Climbing Silver: The Sacrifice of Innocence

Climbing Silver

The Sacrifice of Innocence

Anna Stone

Anna Stone

Copyright © 2011 Anna Stone

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the author.

Disclaimer

Though based on a true story, the names, characters and events portrayed here in this story have been fictionalized, edited, created and enhanced or deleted to improve dramatic effects. Therefore any similarity to any real persons, living or dead is strictly coincidental and not intended by the author.

Summary

Part One of the Silver Series

After a dramatic attempt to commit suicide, an angry young woman is forced to remember and come to terms with her abusive past and the feelings of loss, shame, hurt and betrayal that continue to interfere with her attempts to lead a normal life and experience warm, loving intrapersonal relationships.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A huge resounding thank-you to Sir Elton John, Simon and Garfunkel, George Thorogood, Van Halen, Foreigner and Journey, along with their record labels and songwriters, for producing the lyrics and music that became such a huge part of the happy times that were recalled here in Climbing Silver: The Sacrifice of Innocence. Your music meant so much to me when I was growing up; it made some of the roughest times of my life easier, bringing color, warmth and love where there once was none.

Thanks!

To all of my brothers and sisters in arms who are still struggling in their own wars to be free, you are my inspiration and the very most important reason that I write. There is life after abuse… and it can be very beautiful. Never toss your hand… Never quit believing in yourself.

If you are still living in an abusive environment, please know that you do not have to stay there. There are options, but you need to know how to ask for the help you need without some of the negative consequences that sometimes occur. If you would like to know how to get this help, please contact me at www.annastone.net

If you are in immediate danger, call 911!

I’d also like to thank all of the people out there who have joined me in my efforts to educate our communities about the long term consequences of abuse.

While politicians struggle to deal with the rapid decline of our natural resources; it’s now up to us to remind them of our most precious, most valuable of all natural resources. Our children; without whom we would surely perish. Perhaps, if we invested more into their safety and well-being; making certain that all children are provided with a good education; we would soon find the solutions for some of the other major social issues which have eluded us for so long.

PROLOGUE

For Those Morbid Enough To Ask Why,

Colder than night... blacker than onyx; for one like me, life remains clouded by the darkest shades of gray.

If it’s true that the entire world’s a stage, wherein lays my part?

Oh, yes... now I remember; I’m its scapegoat—the one designated to receive its wrath-- the one fated to be on familiar terms with nothing other than Sorrow.

Such is my name; my destiny.

Love; a hopeless, frightful bond… remains a sentiment I cannot afford to feel; its warmth is my downfall. Its fickle beauty forever remains just beyond my reach; for I am venomous to those who dare to love me.

Deadly.

I should be branded with the warning: Hazardous to your Health.

Like the desert sun blazing upon the newborn rose… my love shines too brightly, much too hot for survival.

Beauty and laughter are but distant pipe dreams for this quiescent heart.

I remain eternally shrouded in cloaks of black to shield myself against the allure of these heartless fantasies.

For me, my very existence has become a burden too heavy to endure.

Do not squander your precious time mourning me…

Do not shed one single, solitary tear.

Put your efforts to better use…

I am not worthy.

Thanks for absolutely nothing

Sorrow

1. NEVER MY OWN

I lay there dazed as my eyes slowly began to focus on the scene laid out before me in this horrid, tiny little white bathroom.

Perhaps I’m going in to shock… I thought, staring in horror and disbelief as crimson rivers pooled out around me; trickling further and further away from me as though they were in a hurry to leave me desolate.

I actually did it! I marveled, as my fingers slowly loosened their grip; the blood coating my hand was beginning to dry, adhering to the ragged edged steak knife that I held in my fist.

The misty haze of the numbing stupor twisted everything, distorting my vision and physical responses as I watched my hand flexing its fingers in its attempt to dislodge the knife. I had to pry it a little with my thumb before it finally fell to the floor.

Unrelenting rhythmic bursts of blood coursed incessantly from five gruesomely swollen lacerations sprawling up and down my left wrist. The swelling forced the jagged lacerations open even wider, exposing muscle, veins and adipose. Though I should probably be grossed out and scared beyond my wits; I couldn’t help but feel morbidly fascinated as my blood continued to pool around me on the floor, soaking into my hair.

"Amazing! You’d think this would really hurt!"

I focused all my attention on my arm to no avail.

Ever so cautiously, I raised my good arm and gasped in shock as my fingers stroked the swollen, fleshy areas. The nerve endings within the perimeter of the hideous slashes were deadened, all I could feel were the strange, tickling sensations as blood flowed down the side of my arm into the growing pool surrounding me on this cold floor.

