Category Archives: fiction

Monster XII

By: Mia L. Hazlett
1/10/14

Fear was stifling. It was one thing to fear for yourself, but another when someone else’s life depended on yours. I didn’t know who Hope was, but since we had stayed together over the past week, our commonality became this torturous hell pit. They no longer hurt either one of us. Dr. Guy came in and re-broke her leg and made a makeshift cast. For some reason I assumed he was a doctor because he set her leg on a board and tied it in place with rags, and administered some sort of pain killer with a needle. This was everything our captors had done, less setting the leg, but I guess since he didn’t appear to possess the torture gene, he was a doctor to me.

My strength was restored, but they had overlooked one detail that now postponed our scheduled rendezvous, my sight. There was a dim glow that always illuminated the darkest corners. For whatever period of time I had been here, my eyes had adjusted. But going outside in the sunlight, where they had taken me the past two days, caused debilitating migraines.

Over the past week, the light was constant in Hell. The wattage was increased daily. Today there was no headache. I was surprised how light lessened my fear. In my mind we were in some tragic lost dungeon, and although the light didn’t change our circumstances, I could now see who was coming. Our torturers were simply men. I did my best to wipe away old blood stains. I wasn’t sure my reasoning. It wasn’t to make this home, nor could I ever erase this experience from my mind, but it just made the present tolerable.

My eyes opened to Maniacal and Footsteps standing over me. Hope had her mouth taped and Dr. Guy’s hands were between her thighs. Her eyes spoke the pain her muffled screams could not relay. Maniacal looked down, “It’s time. Follow us.” For the first time in the light, my fear returned, but looking at Hope, I followed.
©2014 Mia L. Hazlett

Leave a comment

Filed under fear, fiction, horror, kidnapping, Monster, Uncategorized, violence, Women

Taken VII

By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/17/13

Voz backed his van into the makeshift driveway. He made sure nobody had followed him. This was his spot. Neither Kev or Mark knew of his deep wooded spot. It had taken him three hours and two vehicles to get here. He needed to be sure if it came down to him becoming the scapegoat, nobody would ever be able to find him.

He didn’t care that Mark had called it “back on.”  Their mission had failed.  Mark had the kid.  This kid was supposed to be dead by now.  Once they all had received their cut, they would never see each other again, but now he nursed a bruised jaw from a plan gone wrong.

There was no reception out here for his phone, so he left it in the van as he hopped out.  In the morning, he would check on the body and send it to its final resting place.  The door creaked open at the push of his foot.  They weren’t supposed to meet up for a few days, so he planned to camp out here with all of his groceries.  The small flashlight clenched between his teeth dropped to the floor along with one of the bags.

He bent down to pick up the bag and flashlight. “Nice little hiding spot. Very nice,” Mark said.  “You were going to keep this all to yourself? I thought we were friends. We are friends, aren’t we James K. Reynolds Sr.?  And I’m thinking the only reason you would be called Senior is because there is a Junior somewhere out there.  Hmm, with a simple guess I’m going to say, Delaware or North Carolina.  Oh, that’s right, your parents are in North Carolina and your son and daughters are in Delaware.  Well let me not interrupt your vacation.  Take care of yourself.  See you in three days.  Don’t think of not coming.  There are some people I know that live in Delaware and North Carolina. Oh yeah, take care of The Package.”

Voz watched Mark disappear into the darkness.  He heard no sounds and saw no lights.  He was waiting for the sound of a car or just something. Nothing, but blackness and silence. The Package? What did he mean?  He scrambled for his flashlight and waved it around the room looking for the tiny girl.  She was curled up asleep on the couch.  Now he had the package and they knew his spot.

© 2013 Mia L. Hazlett

Leave a comment

Filed under betrayal, fiction, kidnapping, Taken

Monster XI

By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/16/13

With no concept of time, I figured they had been torturing Hope for at least two days. Her horrific screams were a constant for me. I don’t think it was constant abuse, but they marred my dreams as well. They made sure I heard her. And I did. I heard her. I heard her beg for her life. Eventually I heard her beg for her death.

