost hidden behind a small fading wooden wardrobe. It had been cut out of a magazine, a beautiful ivory-skinned girl with the perfect curves of a model smiled down upon the room, but her face had been scribbled out violently with a black Biro, and had ripped. At the bottom of the picture it said, Madison Alina, Model, age 35. The woman, in truth, looked around twenty three to four. Above this picture was an old wooden clock, which hung silently on the wall, but showed the right time, 5:37am. In the corner of the room, piles of school books sat, and on top of them, a faulty black Biro, a blunt pencil, and a maths-stationary set her mother had bought her just before she died. Erin was having another one of her nightmares, the one where she drowns. She began restlessly tossing and turning, getting entangled in her blanket, breathing hard.8

She was stood on the bridge again, looking down at the murky river with a sort of respect that she didn't show anyone. The moonlight shone down on her, heating her, also she was chilled to the bone. Droplets of hard rain began to fall, drenching her, hurting her. Erin could see magic in everything, she could see the magic in the clouds, as they darkened and lightened, the beauty of the roads when it's raining, the car lights making beautiful red and yellow patterns on the wet concrete. She loved the songs that birds sung, every morning, making her feel like her day wasn't going to be a loss. She loved the way the wind banged on her window like it was talking to her, loved it when the rain fell in blankets over the grass, like whispered songs. But none of this comfort was here in this dream9

I'm showing respect to a river...she thought hysterically, knowing what would come next in her dream. The first time she'd had this dream, she had jumped off the bridge, which was really quite high, of her own free will. She wanted to die, wanted to drown, but now it was different. She felt several icy hands push her shoulders, forcing her further over the edge, though she pushed back, trying to keep herself from falling in. No, she thought, clenching her fists and trying to push backwards, put she was sliding closer to the edge. A familiar someone whispered in her ear, tickling her ear, and for a moment she lost concentration, that was her downfall. She felt her bare feet slip over the metal floor, and pull her body downwards. Her shoulder blades hit painfully against the cold metal, numbing her back and upwards. 10

Then she was flying down, down, down. Every second seemed like a minute, every minute seemed like an hour. Until finally, toppling through the air, she felt the cold, hard contact with the water, and she instantly knew it was like concrete beneath her. She broke the water, screaming in pain as her arms broke and her face froze and tingled. Her head hurt so violently that everything began spinning, white and red stars began dancing in front of her eyes, and then she couldn't breathe. She was under water now, the dirt filling her lungs, slicing them with each breath she tried to take. 11

Her brain felt numb as she thrashed helplessly, with no real power. She tried to open her mouth again to scream, not to breathe, to scream. It didn't work, and then she felt the currant pushing her under, so that the bright moon which had shone around her disappeared, far above her as she thrashed and floated, sunk and drowned, falling downwards. She closed her eyes, which were a vivid green, shiny with tears. She kept gasping for air, her face going red, her lungs bursting, and everything began to go colourless, black and white. Help, please Goddess...help me...she thought in desperation as her mind began shutting down. 12

Then to her relief and slight anger, she was forced upwards again, through the surface of the water, into the open air, which chilled her to the bone. Icy wind slapped against her face as she coughed and spluttered, trying to get a decent breath in her system. Then the currant pulled her under with such force that she hadn't closed her mouth before it washed through her breath and made her choke once more. She kicked her aching tingling legs in anger and fright as she sunk again, and even tried to move her broken arms, but all she received was pain. Again she felt herself dying, again her lungs began being sliced open by the poisoned water. Again she felt tears flow from her eyes, and she remembered something her mother said.13

It was a hot sunny day on her mothers' friends' boat. Erin was only six years old, and had just fallen and scraped her knee against the wooden boat. It was bleeding badly, and she began to cry. Her mother was instantly by her side, hugging her and asking if she wanted a plaster. 14

"No, it's going to hurt..." Erin wailed, crying even more.15

"Now now, don't cry, the sea's got enough salt in it as it is, it doesn't need you adding more." At this, the miniature Erin had smiled reluctantly, and encircled her thin arms around her mothers neck, clinging on for dear life, as if she knew that in a few years time, she would not be there...16