"After all the years spent mulling over this idea, nay…I must rephrase; this plan… I realize only now that this is what I have wanted to do all along. Now, it is finished!" Or, so I thought.

The grim reality, looming in the air and on the floor all around me, began to settle into my consciousness…threatening to undermine my resolve. I continued to glance anxiously around the small, blood and white bathroom… brooding as the severity began to seize my every thought.

Even the moonlight, with its soft shimmering glow filtering through the window, provided no comforting reprieve from the bleakness of the situation.

It’s so cold in here- barren- void of any warmth or personality.

How pathetic! I muttered to myself as I lay there shivering.

I drew my knees up to my chin, curling my body up in a last ditch effort to keep warm on the floor.

I slowly pulled myself up to my hands and knees in a feeble attempt to get off the bathroom floor. It was becoming an all-out challenge to remain focused.

As my good arm reached clumsily for the counter, it came to rest on an empty bottle of Trazodone, knocking it over. I listened to the short trill until it plunged from the vanity’s edge to the floor; the words in red mocking me with their warning: Do not mix with alcohol as it rolled to a stop-- there in the blood-- next to the knife and a half empty bottle of tequila.

My adrenaline induced despondency was finally beginning to wear off. My eyes shifted mournfully as they glanced around the room again.

Well, you succeeded in making a huge mess! I groaned.

What should I do now? Do I call the police… or should I just wait and allow some poor unsuspecting soul find this mess after it is all said and done?

I struggled, grappling with the fixtures but my feet slid out from underneath me. Cautiously, I made another attempt… using the vanity lean on so I could push myself off the bloody tiles and move away from the toilet.

As I finally made it to my feet, my reflection appeared in the mirror. I was only just barely able to recognize the young woman standing there in front of me. She seemed nothing more than a stranger to me.

The whole right side of her face was swathed in bloody swirls of matted hair. Her eyes were red and swollen; blood stained tears still evident as they continued to stream down her left cheek. There is absolutely nothing left of me. Nothing left to remind me of who I used to be.

If not for the effects of the Trazodone in my system, this would have freaked me out beyond any sensible explanation. As luck would have it though, the Trazodone not only muted my sense of sound, but all of my emotions and responses as well. I didn’t even feel like me.

As I stood there-- gawking at the woman in the mirror-- the combination of blood loss, intoxication and prescription drug abuse began working together in unison in their endeavors to end my suffering.

My eyes began to play tricks on me; everything began shifting around me, making everything blurry. The cold white nothingness began to dim into darker, ominous shades of gray.

Remaining upright became a battle of wills as my strength and determination began to wane. Giving in to the insatiable desire to just give up and go to sleep began to feel increasingly appealing to me with each second that passed.

With both hands gripping the vanity for support, I gazed one last time into the eyes of the woman in the mirror. Even now, they were fierce with anger, accusing me with their hateful glare as they continued in their never-ending quest to mock me.

I don’t know if it was due to the effects the drugs and alcohol, or simply a subconscious epiphany, but it seemed as though I could actually see the vines of hatred climbing up the side of my face… half of me a bloody mess… while the other half remained furious, looking for retribution.

All at once, the clouds shifted -- creating a subtle glow in the mirror from the window-- catching my eyes and capturing all of my attention. This iridescent glow in the mirror shocked me back into the gravity of the situation.

As I continued to stare at this phenomenon-- from out of the deepest, most sacred of burial grounds that lay dormant within my dying heart-- whispers of Triston’s memory began to unfold, meandering across my consciousness like the beautiful petals of a white rose as they fell from the bud and drifted away aimlessly in the wind.

His beautiful face appeared before me in all his glory; his eyebrows burrowing together from the weight of a sadness that rang through his soft brown eyes like sunrise on that first Easter morn.

This time, the pain in my heart crippled me; this pain would not be silenced or even subdued the tiniest little bit by the Trazodone, loss of blood or booze in my system.

What would he think?

After all that we have been through, despite how he must truly loathe me by now, would the news of my suicide hurt him even more?

Why should he care? The angry woman in the mirror snipped as she glared at me. He probably doesn’t even remember who you are! Even if he does, he despises you; he probably wouldn’t care if you lived or died! She snickered.

Shut up! I screamed back at her as I picked up a heavy glass ashtray and threw it at the mirror, shattering the reflection of the woman known by her friends as ‘Sorrow’ into tiny little pieces of glass, while the soft shimmering glow continued to capture my attention.

Suddenly, everything muted; though I could just barely make out sound, nothing made sense; it was all muddled together in one low stomach-churning hum that slowly increased in volume with the seconds as they disappeared into oblivion.

What have I done? I panicked. Whether he hates me or not, this will hurt him- perhaps scar him so badly that it will cause him emotional pain for the rest of his life-- I cannot allow this to happen!

