The Truth About Disney.

 "Dig a little deeper. Think of something that we’ve never thought of before” – Winnie the Pooh.

So I took Winnie’s advice and I’m shocked to say, I think that he was trying to tell us something. Winnie the Pooh gave out a cry for help and we all ignored it, thinking he was just being a funny little, somewhat philosophical bear!

Everyone loves a good Disney film, is there anything better (unless that is you have a social life) than snuggling up in a blanket with food and watching ‘ The Lion King’? For me, no. But when you really think about it, when you read between the lines of our much loved Disney films, the truth spills out. The truth needless to say is not pretty!

Today’s society is constantly moaning about ‘our future generation',  they worry about what will become of our world because of today’s children.

Hold on just a minute! Times are changing and so should expectations.

So don’t tell us to grow up or behave! Peter Pan didn’t have to!

As a child I saw Tarzan running around practically naked, Cinderella sneaking in - from a party she wasn’t allowed to go to - after midnight, Snow White left home to live in a house with seven men, Flick picked a fight with the biggest bugs in town, Aladdin was a thief, Pinocchio lied all the time, Ariel made a deal with ‘ the devil’, Alice ate magic mushrooms and drank from a mystery bottle whilst her Caterpillar friend smoked a shisha pipe and on top of all of that, a stranger kissed Sleeping Beauty and she married him!

Do you see what Winnie the Pooh meant now? Don’t blame us for doing reckless things, we were taught to rebel from a young age.

After all, “Children have got to be free to lead their own lives. ”  –  Sebastian the Lobster.

Short Story: Just, ok.

I don’t quite know how I could have been so stupid.

I let myself believe that this time it would be different, that I wouldn’t cave but I guess that deep down I knew I always would.

It’s not that I don’t have strength, because I do. I’ve never needed anyone’s approval or support, I don’t ask for help or guidance because I am independent. But when it comes to him, I just crumble to nothing.

Nothing.

Nothingness is what I feel. Empty, used and drained of all emotion. There’s only so much one person can give and only so much that can be taken from them before it all gets too much.

I hate this feeling of vulnerability, the constant clouded judgement and belief that things will change. No one can change a person but themselves, so who am I kidding? I’m not one to give up when the going gets tough, so why do I feel like it now? I’ve lost the fight that was once in me, the burning desire to do well and achieve, to prove I only need myself to rely on. I feel weak, feeble and I hate myself for it.

A few months ago I didn’t have a care in the world. Everything was going just how I’d planned it, I was genuinely happy. And now, I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself through my own choice. I allowed things to go as far as they did and watched myself burn in flames.

But for the first time in what seems like forever I feel ok. Not fantastic, or brilliant not even happy. I feel ok, and for now that will do.

Evolution of the Imagination.

"Everything you can imagine is real.” ― Pablo Picasso

What would we be without an imagination? Something to take us away from this world full of pain, insecurities and what society defines as ‘acceptance’. How could we live without the creations of the imaginative? A world without Shakespeare, Einstein and Picasso seems to me, somewhat bleak and un-interesting. A world without imagination is like a melody without a song, a bird without flight or a cure without an illness. All of these things seem pointless in retrospect.

I know this seems like a long shot, but at night my mind begins to wonder about the ‘what if’s’ and the ‘imagine that’s’ of life. In the darkness and silence of the night I am left alone and forced to respond to my imaginative, if not slightly psychotic, theories.

What if there was life on other planets? Or even living in the shadows alongside us? I’m not saying the kind of creatures from men in black, but what if we are coexisting with some other form of life and we don’t even know it? Mold on a rock could contain life that has the capability to evolve just as we have.

Imagine if animals really do have a language of their own, which can be understood by some humans. And wouldn’t it be amazing if places like Oz and Wonderland really did exist?

When I was a child, my friends and I used to play a game. We would pretend to be Barbie dolls and the school playground was just one big, toy house. This got me thinking, what if the human race are simply pawns in someone else’s game? What if we are just toys that are played with and disposed of when we get old and the newest editions are available? Imagine that! It would certainly explain the purpose of life and death.

All of my silly little thoughts manifest in to one big, really idiotic thought. However, without imagination life wouldn’t be what it is today. Some of the greatest inventors would not have been inspired to create, scientists wouldn’t have been determined to explore and because of this the future would not be something many of us look forward to.

