The Novella - 52 pgs.

When the batteries died and the beam of light surrounding the crucifix faded completely, Collette fell into a troubled asleep, where she was plagued by nightmares. It began with the sound of water dripping, as though from a faucet somebody forgot to turn off. Drip. Drip. Drip. The constant rhythm was maddening. Collette found herself in a church. The sound of dripping water continued. This time echoing off of high walls and reverberating until it became steady, like the sound of falling rain.

At the front of the church was an altar and above it the crucifix. Jesus was moaning, crying, and twisting in pain on the cross. “This is my body. This is my blood,” intoned Father Thom. As expressionless as a dead man, he took the golden chalice and filled it to the brim with crimson blood streaming down Christ’s thin body. Then Father Thom broke off Christ’s big toe. Collette knew what he was going to do next, and looked away in fear. She would rather not see Father Thom partake in grisly cannibalism.

Her gaze fell to the side on a magnificent stained glass window. It filled her entire field of vision and was so large that she could only make out individual pieces and not the whole design. Yet, each piece, blue, violet, green, and yellow, glowed so brilliantly that to see all of it at once, she knew, would blind her. The glass vibrated and with a high pitch scream, it shattered. Shards of glass fell like rose petals onto soft grass. Beyond the window, there was a tree and from it hung man. Suspended upside down by one foot, the man wasn’t smiling, but there was distinct air of happiness about him. He bore the entranced expression of one reading a good book. Collette tried to run towards the hanged man.

But she tripped and fell upright. Walking down winding darkened steps, Collette feared her destination. It was the St. Eloi health room. The educational posters had become real. Smoker woman, the tanning super-model, emaciated anorexic girl, they all stood in the middle of the room, in a tight circle surrounding someone. Under their waves of laughter, Collette tried to detect another sound. She rushed up to them and pulled the evil women away to uncover – her father. He was sobbing, but no tears fell. His eyes met hers and he began to yell scripture verses at her. “For a fire has been kindled by my wrath, one that burns to the realm of death below. It will devour the earth and its harvests and set afire the foundations of the mountains.”

Collette ran until her legs turned to honey, and she was alone in a world of nothing, the weight of her sins crushing her lungs. Fear, greater than any she had felt before, gripped her soul. Ice flowed through her veins, and she lay on a slab of stone. A blue corpse was all that remained of Collette.

Collette awoke in a sweat, but she lay stiff as a board, muscles clenched tight, and her breathing was shallow. She took a big gulp of air and whipped her head to the side. Her clock read 12:30 and the digital numbers’ red glow reflected eerily off her sweaty brow and wide eyes. Thoughts drifted to earlier in the evening when she saw Father Thom kiss her mother. She remembered her nightmare. And wished she could return to it. That world of ice and death was better than this living hell. But Collette didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

(Author’s note a.k.a. a self-deprecating disclaimer: This dream sequence was very self-indulgent of me and was mostly written as a warm-up. It would be cut or drastically reduced for the final draft.)

+ Sloth +

Never before in Collette’s life had she felt such disgust with the world. Each slight movement or little thought that crossed her mind was utterly meaningless and inconsequential, so she resolved to do nothing. It wasn’t weariness, just a sheer unwillingness to do anything. She stared at the ceiling, losing herself in the turning of the minute. Sinking further into the cushy mattress, her body was weighed down by self-hatred, even her hair pulled her head to the pillow with a weight, as effective as chains. Collette did not want to face the rest of the day and the amount of effort it would require. To. Just. Keep. Breathing. No matter how much she wished it otherwise, time’s passage plodded steadily on. The arrival of day was splashed across the ceiling; the deep dark of night became less and gradually slid into the grey-blue of predawn. 6:59 blazed on the clock, and Collette lifted a heavy hand to shift its smooth nub. With a click she turned of her alarm. For a half hour she watched each minute pass.

Misery was interrupted with a soft knock on the door, a mother coming to wake her child for the new school day. Collette wanted to sob, but it would take too much effort, so the pressure built into an intense headache. It had been six years, since her mother had last come to wake her. Not since she was eleven years old. Those were the innocent blissful days, when a soft “good morning” was enough to drag her from the deepest sleep. Now the scratchy shriek of the alarm clock greeted her day.

“Hey, sleepyhead, are you up yet? Collette, it’s 7:45,” said Mrs. Duffy. She still needed to take the curlers out of her hair and put on her makeup.

“I am not feeling well. I don’t think I will go to school today.” Collette’s weak reply barely made it though the closed door.

“What?” Mrs. Duffy started walking away and had to raise her voice. “Collette, come have some breakfast and then we’ll see how you feel after that.”

