Idols For Writers Week One

The prompt for the first week was New Beginnings. This fitted in so well with a writing idea I'd had a while back, so I plunged in straight away, got my entry in early. Posting closed on Friday and voting closed today at 1pm EST. Out of a total of fifty-five entrants, the three writers with the least votes were eliminated. I was totally blown away by how many people seemed to like my entry - it picked up a ton of votes!

New Beginnings

Something is wrong. I’m getting that awful churning in my stomach that I always get when something isn’t right. It makes me restless, like I can’t sit still for another minute. I get out of my chair, walk through the door, then stop dead.

Something is wrong.

I’m standing in this long corridor and I don’t recognize anything. Not the arty prints on the wall, not the green speckled carpet, not the slatted blinds at the windows. I don’t remember any of this.

A door opens, away to the right and someone comes out, walking backwards. It’s a young woman in a white tunic - and she has red hair that looks as if she’s been hacking at it with a pair of blunt scissors. Her mother should teach her to take better care of herself! I wonder why she's walking backwards? Oh, wait a minute ...she’s pulling a wheelchair, and in it there’s a woman - a very, very old woman. Is that her mother? The old bat is as wrinkled as a prune and looks half-dead; I doubt she could teach a monkey to stick a peanut up its ass.

My goodness, I haven’t heard that one in a long time. It's what Edward always said. “Couldn’t teach a monkey to stick a peanut up its ass!” he’d mutter, pointing to some dimwitted cashier or sales assistant who’d kept him waiting. A very impatient man, my Edward.

The woman in the white tunic is looking at me as if she knows me, but I’m quite sure I’ve never seen her before. I would definitely have remembered that hair. “Hello Mrs. Carter,” she says. “Do you need the bathroom?”

Excuse me? Didn’t her mother teach her any manners? She could at least introduce herself before she starts talking about my toilet habits…

“I’m fine, thank you,” I say as politely as I can, although I’m starting to feel as if I need to collapse on my bed. I blunder past her, heading for the room she just left, but she grabs at my arm. “Wait a minute, sweetie - that’s not your room.”

I don’t care. I’m not her sweetie and I really need to lie down for a bit, so I shake her hand off and scuttle towards the room as fast as I can. But in the doorway I stop, appalled. This room is very small, and it smells. There’s a gaudy crocheted rug on the bed and a pile of yellow satin pillows with bows on them at the head. There’s some kind of medical paraphernalia in the corner—oh God. My stomach churns again.

She’s right. This is not my room.

Anxiety turns my legs to jello. I clutch the door frame and look back at the woman. She’s still smiling. “Come on,” she says, stretching out her hand. “I’ll take you back to the lounge. It’s warm there and you can talk to some of the other residents.”

I’m so anxious and uncomfortable that I start walking with her before I know what I’m doing. As we go down the corridor, I realize that most of the rooms we go past are bedrooms. What is this? A hotel? The woman pushes the wheelchair along at a steady clip, but there’s not a word out of the old bat. Maybe she’s more than just half dead …

“Is that your mother?” I ask, worried, but the woman laughs. “No, no,” she says. “My mother lives in Illinois. This is Miss Thomas, remember?”

I’m supposed to know her? My hands are getting shaky now and I feel tears building up behind my eyes. We go past an office and I see a smooth blonde in a navy-blue shirt sitting at a desk. She looks vaguely familiar. In an instant, I abandon the old prune to her fate.

The blonde is talking intently into the phone. “I need it today,” she says, sounding cross. “By four o’clock. OK? Don’t be late!” She drops the receiver back on the hook and looks up at me.

“Oh, please,” I blurt out before she can speak. “You’ve got to help me. I’m not supposed to be here. I have to go home. Please, I have to phone Edward.”

The blonde stands up and she’s a tiny little thing, not more than five feet. She comes round, takes my hand, strokes it softly. “Whoa, Mrs. Carter, slow down.” She looks at me seriously. “I’m sorry. You can’t phone Edward, dear. And you can’t go home because this is your home now. You live here, with us.”

“No, I don’t,” I whisper and I feel my lips quivering. “I don’t belong here. I don’t even know where this is. I want to go home. Please help me.”

Her eyes soften. “I know it’s hard for you,” she says as she leads me out of the office. “This is Fairhaven Rest Home, dear. You’ve been here almost three weeks now, although you probably don’t remember.”


I don’t. None of this makes any sense. I’m very close to tears but Edward hates it when I cry so I bite my lip hard. She takes me into a lounge and I look round. It’s a big room, full of elderly folk with rheumy eyes and age-mottled skin. The old bat is there too, tucked away in a corner. Her eyes are shut and her mouth is lost amidst a hundred wrinkles. Panic billows like a dark cloud and I feel it engulfing me.

“No, no!” I shout, tears clouding my vision. “I have to go home! This is not where I belong!” I try to slap her away but I’m shaking so hard that I miss by a mile.

“Oh God.” The blonde sighs and raises her voice. “Amelia, get over here and sit with Mrs. Carter. I need to get her an extra dose of Risperdal*, or she’ll be impossible for the rest of the day…”

“Edward! Help me!” I whimper, afraid of what’s happening to me. But Amelia, with her chopped-off red hair, just puts her arm around me and rocks me slowly.

“There, there” she croons. “I know it’s tough for you, but you’re doing fine, sweetie. Your lovely daughter will visit you again soon, shh shh. There, there …” I give in and lean against her, sobbing, as her voice flows over and around me, as gentle and as soothing as a lullaby. She slips a small pill into my mouth and the water is cool against my lips…

Sometime later, I realize I’m sitting in a chair with a rug tucked over my knees. My mind feels fuzzy and I probably should get up, because I really need to go to the toilet. I yawn, blink and look round.

How strange. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this room before. Hmmm... I wonder where I am?
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*Risperdal – a medication often used in the treatment of senile dementia.