Chain-smoking midnight cigarettes, and needing far too much to drink. She just didn't need to know that her nightmares would become a reality. A life of tears and blood, sweat and sweet bitter melodies. History repeats itself, and nothing seems to be right. Up at night to see the dawn, and going back to sleep. Never really sleeping, only restless dreaming. There is never enough time in the day, to shower the love that isn't there. Blackness, a hole that quickens into an exploding ball of fire that does not get any small. Searing, burning flesh, and breaking hearts piece by piece. Fallen into a state of disgrace, and chain-smoking midnight cigarettes, with the need of far too much to drink.

On the day she married, it was the happiest day of her life. The white gown, the beautiful lace veil. There was something in the way that he looked at her, that brought nothing but a smile to her face. That wedding march, she walked with confidence, down the aisle and to his side. Given away, with a great deal of strength by her father off to the side, holding a crying mother, in his arms. She let him lift the veil, say open-ended promises, and seal the deal with a kiss that was so sweet; the sugar lingered on her lips for days. It was time for flowers, or beauty, or smoke filled mirrors and a day of nothing but great happiness, a toast to the happy couple and the many years of love and bond they would share from this day forward.

The people in the pews of the echoing church glowed with faces so bright. With love so sweet as they looked upon a true happiness, a perfection, a deal that was made in the stars, and sealed with the blessing of god. The stain glassed windows, sparkled, with their overwhelming joy, casting light against the white of a gown, which would not be stained. A sweet memory to add to the photo album of life, a chapter to be written in the story of this woman's cherished life. So many beautiful people all dressed in lovely colors, and plastered with that miracle smile, that nothing could ruin this day. On the day that she married, she was happy and bright, and young. Naive, kept, and borrowed, never to be given the chance to break that bond and keep the day happy in her memory forever.

On the day she died, she was battered and torn. She has broken, beyond repair. The black dress, and the lace veil that covered her face in mourning, she was stuffed in a box and left for those to watch over with tears in their eyes and some kind of sadness that cannot be explained. Some would whisper they knew this would happen, and yet, with the bloodstains covered meticulously with make-up, they only whisper open-ended promises that were sealed with the heavens and never blessed by the glorious god.

Given away by her father, this time, crying with her mother, and they both break down, not sure what they should have done to stop this. Their baby girl lays before them in a tragic mess of heap and make-up and black and death. And in that moment, they realize, they gave that girl a chance to live, and in that chance, she died. Not by her choice, but of the choices she made and the choices she could no longer run from. On the day she died, that black dress was smoothed and the glow from her face, and the light in her eyes were dim, and dead and painted over with a gloss of pretense, and ever'� present'� lies.

Chapter One

Silence.
There is none.
Crash.
Glass shatters against the cold unforgiving tile of the bathroom floor.
Whoooosh!
A chair travels, as if it has sprouted wings, through the cluttered living room.
Thud.

Losing its wings, as quickly as they grew. Vanished. The chair collides in the stop, abrupt with a coffee table, uprooted, upended on its head turned upside down in the middle of the room.

Muffled mayhem-crying, sobbing in the corner. Disheveled baby hairs smashed against the angelic faces of those too young to know any better. The pillow hides the screams, tiny bodies, slowing breathing, huddled under the bed like soldiers in a bunker, waiting out the air raids.

Stop.
Silence.
Quiet.

Peeking her head out from under the pillow, nine-year-old Nicolena, the oldest of three children, waits. She waits and watches, ready to move like a cat with reflexes in the dark. Groping for a place to stand, she slowly removes the blanket from above their heads and each, wide-eyed, move, and descend into the bedroom. Tear stained cheeks, reddened and raw, six year old Phillip and three year old Maria, follow their big sister out into the open, waiting, watching. Another blink, another battle, a war fought and the calm has clouded over.

Suddenly life is like it was before the glass began to break and the screams were echoing through their tiny ears.

Vroom. Vroom.

Toy cars go to pick up Barbie for a date they didn't know they had, but find that it distracts small minds from the reality of their life and the things that they must go through. Barbie dances with Ken in her skimpy little outfits and her 80s teased hair, the big bangs, the blonde ratted strands of something, who knows, really. Something a three year old finds fascinating.

Nicolena makes her way to the bedroom door. An escape, though there is none. The illusion of smoke and fog swirls outside the door, as if chaos and hell is waiting, with outstretched hands, ready to pull her, drag her to her knees, kicking and screaming, begging for mercy. She walks, slowly, but knowing there is nothing out there.

Not now.

