Just the Three of Us

The following is a flash fiction piece I wrote exploring DID. You may read, but please do not copy.

Just the Three of Us
© Cynthia Kimball

          Slamming her book on the table, Teri glares into thin air.
          “You know, that really is not a good look for you,” says a voice from behind her.
          Rolling her eyes, Teri doesn’t even bother turning around. “Cute, Jonathon. We have limited time and once again she hasn’t shown up. Now what do we do?”
          “What we do every time, Teri,” he chuckles. “We talk, make decisions, and then work with her when she cannot understand them.”
          Growling softly, Teri takes a deep breath and opens up her notebook. “That really doesn’t help when she is the problem we need to talk about. Every time we make a decision and go forward, she throws a wrench into the works and you know it. If she isn’t part of the solution, then she is part of the…”
          “Well, that is trite,” he cuts her off with a snort. “Really, are you going to go there? It is not like she is so different from us.”
          Blushing with embarrassment, Teri concentrates on a speck of paint embedded in the table.
          “Fine,” she says through gritted teeth. “Let’s go over the issues. First, she has been getting into my things again and screwing everything up.”
          “Like what?” he asks calmly, taking a seat close by.
          “Everything!” she splutters. “She goes online and changes all the settings for my accounts and sometimes doesn’t even let me know what the new passwords are! And no matter how many times I tell her to stay out of my room, I go in there to find crumbs in my bed. Do you know how hard it is to sleep when you are laying in crumbs?”
          Even though he doesn’t make a sound, she knows he is laughing without having to turn and see him. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”
          “Ah, you have to admit,” he snickers, “she is very good at getting your attention. Your problem is that you keep trying to ignore her.”
          “She’s a little child,” Teri whines softly. “We have nothing in common.”
          “That is not true,” he chides and she grimaces at the truth of his statement. “Come on Teri, you need to stop ignoring her and start treating her with some respect.”
          Her glare is back full force. “How is it that you get along with her so well?”
          “I saved her from hell,” is his only response.
          Sighing, she scribbles along the margins in her notebook. “I just don’t understand her. All she wants to do is what she wants to do. When she decides she wants something, she simply takes over and I’m helpless. Why can’t she grow up?”
          Silence meets her question and for a moment, she wonders if he left.
          “You know the answer to that,” he responds calmly. “Little Girl will never grow up. I wish you would accept that and instead of forcing her to try and act like an adult, accept her as she is and learn to have a little fun. That is all she wants, after all.”
          “But you act responsibly,” she says, immediately feeling stupid. “I know, I know,” she groans, “you are an adult, she’s not.”
          “And it is not that she does not act responsibly. She is only five years old,” he reminds her. “She will always be five years old. You are the only one of us who gets older here, Teri. Please remember that.”
          The only sound that breaks the silence that follows is Teri’s deep breaths. “I will try,” she finally concedes. “How come you always know the right thing to say?”
          He chuckles as he stands up and walks away. “I have been thirty years old for a very long time.”

Death of a Dream

This is a flash-fiction piece I wrote a few weeks ago. Please do not copy.

Death of a Dream

by Cynthia Kimball

She struggled through the storm, the snowflakes striking her like tiny shards, each one leaving a sting behind as though they pierced her skin.

It wasn’t always like that.

There was a time she did not have to walk to and from. There was a time when she wore clothing that actually protected her from the elements. There was a time when she had a future.

Not anymore.

Not since… Him.

He was so exciting at first with his devil-may-care attitude and his wild and crazy ideas. She jumped on board, thrilled to do something different, something scary. Her family begged her not to do something so reckless, but she did it anyway.

She turned her back on everyone she knew, burned every bridge, spent every penny to be with him.

And he proved to be everything her parents warned her about. He used her until there was nothing left he needed and then he dumped her off in a city she didn’t know and left, never to be seen again.

That was three years ago.

At first she got odd jobs to make enough money to survive, but then the pain came.

And the illness.

And then state aid.

They took her baby at birth; her one and only gift he couldn’t take, someone else did. They told her it was a boy. She never thought about him or who had him. It was too painful.

And now she had received her final pink slip.

It was over. There was no use trying to pretend otherwise. There was no chance of a job. No chance of friendships as she did not trust enough to accept any if offered.

It just wasn’t worth pretending any more. Dreams were for others.

She pushed open the wooden door, slamming it against the storm. Not that it mattered.

The shack she lived in had no insulation, no protection from the elements. When she found it last summer, it felt like a godsend. A place nobody cared about that she could live and not have to worry about paying rent.

Now she knew it was her tomb. Wrapping her ratty sweater around her, she huddled in the only corner where there weren’t holes in the wood and listened to the wind whistle around her.

Her stomach gurgled, but she ignored it. Since him, she had learned what going hungry was truly about.

Shaking against the cold, she stared into nothing. No thoughts entered her head, for dreams were for other people.

She would never dream again. Some might call her stupid to lie out and freeze to death, but for her, it seemed the most likely solution to her problem.

No more pain.

Warmth began to enter her and she sighed as the sting of the cold receded.

No more injections.

She curled up and laid her head against the wall.

No more dreams.

She closed her eyes for the last time.

No thing.