Even after the first scream, when I told them I would kill for them, they continued to brutalize her. I wasn’t going anywhere. Escape wasn’t a thought in my mind. I would kill and stay in hell to stop her torture. They had won. I’m not sure if evil has a purpose, but I continued to wonder why they had her if they had me. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

Footsteps entered my room with fresh dark stains about his ragged filthy attire. They no longer chained me because they knew my desire to flee was gone. He yanked at my arm and dragged me to my feet with a mighty force. He lead me to the once secret door and with a swift motion, opened it and threw me to the ground.

Hope lay nude on the floor. A slight rise in her chest revealed life. Her body displayed open gashes and bruises, with a definite leg break. I now comprehended her hope for death. I took the rag of a blanket and covered her. She cried out, and fought against me before allowing me to cradle her shaking body.

“It’s almost over. I leave next week, and it will be all over,” I whispered in the bandaged area where her ear should have been.

“No,” she squeaked out. “Once you are done, I will then become you.”

© 2013 Mia L. Hazlett

Leave a comment

Filed under fear, fiction, hope, horror, kidnapping, Monster, violence

Conundrum XIII

By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/15/13

Our dinner last night was so special to me. They had all met up before, but I was always the one who couldn’t make it there. I’m so happy I didn’t miss last night. I needed that night out. I hate getting snippet pieces of information from over five or six different phone conversations with everyone. Sitting there last night and hearing what was going on in everyone’s life made me appreciate my circumstances…at least a little bit.

I guess it hurt me the most that I couldn’t share what was going on in my life. I had to wear this happy mask and make myself appear indestructible on the outside, when in reality my life had been shattered three weeks ago. Absolutely shattered to pieces!

The relationships Tasha and Dawn had with their mother-in-laws was the relationship, which existed between my mother and I. It always had been and most likely always will be. My mother was a housewife and my father was an attorney at a prestigious (I’ve always hated that word) firm in downtown Boston. What was prestigious? His title? His salary? His partners? Whatever it was, I never heard “firm” without “prestigious.”

Somehow, this prestige boosted my mother’s image of herself and how she thought others should perceive us. If there was a point of perfection that existed beyond perfection, than that was how my mother wanted to be perceived. I almost ruined that for our family at the tender age of 15. I was raped by our babysitter’s boyfriend.

I had one older brother and one younger. My parents and their prestige led them to vacation and leave us with one of my father’s fellow attorney’s niece to babysit us while they were away. She was twenty-something and would always have her friends and on this one occasion, boyfriend, over to the house.

Point is, he came into my room this one night, drunk. He raped me and I conceived a child. My mother never believed me and told me I was to never say anything about it. I was home-schooled and never left my house. Literally, I never left our property. The backyard to our pool was the only place outside I was allowed. A home-birth was arranged with papers and a social worker or adoption lady, whoever that lady was who took my daughter or son.

Life continued as normal, for my “prestigious” parents anyways. At least my brothers believed me. They found the guy. I don’t know what happened to him, but whatever it was, was relayed in a quick wink from my brother when I asked why his shirt had blood on it one night. That was the best wink I ever received in my life.

I really never imagined I would ever have to revisit that year in my life, until the letter I received 3 weeks ago. That social work lady took away my daughter that day. The same daughter, who hunted me down and now wanted to know why I had given her away. There was a 25 year-old person I never met, who lost her adoptive parents in the past 5 years and now wants answers from me.

Leave a comment

Filed under children, Conundrum, family, fiction, friends, friendship, God, grace, love, motherhood, pregnancy, woman, Women

Conundrum XII

By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/14/13

There was nothing like spending time with my girlfriends.  Last night wasn’t enough.  I needed them right now, but I knew we all had our own lives to live.  I always thought my husband was my soul mate.  Really, he was almost my best friend.  We’d been together for 22 years and married for 18.  In our world, we were soul mates, but in my heart and mind, those four women I sat with last night truly knew my soul.

