Awakening New Beginnings

The forest glade entranced her with an inescapable tranquillity, the endless sounds of wildlife chirping and buzzing mesmerised her, each and every creature living together in a euphonious harmony. Living alongside these creatures were the plants and the trees and the flowers, a plethora of vegetation. The various waters of the forest sprinkled amongst the flora and fauna, from the serene springs to the rushing rivers. The forest elements all came together as one.

Perching on a branch, soundless and still, she tilted her face towards the sky, gazing upwards as the last glimmer of copper flickered across the indigo sky, the last gesture before the forest fell into the allure of the night.

Shadowed silhouettes danced around the glade. The moon, everlasting and ever bright, was locked in a silent ballet with the shifting clouds whilst the river gushed through the moonlight. It created a prism of colours that glistened throughout, captivating the creatures that took shelter within. On the riverbank, the flowers and the trees swayed in the crisp air, indifferent to how their reflections changed, their portraits constantly being recreated and reimagined. Thousands of fireflies floated past, soft stars in the night, drifting back towards the sky where they belong, ready to join their sparkle. As the moon and the shadows pirouetted away, she allowed herself to put aside the past that dwelled within her, leaving behind the pain she had endured.

She slipped off her branch and twirled through the glade, a sweet mossy fragrance followed her as she danced beneath the moonlight, gathering flowers and berries as she spun into the night. Surrounded by the hope the forest brought, momentarily she forgot her heartache. Gracefully she laughed, a state of euphoria enthralled her, and she continued spiralling round and round and round and round, until she found herself back at her cottage, breathless and drowsy.

Her cottage laid abandoned, absorbed by the thickets and overgrowth of the forest, until she had chosen it as her dwelling. It had become her place to wait and rest, as she patiently observed the ways of the woodlands. Centuries ago, the cottage entryway had been protected by a crafted oak door, engraved with an ancient language lost to time but, as the moons passed, a Kauri tree took root and the two became entangled, forever sheltering the cottage from the weathering of the forest.

Delight consumed her. She knew that her cottage was one with nature and would be perfect in supporting her reawakening. She tiptoed deeper into the undergrowth, careful to avoid the creatures that habitually scuttled to and fro across the ground, and she found herself at the back of the cottage. Before her was a slight crack from where the limestone and granite had crumbled, just wide enough to allow her to slip through. Inside, ivy and roses united, decorating the walls in a viridescent glow that sparkled with rubies, glimmering in the moonlight that seeped through every crevice. She laid herself down on the mossy undergrowth, admiring the beetles and the ants that roamed through it, until the night became day once again.

Sunlight slowly shone where the moonlight had once been, urging her to wake. Tenderly, she shook herself, tears welling, as she warded off the dreams of her realm. Dreams were the light had faded, consumed by the darkness that smothered it. Dreams were any and all magic had dwindled away until it was abolished into nothingness forevermore. Dreams that told a history she didn’t want to remember. She reminded herself that the past could not be altered and that she was here for the future, to bring back the light. Her aspirations would prevail.

With a delicate yawn she rose, fluttering through the cottage and tending to the entwined wall adornments, before heading out for the morning.

Submerged in thought, she found herself at what she liked to call the Larimar Stone Spring, justly named for its opalescent, azure water that glistened in the morning sun. It was here that she would delicately float, refreshing herself for the day and embracing the mystical effect that the water had on her body, and today was no different. Attentively easing her body into the cold, she greeted the fish that spent their days living within her Larimar Spring and watched as the different shades of lemon, gold and scarlet darted back and forth. Occasionally one would approach her, overcome with sudden courage and curiosity, before quickly darting away again. Orchids, bromeliads and canna lilies outlined the spring, and filling the area with an aromatic floral perfume that she adored. As the sun rose through the sky, she left the spring and headed deeper into the forest.

Eventually, she discovered the path to a towering weeping willow tree and, after greeting the willow, she started to ascend, making her way gracefully to the top. The bark of the branches scratched at her feet, whilst the leaves brushed against her face and the sweet crisp smell of honey and citrus infused her lungs as she selected her footing and continued upwards. This is where she would spend hours of her day, peacefully watching and waiting, embracing the forest at every angle to ensure that all was well within.

Desperate to keep thoughts of her realm from arising, she took out a small pouch and removed the flowers and berries that she had gathered in the moonlight. She started intricately braiding them together, weaving them into a plaited cord. As her braiding reached the perfect length, she looped the ends together and felt a sense of gratuity and accomplishment as the soft crown of flowers sat comfortably upon her head. It helped her to feel one with the forest for the first time since her realm had been shrouded in darkness. She knew that if she could be at one with the forest truly and completely, then she would finally be reawakened, rediscover her magic trapped inside, and at last be able to return home.