Collette hated her. That anger supplied the necessary surge of energy to her limbs. She rose from the bed. The blankets clung to her before falling away forsaken. Unsteady on her feet, Collette made her way to the window. The world dipped and swayed, but when it settled Collette looked out on sparkling blue virgin snow. The sun was just rising, tinting the horizon a fleshy pastel pink. Collette’s throat tightened and her breath hitched. She stepped closer and looked into her backyard. Last night’s snowfall covered the tracks left by Father Thom’s car, leaving only faint indentations.

Being so close to the pane of glass caused it to fog up with Collette’s breath. It washed back towards her, bearing a stench of tacky morning mouth with a hint of lasagna. The smell forced her to take stock of her situation. Unwashed, oily skin and greasy hair. Gross. To add to that Collette had slept in her clothes. Her dress-code-appropriate khaki pants were wrinkled into frowns and the collar of her navy blue polo was flipped up.

Collette went to her dresser and pulled out blue pajama bottoms and an old purple t-shirt. She did not want to raise uncomfortable questions at the breakfast table, as to why she was still wearing her clothes from yesterday. There was a chill in the air, so she grabbed her fuzzy night robe before heading downstairs.

Troy was already at the table, hunched dejectedly over a bowl of cereal. His shaggy, uncombed hair covered squinty eyes, and his spoon hovered hesitantly in front of his mouth, as he double-checked its course trajectory. Mornings were never a good time for Troy. To converse with him required knowledge of a special mumble language. To Collette’s typical cheery good mornings Troy’s replies were along the lines of, “Ugh, grr taher,” which roughly translated meant, “Go to hell.”

Today was different. Collette mechanically went about getting a bowl, a spoon, and a box of Cheerios. She asked Troy to pass the milk, and he did so without a word. All the sounds in the room became magnified and swelled into the emptiness. Collette could hear Troy’s crunchy chewing. Her stomach churned. The Cheerios poured into the bowl, a crescendo of tiny clanging bells, followed by the swirling of milk that dampened both sound and cereal. Her spoon clinked against the bowl, and she began to eat methodically listening to the munching of grains between her teeth.

The click of Mrs. Duffy’s heels interrupted Collette’s mastication reverie. Mrs. Duffy took in Collette disheveled appearance.

“Oh, Collette, you look miserable.”

The dark lines curving under bloodshot eyes and the greasy black hair that put a pale face in sharp relief were proof enough for Mrs. Duffy. Her daughter would not be attending school today. And what happened next only solidified the conclusion.

When her mother had appeared Collette tried to digest what she saw. Makeup powder softened Mrs. Duffy’s face, and rosy cinnamon lipstick brought a touch of color that complimented bright blue eyes. Dark, golden brown hair was pulled back into a chic ponytail, thin wisps framed her face. Mrs. Duffy did not follow traditional teacher fashion; no oversized beige sweaters, black slacks, frumpy cardigans, or turtlenecks. She wore slimming black pinstripe pants topped by a pale blue cashmere sweater that brought out her eyes. Collette’s mother looked so fresh and young. In Collette's mind the evident serenity and happiness clung to her mother like flies.

Mrs. Duffy reached over to check her daughter’s forehead for a temperature. Yet, before she even came close to touching Collette, the girl blanched and jumped up from the table, knocking over her chair and running into the bathroom. She puked up her small breakfast. While the flushing of the toilet filled the air, Collette glanced at her reflection. Pieces of puke were dangling from the ends of her hair. After she bent over the sink and washed them out, she returned to the kitchen.

Troy was trying to control his gag reflex, and her mother looked concerned. Their edges appeared overly bright and seemed to vibrate in Collette’s sleep-deprived vision. She went and lay down on the living room couch. As she listened to them bustling about their morning routine, Collette tried to feel guilty for being so lazy. But all she felt was relief when her mother called out a farewell, and she heard the car pull out of the driveway. For an hour she did not move watching the day come into its full brightness.

Finally, she stood and turned on some music. As Enya’s soothing voice and relaxing melody dulled the senses, Collette immersed herself in her own inertia, letting it seep into her very bones. Body immobilized, Collette’s mind was forced to wander. “We can sail, we can sail… we can sigh, say goodbye.” And with those words Collette remembered a time of goodbyes.

It had been nothing special. In the summer about seven years ago, in a time when you could still walk a loved one past airport security and all the way to the departure gate to say a last farewell, Fred Duffy had been leaving from the Indianapolis International Airport for Japan. Collette had been ten, wearing a pink flowery t-shirt, shorts to match, and sparkly jelly shoes. This was to be the beginning of many airport goodbyes. That day Collette had loved the wide-open feel of the area and ran around playing tag with Troy. But over the years, as her father’s departures increased in frequency, the airport seemed to shrink in on her, and more and more Collette felt the miserable press of humanity.

