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Eroica Mendoza

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Brave Brat
By Eroica Mendoza   

Last edited: Thursday, January 30, 2003
Posted: Sunday, March 10, 2002

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Let's just say... I had a very, very ineteresting childhood experiences... more like made for movies experiences... the chasing... the action... the mystery... the questions... until now unanswered.

Brave Brat

I didnít sleep last night. Again. But last night was different. I was scared. But the reason was new. I was scared because I thought I was losing my mind. I thought my sanity has reached its borderline and I was beginning to lose control of myself. Damn, it was really scary.

I was on bed staring at the pink ceilings of my room. And began to wonder why I had it painted pink. It is too juvenile. I could have painted it white or anything neutral. Then I knew why I chose pink. Pink had been the color of my room since I was a little itsy-bitsy girl. But I hated pink. I wanted blue, (real blue, not light blue, sky blue or powder whachamacolit blue) but I was told blue is a boyís color. Then I realized a blue room would be gloomy and scary, more like a bar where old men stay to drink scotch or beer. So my room had always been pink. Sure I had a mint green room when I was still with someone, because the guy didnít want pink. But I didnít stay there long. I didnít like mint green. It looked like a hospital emergency room minus the smell of antiseptic.

Anyway, then my mind drifted from my pink ceilings to my childhood pink bedroom. It was a huge spacey room, with a big bed, pink curtain, a study table, a couch, carpet, it was a suitable room for any girls my age. I loved my room. But I never slept in that room. Never.

I tried to sleep there once. But I ended up running to my grandparentís room and slept there comfortably. It was spooky in a really unique way. Nothing in that room reminded me of ghosts, ghouls, or anything horrible. It was just spooky. I had a feeling there was someone else was in that room with me, sharing the place as if it lived there too. The room was always cool even without ventilation or airconditioner, it was always clean, and irritably quiet. I felt it was not my room but someone elseís. I could be right.

The first and last time tried to sleep there, I knew there was someone there with me. I felt its presence. And yes, I donít want to admit it up to this day (but go ahead I will, to make this story sell), that I saw the entity that I believed lived in my bedroom. It was a woman. I saw her sitting beside the window looking outside while I lay on the bed trying not to look but I saw her anyway! I didnít move because I feared she might notice me awake and her attention was the last thing I wanted! I was sweating profusely, I could feel my feet exposed and I couldnít cover it with the blanket because that would mean I have to move. I wanted to cry, to scream and call my grandma, but I canít. But then I canít just lay there quiet and wait for the next horrifying thing to happen! I had to do run fast! But how? She will see me as I try to get up the bed. And she might stop me or run after me! Or worse, she could cast a spell on me and I might not be able to move at all! Think! Think! Before she turns her head toward me and begin this one-of-a-kind, awful, awkward, God-knows-what conversation with me! Think! Then I had to make a quick decision. I had to do it. I had to run as fast as I could heading to the door and run upstairs to my grandparentís room!

So I did. I ran! So fast that I didnít remember if I had the blanket with me. My eyes were half shut and I was screaming ďMama! Mama! (I call my grandma ďmamaĒ). I was out of my room! Then I found the stairs and ran up to my grandma. There I was all frightened and sweating. I was breathing too fast like I ran a 100-meter dash! I was in my grandmaís living room. She was there sleeping beside my grandpa, not knowing that I almost died of fear because I saw a stranger in my own bedroom! I was not so scared anymore. I was safe. But something surprised me. No, the lady didnít run after me. No, she wasnít in the living room. I was surprised to see my brother already sleeping on the extra bed in my grandparentís room! The creep was scared to sleep in his own bedroom too! Did he saw anyone there too? Did he try to run away from it too? Was he so idiotic like me? Yes, he was scared too. No, he didnít see anything strange. My brother had to sleep in my grandparentís room because he used to sleepwalk as a child. And they were scared something bad might happen, if he sleeps alone in his room.

Ok, I know all of you might be thinking, ďSure, it was her imagination. She was a kid.Ē I know, that could be the case. For years I dismissed the idea that what I saw was real (even if I never wanted to tell it to anyone), hey, Iím a grown-up living in the 21st century where science marvels everybody and ghosts stories are for entertainment! But I realize last night that I could be wrong.

I didnít sleep last night because as I lay on my bed to sleep, I saw a familiar figure at the other end of my big, pink room. I saw the woman I tried to run away from when I was a kid! My goodness! It was she! The lady that I successfully driven out of my mind, the lady who was a product of my wild childhood imagination, the lady who lived in my pink bedroom many, many years ago was here in my new pink room, right here in the year 2001, in the center of the city, where the lights are never off, where noise is silence, where science disqualifies unexplained entities, SHE WAS HERE AND I GOD-DAMNED SAW HER AGAIN!

What did I do? This was the strange thing. This is the reason why I believed I was losing my sanity. I didnít do anything. NOTHING. I just blinked twice and when it was still there, I said, ďGo to hell bitch. I donít care anymore. I donít really care if I die right now.Ē That moment she appeared to me again, I wasnít scared because before I saw her, I was contemplating to take my life for the nth time. I wanted to give Ėup again. Because I am sad and alone. I wasnít scared because if I die, I would become one of them anyway. I was not vulnerable. And I liked the feeling.

I closed my eyes and continued to cry. I didnít know if she was still there at the corner of my room. I forget about her everytime my tears will fall. Until I have really forgotten about her. At dawn I began to shake again. I was scared again. Not because of what I saw, but because I was afraid to face another day of oblivious life. Of a meaningless life.

I didnít sleep as the sun began to rise. I just shut my eyes and hummed my favorite song. If I was losing my mind, I might as well sing to it.

I decided to write this down because I am not afraid of that ghost or whatever it is called. Gosh, Iím a brave bitch after all! A brave, arrogant spoiled brat! Wow, I should be proud of myself. But then again, I could be a crazy, brave, arrogant spoiled bitchÖ now thatís scary.

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Reviewed by Lloyd Lofthouse 8/1/2008
I'm almost sixty-three, and I still see strangers in the dark but a lot of that has to do with the fact that Suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I served in Vietnam in 1966. Some of my writing reflects that experience--A Night at the Well of Purity and some poems. I have trouble sleeping through the night. As a little kid, I used to check under the bed and the closet before sleep. I had and still have a very active imagination.
Reviewed by Marco Landi 2/17/2003
crazy, brave, arrogant spoiled bitchÖ
hmmm they are immortal you know...
the brave, arrogant, spoiled,they teach us
that life is grand when we do it in style...
Reviewed by Sara Cunningham 11/6/2002

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