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Disturbia in 201 Barrington.
She hit the management key, another void. She’d been standing behind the same console for the last 6 days, and her dreams were beginning to be of returns, a never-ending line of customers, all clamoring to be helped first. She’d been having difficulty staying awake most of the time as well, her upstairs neighbours constantly getting into fights. 20 minutes left on the clock for her last shift of the week, thank-god. The paycheck would be enough to cover her bills for the month, and most importantly, to take John up the CN tower. He’d never been up it, and she wanted to take him there, not to achieve anything per say, but so that he could see it. She had been trying to save go to school, but the pay was barely enough to cover the rent on her apartment, and her bills, however small they were. John was a ray of hope for her, as much as she hated to say it. There was a chance that they would move in together once he was finished school, 7 months later, and she used that to pull her through her shifts. Over and over she’d tell herself that it would be over, and she’d still have to work, yes, but she wouldn’t have to face it all alone. John was here for her now undoubtedly, but the distance made it harder to feel comforted by that. There was no way for her to know that later today she would find that her paycheck was much smaller than she’d anticipated, that it wouldn’t cover her bills, or that she’d be evicted a month later. No, for now she lived on her hope.
No more gas in the rig, can’t even get it started.
Nothing heard, nothing said, can’t even speak about it.
All my life in my head, don’t want to think about it.
Feels like I’m going insane.
Her pillowcase was wet, and her hair stuck to her face. Raymond was gone. She knew that he had to go; he had to find new work to support them. They had tried other ways, but there weren’t jobs in Ontario anymore. He’d gone to Alberta, where there were jobs for everyone. 20 an hour for fast food chains, 50 per hour for driving. She’d received a letter from him earlier, describing how he was living in a house with 19 other men, working in shifts for driving, pooling their collective pocket change for food, and sending the rest home. She felt so alone, but she knew that it was harder for him. She still had the apartment, her bed still smelled like him (the pillow at least) and his slippers were still by the door. He had nothing but her letters and the knowledge that the money would make a better life for both of them. She wished she had someone to talk to, and she used to. Her neighbour Sara used to come upstairs and visit, but she had been working as much as possible lately. Ever since the rent had increased, they’d all been forced to work much harder. The people beside her started to fight again, sending Karen out of her thoughts. She clutched her soaking pillow and tried to sleep away the loneliness.
It’s a thief in the night to come and grab you,
It can creep up inside you and consume you,
A disease for the mind, it can control you,
It’s too close for comfort
She didn’t understand it, he used to be so caring. She remembered when they used to laugh together, and when she was his everything. That seemed like it was so far away now. All she wanted was to hide in his arms, but she was so scared of his hands, or rather, what they did. She held one of her own hands over her burning eye, blinking back tears in the other while staring at Steve. She kept trying to explain it all away in her head, trying to blame herself, but she’d already done it so many times that she’d run out of reasons to point to. Alcohol poured out of his skin as he stood there, looking at her with hate. All she could do was stand and look back at what the love of her life had become; her ugliest nightmare.
Faded pictures on the wall, It’s like they’re talkin to me.
Disconnectin’ phone calls, the phone don’t even ring
I gotta get out, figure this s**t out
It’s too close for comfort.
The open window howled as a gust of wind blew through it, sending a stack of papers off the desk. Camil smashed a hand down on the table in frustration. She had to finish this essay. Her rent had been raised, sending her budget swirling, and she needed this scholarship to finish her degree. Why she came to Toronto, she had no idea, but with 3 years left to go, a 70, 000 scholarship could go a long way. Maybe she’d be able to leave this building and move in to residence. No more late nights working in a fast food chain, no more listening to the fighting on the second floor, no more surviving on botched fast food orders. She picked up the papers and put them back in order, one by one, taking the time to smooth out the wrinkles and bends. She shuddered as she heard something break upstairs, maybe a dish or a jar. Once more she tried to pull the window shut, but it stayed open, stubbornly stuck. She sat down and began to write again.
Release me from this curse I’m in,
Trying to maintain, but I’m struggling
If you can go, go
I think I’m going under
Sara held her jacket close to her as she walked home, the wind biting into her. Her shift was over, and she couldn’t wait to get home and crawl into bed. Tomorrow was her day off, and she’d be taking John up the tower in a few days. That was a thought that made her happy. She reached her building and walked up the icy steps, stopping to open her mailbox and pull out a handful of envelopes. Bills. They never seemed to end. She didn’t understand how she could have so many. She had one credit card, which had a modest balance on it, no car (insured one, anyway); only heat, electricity, rent, phone. They all seemed to come at the wrong time. She stuffed them into a pocket on her jacket, and headed up to the second floor of the building. She took a hesitant look at Karen’s door, but walked back down to the first floor. She needed to sleep. Taking a moment to fumble with her keys, she went into her apartment, shutting the door quickly behind her. The light above her table was shaking, and she could hear shouting. The couple upstairs was fighting again, or Steve was drunk again, it should be put. She set down her things and moved to her computer to check her pay. It read 376.00.