The Ending Before the Beginning

As she opened the front door, the scent of lost happiness drifted through the air. It still smelled like home. Like it always had since that first day when she viewed the house. That was before the camping trip, where she watched the sunset with now distant strangers, running around in the dark with glowsticks and basking in the happiness of unsupervised childlike fun. It was before the group trip to the Felixstowe arcades, in the crisp evening air, that brought a new meaning to happiness and friendship. It was before the Christmas meal where the end began, and before everything that followed. 

Glancing over at the sofa she reminded herself that even before the fallout, things weren’t perfect. Even though she tried her best to make sure they were. That first day where everything was being moved in and it was meant to be a day of optimism, but it wasn’t. The sofa had been the first problem: the first of many. The baking sun beamed through the windows as she had pictured how the sofa would fit the unique shaped room, but he had never seen the vision she saw. He was fixated on his hatred towards the situation and saw nothing but awkwardness and frustration. She had been left alone to sort everything whilst he got Subway with his friend. Moving didn’t really matter to him, she realised with hindsight, he had done it only because she wanted to. It had only mattered to her. 

Walking through the house, she stopped in the kitchen. It was filled with all of the things that had once brought her so much delight: the helter skelter egg basket, the colourful saucepans, the Mickey Mouse cutlery. Items they would soon have to divide between them. Stuff that he only ever had complaints about, not once caring how happy they made her. Had he even wanted to live with her?

Every single argument that they had in the house still felt like a fresh wound, every single word still stung until she was numb inside. The same numbness that caused the start of the end. Numbness that made her betray him in the only way she had ever known.

***

The pain was still fresh in her mind and even as the bruises faded away into nothing, she decided she didn’t want a relationship at all. She couldn’t do it again. Not another one. She had spent her life jumping from person to person to person, searching for love and a fairytale ending, but she never found it, instead she had been left broken and damaged, a fragment of her past self. Sex had been used as manipulation, she had been hit and kicked and not allowed to breathe, not allowed anywhere without permission: this had all become so normal to her. She hadn’t been allowed to think for herself, or to even be herself. She knew her name, but she had forgotten what that meant. Tiredness and torment enveloped her as she decided she wanted a turn at being the villain instead of always being the victim. She couldn’t take any more pain. 

Her intention was to swipe right on the attractive ones, offer to meet them, and then drop them just as quickly, but she was directed down a different path. He was into all of the same things that she was, and he was genuinely nice. He went out of his way to make sure that she felt appreciated and listened to, making her quizzes based on her favourite things and watching all of her favourite films. And she fell hard.

Lockdown prevented them her from meeting him, so they spent time on endless phone calls and Facetime chats, getting to know each other and talking for hours. They learnt about each other’s deepest dreams and biggest fears, and they both knew that something just felt right about this. And for the first time in a long time, she thought that maybe, just maybe, she had found that fairytale ending she had been desperately searching for since she was young.

The first date was a crisp winter day: the air was fresh, and the sun was beaming. Light snow sprinkled over as she walked to the local park to meet him for a walk, snow that continued to fall for the duration of the day. They spent hours walking and talking to each other. Both cold and covered in snow, but neither one of them willing to be the first one to leave. They had their first kiss in the snow, and everything felt perfect - just as she imagined her fairytale would be.

Her family loved him, and she loved his. The days of talking turned to months of dating and they would go everywhere together. Camping with his friends and drinking with hers, funfairs, theme parks, zoos, they did everything. He supported her job changes, and she encouraged his progression. She stayed at his and he stayed at hers. There was the one night where they had had a few drinks and went to hers, her family had been drinking too so they stayed up together drinking and dancing until the sunlight glimmered in through the curtains. He slow danced with her Stepdad, and she still has the videos.

There was their weekend away in London where they got a complete shock when the World Naked Bike Ride zipped past them, and they never stopped laughing about how unexpected it had been. They went to a ball pit night club, spent time shopping together and went to the London Dungeons, everything they did was fun and exciting. Even the time he spilled coffee on his white jumper in the car park of the farm was salvaged into a good day.

They opened a joint bank account together and started saving to move out, to begin their life that they would share, the first step into the future, and she started buying quirky household items whilst she had less bills and more spare money.

But fun and happiness like that never lasts forever. She knows that now.

