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.

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sharp, metallic smell of chemicals and medicines that float through each and every corridor, the off white walls and out of date magazines with crinkled, ripped pages.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.

Short Story: Clean Break.

It wasn't a clean break.

Everyone could see through her bravado. The way she walked was different, as though something was missing, and that's because something was. A part of herself was gone, perished in the cross fire to the point of no return. a part of her had been destroyed.

She'd tried to hold on to it, to keep it together but with each knock her walls got weaker. She was crumbling slowly and no amount of  "It's okay" and "You're better than that" could save her now.

The hurt was all just too much, she had been drained of all emotion.

She sat staring at the white wash wall. No tears flowed down her face, no screams gurgled in her coarse throat. She felt empty. She wanted so much to just cry, to hurt, to feel again but nothing came out. Instead she sat staring blankly into space whilst feeling her heart break into a thousand pieces.