Your mind is Disturbia
Raymond was tired as he drove the ore truck back to his post. He looked out at the bleak moon-like landscape, thinking about how long he’d been in Alberta. 5 months was a long time. He’d be back home with Karen in 2 weeks, just in time for Christmas. He hadn’t told her yet, as he wanted to surprise her by showing up on Christmas Eve at the door. She’d be mad of course later, but he wanted to see her face light up. The letters she’d sent him were tucked on the inside of his jacket pocket, still with her perfume on the corner of each envelope. The guys liked to tease him for it, but in truth, he knew they were jealous. Karen was amazing, and he wondered how he’d managed to please God enough to give her to him. His thoughts were lost as he started to struggle to stay awake, eyes on an ever more blurry road.
Disturbia
She slowly moved away from him, her mind resolved. Blood poured out of a cut on her temple and onto a floor filled with broken glass, her head throbbing as she looked at Steve. A gloating look spread itself across his face as she backed away. Deanne bolted for the bedroom, throwing the door closed behind her. She ripped the closet door open, knocking a set of shoeboxes off the top shelf, scattering scarves and mementos across the bedroom floor. She searched frantically through the clutter on the floor until she found what she was looking for.
Your mind is Disturbia
Camil couldn’t study with the noise from upstairs. She got up and walked over to the kitchen, filling a glass with water. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get her mind to wrap around her next point in the essay. She put on her jacket and headed up the stairs to the roof, careful to lock the door behind her. The building was only two stories tall, therefore making the roof fairly accessible to the building. Camil walked to the edge, putting her arms up on the derelict safety railing. She looked up at the sky, as though the gesture alone could give her the answer to moral fiber. Underneath her she heard a door slam, followed by a woman crying.
Disturbia
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. All that work, to be under budget so far. How was she supposed to make it with that? She double-checked the numbers. They were correct. After taxes and pension, Sara was under budget by 120 still. No phone, no heat, but most of all, no tickets. She put her hands to her face as she slid to the floor and began to cry. She stayed that way until she heard a noise. As she looked up, she saw that a promotional poster for a local strip joint had been slipped under the door. Her fingers trembled as she reached for it.
No more gas in the rig, can’t even get it started
A shrill ringing woke Karen from her sleep. She groggily looked at the clock through puffy, burning eyes; 4:08am. She rubbed an eye while reaching for the phone. She picked it up, ready to fight whomever was on the other end. It was Raymond’s company.
It’s a thief in the night to come and grab you
She could hear him outside the door, cursing and yelling for her to open it. She stood up calmly, looking at the door with dry eyes, blood dripping off her chin. She waited.
Faded pictures on the wall, it’s like they’re talkin’ to me
Camil stayed and watched a plane cross the sky, it’s red lights glittering against the sky. She continued to stare off into the distance, until she heard the crying stop. She slowly walked across the roof, and started to peer over the edge.
Release me from this curse I’m in
Sara began to dial the number, one digit at a time.
Disturbia
Karen’s face twisted into disbelief and pain.
Disturbia
The shot echoed through the night
Disturbia
Camil’s foot caught an icy patch
Disturbia
Put on your brake lights,
We’re in the city of wonder.
Ain’t gonna play nice
Watch out, you might just go under.
Better think twice,
Your train of thought will be altered,
So if you must falter be wise.
Your mind is in Disturbia
It’s like the darkness is the light.
Disturbia.
Am I scaring you tonight?
Your mind is in Disturbia,
Ain’t used to what you’re like.
Disturbia.
Disturbia.
- by bicanthrope |
- Fiction
- | Submitted on 11/10/2008 |
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- Title: Disturbia in 201 Barrington
- Artist: bicanthrope
- Description: The lives of four residents of 201 Barrington take a turn for the worst. Written to the lyrics of Disturbia by Rihanna.
- Date: 11/10/2008
- Tags: disturbia barrington strip death
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Comments (2 Comments)
- hinahinachan19 - 11/12/2008
- 5 stars
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- Remnantcutie - 11/12/2008
- I love it! I like how you smoothly incorporated the song into the story. Luv Rihanna, by the way!
- Report As Spam