Tara Part: Act one, Scene Four. Tiny Dancer.

                        Tara Part: Act one, Scene Four. Tiny Dancer.
                                       By Mark William Darus.

Continued from previous Scene:

<He’s gazing at her like that of a lover waiting to hold the one of his desire.

“My name’s Bill. Very nice to meet you, Tara.”

Beautiful landscape shifting about with the movement of the sun creating a swirling effect surrounding them through dancing shadows and mist.

Through the tossing clouds, a single beam of light from the sun lands upon them.

Tara and Bill embrace. Like that of lovers wanting a comfy place to lay, they draw each other closer.>

                                                Scene four:

             Holding one another with a grip almost constricting, the lonely, beckoning sounds of a Hammond B-3 begins to play from the very mists surrounding them. Procol Harums Whiter Shade of Pale churns forth filling the valley of tall bright green heather and pretty flowers with its song of desperate longing.

            Tara and Bill totally alone in this dream-world, their bodies intertwined, begin to sway as one, pelvis’ fused together, turning, writhing, backs arching in unison. Their heads slowly leave the others shoulders as their faces meet, eyes locked to one another. Tara looking at him with such a look of need, wanting acceptance from another, getting lost as she sees her own reflection in his eyes. Bill, wanting her, not knowing why, having no past memories to fall back on for reference to aide him, stares back at her, frightened though not displaying it.

                              …We skipped a light fandango…

               Rhythmically gliding to their left, joined fully, their foreheads gently meet as their noses so lightly touch. Crickets chirp and birds call out to the setting sun as the clouds disperse, giving the purest of vibrant, darkening blue skies as the music plays on.

           ‘Finally, sweet Jesus. I am happy! I’ve found one that wants me as I am’ Tara thinks. Serenity filling her face, tears of happiness running down her cheeks, arms around Bill tightly holding fast. ‘If this is a dream, may I please die here and now.’

                            …Turned cartwheels ‘cross the floor…

            Dancing on ever so slowly, taking in the wondrous emotional sensations of finding someone as darkness descends further, bodies and minds carrying the slightly distracting, yet comforting dizziness. The moon began to shine over the mountain to their left as the sun dives to its days ending. The B-3 smashing onward with its unique qualities as the drummer plays on.

          A meteor breaches from the heavens leaving a slash of white as its tail crosses the horizon.

                   ….that I wandered through my playing cards…

　

              Bill, holding Tara’s small waist, liking the feeling of her breasts against his chest, his penis swelling and not knowing why it does so, follows her lead and does as her movements convey.

                          …I was feeling kind of seasick…

             Tara and Bill shared this moment in time. There was a solid connection between them as love filled Tara’s fragile heart with better places of tomorrows beyond anything she had known or hoped before.

　

                      …that her face at first turned ghostly…

            The mountain area surrounding her began to disappear, the crickets songs going quiet, the scent of flowers parting company with her steadily.

           “NO!” Tara cries out! ‘no-no-no-no,’ her mind sadly pleads as her muscles begin to tense up. ‘noooooo.’

            Laying restrained to a bed of many horrible memories she is not happily connected with, afraid to open her eyes, yet scared of keeping them closed, stunned. Tara’s head begins to swim groggy waters as dreamland goes to drug induced awakenings.

           “nooooooooo,” she mutters.

            “Tara, we’re glad you’re back!” an overweight LPN says to her.

               “n-NOT!”

                “What’s that, Tara?”

               “I’m not gla-” Tara is shut down as another voice is heard.

              “I’m still here with you, Tara. I love you and I will never leave you,” Bill's gentle voice attempts to grant her some peace.

              “Bill! This night was special, wasn’t it?” Tara begins to sob as blood vessels on her brow pronounce themselves.

             “Yes, it was, m’love. I am yours.”

           The LPN, a second shift new hire, stood there wondering who Tara was speaking to her back-right. Looking over her shoulder as the single person holding both parts of a conversation with female and male voice ran on, had a feeling cross her about her latest job choice.

                           …turned a whiter shade of pale…

            “Thank you for being real, Bill! I love you…” Tara said as the drugs wore off, happily facing a new beginning. A life new infront of her, with Bill.

