Sunshine on a Rainy Day

         Polly Tompkins sat in a small clearing in the forest, atop the flat surface of an enormous tree stump.  She shuffled in her seat on the immense slab of ringed wood beneath her.  Tiny droplets of rain peppered the exposed smoothness of her alabaster flesh, as a summer shower soothed the warm air. 

         The twenty-seven-year old gazed off into nothingness.  In one hand she gripped a printed envelope, its flap ripped open.  Inside, a single sheet of paper remained undisturbed.  Her touch wavered around the corners.

         An almost imperceptible pitter-patter of rainfall striking leaves filled the wood, punctuated every now and then by distant birdsong.  The low whistling of a breeze ruffled a few branches and dissipated. 

         She teased her fingertips along the tear and allowed them to trail the edge of the letter.  Blinking once, she inhaled a deep lungful of air.  Her shoulders straightened up and she exhaled in a drawn out, over-exaggerated sigh.  “Fingers crossed,” she offered herself.  She forced the beginnings of a smile across her lips.  The pulsing muscles at the sides of her jaws swallowed up the gesture. 

         She pinched the paper between her thumb and forefinger.  Pulling it free from its enclosure, her digits trembled against the cold surface.  Her tongue lapped around the inside of her cheeks in an attempt to moisten the flesh.  She eased her teeth around its tip and nibbled.  Her breath rushed through her nostrils and forced her ears to twitch against the sides of her face. 

         She urged her gaze to the letter and pushed her chest out to brace herself for the outcome.  With the paper still not revealing its entire contents, she skipped over the name and address at the top, seeking out the main guts of the correspondence. 

         Her fingers struggled with the crinkling paper.  She blinked hard, clenched a fist and released it, and pulled the folds apart. 

         Her voice raced through the first paragraph.  “With regards to testing... yadda, yadda, yadda... Belfast Victoria Hospital... blah, blah, blah...  ascertain whether it's a viable option to continue treatment... get on with it... brain tumour.“.  Her jaws locked, the small muscle on each side beating to the nervous pace of her heart.  She pressed on.  “Our findings are as follows:”  Her eyes refused to budge to the next line for long seconds.  She gulped hard and forced the motion. 

         “We regret”.  Her voice cut off in an instant.

         The young woman froze.  She crumpled the A4 sheet into a fist, until her unpainted fingernails took on the appearance of bloody teeth, the pressure of her efforts forming harsh white lines above reddened cuticles.  She closed her eyes tight. 

         “Regret.”

         A single tear wept from the corner of one eye and trickled down her cheek, mixing with specks of rain, before picking up momentum and vanishing between her parted lips, with a salty tang.  She tried to sniff back the oncoming flood, but the scent of damp grass from below didn't do the trick and, as she lost control of her emotions, her tastebuds erupted with salinity. 

         Her shoulders pinched at her neck and she rose her hands to cover her eyes, like a child trying to hide from some perceived scary monster under the bed.  It didn't work.  She sucked in the surrounding air through puddling lips, tears gargling in her throat, in an attempt to ease the tightening band across her chest.  Little changed.  She continued to cry, unabashed, for indeterminable moments. 

         Her face red and swollen, Polly spat out a few unformed, angered words with all the volume her lungs allowed. 

         Above, in one of the many trees which imprisoned the clearing, a twig cracked and a bird flapped its way to safer pastures. 

         The crumpled corners of the letter stabbed at the tender flesh of the young woman's temple, as she sobbed into her palms.  She allowed the pain to continue, almost comforted by the momentary distraction. 

         “Regret,” she gurgled.  Her lips peeled back and she revealed her teeth to the world, “Fucking regret!”  She broke into renewed tears.

         Long moments passed as her body trembled, racked by sobbing and a cacophony self-pity, rage and disdain.  “Terminal cancer is a bit more than fucking REGRET!”  Saliva erupted from her mouth, spraying in every direction, as she pierced the serenity with the vehemence in the last word. 

         Willing her sandals apart in the foliage below, she widened her knees enough to rest her bare elbows just above them.  The heels of her hands formed a barrier between her and the unwelcome reality of the outside world, pressed tight into her sockets.  White lights blazed behind the closed orbs. 

         Her joints ached and her nasal passages burned as they struggled to cope with their load.  The discomfort spread a vice-like grip to her temples and threatened to turn into a full blown headache.  The strap of a rucksack scratched at the top of one foot and she kicked it off, hissing like a snake. 

         Her nostrils slurped in a rushed flow of oxygen.  The sound reverberated between the trees like a shotgun blast.  She rubbed at her lids and opened them to the sight of eyeliner and tears smudged across the backs of her hands.  They hovered in mid-air, before sinking to wipe the stains off on the black fabric of her skirt.  She snorted again, her breath catching in her throat for a split second, as she sat bolt upright and raised her gaze to the heavens. 