A new sense of direction helped to clear the fog as I continued to think it through.

"I should call him…tell him how much I still love him, tell him one last time that it has always only ever been him…

He needs to know with absolute certainty that my death is not his fault. I just can’t stand the pain anymore…He’d understand that; of all the people in my life, he still knows me better than anyone…He knows how badly I hurt inside. Perhaps he can even help the few-- who would be bothered enough to care-- understand as well."

I turned to head out of the bloody mural of a bathroom but the loss of blood combined with the mixture of booze and pills left me weak; lightheaded. I lost my balance and fell into a shapeless heap of flesh, blood and bone on the floor.

As I mustered up the will to get back to my feet, blood continued to pour down my arm creating a gory mural on the wall that trailed along after me as I moved.

I decided to try to leave behind as little a mess as possible, however; my motor skills were rapidly diminishing, making the simplest of tasks arduous… I fought repeatedly just to be able to secure a towel around my arm in an effort to contain the bleeding.

I was certain beyond all doubt that the pills, alcohol and blood loss were beginning to take their final toll on me.

Leaning against the wall, I managed to push myself to my feet. There wasn’t an ounce of strength left to be found in me, causing me to crumble back down to the floor. I tried to push myself up again to no avail. My only other option for success being to attempt to crawl, this is exactly what I began to do.

I thrashed about, using my legs and feet as leverage against the cold hard floor; only then was I finally able to lug this bleeding, wretched body down the hall with my good arm.

Every single inch I managed to overcome down the narrow, little hallway leading into the living room- to the phone- seemed like a mile.

As I continued to crawl, irresistible waves of nausea began to sweep over me violently, one right after another. In mutinous waves, tweaks and spasms, my stomach seemed to burst in an all-out endeavor to heave the Trazodone out of my system.

After heaving for what seemed like hours, things managed to go from bad to worse. My intestines and abdominal muscles cramped, rolling me into a twisted ball of unimaginable pain and as I lay there writhing in this most exquisite pain, all control over my bodily functions ceased to exist.

Now I was drenched in my own urine, which of course combined quite effectively with the smell of vomit and blood, creating yet another reason to heave and wretch.

Trembling uncontrollably, I managed to continue on, leaving a trail of blood, vomit and urine along the walls and on the floor behind me in my quest to make it to the phone.

I have to hear his voice…! Just one more time…! I have to tell him how much I still love him! I need to make sure he understands that this is not his fault! I desperately pleaded to my wayward corpse, willfully urging my body to hold out a just little longer… to travel just a little further.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally made it into the living room and managed to push myself up against the coffee table, only to find that the phone wasn’t there but on the end table located at the farthest side of the sofa.

I pulled myself along, using the edge of the coffee table to lean on for balance-- diligently willing myself the energy required to make it to the phone.

Slowly, I made the effort to boost myself up to my feet again with one thought on my mind, the only one I would ever need to draw my will and determination from.

I cannot; nay – WILL NOT- allow myself to die, at least not before I explain things to Triston!

I summoned all the love I had ever possessed for him, allowing it to flood my soul and begin strengthening my will and determination again until finally, I was able to rediscover my balance.

Surprisingly enough, I did actually make it to my feet, only to stumble again. I quite literally became engaged in an all-out battle of wills, fighting urgently to maintain some sense of balance as I edged my way toward the phone until at last, I was finally able to reach it.

"Ah…! Success!" I sighed as an unsteady hand, smeared with blood and trembling with fatigue reached to pick up the phone. Never before would I have believed that I would feel so blissful about just being able to make it to the phone!

This minuscule sense of victory became very short-lived as I began to teeter out of control.

I’m really going to die! I breathed urgently as the revelation became indisputably clear to me. I don’t have much time…

Fear, undiluted and ferocious in its attack finally hit me. Hard. It bypassed the effects of the pills and booze in one massive eruption of pure panic. I knew I needed act quickly. The irresistibly magnetic pull of death, as it sought to lull me to sleep, would not be held at bay much longer.

I clung to the base of the phone with one hand as I fought to dial his number with the other. This moment of absolute stupidity left me without the support needed to maintain my balance.

In one last determined effort, I rushed to dial his number, but I was too late.

Everything began to fade to black around me as I felt myself begin to sway. In an eerie sense of slow motion, I plummeted backwards… crashing onto the flat surface of the coffee table with such a blow that it collapsed beneath me, giving way to the hard tile floor beneath my head.

The knick-knacks once decorating the table shattered into a thousand pieces, tinkering little melodic chimes as they came to rest on the floor around me; my hand, still clutching the phone fell limply to my side as everything faded into the sub-zero, darker than black abyss.

It felt as though I were in a cold, black mist…with an impenetrable density.