After they moved in together, the first thing to deteriorate was the listening. She would come back from work excited to share the dramas of the cinema that she worked in – who her best friend was sleeping with this time or who her other friend had fallen out with and why, but he had lost all interest. Conversations he would once have loved to listen to, now meant nothing to him. He would say he was listening, but he would be focussed on his game or his TV show or his phone. She stopped sharing as much with him because she knew he wouldn’t listen anyway.

It crept into their dates: he would be on his phone texting his friends and family constantly whilst they were out for dinner, or he wouldn’t want to watch the TV shows they watched together because he would rather be doing his own thing. And then when they were apart, he couldn’t text her because “it’s rude, I’m with my friends”, even though it wasn’t rude to text them when he was out with her. And when he went drinking, he wouldn’t tell her whether he was safe or not. She didn’t know if he had taken any drugs when he was with certain friends, and she didn’t know if he’d be able to make it home. She was filled with worry and dread each and every time. And then there was the night he didn’t make it home. The night she got the phone call where he just said “help” and she had to go and find him and carry him back. After that he still didn’t care enough to let her know he was safe.

Then came time. He didn’t want to share moments with her like he had before. If they went out together with his friends it didn’t matter if she hadn’t finished eating, or was still getting ready, or was alone – he wanted to do his own thing and so he would. It didn’t matter to him if that meant ditching her and making her feel left out and unwanted, it only mattered that he was having fun. And so, inevitably, she stopped wanting to go out with him when he was seeing his friends, because each time he made her feel like she was a burden and wasn’t worth the time to be around. And the moment she stopped going out with him and his friends, he started going out more often. He was hardly ever home and when he was, he was gaming with friends or doing something that couldn’t involve her.

She asked him for time, time and time again, a weekend day or an evening, or just one whole weekend, and he turned her down each time. She fought and fought and fought just to get a single evening that he would save for her each week, just to spent uninterrupted time alone with her. Even then, he kept making plans with his friends, constantly forgetting that it was their day. She had slowly stopped mattering to him, and she felt it with every fibre of her being. She was starting to go numb.

Everything fell apart so quickly in the end. She had spent so long trying to be perfect, giving more and more and more and more until eventually she had nothing left to give and she broke.

She had gone out with her work colleagues for their annual Christmas meal as she did every year. Inevitably, after the meal she found herself at a friend’s house, with a small group of them drinking, getting lost in conversations and games. She slowly made her way through the bottle of elderflower gin, before moving to the vodka. The world became blurry, and her sentences spoke nothing but truths. Even the truths she never dared admit to herself. Most of the group went to bed early into the night, but she stayed up, playing games and sharing secrets with one friend.

He listened intentively, and it had been a long time since someone had listened to her. She lost track of the night as they continued to chat, and for the first time she felt at peace. It felt good to be heard. Secrets that should never be revealed slowly started to slip into the conversation, bit by bit. Like how she thought his long dark hair was just the right length to suit him perfectly, or how his sense of humour made the numbness she had enveloped herself in go away for just a second. She fell asleep on the same sofa as him and knew as soon as she woke up that her life would be changed from this point forward, whether she liked it or not.

She spoke to her friends about everything. One friend came over whilst she made cheesecake for her family, one friend went drinking with her and one friend helped her rationalise her feelings, whilst all conversations let to the same conclusion: she had to end her relationship. She couldn’t stay with him knowing that she felt so much safer and comfortable whilst asleep next to someone else. She had forgotten what it felt like to know someone actually wanted to hear what she had to say, and she couldn’t to go back to being shut away in herself, only showing the parts that he wanted to see, hoping nothing would slip through the cracks of her wall she had kept up. But change like this was the most difficult, how do you tell someone you live with that the life you share together is over and there’s nothing anyone can do about it? How do you tell them that you felt so much more comfortable sleeping in the arms of a friend than in the same bed as them? How do you tell them the life you spent years building together has fallen apart and crumbled down into a thousand pieces? 

Then, for a final chat, she went to see the friend she fell asleep with. And the chatting was as easy as it had been the last time, and soon enough the early hours of the morning was creeping through the window, and they were still talking. The more that the sunlight crept into the room, the less talking there was. They just sat with their faces touching, hair entangled, not knowing what would happen next. Neither of them willing to do anything more than sit there, close to each other, as the fear of consequences screamed through the air. Until the fear was no more than a whisper and they lost themselves in the moment. She knew it was the wrong thing to do, and the repercussions would be severe, but she wasn’t in control anymore, and so she sat there kissing her friend. 

