Do you see me?

It’s why I text. To remind you to not forget I exist. Yes, you do need reminding. That in itself makes me sad. How inconsequential am I to you, that you need reminding of my existence, inspite of seeing me everyday?

Which leads me to the important question. Do you see me?
 

It’s a dramatic question, I know. Of course, you see me, physically speaking. I’m a person who exists in your life, if only on the periphery, and I’m not going to magically disappear because you don’t take the time to notice who I am. But I have this feeling that you have a sort of selective vision, that you’re happy to come in and out of things. When you speak to me for a few precious days, a few (so few) moments, acknowledging my existence, I can almost convince myself that you really do see me, that you know I’m here. But then you retreat back into your comfortable silence, your precious distance, and I am reminded that you don’t.

You are simply able to forget about me, to render me invisible, a dot on the horizon that you can take a pleasant stroll to visit when it is convenient. Something that amuses you. Like a love lorn dog in need of constant attention, that you choose to ignore when you don't have the time or bent of mind. I am not in your inner circle, nowhere near enough to cause you actual harm. So I sit here, yelling at the top of my lungs to get you to turn around, waving flares against the night sky and shouting your name. You might turn around, but you’ll never really look at me.

With you, it often feels like those dreams where you want to say something — want to scream, want to get a point across, want to be heard — and your open mouth refuses to make a sound. There is some incredibly small, seemingly simple task you want to accomplish and you just can’t do it for whatever reason. I mean sending a text to you is like praying. One does it fervently, sending it out into the world on pure faith. Hoping everytime that that you’ve read it, heard the message i’m trying to convey, wishing that there’ll be a reply. But like all things based on faith, you know a reply may never come, nor may absolution. 

I know that it’s not easy to look someone in the eye and tell them how you feel (or reject them, even, if that’s what needs to be done) but it is the kind thing to do. It is the honest, human thing to do. Because letting someone linger in a purgatory where they are never quite seen or heard — where they are constantly left questioning whether a perceived subtext was all in their heads or based in reality — is cruel and unusual punishment. I want to know that you see me, that you know what I look like, even if you don’t like it. I want to know that you’ve remembered our interactions, that they hold a significance in your mind, even if it’s not the kind of significance I want them to have. Because I have gone hoarse screaming into the wind in your general direction.

It’s easy to forget me. It’s easy to pretend that I’m not here when you don’t want to see me. And I can see how it must be tempting, how it must stroke your ego and remind you that you have power over people whose existence you barely consider. Just remember, on those days that you forget me, I am rejected, embarrassed and insulted all at the same time.

I know. I tell myself everyday "Silly girl, what makes you think he cares?"

You can lift me up in an instant, and yet you destroy me without even trying.

Adopted and adapted from http://thoughtcatalog.com

First Glimpse

Chapter 3

Rick and Marissa walked out with meagre goods. They had immediately liked the quiet town and wanted an excuse to make trips there. Rick had started to put things back as soon as she filled the cart with enough stores to last a war. She understood. She was already glad they had come. Even though they had come in miffed, she was already beginning to re-discover the things she had loved about him. The things she had forgotten in a whirl of champagne, fairy lights, loud music and well meaning friends.

Mr. Pierce saw her smile lovingly at her husband and frowned. He was a quiet old man who had never been fond of new arrivals. He firmly believed that they spoilt the serenity of the town and stirred excitement amongst its people. Especially young, adventerous couples. Always poking their noses into everything and wanting to make friends. No, Mr. Pierce was not fond of exciting things. And Marissa and Rick seemed to be the type of people who couldn't survive without a little bit of excitement. Mr. Pierce was not wrong. But still he took to Marissa's childlike banter and Rick's quiet, polite ways. He would tell the townspeople later that he knew then that they were good people.

Mr. Pierce was almost beaming by the time the roadster made its way out of town. He had seen the looks on the faces of the cobbler, the innkeeper, the woodsman, the butcher and the mechanic. His closest friend's could not believe that he had befriended strangers. He chuckled to himself as he thought of the free rounds he would get at the inn tonight.

Soon they reached a winding, narrow, treacherous, overgrown path. If Mr. Pierce had not pointed out the turn, Rick would never have known a road existed. On one side was a steep cliff and on the other a steep rise. A slight mistep and they would hurtle down to their deaths. Marissa held her tongue and breath as Rick manouvered the roadster, its silver rims teetering too close to the edge. He made a silent note to get them bicycles tomorrow. The roadster was way too dangerous to use on this path. Sleepstone Manor was still not in sight and it was fast getting dark. A quiet chill had fallen and the fog was descending rapidly. RIck fought his urge to go faster. Obviously by this time they would've liked to turn around but that was not an option. Marissa gripped the handle on the side of the door till her knuckles were white. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see Ricks knuckles on the steering wheel were just as bloodless.

She slowly turned to Mr. Pierce and asked him about Sleepstone Manor. Mr. Pierce looked pale but it did not seem to be because of the road, rather his eyes were fixed at something beyound the pine trees, something he knew was there but was not yet in sight. He almost stage whispered his reply. "The tales, Mrs. Applecombe, they say are fables. To keep vandals and teenagers from troubling the groundskeeper, but....". Marissa froze. "But what, Mr. Pierce?". Mr. Pierce shook his head as if forcefully waking himself up. "But, noone has ever seen anything hereabouts, so you needn't worry Mrs. Applecombe. It's a beautiful house. Mr & Mrs. Radickson, the tenants before you? No, you havn't heard of them i'm sure. Well, they loved to entertain. We all miss them. We are glad that you have come for the summer. Now look ahead. Sleepstone Manor should be coming up right round this bend."