Our minds were created with the function to imagine. After all, an insane man’s doings are a sane man’s thoughts.

Short Stories: Sounds.

A couple of short pieces, done in workshops, inspired by songs/sound that brought back memories.

 

Aged Five – The Little Mermaid (Part of Your World).

I don’t really remember the first time I ever watched it. It’s just always been a part of my life; something I’ve always known and been familiar with, a comfort blanket if you will.

If I was sad, or spending the day home ill from school my mum would put it on for me and wrap me up tightly in my duvet. I would snuggle down on the family sofa with a bowl of soup or spaghetti shapes and sit enthralled by the magic of The Little Mermaid. 

I would watch it before bed time every single night, the whole sound track imprinted in my brain not to mention the effects on the rest of the house hold.

I guess it means more now than what it ever did.

It’s because I get it.

That’s the thing with Disney, it’s not just for children. From the outset it appears that the story is but deep down, the meaning really packs a punch.  My favourite song ‘Part of your World’ is quite literally about a young girl just trying to find her feet in a new place, something which I can really relate to now.

It’s about sacrifice and gain, putting yourself out there for the world to see and not being afraid when push comes to shove. Who’d have thought that one song from my childhood could have such an impact on my adult hood, not me at the age of five that’s for sure!

 

Aged Eighteen – KOS, Greece 2014 (Gecko ‘Overdrive’ Becky Hill and Oliver Heidens).

We’d turned up to the club about two hours early.

It was already 12:00pm.

At home the party would be in full swing by now. Some girl would already be insisting she’s always been a fan of a band she’s never heard of, the bar staff would have collected all of the ‘free shot’ coupons that were handed out on arrival and that one guy who tries his luck with everyone and anyone would have been thrown out by now for indecent exposure.

But here, the doors weren’t even open.

How were we to know? It was our first holiday completely parent free, I’d already surveyed the room for any signs that we were being broadcast on ‘sun, sex and suspicious parent’ but came up with nothing.

We’d touched down in Greece, myself and my friend Lauren, at about 8:00pm local time. Just enough time to throw our stuff in our rooms, get ready and get out we’d thought. Not for one second did we anticipate sitting outside the club eating free popcorn the manager had given us whilst waiting for the place to open!

After a long wait we got inside, the free popcorn made sense now. We’d arrived on popcorn party night.

The one song I can fully remember is overdrive.

Popcorn was being fired from every direction possible from ginormous cannons either side of the DJ booth. It filled up the entire dance floor.

People were throwing it, eating it, some were even rolling around making popcorn angels in it. It was in my hair, up my nose and down my top, but I couldn’t care less because everyone was the same. At home if my hair was a mess, it would be the end of the world but out here everyone is just up for a good time.

So when the lyric ‘tonight the rules do not apply’ blared out from the speakers, I was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

That was our first night, and every night after we heard the same song.

Short Story: Miss Baker.

Another piece from an assignment. May have gotten a bit harsh...but hey, I'm a creative writing student.

My first encounter with the stone faced, cold hearted, callous bitch was in year 8. It was the first day back after the long summer break and my friends and I were eagerly anticipating our new lesson timetable sheets. We sat in our form room, the smell of freshly painted walls and cleaning detergents hung in the air.

Chatter bubbled amongst everyone, and that’s when I got it. Printed on to a fresh, crisp white sheet of paper was my years’ timetable. Under mathematics was her name.

Miss Baker.

My heart stopped and my spirits sank to new depths. She was truly awful.  I’d heard the tales from other students the previous year, of how she made people cry and picked you out knowing you didn’t know the answer. I’d even witnessed a few things myself; how she wailed like a banshee at a student for forgetting his homework. Her face was crimson and bulbous, a purple vain pulsating on her forehead.

I’d always been terrible with my mathematical ability, it’s because there is a definite answer. You’re either right, or wrong. I don’t like being told I’m wrong, therefore I don’t like maths.

I glanced at my best friend, her expression mirrored mine but this made us both smile. We were in it together.

Walking to the lesson that day was like walking the green mile. We had already set ourselves up for a failure, signed our own death certificates if you will. Our lack of knowledge and desire to learn how to solve algebraic equations and use Pythagoras theorem had doomed us from the start.