That first day of departure, however, had been a relatively happy one for Collette. At the airport her mother bought her and her brother frozen yogurt from TCBY, and a stain of chocolate encircled Collette’s mouth for the rest of their time there. On the way to the gate Mrs. Duffy held her husband’s hand and softly hummed a wistful melody. Back then Mr. Duffy’s hair had been a wavy dark black with no signs of the now existing gray strands. Her father had high cheekbones and ever since Mr. Duffy had made his trip to Russia, Troy liked to refer to him as a "Russian spy." He had never been what you would call attractive, a nose too crooked and brows too dark for that, but his laugh was hearty and his smile warm, so to Collette he was the most handsome man in the world.

At the gate, Mr. Duffy first hugged his children; Collette remembered his breath smelling of the mint gum he liked to chew, ever since giving up smoking. Then he hugged her mother and got onto the boarding ramp. He would be gone for two months. Mrs. Duffy held back tears as she waved. Then Mr. Duffy had rushed back off the onramp and took his wife in his arms, giving her a sweet Hollywood kiss. Troy had groaned disgustedly, and Collette chimed in, but later she would recall it as one of the most romantic scenes she had ever witnessed.

Collette felt like she was going to puke again. She turned off the music and flipped on the TV. Jeopardy was on, and although they looked nothing alike, Alex Trebek, the game host’s suave and amiable manner reminded her of Father Thom. They both thought they were so smart, providing everybody with the answers. She imagined him standing in front of the class, smiling as he taught about the holy sacrament of marriage. Flipping rapidly through the channels, Collette felt like she was spinning a roulette wheel with no idea where the ball would land.

She landed on a channel that, ironically, was playing the movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. It was near the end. “He’s not the problem. I’m the problem. I’ve got to take a stand. I’ve got to take a stand against him. I am not going to sit on my ass as the events that affect me unfold to determine the course of my life. I'm going to take a stand. I'm going to defend it. Right or wrong, I'm going to defend it”. Collette remembered what somebody had said to her once. “Don’t feed me that crap.” Collette was sick of the crap, of the platitudes, of the Bible verses, and now the TV, all of them telling her what to do. Who was this stupid character telling her to “take a stand”? Collette thought to herself. I am tired. My whole body feels like it has been filled with lead. If I want, I can sit here all day and watch TV.

Collette turned the TV off. Her reflection on the glass screen was dark and warped; she looked like a slug. Almost on its own accord her body stood, as though it needed to move just as much as it needed to breathe. Walking outside into the cold air, Collette hoped to wake up. She was barefoot and wearing only a night robe, but she left the front porch and walked into the snow. To any neighbors who happened to glance out their windows, Collette would have looked like a lunatic or perhaps an escaped rehab patient. The sun glared off the snow, stinging and blinding her eyes. Tears fell and left icy tracks down her cheeks. The pain in her feet was the first pleasant sensation Collette had felt all morning. It was bad she knew. Something was wrong inside her, not anything new, something that had been there all along.

For a good ten minutes she stood there as unmoving as a lawn statue, until Turnip came out of the house and ran prancing across the snow into the bushes. A red cardinal flew out, diving and swooping its way across the street. Collette could hear a car approaching, so she went back inside. She lay on the couch and watched infomercials the rest of the day, but strange thoughts burned in the back of her mind.

Around 4:30 Troy came home from basketball practice, still sweaty. Collette only blinked when he told her that mom would be coming home late because of a parent-teacher conference. It was only 7:00, but Collette was exhausted from a long day of doing nothing, so she crept upstairs to her room and snuggled under the covers. The crucifix above her door taunted her out of the corner of her eye, and she began to slide into a nightmare. Collette dragged herself from the swirling vortex of fright-filled dreams. The heavy desk chair scraped against the wooden floor. Collette stopped in front of the doorway and climbed atop the chair. Yanking the crucifix off the wall, she quickly scampered down and went over to the trash can. She did not hesitate before tossing it in.

Her day had been a protective cocoon of idleness, but that did not stop the sandman from bringing Collette a deep and restful sleep.

(Author’s note: I realize that not much of anything happens in this part of the story, but it is titled sloth, so that kind of makes sense.)

+ Envy +

The next day at breakfast Collette’s mother appeared as pristine as she did the day before. Collette felt grubby in comparison, and had to choke down jealousy along with her burnt toast. Collette said she felt well enough to attend school, but that was about all she said. Usually, Collette was chatty in the mornings, and liked to tease her brother or talk to her mom about the latest homework. Her mom noticed how withdrawn and silent Collette was and so with an open-ended inquiry asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

"I’m fine. I am just a little tired,” Collette fended her off brusquely. What should she say? No, Mom, I am not okay. Currently, I am suffering emotional trauma that will cost me years of my life lying down on a leather couch, while some overpaid shrink analyzes the psychological repercussions resulting from me discovering your affair with a Catholic priest. But other than that I am super.