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 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: 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.

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.

Free Verse Poetry: Definition.

A society’s definition of acceptance

how we should act,

how we should be.

Should we be

a certain way?

Voices blaming and fingers pointing.

Not wanting to own up and accept responsibility,

to admit defeat and seem weak.

 

It’s like a melody without a song,

A bird without flight,

A cure without an illness.

All pointless in retrospect.

If you cannot be yourself

in a world of free speech,

who else can you be?
 

Is “All the world a stage” and

are we “Merely players”?

Short Story: The Path.

A mist was beginning to settle; the houses ahead were barely visible, even though they were lined one after the other all the way down the road. The street lights shone through the murkiness down on to the sodden pathway, a hop scotch of puddles and discarded cigarette butts. She could see that the road ahead was dimly lit and she knew being alone at this time was not a good idea. The trees on the right side of the road loomed over her, swaying in the growing breeze.

The walk back was to be a cold one. Not only because of the wind that whipped at her face and the droplets of rain that pattered down on her leather jacket, but because of the coldness she felt within her once beating heart.

Every little noise sent her in to a panic. The rustling of leaves in the nearby park, the whine of a car alarm in the distance.  Her pace quickened and the tap-tap-tap of her high heeled boots grew louder. Echoing.

She passed the motorbike that was always chained up outside of a derelict looking house and wondered to herself “does anyone ever actually ride that?”

The rain grew heavier and the wind blew harder, but she pushed on knowing her destination was just past the trainers that hung down decoratively from the telephone pole.

It was during times like these when she saw with real clarity. She’d been through enough hurt now to recognise this feeling, but she found comfort in knowing that nothing more could be taken from her because she had nothing left to lose.

She was once a bright, happy young woman who needed nothing other than herself to remain that way. She relied on no one and asked for nothing. She did well at school, at college, passed her driving test and held down a steady job for two years whilst studying. She was a proud person who cared for others and would always do what was asked of her even if it meant putting herself at risk.

It was inevitable really, that one day she would just… break.

Reaching home she unlocked the door and walked in to the flat. All was still, everyone was asleep.

The feeling of sadness swelled inside of her as she sulked to her room, alone again. Turning the key in the lock she longed to be greeted by something other than a cold, empty room. She wandered to the mirror and caught a glance at her reflection, a broken girl with tangled wet hair and smeared eye make-up, was this a true reflection of who she was now?

Perching herself on the window ledge she flung open the catch and raised a cigarette to her cracked lips. Bright embers of orange burnt as she inhaled deeply and blew clouds out of the window. She looked back on the path she had just walked, the path that would once again lead her back to him.