On a scale of 1-10 of being myself, with my husband I am at about 9 and my friends a 10.  I know I sound like a bitch, but I cannot completely be myself with my husband in only one relationship in my life.  He knows everything about work, my friends, my family.  But to keep the peace in my house, I have to watch what I say about his mother.  I couldn’t tell him that I wrestle with being Godly and saying fuck that bitch.  What? He would lose his damn mind.  It felt so nice saying it last night.  I was able to be myself and vent my frustrations to my soul mates.

Now I sat in my room on my lazy Sunday.  Once a month I got a vacation in my house from the other creatures that inhabited it.  I woke up at six, made myself a nice breakfast, and got my coffee.  I returned to breakfast in my bedroom and lounged out on my couch.  My six year-old attempted to interrupt, but my husband intervened.

I honestly think this is what has saved our marriage.  He chose to have one Saturday a month and I chose a Sunday.  We can use it to go out or stay in, either way we get time to ourselves.  Our bedroom became sacred territory.  No one was allowed to come in under any circumstances.  Unfortunately, our new guest felt the need to violate this rule.  She had been in here twice this morning.  “Are you going to stay in here all day baby?  You do have children you know.  I know when I had my kids, I just couldn’t get enough of them.  There was nothing so bad about them that would make me want to hide away on a couch all day.”

How did I put this before?  Fuck that bitch.  Amen.

© 2013 Mia L. Hazlett

Leave a comment

Filed under Christ, Christian, Conundrum, faith, family, fiction, friends, friendship, God, humor, husband, marriage, parents, patience, wife, woman, Women

Monster X

By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/13/13

How was I going to break myself?  This question was a constant, every time I made it to the top of the stairwell.  I guess the location was my answer, but had yet to trigger my brain to find the courage.  The courage it would take to hurl myself down the 14 cement steps.  The thought always danced through my mind, but I didn’t want to go back to my multi-daily visits with Syringe.

They knew I was getting better.  Upon return to my room each time, they immediately chained me to a steel rod, which ran from ceiling to floor. When it was time to sleep, the bed restraints were enforced. Maybe this is why I hadn’t heard from Hope.  Maybe she was unable to get to the wall.  I needed to know if she was still alive.  Were they training her?  Was she part of this horrendous plan of revenge too?  She had to be near for me to hear her through the wall, but the hallway outside gave no hints to any other rooms.

I walked slowly up and down the hall.  I don’t know how long they gave me, but this was part of my routine.  Warm up and then I jogged back and forth.  My eyes scrutinized the wall to find some clue that I wasn’t alone.  Then I saw it.  Although the door was disguised to match the stone wall, I could make out the frame.  It gave itself away at the bottom where it failed to completely reach the floor.

I put my mouth to the small crack, “Are you in there? Can you hear me?” I screamed. There was rattling of restraints.  “Make another sound if you hear me.”  A consistent chain rattling followed.

Before the next question left my mouth, the left side of my face exploded.  Footsteps was pounding my body as I fought to escape back to my open door.  I ran through my doorway only to plow into Maniacal, who threw me down on my bed.  His hand closed around my neck before I could catch my breath.

“I will torture you to death.  You know that don’t you?  I thought you knew to be a good girl.  I thought with all the nice treatment and food you would show some sort of appreciation.  The only thing you did by finding yourself a little friend is bring her torture.  She will pay for your curiosity.”  He gave me a shove as he released my throat and signaled Footsteps.

“No please.  I’m sorry.  I do appreciate you.  Don’t hurt her please.  I’m sorry,” I begged.

“I can’t hurt you precious.  You are too valuable to me right now.  She’s the second phase.  You’re the first.”  Maniacal closed and locked the door behind him.  I was not restrained, but it didn’t matter.  I crumbled as I heard Hope scream.

Leave a comment

Filed under fear, fiction, horror, kidnapping, Monster, violence

BFF: IX

By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/13/13

“Could you please just answer my question?  Do you believe in God?  Better yet, are you a Christian?”  Her avoidance was beginning to irritate me. A simple yes or no is all I needed to hear and we could move on.

