My pschological short story.

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I'd like to think I can write about sensitive subjects without becoming emotionally involved. I would be grateful If you took the time to read this and tell me if you agree or not. also some grammar pointers would be helpful, although I'm not sure if american grammar is the same as ours. :S

I wrote this when I was 15. I like it. I hope you will.

A Bonnie Day


Bonnie groaned inwardly as she stirred the pots on the cooker. Her life recently had become a collection of trivial things but this was the most strenuous. It had to be perfect. She had roast chicken with a BBQ sauce waiting patiently in the microwave to accompany it, followed by broccoli, carrots and boiled potatoes with a pot of gravy bubbling alongside them. She thought about pudding but decided against it. Her hair was irritating her, as she swept the long dark curls away from her bright blue eyes. All this preparation and hurry had caused the stress to creep up her back. She rubbed it now, feeling unfulfilled and bored. She glanced at the clock in the corner, then took a step away from the cooker to look at herself in the full-length mirror placed next to the hob, and attempted a weak smile at her reflection.
Her bump was showing through the thin lilac fabric of her top and peeking out from over her powder blue floor-length skirt. She turned to the side to see how big it was now. For 5 months she had been trying to desperately get away with her normal clothes, but now it looked as if she’d have to buy some naff maternity wear. She’d binned her last ones with an air of satisfaction, although she had needed to fork out for a new wardrobe when she realized all her old clothes seemed to have shrunk.
She heard singing coming from the living room and so, abandoning the cooking altogether for a minute, looked through the walnut kitchen doors glass plane to see what was wrong. She smiled slightly when she noticed her three-year-old son named Charlie watching a cartoon and blaring the songs back at it with such force she thought the screen would crack. She watched him momentarily, taking in his movie star good looks. He was the miniature of his father, a head of blonde angelic curls, chubby and gap-toothed, with hands like starfish grasping the remote. In fact the only thing he seemed to have inherited off her was the bright blue sapphire yes hat Bonnie remembered her grandmother having. She peered around the living room and let out a dramatic gasp when she saw the mess he had made. Crisps were scrunched into the carpet and something wet which Bonnie prayed was only water crept through the rug. Muttering curses under her breath, she ran to fetch the vacuum and a cloth and hurried to clean up the mess. She was still on all fours when she heard her husband’s car pull up in the driveway. She froze. Charlie however looked excited.
“Daddy!!” he called, and rushed into the hall to greet him. He was stopped by a stair-gate and wailed loudly until Bonnie had to open it for him. She glanced around the room again to check for any big patches of mess before following her son to greet her husband like a wife should.
There her husband Tom stood, shoulders hunched into the door to prop it ajar and hands in his pockets. He gave a cold smile that didn’t reach his green eyes as he patted Charlie on the head. Charlie suddenly hugged Toms’ leg in a way of greeting, and a flicker of irritation passed over Toms’ face. Bonnie hurried to extract Charlie from his fathers’ leg and turned to face Tom, smiling a manic smile at him. Tom pretended to look hurt.
“So, my Bonnie lass, where’s my cuddle then eh?” He asked, opening his arms wide in the action of a polar bear about to rip the head of his prey. Bonnie relaxed. He was in a good mood. She practically flung herself at him and he held her close, rubbing her bump with his hand as she planted a kiss on his cheek. She froze again when she smelt the whiskey on his breath. He wasn’t in a good mood as she had first thought, he was drunk. He released her and patted her on the bum in the way male chauvinist pigs do so and turned to face the living room.
“I’d like a brew before dinner if that’s okay love.” He called as he walked calmly into room. Bonnies’ heart stopped. The dinner! She’d left it in the cooker!
She rushed through into the kitchen to attempt to save it, although she knew it was too late. She retrieved the charred carcass of the chicken and whimpered softly to herself as she set the microwave for the sauce. Only the outside of the chicken was burnt, the rest had toughened up so it looked like a brick. The vegetables were so soft they turned to mush in her hands, so she mixed them together to form a large mash that bared a faint resemblance to baby food. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, before setting the plates and taking Toms’ and Charlies’ dinners through.
“What is this?” Tom growled, his face screwed up in disgust at the meal in front of him. Bonnie swallowed.
“I burnt the dinner” She whispered, feeling the floor behind her with her foot to retreat. Toms’ face screwed up again, but this time in anger.
“I come home, after a hard day at work to bring home money for us to eat properly, and you serve me this dog muck?” He shouted, flinging the plate towards her. Bonnie ducked just in time so that it smashed into the wall, although the food dripped all over her. she trembled under his gaze as she saw the monster that was her husband stand over her, fists clenched.
And so it began. His fist bounced of her fragile body as if his fingers were made of rubber. He hit her nose and she cried out as she felt it burst and blood trickle over her face. He hit her stomach and the baby inside squirmed to try to escape his reach. At one point Charlie came running over screaming at his daddy to stop, and Bonnie had to physically jump Tom from behind to stop him going after Charlie. The cartoons still played cheerfully as Bonnie screamed at Tom to stop. Finally he did, growling and yelling at her as he left the house.
“I’m going to the pub, and when I get back I expect you to be cleaned up and ready for me you tart!” He roared at her, then slammed the door behind him as he walked away.
Bonnie collapsed on the floor and sobbed bitterly. Charlie crept over towards her and cuddled her head, soothing her and stroking her head like a cat.
“What did you do this time mummy?” He asked, still cradling her head tenderly. Bonnie looked up and wiped the tear marks of his face.
“I walked into a door,” She stuttered quietly.

I really liked it, even though the subject is very sad. You may be able to help women who find themselves in that awful situation understand how wrong it is though, not only for her, but if there are children involved for them too.

I think you have a gift, of being able to see these things from an outside perspective, where most people would be very upset just at the thought of such a situation. I've noticed on occasion I've been able to have the same sense of distance from certain stories, or situations that would upset people very deeply too. If it is a part of being Aspie, I'm sure it's one of our strengths, and our way of being able to help others. That we can look and solve a situation, that would bring other people to a complete shutdown and then nothing would move forward, and things would still be the same and sad.

Thank you.
I try to keep as unemotionally involved as I can when writing about subjects like this. I choose to write about certain subjects that others try to avoid, mainly because I think its high tide someone did. I agree, if this is an aspie trait I think its very helpful and may be put to use to help other, perhaps even weaker beings in desperate need of some assistance.