Mark William Darus 09262012

　

Authors Note: This being the fourth part of Tara’s adult life, my fifth entry about her on Psychopathy: Another Life, I am grateful that I can keep writing about her.

Tara is most dear to me in many regards. She has been a constant companion to me over the decades. The kind of friend that can be so far away yet never far from the sincerest places of mind and heart.

I have to thank Procol Harum. I played this song repeatedly while I spent nearly three hours writing this. One of the best songs ever written: Whiter Shade of Pale.

Also: Thanks to the producers and writers of the TV show House, for making me remember the importance of this song.

Ryn Cricket is published: In Circles.

                                  Congratulations to Ryn Cricket!
                                Ryn's book, In Circles is published.


                      I feel very honored to make this announcement.

                Ryn has shared so much with me the last several months. Her permission to post some of her work here, the correspondance between her in Thailand and I as well as her liking both my words and photography.

                      Ryn, you inpsire me in places that keep me pushing.

                      Thank you for making me a small part of this!

                       Ladies and Gentlemen, put your hands together for Ryn!

                        http://press.crisischronicles.com/2012/09/23/20120919.aspx


                      

The First three parts of Tara.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Tara Part: Act one, Scene three.

                                  Tara Part: Act one, Scene three.
                                         By Mark William Darus

　

　

                                    continued from previous act:

<“Top of the World, Doc. Nice to be here, let me tell you!”

“That is good to know, Bill. Where did you co-”

Cutting off Grimly, Bill enthusiastically exclaims: “Congratulate me!”

“Oh, is today special Bill, and if so, why is that so,” Grimly fights to maintain composure.

Beaming with an ear to ear grin that looked more evil that happy, he informs them, “Today’s my birthday.”>

                                      Act one, Scene three
　

                     Locked in fully as things get more intense by the second, Grimly smiles at Bill and extends his hand to shake it. His eyes move slowly from Tara’s swaggering movement to the orderlies and the LPN.

           Bill, still smiling like the cat that ate the canary, reaches to grasp it.

           “NOW!” Grimly yells setting the room into motion with sudden urgency.

            “Wha-” Bill chorts as the biggest of the two orderlies grab to purchase hold as the LPN shoots him with a strong tranquilizer.

             Exhaling quick, feeling sweat build on his brow, Grimly says, “Good Work, everyone!”

             “What the FUCK did we just see, Doc?” the biggest of the strong-armed men said slightly out of breath.



          “I’m not really sure. I’ve never had one born before me…”

　

          The unison of the hive-mind buzzing with unspent energy causing disruption most profound. Single brain attempting control with input crashing in from 5 sources all at the same time. It was like that of turntable in an old railroad yard with many important locomotives going for the main spot to fulfill their obligations.

         “Like we weren’t drugged enough?” Kara cuts through the huge amount of white noise.

           “Just more loo-fuck wankers holdin’ us down, mates!” Ebony slashes across an open channel.

           “I think I’m going to be sick,” Phil’s weak voice whimpers.

            “My Birthday! My damn Birthday and I got stung? This shit is not happening!” Bill sounding firm and unyielding.

            The wasted body soon strapped to the bed gazes upward with eyes glazed over as if a light coating of Elmer’s glue had been applied. Fuzzy world to see.

            Far fuzzier to live in.

            “Dear Lord, why? Why is this happening? Why does this keep happening? I didn’t hurt anyone at all,” Tara’s mind mutters on, eventually closing the chatter from the others that annoy her so deeply. Her mind taking in the room she’s rolled into. The bright smell of the tiles above her, sounds of the greenish walls surrounding her and the taste of the History Channels documentary on the invasion of Normandy Beach.

           Finally falling into the peaceful realms of gentle sounds of burbling water over rock, gently clouded blue skies pleasing to the viewer mixed with scents of fall looming over with that of fresh cut grass. Serenity deserved, Tara falls to sleep.

           Alone with herself, Tara tranquilly begins to dream.

           She is standing in a long flowing deep blue nightgown, her long dark hair dancing with the warm gentle breeze that crosses. Behind her is a misty landscape of green meadows rising from dense forest between two rises with bluish/grayish skyline in the center.

           Scents of heather and lilac dance in her nose, bringing a smile to her face so calm and restful. The timid rustle of the strong leaves of oak and maple trees engulf her, planting her in this place of triumphant nature.