Marissa looked forward but she could sense the forced upbeat note in Mr. Pierce's voice.  She had not heard any tales. Infact all their parents had told them when they were shuttling them off was that the manor had belonged to a friend of Rick's grandfather. The man had died without any issue and left his grandfather the property to do with it as he wanted. It had been given out to various tenants over the years but noone stayed long. Noone had said anything about 'tales'.

She saw Rick's worried expression but she didn't push the topic. Later she wondered why not. Perhaps she didn't want to know or perhaps as Sleepstone Manor loomed ahead she caught her breath once again.

The Applecombes

Chapter 2

It was a sleepy, sunny, Sunday afternoon in Sleeperstown the day the Applecombes arrived for the summer. They arrived in a red roadster with silver rims and mint coloured luggage towering high. They also arrived fighting. Try as they may the Applecombe's couldn't have a conversation without one or the other completely losing it. This time Marissa seemed to be complaining about Rick's lack of direction sense. With Sleepstone Manor being a couple of miles from Sleeperstown, one could not really blame Rick for having not found the well hidden, overgrown dirt road that took them there.

The towns people had all come out to check out the commotion. Mr Pierce was re-opening his convenience store right across from them and volunteered to take them all the way to the Manor. Brash and loud as they may seem, Marissa and Rick were good of heart. Sensing that Mr. Pierce would not take too kindly to repayment of any kind, they decided to purchase their stores from his store before heading to the Manor. The townspeople had wanted just that.

Marissa Applecombe was first to step out and she was a beauty. Her hair was the sort of colour that caught the sunlight. It shimmered and fell over her shoulders, all the way to her waist. For lack of a better description, her hair was the colour of rust, mixed with brick dust and a particularly brilliant African Serengeti sunset. She was of average height and her skin was tanned from all those trips to the beach. But unlike most women with tans, she was unfreckled. Her face provided the perfect canvas for her haunting grey eyes. People had always said that she could never lie because her eyes gave her away. They became cloudy when she was sad, clear and full of light when she was happy and darker when she was angry. She wore a coral, full sleeved dress that puffed at her shoulders and stopped at her knees. From the moment she walked out, everyone was entranced. Marissa Applecombe was by no means thin. Infact, she worried about her weight constantly. She wasn't fat either, she was rounded and looked all the better for it. She walked with the gait of a child, fast paced and almost skippy and chatted easily with Mr. Pierce about the ride into Sleeperstown.

For a moment, everyone had forgotten about Rick Applecombe. Until, he stepped out into the late afternoon sun. He looked like he had stepped out from a magazine. A magazine whose content talked of aristocrats, fashion and travel, for Rick brought to mind all those things. He was a tall, dark haired man with an almost sadistic glint to his eye. Eye's that were as black as tar and as dark as All Hallowe's Eve. He wore khaki trousers and a white shirt that was casually tucked in at one end. Where his wife just looked tanned, Rick's tan made him look like he came for a long lineage of strong Italian men. Italian or not, he did have an aristocratic lineage. His grandfather had been a nobleman and he had been given the best education money could provide. Much to his mother's horror, Rick had never confirmed to the stuffy ways of that education. He had taken off to back pack around the world, in search of adventures and new friends. In fact he had met Marissa during those travels and they had immediately taken to each other. He had a quiet confidence about him that made him stand out. Rick Applecombe was the sort of man who had never had to ask for someone's attention, his very presence demanded it.

He followed Marissa and Mr. Pierce quietly into the store with a genuinely sweet smile at his audience. As he disappeared into the store, the people of Sleeperstown stood dazzled.

Sleeperstown

Chapter 1

Detective Nevinski was a small man with a rather large nose. Mrs. Hilton often commented to the ladies of her kittie party that there was no job better suited for the man, than a detective, because he liked to poke his nose in other people's business. And she was absolutely right. Detective Nevinski's nose would poke its way into everybody's conversations long before they realised the rest of him was also eavesdropping.


Unlucky for him, Sleeperstown was a rather dull little place for such a keen detective.


Everyone knew everyone and had lived there for generations. By nature and nuture, the people of Sleeperstown never had felt the urge or ambition to venture to the city in search of fame or fortune. They knew of only one girl who had run away with a passing muscician to become an actress. She'd changed her name and even appeared on television. In a year or two though they had found her dead on a drug overdose. That seemed to keep everyone more inclined to stay in Sleeperstown and live out their quiet little lives. They went about their chores and parties and work as they had for decades.


Until, a young, fairly rich couple from the city took Sleepstone Manor for the summer. Marissa and Rick Applecombe had not been married long but young love had already given way to mistrust and neglect. Their friends and a shrink or two had suggested they go away to a place where they were unknown to rekindle their now lost love. Neither was too happy with the suggestion because both still had one thing in common - they're love for entertaining and being entertained. Needless to mention the obvious, Sleeperstown had no social calendar to speak of. They consented in the end to run away from concerned, often inquisitive friends and family. They consented to keep everyone's mouth shut.

Sleepstone Manor had been shut a very, very long time. Only the elderly and senile could remember the previous inhabitants and they had very dark tales to tell.