We entered the room and found a seat.

In she came.

She was a larger lady, built quite stocky with little room on her shoulders for a neck. Her hair was always cropped short adding to her manly bravado and her face was constantly miserable, framed by thick, dark rimmed glasses. If looks could kill, she’d be the last person alive on earth. The 21^st century medusa she was, one look and you were frozen, petrified in the spot you were occupying.

Even her smile was terrifying, the kind your mother gives you if you’re being an annoying little shit in public or she has company over for dinner. The type of look that says “carry on but be warned, if we were alone my hands would be wrapped around your jugular right about now”.  The kind of look that sends a shiver down your spinal cord.

Her attire was not the most desirable either. She always wore black trousers that sagged around her behind and legs but cut through her stomach like bread baking around twine. And the shoes, oh the shoes! She wore that kind of awful safety footwear that nurses have to wear, the ones with big rounded toe protectors and clog type heels.

I sat talking her in, she was just like they had described. I marvelled at her awful dress sense and the lingering odour of musty coffee breath that wafted from her mouth every time she spoke to you.

If I hadn’t have been so enthralled by her appearance I probably could have prepared for what was about to happen.

“You!” she said.

Like a fool I turned around, gulped and then pointed at myself mouthing the words ‘me’ in her direction.

“Yes, you. What’s the answer?”

I squirmed uncomfortably in my blue plastic seat, which I so desperately wished would just envelop me right there. Beads of sweat began to form on my forehead.

“Well?” she pressed.

I looked straight at her, right in the eyes. I felt my skin crawl, my blood ran cold and my limbs began to stiffen. Medusa had taken me.

Short Story: Aged 13 - When Mum went to hospital.

This is a piece that I submitted for my creative CV assignment, enjoy.

 

 

                                    Aged 13: When Mum went to hospital.

I’ve never liked hospitals. The sharp, metallic smell of chemicals and medicines that float through each and every corridor, the off white walls and out of date magazines with crinkled, ripped pages. And now, I really don’t like hospitals because this one is keeping my Mother captive, like a prisoner, hooked up to machines with wires and electronic pads.

She’s just lying in the bed looking so calm and at peace. The crisp linen is folded neatly around her, just how beds in hotels are turned down. But this is no hotel or vacation at a luxury spa, my Mother isn’t here through choice.

I feel sick because I know how much she is hurting, the pain numbed by sedatives. Her face is drained of all colour, so pale that she looks transparent. I want to get up and run away, leave this place and never look back because this woman is not my Mum. My Mum is bright, bubbly and full of life, this person is frail and motionless with dark brown rings circling her eyes, her arms patterned with deep purple bruises.

They’ve brought her a plate of hospital food, something that resembles a kind of broth with a bread roll and a little pot of Greek yoghurt. Not like she can eat it anyway, do they just like adding insult to injury?

Her eyes flutter open and she smiles at me, shifting ever so slightly in the bed. She’s so ill, I can barely stand it. They’ve found tumours in her stomach, which are believed to contain cancer cells. Not only that, she’s anaemic and only has half the amount of blood that she should have in her body. Seven transfusions later and here she lies looking the best she has in weeks, and she looks truly awful.

She leans over to me and takes my hand in hers. Her fingers are cool and gentle, but her hands look so weak and fragile. I’ve missed her reassuring touch; she squeezes gently on my palm. It feels as though a bolt of lightning has plummeted through my chest cavity and straight in to my heart, and in this moment of weakness a solitary tear rolls down my cheek.

A nurse walks in to the room and abruptly rings a bell, the kind they used to have in primary school to tell you play time was over. No length of visiting hours could ever be long enough, I don’t ever want to leave her side. I guess I’ll be back tomorrow, six until seven-thirty.

4am thoughts...

Sometimes in life the things that create us are the things that once broke us, and those who destroy us are really those who make us.

Sometimes your judgement will be clouded by sheer idiocy, love...lust?

Sometimes you will be alone, even in a room full of smiling faces because smiles can just be for show.

Sometimes things will hurt.

Sometimes you will have to feel.

But feeling lets you know you are alive! And when you die, at least you will know you have lived.