           Turning slowly, taking in as much as she can for as long as she can, she raises slender arms to the heavens as she leans her head backward, eyes closed. Tara’s mind goes to a song she’d heard long ago, Why, by Annie Lennox, and how, in this place, she can ponder such things by herself.

          Tara looks down to where her feet are planted. Her eyes are treated to the billowing silky sheath on her and how her breasts look small, but firm. Traveling down, spotting her bare feet standing on what appears to be rough granite. ‘good place to stand now, isn’t, it?’.

          Tara’s heart is soaring and free.

           She is at one with all around her.

           “I don’t mean to disturb you, fine lady, but I’m sort of lost. Can you help me, please?” a man asks her with a tone of true sincerity.

         Looking toward the voice, Tara twists her frail body to meet its maker. “I’m not sure I can, sir. My name’s Tara. And yours?”

         He’s gazing at her like that of a lover waiting to hold the one of his desire.

        “My name’s Bill. Very nice to meet you, Tara.”

         Beautiful landscape shifting about with the movement of the sun creating a swirling effect surrounding them through dancing shadows and mist.

          Through the tossing clouds, a single beam of light from the sun lands upon them.

           Tara and Bill embrace. Like that of lovers wanting a comfy place to lay, they draw each other closer.

           As a dream can soon become a nightmare.

                                

　

Mark William Darus 09242012

Brooklyn Memorial Messenger blasts into cyberspace: a satire.

                      The Brooklyn United Methodist Church Messenger.

                                              We’re now online!

               Our proud mission statement: We put the mess in Messenger!

                                                     

　

　

           A few words of worthy note about the summer that just graced us!

        By Gloria B. Goode ( a tried and true blue-haired lady controlling all aspects of this church.)

                                                

　

       What a blessed summer we have just shared! No floods in Northeastern Ohio. Pastor Rodwigweez shared with me the savings the church had in regards to the lack of grass cutting we had to pay for due to the lack of rainfall and the evil rising of gasoline prices.. He shared his words, via an interpreter, with me.

       “¡El sello que tenemos para un césped, enormemente porque el 99 por ciento de nuestras tierras es alquitranado, nos salvó 20 dólares este verano!”

      Did I forget to mention that we are multi-lingual now? Use the Translator link below for better understaning. I would like to thank Bethany Higgenspire for showing me how to do this.  I am so sorry to hear about your sexual encounters with the Aldi's  bag guy, but your secret is safe with me!

             http://translation2.paralink.com/lowres.asp

　

　

　

           Translation to English: “The stamp that we have for a lawn, enormously because 99 per cent of our grounds are tarred, saved us 15 dollars this summer!”

           To those of our congregation that speak Korean: “우리는 잔디밭에 있어, 엄청난 우리의 근거 99% 타르는 스탬프, 20만달러를 미국 이 여름 저장되었습니다!＂

             Arabic: “الطوابع التى نقوم بها من اجل خضرة هائلة بسبب 99 فى المائة من أسباب عصفت, وفر لنا 20 دولار هذا الصيف! “

          And, of course, those of the Ebonic Nation: “Look, Mutha Fucka! We’s saved some Scrilla on dis schit, bro. Twenty held be better at da corna store on a few 40’s of Colt 45! Right?!?!”

             In all honesty, I do not know what a ‘mutha fucka’ is, but I am sure they were pleased.

__________________________________________________________________

             Other splendid events that graced us this last Quarter of 2012, ending September.

             Two months ago in January, we were graced with internet access! So amazing is this miraculous new device as we can keep the world informed of our growth and beliefs!

                                                       


           It took me a few sessions with the youth of our church to learn to work Internet access, not to mention many a visit with my psychiatrist to understand my no longer need for a Smith Corona, to make this highly inspirational event to occur.

           After a few, more than a few, Strawberry Daiquiris at Methodish, I began to understand.

Sin-<<<BURP>>>curly,

Gloria B, Goode.

　

____________________________________________________________________
                                           

                                                                 
                                                             
                                     From the David Brainless Lounge.