She felt water seep through her body now, and she was sobbing uncontrollably in the water, screaming, gasping for breath. Silver tears rolled down her cheeks and mingled with the murky water. She was shivering and shuddering crazily, hating her life, hating herself for letting herself have this dream each night. Then everything went black.17

In a bright flash of light, Erin found herself at the top of her stairs, looking down into the living room through the open door. The walls where white and cream, the banister on the stairs was nicely polished oak, none of the scrappy wood she had in reality. But something drew her away from the hate of the fact that her house was no longer a home.18

"What the hell do you mean, what's going on with Brad?!" Her mother screamed, her short red hair flying around her head as she shouted. 19

"You know very well what i mean! You and Brad have been hitting it off, haven't you?!" Er ins' father shouted angrily, Erin could see his fists clenched.20

"Hell no! I loved you! I loved you for fucks sake! I wouldn't be stupid to jeopardise our marriage for him! He has a WIFE!"21

"Oho! So whens that ever stopped you before!?"22

"Go to hell, bastard!" Er ins mother shouted, and turned on her heel and stormed into the hallway. She had a large canvas bag in her hand. Erin saw her dads angry face, who had come to the doorway of the living room, still shouting. 23

"Me go to hell? Your the one who should be in - hell!" As he said "Hell" he threw his pint-glass at her mother, just as she turned to retort. The glass smashed on the wall beside her, a small chunk of it scratched her cheek, and Erin knew from the frightened look on her fathers face, he didn't mean it. This, more than anything, made her feel worse towards both parents. But she loved her mum. 24

"Bastard." Her mum walked out of the house, into the night air.25

"Angie, wait...i..." Her father stuttered for something to say, but he didn't move from the doorway.26

"Mum!" Erin cried, throwing her ten year old body down the stairs faster than ever before. She cried out in pain when she stood on a piece of glass, which sliced through her skin, but she didn't care.27

"Mum, no!" She cried. Her mother turned to look, tears rolling down her cheeks. 28

"Darling, it's OK, go home!" She shouted, but not nasty like how she shouted at Erins father. She began to walk away, turning around, into the road. That's when Erin screamed.29

"MUM!!!!!" Her voice was so loud it echoed through the night, and Angie did turn around, but that was wrong. She didn't see the white ford focus which had just turned the corner so fast it almost pelted into the lam post. The drivers eyes was slightly closed, and his arms were flailing everywhere, trying to keep the car under control. Then there was one sickening thud, and the loudest, most sickening scream Erin had ever heard, and would always remember.30

The window in Er ins room slammed shut loudly, thrown closed by the horrid wind. Erin awoke with a start, her cheeks stained with tears, perspiration dripping from her forehead. A small trickle of sunlight seeped through the dark clouds, rays of hope, Erin saw them as. She ran a thin bony hand through her hair, making it look extremely dishevelled and untidy. She grabbed her glasses and set them on her nose reluctantly, then wiped the old tears from her eyes casually. That nights events was familiar to her, and often occurred. Nothing to worry about, she thought weakly. She didn't admit it to herself, but these dreams still made her feel sick and scared, just like the first times she had them. She was breathing hard. She swung her legs out of bed and looked up at the clock which said, 7:17am. Lovely, she thought grimly, and steadied her feet on the floor as she tried to stand up. Her black-grey nightdress dragged along the floor as she made her way to the bathroom. The bathroom was small, made up of a normal shower/bath and a sink, with pale pink and blue tiles, which, like everything else, was run down and dirty. On the sink lay her red bristle brush, which she combed through her hair with ease. She found herself looking into the small mirror hung up on the wall, and she once again, like every morning, began to hate herself. 31

Twenty minutes later, she'd got dressed into her school uniform, a suit of navy blue and grey, and ran downstairs. To her slight surprise, her father was still asleep, although it was almost eight. But then, with a wave of hate, she saw the smashed drink glass on the floor, where he had dropped it during his sleep. She didn't care to clean it up, she didn't even grab any breakfast, not that she had any other than bread. She grabbed her school bag, and walked out of the door, slamming it purposely behind her, and swore she heard her father start. 32