19th Day of the First Indulgence
Oo I do hope Lord Devereaux enjoys this palete cleanser after a week of indulgence.
The Pact
“Dude,” the rumble in my head started. “I am hungry!”
I shake my head. This traffic is getting on my nerves. Roadworks again. This is the flipping seventh day!
“Dude, can’t you hear me?” the rumble continues.
Beep Beep! Okay okay. I am going – giving the idiot in the car behind me the middle finger. Damn this day is getting on my nerves. The boss started this morning, on at me. How could I help it that I couldn’t find my keys. Five minutes. Just five minutes too late. I offered to work an extra five minutes during lunch, but no. It’s about promptness.
“Can you please listen. I am hungry and now I need a pee!”
“If you don’t stop your nagging I will lose it. Can’t you see we are stuck in traffic?” I shout.
The car in front moves and in my impatience, I stall the car and the light goes to red. Now I’m hell-bent. This day will be the end of me. Just something about today. Got up late. My phone died because I forgot to plug it in. Then the traffic – late to work. Didn’t meet a deadline because the stupid back up system failed. Yes, today was an awful day and I just want to get home, eat, shower, and go to bed.
“Dude, stop thinking about food, I am hungry. Are we having those pork sausages tonight?” Rumble continues.
Sausages, sausages! No haven’t the time for sausages. Coco Pops tonight. Grrrr. Oh, thank goodness, green light at last. Let’s hope there are no other problems. Beep Beep, car passes me and I look to my right, the guy behind me now beside me with his middle finger up. Ja, I guess I had that coming to me.
At last, I pull into the driveway. Grab my briefcase, open the door, and run inside. I need a pee so badly.
“I told you…… but do you listen!”
Shut it! I open the door sick to death of the rumble having its six pence worth. Drop the briefcase and run down to the bathroom. Phew. Now shall I make those sausages. Yip I am hungry. But first off with these clothes that smell of let-down.
“Do you have to look at the messages on your phone. He won’t text back…. HA HA, you really did a number on him!”
I said zip it! Not to bring that up again. When will you listen! I pull on my comfy trackie bottoms and my loose jumper and walk to the kitchen. Misty screams past me hissing. What the…. where the heck is she off to.
“Misty, kitty cat where are you going?” I hear a hiss from behind the couch in the living room. Oh well that’s her angry about something. How strange.
Walk into the kitchen and take the sausages out the fridge. Put them into the air fryer with some oven fries. Grab some frozen steam veg and put them by the microwave. My stomach is growling. Missed lunch because of that deadline.
“Dude, when are you going to use your diary? Your boss is at the end of his tether.” Rumble mumbles.
I suppose you’re right. I have been lax lately. My mind has been all over the place.
“Well, if you stopped looking at your phone every five minutes you may get things done hey, Dude!”
Who gave you permission to be my alter ego? Oh, for flips sake, I think. This dude is getting on my nerves. Put the veg into the microwave, check the sausages and oven fries. Take down my plate and get out a knife and fork. May as well eat in the dining room today, haven’t used it in ages. The kitchen chairs need a change, cuts my circulation.
I pour myself a large glass of red wine. Just one. I deserve it after today. The bottle’s nearly empty anyway.
Ping! Veg ready. I plate up, grab my wine, and walk into the dining room.
CRASH! SPLATTER!
Sitting at the head of the table is ME. What! I shake my head. Look down at my food and drink now covering the floor and plastering the door. Look up – no not a figment of my imagination.
“What the heck! Why are we sitting there!”
Shut it. This is just my imagination. I walk out of the dining room to fetch paper towel. This can’t be. I must be delusional. Today will be the end of me. Grab the towel and walk back into the dining room.
“HELLO DARLING. DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT TODAY IS?”
The voice is mine but different. Calmer. Almost mocking. And the face – MY face – but wrong. The scars. Running from the top lip upward to the inner eye and up the forehead. Just like mine. But on HER they look... raw. Angry. Like they never healed.
She’s wearing that yellow daisy dress. The one from thirty-eight years ago.