                 We’ve made many a change to the old place we once knew so well that gave our troubled youths flagrantly vandalous entry  to the area above the sanctuary. We’ve done away with the shelved walls containing books no one ever read. Adjacent to a small kitchen, now completely redone with a Jamaican flavored scheme, now a equipped with a pool table, a karaoke station and a small sports bar with smoking access on the deck built by Bergstein and Irinova and daughters.

                Since it’s opening, our church has made a great deal of money even after the legal suits waged against us for not cutting people off after 8-12 mixed drinks as they encountered satanic accidents on their travels home.

              Let me honestly say this: We of the Church are very sorry for the anguish those that visited our Lounge brought to your family members as they were run them down on your front porches.

             The revamped David Brainless Lounge has something for everyone!

            We have a sound system rivaling any bar in the flats, a pool table that, to date, only has 7 rips in the fabric, and an ample smoking deck just a mere few months from gaining county engineers certification!

         Truly, a good time is had by all. What happens when they pull away from our huge parking lot is not our responsibility.

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                   From the cyber spaced out mind of Jean Marzec.

          About twenty five years ago last spearmint, I found you thinking of Chevy’s flying to the Mars as our one year olds purchased parcels of waves crashing against Fazio’s cereal isle.

         Troubled by months ago when gas prices hit a Denny’s British Burger with the sound of blue, my nose clearly saw a single word, that being: Peaches are 50 feet from a month ago, smell their sweet sounds from the trunks not of cars, but of elephants.

         Dr,? Is my Crown Victoria sounding like I need a 9 and a half foot ceiling as I taste Pizza Hut with my eyes?

                   by Jean, I AM one of the Lincolns, Marzekian...

                                                     



          Well, Jean, we’re sure a good time was had by all of you!

　

_________________________________________________________________________________

　

             

                                                              
                     Methodish Restaurant not found guilty in multi-cult slaying!

             We are so grateful to announce our fine Christ filled Methodish Restaurant, a place of food and worship was found not guilty of the multi- cult slayings 9 months ago. We had graciously sponsored a Muslim and Jewish communal event which featured the finest of Texas BBQ cuisine. We saw to it the best of Beef and Pork products could be plentifully placed for all in attendance to share under our globe of Jesus. It is not our fault each group ate from the wrong meat source. We are truly sorry for its outcome though and humbly prey all the damned heathens recover quickly.

          We did outsource this to <Company name removed pending further litigation.> and they botched the food name placards.

          Regardless, a good time was had by all of our congregation attending this!

　

______________________________________________________________________________

　

　

　
                                                               
                                        From the plastered Pastors Desk.

　

              My peoples, my families, y todos los bastardos he hecho en los 2 años pasados. I love you all! Allow me to say this: Jeg likte din mikken mødre mens eders fedre arbeidet. <Norwegian>

          Experience life as God makes you do, forgiveness not far away, но Вы лучше всего даете мне 10 процентов, мудак! <Russian>

        Thank you,

           Pastor Rodwigweez-Markov.

　

　

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                                  From our Alumni: Where are they now?

                Gerry  is currently working toward building a bold mission in the heart of Queens New York. Truly a rough job amongst the heathens ahead of him in this non-English speaking world! Best of luck, Gerry!

                Neil is currently facing, and I’m sure we all share this belief, a most unjust set of paternity suits across several States. Know this, Neil, at least your weren’t accused of molesting small boys, and we’re behind you 100 percent!

                                                          
Heidi’s brother, Mark maddog Darus, a devote psychopath, is alive and somewhat well and still residing in Cleveland Ohio. Finding the power of mind and words once again with that of photography, he can still allow the obscure, albeit mostly sick and depressing, mix with an almost acid induced ability to create landscapes/landmines being sometimes ironic and occasionally humorous to share with others. His walk with Christ stands firm as always, unbending.

　

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                   Send us your email address and we’ll send the next release directly to you online! C’mon, save us the cost of printing and snail mail. Please, join us with the lordm in this, the nineteenth century of his rayne!

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Mark William Darus09212012

           The only Author of this was Mark William Darus, best known at Brooklyn Memorial United Methodist Church as Heidi’s brother, so aim any and all lawsuits my way.

　

        Authors Note: To the few so close to me, hoping you remember my hammerings on an Underwood manual, later to an office Smith Corona typewriter, I hope this makes you smile.