         She traced the tops of the surrounding trees and followed the translucent edges of a half-hearted cloud among the green and yellow shades of summer.  Her hand reached for the rucksack, pulling it to her lap with a long, deliberate blink.  A few lingering tears rolled down her cheeks, forcing them to twitch as the travailing droplets tickled her skin.

         The front strap pulled free from the satchel's buckle and she dropped it from her fingers, peering inside to inspect the contents.  She reached in and plucked out a Creative MP3 player, fumbling with the headphones and slotting them into her ears.  The stubborn tremble of her hands caught her eye as she lowered the base unit to balance on the top of her thigh.  She flicked the appliance to life with her thumb and the adrenalizing intro to AC/DC – Thunderstruck pumped into her senses.  She raised her stature into the warm air and nodded her head to the rhythm. 

         She fished out a bottle of cheap vodka, pulling the cap free before the liquid had a chance to level out.  The glass neck drew to her lips and she gulped down a fiery mouthful.  She winced as the crystal-clear fluid burned through her throat and gullet.  The reaction faded her features lazed in the alcoholic buzz.  Her eyes reduced to slumbering slits, in appreciation. 
         
         Placing the still-open bottle on the opposite thigh to the MP3 player, nestling it between her elbow and belly, Polly fished back into the rucksack.  Her hand came out holding an envelope with one single word, across its front, in handwriting: 

         

Mum.

She fingered its sealed edges and checked for gaps in the glue.  Content with her findings, she lowered it back into the bag and ruffled the other contents.  Her fingers delved between items of varying sizes and textures. 

         In the bass-tones of her earphones, Brian Johnson roared: 

         

It was cold, in the middle of a railroad track (Thunder).
I looked round.
And I knew there was no turning back (Thunder).
My mind raced.
And I thought what could I do (Thunder)
And I knew.
There was no help... no help from you (Thunder)!

         
         Without asking for permission, and against her emotions from the past few minutes, Polly's body rocked to the music.  Her right foot rose up onto the pad beneath her toes and her heel pounded and mashed the grass beneath, to the rebel rousing rhythm. 

Sound of the drums,
Beatin' in my heart.
The thunder of guns,
Tore me apart
You've been... thunderstruck!

         She tugged the vodka back to her mouth and gulped until her throat hurt.  The quiver in her lips subsided and turned into her first real smile of the day.  She shut her eyes and braced the muscles in her cheeks as if waiting for a knock-out punch by an angry foe, before guzzling down more of its intoxicating burn. 
         
         As she sat there for long seconds, drinking between long lungfuls of air and sensory shivers which rose through her body and released through the muscles in her neck, causing her head to shake without control, her lips and tongue convulsed to the raw alcohol. 
         
         Her vision grew hazy, as her limbs weakened and promised to give out.  Using all the effort she could muster, Polly worked the muscles of her eyelids and gaped them apart, her concentration lapsing for a second, as she feasted on the beauty of the of the summer world around her.  The vision blurred as a tear puddled one orb.  She snapped out of it and flexed her limbs, bending forward and dipping back into the rucksack to remove a small plastic bottle. 

         She stared through the label as long seconds passed. 

         Her fingers wrapped around the cap and she flicked it off with the joint of her thumb.  One of the bright-red and white tablets popped out over the lip and escaped to the terrain underfoot.  She scanned the earth for a few seconds before getting distracted by the similar shade of scarlet, painted on her toenails.  She surrendered to the loss and leaned back against the make-shift resting spot, careful not to spill any more of the pills. 
         
         Easing her head down onto the wooden surface and turning onto her side, Polly raised the little jar to her lips and paused.  The plastic pressed against her skin and its contents lay in wait. 

         A few more tears flooded her lids and one seeped through the corner, before rushing off into the lock of chestnut-brown hair, swept over the top of her ear.  The container rattled, unsteady in her grasp.  She took a deep breath and released it, slow, through her nostrils. 

         The song continued:

Said yeah, it's alright.
We're doing fine.
Yeah, it's alright.
We're doing fine.  (So fine)
Thunderstruck!

         She tipped the container and filled her mouth with the capsules.  The foul taste forced her nose to pinch up and she rushed the neck of the alcohol bottle back to sit on the breadth of her tongue.  She downed every last pill with three gulps of vodka.

         Once done, she nestled the vodka bottle between her lips like a baby with its bedtime feed, her eyes growing heavy and twitching to stay awake.  She continued to suckle on the fiery liquid and within a few seconds, peaceful unconsciousness nursed away her woes. 

The End.