“Honestly Mrs. Devins that is a very personal question which is irrelevant to our discussion.  I would really like to stay on track about your treatment,” the doctor shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

It amazed me she found my questions personal.  Over the past three weeks, we had shared the most intimate conversations about every aspect of not only my medical history, but of every woman in my family.  Every private detail about the current state of my body was spelled out in the little labeled manila folder she kept glancing at before she would ask me very “personal” questions.

She just didn’t get it.  I needed to be reassured that she didn’t think she was God.  I needed her to know that I wasn’t leaving my life in her hands, but I was praying to God to deliver an optimal outcome.  God was a huge part of my life and now I was supposed to put Him on the back burner to make sure she felt comfortable.  She looked at this as “treatment”, I perceived this “discussion” as my life.  My cancer treatment would alter my life forever.

I wasn’t requesting her to go through this treatment with me.  I’m not some religious zealot that was going to deny medical treatment and rely completely on prayer.  I just needed to know that through however long this treatment was going to take, she would respect my prayers to take precedent over medicine when I needed it to.

The point is, I’m scared.  I don’t know the outcome of all of this and neither does she. If it’s God’s will to take me home, I have to accept it somehow.  These are the conversations I’ve been having with Him since I was diagnosed.  Anger creeps in every now and again, but for the most part, I must remain faithful that He is in control.  So as irrelevant as she may find my simple question, she needs to understand she’s not in control.  She can squirm and shift all she wants in that chair, but I’m not leaving here without a yes or no.

Leave a comment

Filed under BFF, blessings, cancer, Christ, Christian, fear, fiction, friends, God, illness, Uncategorized, woman

Macy VIII

By: Mia Hazlett
4/11/13

My grandmother’s past was becoming my present. I wanted to consume every letter at once as though they were an enticing book, but each letter set heaviness in my heart with each word. It was only curiosity to get to know whom my grandmother was, which pushed me to finish each sentence.

Now I sat in front of her fifth envelope. It’s funny when someone is given so much power in a family, you just believe in their greatness, whether you like them or not. Glancing over her barely legible four letters I had read, I realized my grandmother’s weakness, her education. It never occurred to me she lacked an education. But maybe that is what made the letters so heart wrenching to read. She was so desperate to tell her story but she barely knew the words to express her years of misery.

Wen you wit a babee in you, boy you don’t feel reel nise. You don’t feel nise a tall. Macy, I dun hated dat der babee in me cuz my momma hated me cuz a dat babee in me. Wazn’t nuttin I cud do rite. She jus hated me.

But she dun luvved me sister. Me sister she wuznt like me. Well she didnt look like me. She wuz reel reel witelike. She cudda dun passd fur a wite persun if she want. But jus cuz moma dun hated me, me sister she tuk care ov me reel well. You see she dun new wut had happened in dem woods wit dem boyz dat dun killed our bruthers. She dun got da wurse of wut dem boyz did. Doctur dun sed she wud never have no babees. It wuz weeks befur she cud even walk after it dun happend.

But it don’t matter nun. I iz gonna hav me a babee and my sister, she reel happee fur me, even tho my moma want us to die. Yup, my moma told me she hope us both die fo we bring hur mo bad luk. She don’t want no darkee babee in hur house. She sed I wuz a bad gurl and it wuz my falt that boy dun dis wit me. I wuz alwayz wearin dem tite cloze round him.

Macy, when yur own moma hate you dat much, you lern to hate yurself too. And when you iz only but 12 yeerz old all you want iz yur moma to luv you. So 1 day I dun take a big rock and put it on da ground and dun fell belly furst on it. I dun nocked da air right out ov myself. It dun hurt reel bad. Sister came reel fast, but befor she culd stop me, I dun catched my breath and did it another. Dis 1 hurt me somethin reel bad and I woke up in the house with the docter man there.