         To those I have come to be graced with your presence over the last 8 months or so, this was a sarcastic view of the newsletter my church of youth sent out to its flock. Decades ago, I typed out lampoons of such newsletters and caused a few to laugh with tears. I’m sure most of you won’t catch the humor and that’s okay, but god knows, its essence is fairly accurate in its absurdity. Frankly, I think my editing was better that what we read back when, but that's my ego talking, mates!

            Look at this as my type of a  Monty Python view of the Methodist Church some 30 years ago.

Thanks to Heidi and Dave H: You have no idea how much fun this was for me  to write! Thank you. God Almighty, I so love the freedom a good non sequitur!

Tara Part: Act one, Scene two

                                     Tara Part: Act one, Scene two.
                                         Shout it out loud.

                                   By Mark William Darus

                     Continued from part one:
 
<Watching Tara before him, he asks. “Tara, would you like a cheeseburger?”

“I can has cheezzburger?” Tara asks the four word answer in three separate and distinctive voices.

“I’ll order it for you! Any condiments?”

“ketchup would be nice,” Tara says nearly peacefully.

“I want lettuce and tomatoes,” Kara states most loud.

“Tartar sauce! I need tartar sauce,” Ebony exclaims with thick accent.

“Uh, could I have anchovies, please, Doctor?” Phil inquires meekly.

Dr. Franks takes a step back as he hears a chorus of three females voices speak from that of a single mouth.

“No, Phil, we’re not going there!”

Leaving the room, Dr Franks gets several cheeseburgers with various condiments.>
　
                                     Act one, scene two:
                                               
　     As Dr. Grimly was leaving dietary with a tray full of cheeseburgers, wondering what he’d witness as they were eaten, his digital went off with the message: RETURN TO CONFERENCE ROOM DELTA: STAT.

       Quickening his pace to the elevator. The door opens and he is greeted by several associates.

       “Buying your staff a pig-out there, Grimmers?”

       Shaking his head, answering, “no, just feeding one..” He exits.

       “Wow…”

        As he enters Room Delta he sees Tara on the floor, knees bent upward while being held down by 4 orderlies. She is screaming like a banshee as sweat flows from her face reddened face.

       Setting the tray on the counter to his right, he loudly asks, “What the hell happened?”

        A slender, well tanned blond LPN look at him, shaking her head. “I have no idea, Dr. I was doing my rounds down the hall and I heard screaming and thought I should investigate it.”

       “What did you find when you entered?”

       “She was on the floor pretty much the way she now except she was punching her vaginal area.”

        Grimly looks down at Tara, still fighting to break loose from the orderlies.

         “Dr.” the LPN speaks slowly. “If I didn’t know any better, she looked like she was. Well, giving birth.”

         “Oh, no.” he says while he bends down, getting closer to Tara. “What’s going on, Tara?”

          In an instant, her faces changes, redness fading, and the heavy sweat ceasing rapidly.

          “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK’S HAPPENING, DICKHEAD?” Ebony’s pissed off voice blasts, her sharp eyes sending daggers at Grimly.

           “Sorry, Ebony. If I knew I wouldn’t have asked.”

           Ebony’s face begin to lose it’s rigid edge, her eyes becoming nearly foggy.

            “Uh, Dr. Grimly, this is Phil. I think she’s having Bill’s baby. I could be wrong. I spend a lot of my life being wrong…”

            The LPN steps back, watching the sudden facial changes before her.

           “5mg’s of Hal, STAT, before she’s starts breaking bones.”

           He is handed a syringe which he quickly administers to her.

           Warmth covering the body on the floor. Drowsy, eyes closing, falling into drug induced rest.

          The Dr. nods at the orderlies to let go. Slowly standing, their muscles aching mildly, wondering what they had just seen.

         With inquisitive tone, the LPN inquires, “Dr. Grimly, is she multiple?”

         Turning his head as he raises it, looking at her while nodding ‘yes’.

          “My God! Dr., is there anything else I can do?”

          “No, I think I have this after these good men place her on a gurney and strap her down.”

           Before anyone could react fast enough, Tara stood up looking somehow taller.

           “Hello Everyone, my name is Bill. I am so very pleased to meet you all!” Bill has a cocky edge to voice matching his overly confident stance, slightly cocked the left.