The next morning brought the unescapable conversation. She sat down with the person who she had once thought to be the love of her life, and she told him everything. About how she didn’t feel that things could be okay between them, how she didn’t want him to change who he was just to make her happy, and how she couldn’t break and bend herself anymore just to make him tolerate her. And then began the start of a new era. 

 

Time passed and eventually she felt like she could breathe again, without fear haunting her every move. She realised that she wasn’t a bad, boring, unwanted person, and that just because people in her past made her feel that way, didn’t mean that it was true. The things that made her stand out from the crowd made her shine brighter and she revelled in this. She kept in touch with the friend that she kissed, but that’s how they stayed: friends. He was a good person who cared a lot more than he was willing to show, and she was glad of their friendship. Her whole future awaited her, wherever that path would lead her.

Kingdom's Crumbling

Everything froze around me as I heard him scream. Raging swordsmen stopped, caged in time as I ran, trying to locate where that scream had come from.

He’s not hurt. he can’t be hurt. He told me everything would be okay.

Yet as I approached, all I could see was him laying silently still on the ground, the dirt around him putrid and darkened. I stumbled forwards, one step after another, I just have to get to him. I can fix it if I can get to him.

 

Except he hadn’t got a pulse. He wasn’t breathing.

 

I pressed my hands against his chest and dug deep into my magic, willing it to find something, anything, to catch his life and stitch it back together. Just a thread, or a fibre would be enough. Anything would be enough. I just had to find something. I poured everything into him and for a moment I thought it was working, I caught a fibre and my magic started threading. 

 

For just a moment he opened his eyes. He looked up at me and smiled, that soft smile that caught my eye all those years ago. 

“I’m okay…” It was barely a whisper, and I held my breath, willing my magic to work faster, to do more, to fix everything. “Stop. You need to save it.”

 

No, he can’t be telling me to stop. He can’t do this. I trembled as I shook my head.

 

“I’ll see you again, but until then save it. Use it. Make them pay for everything.” I could feel him pulling away from my magic, the stitches I’d worked so hard to thread coming undone. No. No. No.

 

“Let me. I can’t do this without you.” He had to let me. He can’t leave me, not when I can fix it.

 

“It will kill you, and I can’t let that happen. I love you, and I will see you again.” And just like that he slipped away from me. The stitches gone.

 

I looked up at the people around me. The woman smirking, stood over him with a dagger dripping blood. I knew that smile. I trusted that smile.

 

“Andora,” I snarled, standing to face her. “What have you done?”

 

“I’m winning this battle, and you, my dear sweet friend, are next.” Confusion swirled around me as I tried to piece together what I was missing. Andora had been my best friend since I found her on the streets and my parents had taken her in, given her a home.

 

“Why?”

 

“You think I was your friend because I liked you? That I actually liked running around, being second best, to a fucking princess? I am to be queen, and now that your dear beloved is dead, you will be nothing.” She grinned, stepping closer to me, bringing her dagger towards my chest. Nothing and everything made sense. My mind was spinning and pain curled into every crevice of my being. My best friend did this. The one person I had trusted with everything, shared everything with had taken everything from me. 

 

Everything went numb.

 

 

Any feelings I still had became locked away, so deep and so hidden that I could no longer find them, even if I wanted to. Numbness created a void within me, and without thinking twice I welcomed the darkness that flooded into that void. Then it plunged. It weaved its way around every part of my being and fuck it felt suffocating and freeing simultaneously. Power surged within me, and I looked up at her. 

 

Andora was dead before she could blink. 

 

The battle raged around me still, yet the outcome no longer mattered. It bored me. I took a breath and corpses littered the battlefield surrounding me.

 

*******

 

Treading carefully, I approached the tavern. It’d been a while since I’d run into people, and oh people could be so fun sometimes. And I was so deserving of some fun after my long journey. 

 

I stepped through the doorway and took in the hordes of people gathered round the small tables that were dotted around the room. The smell of stagnant sweat and ale suffocated me as I made my way through the crowds, people were so gross. How could they stand to exist around each other in such a slimy, humid environment?

 

Looking round I spotted a young looking man, a knight, wearing colours of a kingdom not yet known to me. Now that looked like it could be interesting – I could have fun and get some information about this new kingdom. After all, who better to find the cracks in security than one of the knights themselves? It would definitely give me an advantage in bringing the kingdom crumbling to its knees.

 

Since killing Andora, I had come to one single resolution: no one kingdom would ever get to stand again. I travelled to distant taverns and discovered which kingdoms still stood strong. Each time I would work my way into the castle and find the flaws in their security and their wards until every single person within the kingdom walls had taken their last breath. Each kingdom was to be a ghost town, left as nothing but a story, until even the story had been erased by time.