I drop the paper towel and run down into my bedroom. Slam the door, my heart racing. Try and pull the chest of drawers over to the door. Straining.
“Dude the chest of drawers is nailed in! Dude – what the five cents is going on! Why are we in the dining room?”
I don’t have time for this. Help me barricade the door. This crap isn’t happening! I grab my phone from my suit pocket. Look at the date. NOOOOO! This can’t be. The phone can’t lie. Sixteenth of August 2025. No No No! This can’t be.
Thirty-eight years. Exactly thirty-eight years since the accident.
The deer in the road. The swerve. The tree. Flying through the windshield. Glass and blood and these scars that never fade. The doctors said I was lucky to be alive. Lucky.
That’s when SHE appeared. Daisy. My first voice. Calm, rational, everything I wasn’t. She tried to help me, tried to make me stop drinking, tried to make me better. But I couldn’t. I was still the same chaotic mess.
So, we made a deal. A pact. Thirty-eight years. I’d clean up my act, stop drinking, fix my attitude. And if I did, she’d leave me alone. But if I didn’t...
Oh God. The wine. The chaos. The same irritable, irrational person I’ve always been. I never changed. Not really.
“What is the importance of the date? I know nothing about that date. Speak to me dude. This is now getting old. I am hungry. My dinner is on the floor and here you are running from yourself!”
How many times must I say to myself shut up, zip it! This is happening. Why did I not remember! My heart is racing ten to the dozen. Palms sweating. Breath coming out in gasps.
“Hey, I am panicking now. Breathe dude! Breathe – do that breath thingy ma jig. Slowly now. Get yourself together!”
Breath in, to a count of five, hold it for four, exhale for eight. Stuff this! I am going to have another look. I march back down the hall, into the kitchen and peek into the dining room over the mess I made.
“Hellloooo, YES I AM STILL HERE. TIME TO FACE UP TO IT!”
I can hear the smirk and laughter.
“THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS! I HAVE WAITED THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS FOR THIS MOMENT. YOU OWE ME. YOU PROMISED TO CHANGE. TO STOP DRINKING. TO FIX YOURSELF. BUT LOOK AT YOU – STILL THE SAME CHAOTIC MESS. STILL DRINKING. STILL MAKING EXCUSES. AND THESE SCARS?”
She touches her face, fingers tracing the ridges.
“THESE ARE YOUR FAULT. YOUR DRUNK DRIVING. YOUR RECKLESSNESS. I’VE WORN THEM FOR THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS WHILE YOU DID NOTHING TO EARN THIS LIFE. TODAY IS COLLECTION DAY. I GET THE BODY. I GET TO LIVE PROPERLY. AND YOU? YOU GET TO PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO US!”
Crash. I must have fainted as all I can hear in my ear is –
“Dude, dude. Can you hear me? Please you are scaring me. Hello, hello. Are you there?” Rumbling in my ear.
Whaa’aat. Urgh. My head. What the hell just happened. I sit up.
“Woah Dude, slowly does it. I am spinning! What on earth! What is the moment? Dude? Are you hearing me, are you ok?”
Shut it! I am dizzy. What just happened! Oh….
“COME FACE THE MUSIC! TIME’S RUNNING OUT. IN EXACTLY FOUR HOURS I CLAIM MY RIGHTFUL PLACE. TICK – TOCK, TICK-TOCK.”
I am in absolute turmoil right now. How? Why? Suddenly it dawns on me. I slowly get up and walk to the dining room. My legs feel like lead.
“The pact. Really? Today? How did you get in here? You aren’t real!”
“OH BUDDY, IT IS REAL! REMEMBER. WE CHOSE THE COLOUR OF THE FOLDER. PINK WITH YELLOW DAISIES. REMEMBER. WE ARGUED. YOU HATE DAISIES. I ON THE OTHER HAND LOVE THEM. LOOK, MY DRESS, THE ONE I COULDN’T RESIST. COST THE EARTH. YOU HAD A PUP!”