            A person Grimly has never met from Tara smiles at him, the orderlies and the LPN.



          ‘Damn. Imagine how this would look if Tara were sporting a bikini.’ the Dr. ponders, shutting it down as fast as it had arisen. “Bill, I’m dr. Grimly. How are you, today?”

        “Top of the World, Doc. Nice to be here, let me tell you!”

         “That is good to know, Bill. Where did you co-”

         Cutting off Grimly, Bill enthusiastically exclaims: “Congratulate me!”

        “Oh, is today special Bill? Why is that so?" Grimly fights to maintain composure. This event goes beyond anything he's experienced before.

           Beaming with an ear to ear grin that looked more evil than happy, Bill, in full command of room Delta, shouts: "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!"

　

Mark William Darus 09202012

                                              


Authors Note: This being the edited, part two of the Ballad of Tara Part, though her third entry to P:SA, I feeling more at home in Tara's world. Feeling much better as I convey her story on a regular basis once again.

Perhaps you know or knew someone like her.
Part one: http://psychopathyanotherlife.blogspot.com/2012/09/tara-part-first-story-written-before.html

Tara Part: first story written before the world wide web.

                                        Intro to Tara Part.
                           Original title: The Ballad of Tara Part
                                        By Mark William Darus

　

      Bright, dark, bright, dark, bright dark, lights flash above her.

      THUD! The bed she is strapped to slams through a door, leading to others on her way to the emergency room arena of Mercy Street hospital.

     Light and black, light and black, her pupils in a constant state of change, unable to soundly focus on anything without a swirling blur.



     Unable to smell anything around her with the oxygen mask taped to her face, she wonders, ‘where the hell am I?’

      Trace sounds, most distant, echoing, she hears: “her BP is steady, but her pulse is not consistent at all. We’ve got to move faster, people.” With those voices, the steady hiss of oxygen fills her ears, as the voices state: “I-I-I-I thi-thi-think we’re, we’re we’re losing losing losing her her her” echoing over and over again as if in some deep cavern.

      Stabilizing her in the ER, planting her in a Suicide Watch area. Tara lays tranquilized as Haloperidol makes her physically unable to react though her mind never stops thinking, wondering, screaming madly. “Who did this to me?”

      Viewing her from behind the two-way mirror, her family and some of the staff look at her with both fascination and outright horror. The amount of dosage given her, she should be knocked out cold, yet she is not and they contemplate why this is.

      “She’s always had delusions, heard voices, been a changeling.” Tara’s sister speaks plainly, looking through the glass that separates them.

       “Yeah, fuck, her voice even changes…” her brother trails off.

        “People, have you even heard of the movie Sybil?” Tara’s eldest brother, highly sarcastically states.

        Fuck them all, we’re okay, aren’t we? Tara thinks. Christ, why can’t I move my arms or legs? Damn them all to hell with their drugs, minds and shit. Fuck them all!

　

       “hmmm, a Multiple! Can’t say I have seen many of these. We’ll treat her for now, but a better suited facility would be more beneficial for her,” an attending says to the room nestled behind the mirror.

　

       Days pass placing Tara into a land of sedation and pleasant grounds only embraced by her through barred windows. Lost in a world she did not have any control over, she waits for her chance to bolt.

      “Hello Tara, I’m doctor Franks. I’m here to help you.” a dark haired male said to her in a blank voice. Looking down at her with a look of superiority.

       Tara, clamped to the very bed threatening bed-sores, wanting a shower, wanting to simply stretch her arms out. Wanting to walk and talk without drugs, starring at the man above her.

       “Yeah, nice to fuckin’ meet ya. When can I walk again? Damn it, just let me move my legs a bit, fucker!”

       “We can work on those things, Tara.”

        “Why are you calling me Tara? I’m Kara, you worthless dickhead!”

        “No, you’re Tara.”

        “Asshole, no I am not!”

        “Very well, Kara.” This doctor has a high knowledge of multiple personalities and responds with calm, unthreatening tone.

       Her face changing quickly, as it did in transition from Tara to Kara, Phil sobs in a voice most hurt, pleading “Can’t you just let me move, a little bit, these restraints hurt.”

      “In time I am most sure we can make this happen. What is your name, please?”