 

I approached the bar, ordered two ales, and wandered over to the young knight. Men could be so fun to manipulate.

 

“Excuse me Sir?” I pulled my most innocent and delicate looking expression. “You look exhausted from your journey, here have this on me.” 

 

He didn’t need telling twice as I passed the drink over to him and he had drunk half of it before looking up at me and gesturing me to sit next to him. His eyes revealed nothing yet of whether he would be an easy target or not, but I had already begun to have fun, the game had started and soon he would be dead.

 

“I hope it’s not too forward, but I’ve never seen a knight wearing a red like that, and I have to say it suits you so.” This is how it always began. A little compliment always brings those barriers down just enough for me to work my way in.

 

“Oh, well thank you my lady. May I ask what brings you to this area? This town is not safe for a lady after nightfall.” Concern etched across his face as he continued to drink. It was working.

 

“A terrible misfortune, I’m afraid.” It was almost painful to pretend to be so weak and helpless, but men like to gain glory from protecting vulnerable women, so that’s the part I played. “My town is far from here and was attacked by a group of bandits. They’ve been hunting me ever since and I was hoping to seek shelter in this tavern as they wouldn’t dare attack with so many knights around. But I have no idea what I’m going to do once everyone turns in for the night and I am left out alone. It was awful, I lost my whole family, my home, and everyone I ever loved.” The lie was easier to tell each time I told it. 

 

“Please do not fear. I am from a kingdom not far from here, and I am sure my king would be happy to give you sanctuary in his castle. I have a room in town, please let me lend my room to you for the night and we will begin the journey at sunrise.”

 

“Oh would you? That sounds so wonderful sir. I will forever be in your debt. Have you any stories of your kingdom?” A passage to the kingdom would be fantastic, but what I really needed was information.

 

“My king is brave and true – even more so than the old king, may he rest in peace. Those who live with true intention are safe and well cared for.” The knight rose to his feet and gestured to the door. I followed him out into the night as he directed us to his room.

 

“That sounds wonderful! Are we safe from sorcerers there? Does the king have many standing by his side?” What protection do they have from me?

 

“Any sorcerers that threaten us are hunted down and executed. We do not tolerate those who wield magic in our kingdom.” No magic? This was going to be so much easier than I thought. No magic meant no wards, no sorcerers to eliminate, and nothing standing in my way. 

 

We reached a small room on the outside of town and I glanced up at the knight and placed a small kiss on his left cheek. 

 

“Thank you Sir, I so look forward to meeting your king.” I smiled up at him, looking as hopeful and pitiful as I possibly could. “I couldn’t trouble you by asking you to stay in the room with me tonight could I? I feel awfully afraid that the bandits will find me.” 

 

At this the knight looked like he was fighting with himself. For every knight knew not to take advantage of vulnerable women, but I could not be resisted. It was part of what made manipulating men so easy. One word from me and I could have him wherever I wanted. He would give me whatever I wanted. And oh have I been bored lately. For added effect, I jumped as one of the townfolk passed by and latched onto his arm looking as terrified and pathetic as I could manage. That seemed to work in my favour.

 

“Of course my lady, let’s head inside. We head to Camelot in the morning.”

Dinosaurs

Dinosaurs. So, dinosaurs are my favourite. They are beyond my favourite. I would spend several thousand pounds on a gaming computer to play The Isle if I had that kind of money and didn’t need to buy a house. It’s one of the best games but only on the no rules servers. The best dinosaur to play is the Utah for quick and fun gameplay. Expect to lose hours of your life though. I also love all the Jurassic Park/World films and the theme tune brings me happiness (especially when sung by Gabe the Dog (RIP)). Collecting fossils on Animal Crossing New Horizons and seeing the excitement in Blathers as he hopes to talk about the wonders of the ancient world, another dinosaur lover. Seeing Rex at Disneyland and getting A PHOTO WITH A DINOSAUR. Happy times were in the past and happy times are ahead. Everything may change and we may not exist one day but, just like the dinosaurs, our memory will always live on.

