Category Archives: Ann G. Kroger

What is a Riddle that has no Answer?

Posted in Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Ann G. Kroger, Courage, Creative Writing, Houston, Recovery, Short Story by

Over time, Lydia became used to the hospital. From her bed, she could map the very slight difference in the movement of the sun outside her window as fall started to settle in on Houston. As the days got shorter, Lydia continued to heal. Shortly, she would be able to go home. But go home to what? That is what Lydia most often pondered. It was too late for her to go back to school. The semester was well under way. It didn’t matter much anyways. Lydia knew she would not return. It was not just that she had been in an accident, or that she had lost her best friend. As bad as that was, there was another, unspoken, unarticulated wound. But Lydia could feel it festering inside her.

The things that had at one time seemed important, no longer did. Sororities, clothes, classes, boys, all seemed so flimsy to her. What was the point if one day we all just died anyways? Tragedies happen everyday. You go for a check-up and it turns out you have cancer. You’re sitting at your office desk, when all of a sudden an acute pain grips your chest. Or you’re driving down a two lane highway when you get T-boned by a truck driving too fast… For the first time in her life, Lydia knew what it was like to fear.

The thought of going home, though the practical decision, only made her shake her head. There was no way. There was no way that Lydia could go back to her childhood bedroom and resume her same life. She had seen too much, aged too quickly. The cuteness of her previous life seemed so naive and hopeful, trite and useless. She knew her mother, a lethal mixture of boundless optimism and passive aggressive tendencies, would only further exacerbate the issues. Besides, there were too many memories of Tuck lingering there.

Lydia did not know what to do. She couldn’t stay where she was, and she couldn’t go back to where she had come.

And with that, Lydia opened her book and read.

What do you Throw When you don’t know How to Cry?

Posted in Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Ann G. Kroger, Creative Writing, Recovery, Short Story by

Lydia tossed in bed, trying, willing herself to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, Tuck visited her. Tuck smiling, laughing, holding her hand. Tuck in agony, crying, immovable. All she wanted was to sleep, to turn off her brain. She turned onto her back and stared at the white blankness of the ceiling. The rhythmic white noise of the respirators heightened the sense of silence and lead Lydia even further down the path of solitude.

Lydia sat up, spun around, and exasperatingly punched her flat hospital pillow. Her fist barely lifted from the pillow before it found contact again. And again. Fury suddenly filled Lydia and exploded from her body in a fit of rage. She punched because Tuck died. She punched because life was unfair. She punched because those that visited deposited their trinkets and baubles and left to go back to their hinged lives. Lydia was furious and angry and pissed off. And fucking trapped in this bed in this place with these fucking ridiculous stuffed animals and cards and flowers. Lydia grabbed a fuzzy brown bear holding a heart and viciously tore at its arms and legs. With all her might, she threw the stuffed animal across the room and barely missed the trashcan. She grabbed another one and threw it. Then another one. And then a vase of flowers.

Nightmare

The Four Horsemen Copyright Ann G. Kroger 2014

The Four Horsemen
Copyright Ann G. Kroger 2014

stars secure Tuck quiet screeching PAIN glass blood Tuck head blood more blood dripping blood sirens helicopters screaming crying Tuck arms pulling whirling strapping struggling PAIN numb quiet rocking loud fluorescent lights Chaos Chaos Chaos

Calm.

PAIN.

 

What do Buy when you don’t know What to Say?

Posted in Alcoholism, Ann G. Kroger, Courage, Creative Writing, Houston, Recovery, Short Story by

People come and go from her room. First her parents, then a myriad of friends. They all bring things, flowers and balloons and stuffed animals, material things that are supposed to relate some sort of thought, but only further accentuate that no one really knows what to say.

What do you Think about When you Don’t Want to Think?

Posted in Ann G. Kroger, Courage, Creative Writing, Houston, Love, Recovery, Short Story by

Lydia woke with a start and had a moment of confusion, disillusion, realizing she was not under the fluffy, eyelet comforter at home. And for a split second, just the most minutest of moments, she thought she was back at her friend’s shore house on Jamaica Beach. A wave of gratitude, the understanding and inkling of waking up from a nightmare began to wash over her. As the smile was just beginning to travel from her mouth to her eyes, an unfamiliar sound, the sound of whirling and a beep, followed by additional beeps caught her short. Half propped out of bed, Lydia remained motionless. To move, to turn her head, to acknowledge the machinery behind her would only confirm what Lydia could not bring herself to confirm. As long as she didn’t know, didn’t really know, maybe it didn’t happen. So she sat there, in the dark room, unable to move or to turn her head. Alone and wishing and listening.