As she enters the hallway, she stops, turning to give the younger children a backwards glance. Barbie is still dancing; the cars are still moving, racing. Like small heartbeats, they don't miss the track that life has them on. Nicolena steps into the hallway, leaving tiny trails of fingerprints as she moves, ever so carefully through the dimly lit narrow passageway. Like a curious child like James Bond or Charlie's Angels, she steps lightly, on padded bare feet, barely able to see in front of her.

Cautious.
Nervous.
Scramble.

There they are behind the curtain, that hanging excuse for a doorway, and a cloud of sweet herbal cloud assaults her face, her eyes water, threatening to break the barrier of tears that stay locked up in side. Though the air is bitter with the taste of beer in the air, and the cans cluttered about the room and the plastered faces, and attempt to hide.

Something.
Hide what?
Something.

Scattered on the table, flecks of leaves like those fallen in autumn, though'�somehow burnt, the sight of fizzing beer soaking into the already dingy carpet, knocked over in the frenzy to hide.

Something.
Hide what?
Something.

Turning around, Nicolena heads towards the bathroom. The small sliver of light, the moon casting a glow into the cold room that reflects into the hallway outside a slightly jarred open door. There are shards and slivers of what is left of the mirror, mixed with thick amber glass laying, glinting, taunting on the floor. An offending crack in the mirror, begs her to peer through it. Like Alice in wonderland, she looks, through rose-colored glasses, at herself. Her face cut in half, funny like the funhouse mirrors at a carnival. The glass disfigures her big brown eyes, and the crack and they water, sting with dryness and sad tears.

She wipes her eyes; stepping carefully away from the mirror, smoke curling around it. As if inside it. Is this an illusion? A magician's trick. She smiles. Hiding.

Something.
Hiding what?
Something.

Crawling back up to the top bunk of the bed she shares with her sister, she opens up a book and begins to get lost in the stories of this life and an alternate life. Of characters she can never be, and people she can only dream to be. She loses herself in a fantasy, to run away from the reality. Escape. Disappear.

She waits for the younger children to fall asleep. They drift to sleep and crawl into their respected beds. She will slip down from her own haven to tuck the covers around each one. Kiss them on the forehead and call it a night. Nicolena, silently looks to the hallway, and then, shuts the door to the bedroom, closing in their safe gate and turning the light off on bad dreams and nightmares that will come anyway.

Sleep does not come easy.

Tossing.
Turning.
Dreams...

******************

Her mother and the smell of stale beer awakened Nicolena. The waft of musty sex, lingers in the air as her mother shakes her. 'Wake your brother.'� She says and then before Nicolena could even move to get up, her mother is gone.

Gone.

The door shuts and there is no one there, like a ghost, gliding in and out and leaving only the trail of bittersweet marijuana behind her. The door closes; there is no one there.

Wiping the sleep out of her eyes, Nicolena jumps down from her bed, her nightgown hangs loose and rises a bit to show her smooth thighs as she stretches for the morning. Another day, another smile, another'� escape.

School.

Running a brush through her long ratted brown locks of hair, she pads across the room to her brother's bed. She shakes him gently, 'Phillip. Its time to get up. We will be late.'�

He whines, and doesn't really move much, but she shrugs, nodding her head as she stands over his bed, he kicks the covers in a tantrum, crying almost as he doesn't wish to get out of bed. But he does. She is satisfied.

Nicolena dresses quickly, pulling on a pair of hand me down faded jeans and a shirt. She is plain, but nonetheless dressed. She pulls her hair back in a ponytail saying, 'Brush your teeth and hair please.'� She moves over to her sister's bed, Maria sleeping soundly on the bottom bunk of their bed. She wraps the little girl in the blanket and hefts her into her arms.

Groan.
Situate.

Once the three year old is secure in her arms, its time to head to the neighbors' house. Nicolena slips her shoes on and does her best to move about so that her sister does not wake. The front door to the house is easy to open, the screen door however screeches.

Bang.
And shuts behind her.

A murmur from Maria is all she hears, thank goodness. Upon knocking on the door, there is a kindly older woman who answers, there is an exchange for the child crossing the empty space, like a drug deal almost, quiet, careful and quick. Nicolena waves and runs back to her house, her jeans soaked with morning dew and freshly mowed grass.
She barrels into her bedroom, grabbing her book bag in one hand, slinging it over her shoulder and her brother's collar in the other, 'Come on Phillip! We are late!'�

The yellow bus coming down the street does not stop for long. It screeches to a halt and just as Nicolena is dragging out her brother, the one who has not brushed his hair or teeth and its quite obvious, the doors are shutting, she races to the sidewalk, trying to get everything in order. The doors open again, and in the nick of time, she makes it.

School.
The escape.

*************
(To Be Continued...)

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