From the Heart

It doesn’t take long for walls to break down and barriers to be opened. You let someone in with a click of your fingers and expect them to stay. For the days to be long and joyful and filled with love and kindness, and for a while it is. He brings you flowers and you cook him dinner. He takes you out and you bring him gifts. You give and you take. Emotionally and physically and mentally. He cries on your shoulder and you tell him you love him. He buys you chocolate and a nice card. You write him a love letter and tell him you care. You lose a friend and he lets you cry on his shoulder. Then the flowers wilt and the dinner is gone and the restaurants are shut and the gifts are broken. The love is dying and the chocolate was eaten and the letter ignored. His shoulder isn’t there anymore. You can’t see your friends and you can’t wear that top and you should tidy your mess but I won’t tidy mine. It’s almost the song of the year, and not a song anyone likes. Little things twist and darken. Slow enough and deadly enough to poison you before you realise it’s too late. Your birthday doesn’t matter and working is more important and people are dying so why are you upset? You can’t get annoyed because it’s your fault that happened. It got ignored because it wasn’t important. Why does it matter? Can you cure the poison or does it need removing? The question haunts you in the day and kills you in the night. The winds whisper remove but the trees rustle cure. The butterflies leave your stomach and cloud your mind. A hurricane whizzing round and round and round and round and round and round and round until you can hardly breathe. How do you escape? How do you find the cure? Is there a cure or do you run away?

Soft Electrocution

Did you know that cold was soft? A soft electrocution. A blanket of numbness ready to suffocate slowly. At least if you drown or burn or bleed then you can see the death approaching. How do you see death when it lulls you into the deepest of sleeps? How do you greet the stranger come to collect you? Or do you? Maybe those who cannot be woken cannot be greeted. Their existence starts to fade into the emptiness of the snow.

Happy Ending?

There was a time where I believed in a happy ending. Once Upon A Time had etched into me that “believing in the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing,” but it didn't do me much good when push came to shove. To me, a happy ending is just feeling surrounded by the things you need and love, whilst your personal suffering comes to an end. Your job feels good, you feel content with being single (or meet the man of your dreams) and everyone you choose to accept into your bubble of friends is decent and cares for you.

In my youth I worked a part-time job waitressing for a small café in the middle of a small town. It was enough to pay for what my student loans didn't cover, but only just. It was there that I met an aspiring actress, Josephine. Always perfectly kept she waited for her callbacks and auditions, coming to the café after each one, always bragging about her latest show or the people she meets. But she was very friendly, and after not very long, me and her became fairly close. She showed me how to party properly – although much to her dismay I would avoid the drugs. I learnt to feel confident in my body, and how to use it to get free drinks, this was her idea of happiness. But it didn't take long before my grades began to slip and I had to stop going out every night. Keeping it to Fridays was my way of keeping both my friendship and my grades going. But this wasn't good enough and Josephine began to have stories that were much more exciting than mine and her life grew and flourished whilst mine just stayed as it was. Working a minimum wage job, being treated like dirt, and being hit on by people old enough to be my dad.

It didn't take long for Josephine to start coming to the café with a new friend, young and beautiful – but not anything close to Josephine, and always high. This was when the peer pressure of a Friday night became too much for me and I had to either accept the drugs being thrown at me from every direction, or stop going out completely. The last time I saw Josephine was when she and a group of stragglers entered the café talking about some job in Hollywood with the big actors.

For the rest of my time at university I avoided friends and parties in general. Drugs were not my scene and I didn't want to be pushed any further, I wasn't sure what I could take. But I did meet a boy. In lectures he would smile at me and I would smile back, and it was one day in our final year that he approached me. We spoke of music and films and books and childhood TV shows. Knowing the right things to say was always his speciality and I couldn't help but feel like he was the one. We graduated university together and had a few drinks in our flat rather than partying like everyone else. We spoke about our future together and how it would be the most perfect thing we would ever know.

Saving for months, we managed to buy a house before the market crashed and we began to make it our home. It wasn't long after that I discovered I was pregnant and was filled with fear and joy – knowing that our future together would be bringing a new life into this world… He didn't see it that way, and before I could even think we were at the hospital and my baby was being extracted from me. I shouldn't have thought it was okay, he would say. For months I was blamed for the pregnancy until even I began to see it as a disaster – how would we feed it? How could we afford it? Do I even know how to be a mum? Probably not. It was a bad idea and I was to hasty in my decision to have it. Babies were monsters.

After years of mental torment and strain, I came home to find him strewn across a younger version of myself, young beautiful and better than I was. I shouldn't have come home so early. I didn't even get the milk we needed. Forgiving him became a daily occurrence and my mind was slowly fragmenting. My happy ending was fading away and I didn't know how I could fix it. Women flew in and out of our house like we owned a brothel and I couldn't take it anymore. Grabbing my keys I ran out into the driveway and went for a drive. Where I was going I didn't know – the shops, the park, the afterlife – could have been any of those destinations if it weren't for the blonde I clipped on the road. After a quick apology things got very heated very quickly and I suddenly forgot myself in the moment. It turned out that he didn't live far from me and so our accidental meet-ups soon became a regular occurrence. I could tolerate the demons in my home because he would always outshine them. He would cook me dinner and buy me chocolates and things would progress, before I would tidy myself up and face the devil with a smile. Half the time I would go home and there would be women already still in my house, in my bed, derobed and declothed.