       Face twisted, eyes crying completely, mouth twisting as it fights for non-quivering words, “I’m Phil, Dr. Franks. Nice t-t-t-o meet you.”

      “Sorry, Phil. It was not my intention to neglect you.”

       “Thank you, Dr. Franks.”

       “Tara, why did you try to kill yourself?” Franks questioned her with an easy tone, slightly shifting in his leather chair.

　

       Looking around the tiny world around her, noticing beige walls, white tiled ceiling, grey flooring. Her throat incredibly dry, nearly locking down, she asks, in the tone of a 4 year old, “can I please have a dwink of water.”

      “Sorry. Please forgive me. Of course you can.” Leaning over her, he loosens the arm restraints binding them painfully so close to her, noticing bruises profound. Turning from her, he walks to the sink and fills a glass for her and places a straw into it. He knows this will gain her trust. Small token, but meaning much to the one held.

       Tara begins to move her arms about. ‘Freedom, sweet freedom , they still work! I was worried for a while there.’ She moves her fingers slowly across her high cheek boned face, liking the feeling of something caressing her more than that of air. ‘they must have gone to the way-back on the drugs.’

       “Again, my apologies, Tara, “ Dr Franks says as he hands her the plastic cup.

        He angles her bed to the 90 degree position as the sounds of servo motors make it happen.

       Taking the white and red striped straw into mouth, she happily begins to suck. Liquid annihilating the worst case of cotton mouth in history as she takes in the best tasting water that only the deprived could now. Tongue splashed, lips wet once again as their dry cracks are engulfed and feel mercy from moist grace. Upper torso muscles more alive, mouth tasting the first thing in days.


       Feeling far more capable now to address his question, she says, “I didn’t try to commit suicide.” She looks at him, wanting a rare steak and, maybe, eggs.

       “Sorry, Tara, but your sister did find you nearly dead on the floor of your house.”

        Looking down with a sheepish face, a wavering male voice takes hold and begins to speak. “It wasn’t Tara, Dr. Franks. I tried to kill us. We have suffered for so long I felt it necessary to pull the p-plug and end us. I really d-d-didn’t want to, please believe m-Me! I had-”

       “Phil, you cocksucker! You always try to sell us out!” Kara’s voice sharp and hard like that of a 10 inch butchers knife cutting thin bloody steak.

       Most diligent, recognizing the changes before him, he asks, “Kara, please don’t interrupt Phil. I promise you, you’ll have your chance to speak. Phil, what suffering is that you speak of?”

       Phil talks honestly, “Confusion. We walk into a store with a reason in mind and we forget why. We buy things we don’t need or want. We wanted food and buy socks or candles and wonder why we go hungry hours after arriving home. This is misery. I gave up and tried to kill us.” Phil looks to the ceiling, gazing from that of Dr Franks view.

       “Fucking wanker!” Ebony, a British accented black woman cries out as she descends her fiery glance at Franks. “Mate, you are weak! Off the trolley, buggered, no kippers. You miss Dr. Who so much?”

        “And whom might you be, please,”

        “I’m Ebony, mind-eater!”

         “Grand to meet you, Ebony.” Franks voice, with the greatest of training and experience, wondering of the minefield he has walked into, speaks evenly.

          Watching Tara before him, he asks. “Tara, would you like a cheeseburger?”

            “I can has cheezzburger?” Tara asks the four word answer in three separate and distinctive voices.

             “I’ll order it for you! Any condiments?”

             “ketchup would be nice,” Tara says nearly peacefully.

              “I want lettuce and tomatoes,” Kara states most loud.

               “Tartar sauce! I need tartar sauce,” Ebony exclaims with thick accent.

               “Uh, could I have anchovies, please, Doctor?” Phil inquires meekly.

                Dr. Franks takes a step back as he hears a chorus of three females voices speak from that of a single mouth.

                “No, Phil, we’re not going there!”

                 Leaving the room, Dr Franks gets several cheeseburgers with various condiments.

　

　

Mark William Darus 09192012

　

Authors Note: This is the very first entry, somewhat changed, in the Ballad of Tara Part.

This is her entry to the world of psych wards, insane assylums and what some might call a journey into mental health. There will be more to follow this entry as it ties into the entry of Tara: Room of 9 Doors a few days ago.