Scarred, Scared or Sacred

Updated: Mar 21, 2019

All rights reserved © 2014, 2019 Louis Antonio Abate, D.C.



It was an unusually warm day in early May; the kind of day where you could feel Summer pressing in; where your thoughts turn toward the beach, amusement parks, and the boardwalk’s annual hotdog eating contest.


There was nothing unusual about the day for Gigi. It started as most days start for her. The alarm singing it’s chime softly at 6:30am then rising to a feverish gong-banging cacophony by 6:45am. The automatic coffee-maker beginning it’s vigorous mutilation of innocent beans at exactly 6:51am just as the local news returned it’s attention to ‘Weather on the 1’s.

As Gigi sipped the mug of scalding coffee, while standing in her useless mousetrap of a kitchen, she began to feel afraid and had the thought that she should stay home from work. After all, she surmised, she hadn’t been getting along well with her business partner, Dan—with whom she felt more and more powerless; and she she quickly added, as justification, that she thought she had a bit of sore throat and fever coming on.


She drove out of the luxury high rise garage, felt the warm morning air with it’s tangy briny aroma that she had grown to love since taking out that unusually high mortgage, and was overcome with such a feeling of dread that she threw up her breakfast of black coffee and Vegemite on toast.

"“Goddammit” she cursed at no one in particular. Catching the sound of her voice almost made her want to spew again. It was a paltry, lifeless, pathetic attempt at righteous indignation. “No wonder I let Dan walk all over me,” she thought while reaching for the arsenal of fast-food napkins she kept in the glovebox. “I can’t even curse like a true Bogan would. I guess all those years of boarding school really did train me to be a polite member of society."


The drive to w