The blonde had cooked me a pulled pork dinner on the night it all fell apart. It was the most beautiful dinner and we followed it up with a small amount of wine and brandy afterwards. It was the perfect evening. With a spurt of drunken courage I told the devil what I thought of him, how I hated being around him and how I was in love with someone else. That is was over and he needed to find a lawyer so that we could organise the splitting of our things. He knew about the affair and as it so happens, he also wanted me gone. The blonde was a good mate of his and, due to me cheating, I lost all of the money.

Flash forwards ten years and I am renting a room whilst working as much as I physically can. I'm about to hit the retirement age but have nothing saved and so will either have to work until I die, or live on the streets. I guess this is the happy ending?

Untitled Piece

They say a person is shaped by their past – nurture over nature – the way they are brought up. That a person's actions are only caused by a slow progression of what they learn and witness throughout their childhood and adolescence. But I had a friend once who convinced me that, without a doubt, this theory was wrong.

***

December 21st was the day I met him. I still remember the way the wind whistled in my ear, whispering secrets of cold intent, as I sat alone on the little red swing. The swing had been a part of the woods for many years, since before I could remember, and it was where I went when I needed to think. At the tender age of thirteen, the only fear that had crossed my mind was the idea that my brother would get a bigger, better present this Christmas, that I would be forgotten. Forgotten like the goldfish that never got fed. I was swinging on that little red swing was when I fist saw him. A shadow hiding in the woods. Too afraid of what I would say to him if he asked for a turn, yet I gestured him over. I saw the friend in the stranger. From that very first day I knew there was a connection between us that couldn't be broken.

***

Although my parents were what could be described as “helicopter parents”, at fifteen I still managed to sneak out to see the one person they hated. Black jeans and a red top – finished with a leather jacket was how I left the house when their eyes were averted. Otherwise it was pretty pinks and pastel blues. But he liked my leather jacket, and I liked his. We would drive to all sorts of hidden locations, speeding on every winding road that could be found, drinking whatever we could get our hands on – cider, vodka, sourz. Just for the thrill of it. Under the stars we would have the deepest conversations about life and death and what it would be like to fly. He would talk about his past and I would talk about my future. I wanted to graduate and start my own film, documenting all of the things I did as I travelled the world, meet some guy and be married before I was 30. No kids though. He didn't know what he wanted to do, but he knew what he didn't want to go back to. Home means many things for many people, but for him it meant pain, it meant hell, it was not where his heart was, he wanted to fly away, be the free eagle he knew he could be. We had already planned what we would do, the two bestest friends hitting the world with whatever we could find.

***

Constant rows with my parents about where I had been and where I was going and who I was going to be with and what I was doing was how I lived my seventeenth year. Refusing to let me see him was their way of telling me they thought he was a danger to society, one of those people who should be avoided at all times, but I didn't care. They couldn't stop me. By now they knew about the alcohol and the speeding and the leather jackets. I was to be my own person and no matter what they thought about it, how many sins they thought I was committing, I couldn't stop. I couldn't stay away from him because although I was completely unwilling to admit to any of it – I was completely in love with him. Dating other guys was a thing I had tried, the jock, the goth, the guitarist, the skater, but it wasn't right. None of it was. Not when I constantly had his voice, his face, his touch in the back of my mind. Trouble was what followed him, and I liked it, I liked the adrenaline rush that came with spending time with him. The terror that swallowed me when he announced he had stolen the bottle of rum we'd been downing in the park, or the bike he'd picked me up on. Something about it was exciting. Terrifying, but exciting, and I loved it. Every moment spent with him was a rush, the opposite to boring, exactly what I had been looking for in life. And we were never caught – he would make sure of that.

***

Heading back to the place the swing used to be, I noted the splinters, still left behind from when it was destroyed, smashed up. The little red swing that had meant so much to my past, gone. Constantly trying to protect me was what ended up pushing him away. He knew the stealing and the drugs and the alcohol would end up coming back and smacking us in the face, but I wouldn't listen, I loved defying the ones that once held power to us, fighting off our superiors. But he was right. I last saw him eight years ago. Just his face glancing at mine, filled with both sorrow and disappointment as I was pushed into the car that took me to my temporary home. Locked away from the world. I had been out a year now and hadn't had the courage to see if he was still around. Heartbroken was the last look he gave me when I left, and I couldn't face the guy that knew I was such a disappointment. We could never have been together, and maybe that was for the best, saves him getting in the same trouble as I did, saves my parents blaming him for how I turned out, saves him. Standing where the little red swing once was, I saw a shadow, dimly lit in the flickering streetlight. I saw the stranger in my old friend.

