A Week in the Life--Unfinished

        The tension in the room was almost tangible. It made the young girl’s tongue salivate with the pretense of what would surely be her discovery. The man before her looked as though her had stepped straight from the pages of her own fearsome, gory novels. The bloodied, torn tuxedo. The rugged stubble grazing his sharp jaw line. The soul-chilling stare. Yes, he was horror fiction personified. Yet he still possessed an unusual edge. His two toned glare and spiny, blue hair gave him the unique appearance that caught her eye. The man didn’t say a word as the girl scrutinized him carefully with her analytical gaze. Instead, he too returned her probing glances with his own disbelieving malice.

The queer scene around them didn’t seem quite as odd as the figures themselves, although, one wouldn’t expect a thirteen-year-old girl to be alone in such a shady area of New York. Nor would one expect her to be waiting for a ferocious alcoholic to come find her on his dilapidated doorstep. But as one got to know the girl, they would learn to expect such behavior from her: never quite knowing what was going through her head. Some could fathom it was her mother’s doing to raise such a bizarre child. Some would say it was the lack of a father figure. The girl heard all the rumors, but she never stopped to confront them. She knew her place and he desire: to find the knowledge she craved and needed so very desperately.



Two pairs of feet hit the sidewalk with a heavy rhythm. The methodical beat gradually lulled Tessa into a comatose state. Her mother beside her was the opposite, wide eyes always darting back and forth, scouring the familiar city block for signs of change. Tessa had to scurry frantically to keep up with her mother’s longer strides, her hazel eyes widened as she scrambled to catch up. The pair’s daily morning jog came to an end, and Tessa overtook her mother, bounding up the concrete stairs of their apartment.

“Hurry and get your things for school,” her mother panted as she unlocked the apartment door.

Tessa obliged, shuffling unhurriedly to her messy room. She swiped her shabby backpack off the stained carpet and, without a glance in the mirror, ran a plastic comb through her knotted brown hair.

“Tessa,” her mother called from the other room, “if you don’t leave soon, you’ll be late.”

“I’m leaving now, Mom,” Tessa grabbed two thick notebooks off her worn comforter and sped out the door, casting one last grin towards her mother before she shut the door and bolted down the stairs.

Once outside the still sleepy apartment complex, Tessa plodded down the lonesome streets, happily watching the sun peak over the horizon and the birds beginning to sing. Everything was perfect, just like a fairy tale ending.

Tessa skipped through the streets, sucking in the musty air. As she sauntered alone towards her school, she stopped to investigate every noise and motion. Each time a new discovery was made, she would intently grab a gnawed pencil and jot down her findings in her nearly full notebook, labeled the Book of Answers.

Before Tessa could satisfy her thirst for knowledge, the school bells rang, echoing down the streets. Alarmed, Tessa sighed and unenthusiastically bounded unto the schoolyard, barely a city block from her home.



Breath coming in uneven puffs, Tessa settled into her desk and waited for her first class to begin. Clutching the two dog-eared notebooks tightly, she trailed her pale fingers over the thinner one. It’s cover was once light blue, although doodles almost replaced the background color. Flipping through the book, the pages were packed with confused, angry scribbled that halted suddenly on April 16th, Tessa’s birthday. It was only the second time Tessa had seen the journal. The first time she only caught a glimpse of it poking out from behind a lonesome bookshelf. But now, Tessa’s suspicions were confirmed as she turned back to the first page, which read, property of Alisa Cook. Her mother’s handwritten words began the hidden diary of her younger years.

There must be some answers in here, Tessa’s thoughts raced excitedly. Turning past the opening pages, she could see the various dates, ranging from her mother’s senior year in high school well into her twenties. It seemed, though, that the diary hadn’t been touched in Tessa’s lifetime, long forgotten for thirteen years.

“There just has to be an answer here somewhere,” she murmured again, reassuring herself.

The entries in the beginning were short and unexciting. Most were written months apart, recounting events that had long since past.  Shaking her head slowly, Tessa shivered with the odd feeling of dread as she perused the forbidden notebook, yet she still continued scanning the pages.

Soon enough, Tessa came across a large section of lengthy entries, written when her mother was just out of college. Much to her surprise, all of the entries surrounded the likes of a peculiar man. Tessa’s eyes widened as she saw the man’s name written in her mother’s blundering script: Tesla. Only one letter different from her own.

She quickly scoured the detailed account of her mother’s three-week memoir of her time spent with Tesla. Half of each entry appeared to be her mother arguing fervently with herself.

“Did Tesla really exist? Or was he some far too realistic alcohol-induced dream?” the journal quoted.

Tessa drank in the intimate descriptions of Tesla, almost too fantastic to be true: blue hair, eyes of two different colors, and a hypnotic glare. The hair and eyes could easily be explained my hair dye and colored contacts, but Tessa preferred to think of him as a hidden prince of darkness. Her imagination spurt forth endless images of Tesla in his dark, haunting ways. A mad scientist crossed with a silent assassin. 

Could this man be her father? Tessa desperately hoped so. Even if he seemed unreal to her mother, she would find him. Tessa bared her teeth with quick victory. Adjusting the notebook under her arm, she quickly escaped the confinement of the classroom just as the final bell sounded its call. She couldn’t afford to waste any time: too much had passed already. A person could change a lot in thirteen years. Could she still recognize Tesla by her mother’s description?  Tessa shook her head and burst through the front doors of the school, not letting doubt enter her mind. She knew where the first stop was. A bar, mentioned in her mother’s musings. The bar where Tesla and her mother had first met.



Tessa’s feet drummed on the cracked pavement with a steady rhythm. She didn’t care to be polite as she pushed violently through crowds of people moving in the other direction. Her thoughts were in a frenzy as she recognized the bar, a ways down the street. Traffic sped by, and Tessa pushed harder, fearing she couldn’t get there soon enough. Her solo stampede came to a close outside the grimy entrance to the bar. The place still tinged the air with alcohol, even though the For Rent signs hung sadly in the tinted windows. Collapsing heavily on the sidewalk, Tessa wiped her sweaty brow on the back of her hand. She once more pulled out her mother’s journal. Tessa shook her head; amused by the long passages her mother has written about Tesla’s captivating glower and rousing presence.  Minutes passed before she found a useful passage hidden in the enthralled words of her mother’s description of Tesla.

“I followed him a mile or so up the road to his house,” Tessa read aloud.

There was no time for rest now. No time to plan out what her next move would be.  As always, Tessa charged straight down the obvious path without a single thought.