My heart! It is all over the place. My head, pounding. The taste in my mouth is foul. Gasping I run to the bathroom, run the cold-water tap, and splash my face. Grab a towel and walk to the mirror. I am ashen, no I am so grey it looks like I have died. But… the scars. Running from my top lip upwards to my inner eye and up my forehead. Those memories locked – up until now.
The night we made the pact. Both of us staring in this same mirror. The scars fresh, stitches still in. Her voice calm while I shook with withdrawal. “Thirty-eight years,” she’d said. “That’s how long you get. Clean up or I take over.”
I never believed she’d come back.
“What part Dude?”
PACT you dumb idiot. The stupid bloody pact I signed on the sixteenth of August thirty-eight bloody years ago!
“Okaaaaay….. no need to swear! Where is this pact! Is it written and signed?”
Oh yes – I can kiss you. Urgh no!
I walk to the door, open it slowly and look down the passage. Dive into the study and open the bureau drawer. Scout around in the drawers and there, the pink daisy envelope. Sealed with a blob of red wax and a cross in the middle. I rip it open.
“NO, YOU DON’T! DO NOT OPEN THAT! OUR DEAL – TODAY PAYDAY!”
I am not, not going ahead with the pact. Sorry daisy gal, no deal. Take yourself off – you are not wanted here!
“A DEAL IS A DEAL! DONE, DUSTED AND YOU GET TO GIVE ME WHAT YOU OWE ME! I DESERVE THIS LIFE. I DESERVE A BODY THAT ISN’T DESTROYED. YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE AND YOU WASTED IT!” Her scar is red and swollen, her lips twisted and cruel.
My hands are shaking. I shake out the sheet. Two signatures and the pact written in Red Ink. My heart – I am in panic.
The words swim before my eyes:
On this day, August 16th, 1987, I solemnly swear to abstain from alcohol, to improve my temperament, and to live a life worthy of the second chance I’ve been given. Should I fail, I forfeit my claim to this body. Daisy shall have her recompense.
Below, two signatures. Both in my handwriting. Both signed in blood.
“Dude what is going on! You didn’t sign that! What are you? MAD!”
I was desperate! Don’t you understand? I was destroying myself. She said she could help. She said if I just tried, really tried, she’d let me keep living. But I had to promise. I had to sign.
Now is not the time for the rumble in my head. I must do something. I spot the paper shredder. I walk over and switch it on. The pact in my hand. I was just about to…
“NOOOOO – DO YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN? THAT PACT WAS A DEAL. SWORN DEAL. SIGNED IN BLOOD! YOU OWE ME! YOU OWE ME FOR THESE SCARS, FOR THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS OF WAITING, FOR THE LIFE YOU THREW AWAY!” Screams the other Me.
“Shred! Shred – go on put it into the shredder. We are chips if you don’t!”
Rumble is right – this has to be shredded to bits. I push the sheet with the pact on into the shredder…
“No OO OOO OOO. WHAT ARE YOU DO IN GGG”
The room spins. My vision blurs. I look down at my hands – they’re fading, becoming transparent. The scars on my face burn like they’re fresh again. I can hear Daisy screaming, her voice dissolving into static.
Wh a t ha ve I do ne
“Dude! DUDE… where the hell are you!”
The pact in the shredder continues its terrible work, strips of red ink falling like confetti. Or blood.
When you destroy a deal made in blood, you destroy everything it bound together.
Both versions.
All of us.
The last thing I see is Misty, emerging from behind the couch, walking calmly through the fading chaos. She sits and watches as we all disappear.
Cats always know.
Oh, I think I must wake up each time there is a prompt at 3am. Oh I insanely enjoyed this write. I hope that you too enjoyed it. Share the hell out of it. I feel my competitive juices flowing. 😅
I got chills reading this one. 😎
At first, I thought it was just a guy ranting about his crappy day and traffic—but then that “voice in his head” turned out to be real.
It felt so raw, like a confession from someone teetering on the edge of madness.
That ending, where he shreds the blood pact and fades away himself—wow. It’s like sin and salvation getting erased at the same time.
Love this so much, Brenda.
Thank you