Lunch Break

I could almost taste the scent of freshly pressed sandwiches before I had even reached that aisle. Filled with lettuce and chicken and the most succulent of mayonnaises. Gurgling in joy and desperation, my stomach encouraged me on my way towards the unsuspecting victims of my hunger. Running hopefully towards the inevitable spend I grabbed the drink (coca cola of course) and chocolate (a twirl) that made up the other parts of the £3 meal deal, before going to the fridge to grab my specially selected chicken and bacon sandwich. Nothing could stop me now.

Nothing except the young man reaching into the aisle to look at the last one.

Undecided he placed it back upon the shelf and kept browsing, if I was quick I could just reach in there and grasp it from behind him, before he turned around and could see, before he could take it from me. The last sandwich – and it would be mine. Creeping subtly I reached for the sandwich just as he turned to grasp it himself. Our hands reached the sandwich at the same time.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” looking about nineteen years of age, the man looked shocked at my being there.

“Haha it's fine,” I figured the best way to win over my sandwich was to strike with politeness.

“It is a rather nice looking sandwich, especially where it says about the mayonnaise… what was it? Like some special type?”

“Yes… I have this sandwich like every day, it really is one of the best here.”

“The best you say? Well sir, would you mind if I took it for myself so I could try this delight?”

I wanted to tell the guy that actually yes. Yes I would mind. And as I was here and I get the sandwich everyday and I am a qualified, benefit to society, I should have it. But then looking up at his gleaming blue eyes and silky smooth skin, I realised that being rude just wasn't a part of who I am, the British way was to just say no and move on. Sucks to be me.

“No, no, sure, go ahead and have it. I'm sure there's something else I'll like here...”

“Are you sure? I feel so bad for taking the last one now, especially since you expressed your clear wanting of it...”

If he wants the damn sandwich he should take it before I change my mind about just how British I truly am, because I want that sandwich and if he keeps taunting me with it I will have the sandwich.

“I'd take it – quick before I change my mind!” the most classic joke in the “I WANT THE DAMN SANDWICH SO LEAVE BEFORE I TAKE IT” book. Haha.

“Thanks sir, if there is anything I could do to repay you, maybe I could treat you to your lunch if you made a decision on what sandwich you want?”

“I'd take that offer up, thank you very much… maybe I'll try this chicken, bacon and stuffing one instead...”

“That sounds like a remarkable idea.”

After that we went and paid for our food and then parted at the shop exit. He went back to whatever clubbing and drinking people do at nineteen and I headed back to the office. Two strangers never to meet again. Good job really… I switched the sandwiches at the checkout.

The Box

Brick walls surrounded her. Dark, looming walls everywhere she turned, a square ceiling just above her. Not enough room to move, barely enough to breathe. Stuck. Locked away. Darkness exterminated any hope of finding a door handle which would ultimately lead to her escape. A numbness enveloped her mind as she realised that this could be it. She would spend the rest of her not-so-ambitious life waiting in a box. For a doorway to reveal itself. This was no good.

Flashbacks of the past always lined with gold, sugar-coated. Her life had never been pleasant, but compared to the entrapment she faced now… She would take it all back. A life that would never stop throwing poison arrows at her heart, but she never lost her hope. Never lost her ambition. Always knew there was better. Well now that is the better.

She should be happier now. False friends had fucked off and past heartbreaks were forgotten, but somehow the walls were closer than ever. What once was a diamond fortress was now a small cupboard. A small inescapable cupboard. With only the window of the past to entertain. Numbness was happiness and happiness was legend.

***

Strangers brought the walls crumbling down. A realisation of how bad the past had been, of how bleak a time had been passed. Of how everything will always change. The brick walls would only hold her for so long, as even brick corrodes eventually. Somewhere, out there, is a force constantly corroding everything. And if the walls fall away to reveal thick steel walls… Well metal will rust. The end is far and to descend into numbness so soon, well the world would be a dark place indeed.

At least life's poison arrows couldn't enter a steel box.

And at the collapse of the steel and the bricks and whatever else held her captive, success would shine. Success at whatever she should choose to do. Writing, filming, eating, dieting, collecting, cleaning, selling, sleeping. All would come naturally. If she believed it.