Moma dun stud in da door and she dun hated me. I cud see it in her eyez. She dun hated me somthin bad. To dis day Macy I don’t no why. I dun killd my baby so we won’t bring hur no bad luck. Yes Macy, I dun killd my baby fur my moma and she still hated me.

Leave a comment

Filed under daughters, death, fiction, Macy, racism, sisterhood

In My Head – Part II

By: Mia Hazlett
4/11/13

Dear Diary,

I haven’t seen my dad in two weeks.  I think my parents are going to get a divorce.  My friend Sara at school and another boy Philip, their parents are divorced.  I know a whole bunch of other kids whose parents never even got married.

I miss my dad.  I wish he was here or that I could just see him.  He called a couple of times, but that’s not the same.  He says he and my mommy are just taking a little break right now.  I guess kinda like me and my friend Sara got in a fight that one time and we didn’t talk to each other for three whole days.  We didn’t even sit with each other at lunch or on the bus.  That was the worst fight in the whole world.

But this is worse than three days.  It has been two weeks and one day.  I’ve been marking it on my calendar.  I heard my mother on the phone the other day saying she was so happy he was gone.  I don’t want her to be happy he’s gone.  I want her to miss him like I do.  If she doesn’t miss him than he won’t come back and live with us or maybe to even see us.

I heard my mother praying the other night for peace.  I don’t know what that means, but she sure has been happy.  She was in the kitchen the other day making dinner and she was singing and dancing.  A long time ago before my sister was born, she used to do that when she was cooking, but I haven’t seen her like that in like forever.

Then the other night, we stayed up until like 11 watching a movie.  She made us popcorn and not even the whole night did she talk on her phone.  Not once.  Not even to text.  But when she went to the bathroom I looked at her phone.  It was Daddy saying he was sorry and he loved her.

I hope she wrote him back later.  I mean he was saying sorry.  You’re supposed to make everything ok if someone says they are sorry.  But I don’t know if I want her to be sad again.  It has been really fun doing stuff with my mom since she’s been happy.  I just wish I could see my dad too.

From – Me

© Copyright 2013, Mia L. Hazlett

Leave a comment

Filed under children, daughters, divorce, family, fiction, In My Head, marriage, parents

Monster IX

By: Mia L. Hazlett
3/22/13

What did it mean to have control of my body? Was it actual physical control? Or was it the ability to do with my body what I wanted?  I didn’t want to do what they were telling me to do.  I was somehow fighting against the healing of my body.  Being able to walk, although my only means of escape, could also prove my detriment.  Reinjuring my ankles lingered in my thoughts, but I wrestled with lengthening my stay in hell.

They allowed me access to the stairs at the end of the dark hallways.  Some sort of informal training for my controlled release.  A door with a heavy padlock and chain guarded the top of the staircase.  I’m sure it used a form of video as backup.

With only one door in the hallway, I seemed to hold the only reservation, but Hope had to be close.  Although I hadn’t heard from her in days, there was the familiar sound of restraints against a wire cot.  They must have restrained her and she couldn’t get to her wall.  Or maybe her ankles had met the same fate mine had and she was now receiving visits from Syringe.

Footsteps arrived with my food.  Apparently while dwelling so close to the last stop in hell, Thanksgiving had arrived.  He brought two plates mounded with food I had forgotten existed.

“We need you to fatten up a bit, put your weight back on,” Maniacal appeared and spoke from the doorway.  “The time is drawing near and we can’t have you fail, just because you’re hungry. Be a good girl and eat up.”

I savagely devoured all I could.  I don’t think I used my hands as I felt my tongue brush against the plate at times.  Before I could see the bottom of the second plate, my body rejected the first meal.  My stomach had held nothing more than a red concoction and an occasional serving from Syringe.

I couldn’t control my vomiting, but I noticed my ribs had healed.  There was no pain in the heaving as before.  I can’t get well.  I had to take control of my body and break it again.

Leave a comment

Filed under fear, fiction, horror, kidnapping, Monster, violence