I looked at my parents. They acted as though I was just a block of wood in which they had to carve out to become a perfect children’s toy. “It was your fault,” I sneered, my eyes becoming no more than the line of my eyeliner.

“It’s your fault I’m like this! I can’t function because you wanted me to become the perfect child.” A heavy huff escaped my body.

“We’ll now I am the perfect child! Are you happy? As you fucking happy?” I began to scream.

“Now that I’m your golden child I can’t even be independent,” my eyes began to shine.

“You made me this way and now you have to deal with the torment of having a failure of a child,” I began pointing at each of them. They just sat there, their little noses barely twitched with guilt.

“Because of you I’m never going to be able to get a job, I can’t even get into university! Maybe if you hadn’t been so selfish… you could’ve taught me how to be a person. Not some needy, grotty little kid.” Fresh tears were streaming down my face, infuriating me even more. Even though I was trying to be grown up I couldn’t help but return back to the child I had been taught to be.

“I can’t fucking believe you two, I can’t believe how selfish you were.” And with that I stormed out of the house. Sobbing, I ran to the woods; my favourite hide-out-spot. I sat on top of the fallen oak tree, gently rocking myself backwards and forwards.

Idk really know tbh

The idea of boxing day has been lost through time. But with my family it remains the same. On Boxing Day we open some more presents, each one filled to the brim with sweet horrors. As we have a large family, instead of everyone rushing to give everyone their boxes, we all get given one person to give our box to. Like a Secret Santa.

This year I had to gift a box to my mother. She was a short lady, curved spine and long nails. I’m her box I placed a few items: a mouldy apple, rotting finger and a jar of our great grandma’s nails. But I had yet to figure out the missing piece. Although I searched all year round, it wasn’t until 3rd of December that I realised what that missing link was. See I had he rereading some old children’s books and I came across a classic: Alice Through The Looking Glass. While reading a spark was caught in my brain.

“Off with your head!” The book read and I knew what I needed to do. Later that night I went searching through the bins; eventually I found a few rats. After a long night of Tom and Jerry I finally caught one of the rats with a fork. Each tongue gently plunged through the thick skin of the rodent. I ripped off the head with my sweating hands and placed it neatly in the top of my box which I had waiting beside the bins.

The glow that tainted my mothers face this boxing day would be a look I’d never forget.

I haven’t proof read this :)

Something wasn’t quite right. Staring right back at me was an almost perfect replica of my face. Almost perfect. When I lifted my hand, it’s copy would follow only an inch behind and with a slight hesitation that could just be noticed by a dedicated watcher. I pushed my nose towards the glass, hands held firmly on either side of the gilded frame.

“What are you?” I squinted my eyes only for them to widen once my reflections mouth failed to move.

Might rewrite this later

Most would die Although we had water Rough blizzards blew each day Gone we’re our hopes Although we had water Unknown to them had we survived yet Xeric conditions would kill us all

Mortgages rise, sea levels too, And gas prices, antitheses to bees Raging storms, selfish droughts, Gaping wholes fill the ground, Although we try to save our world Unknown to us grows this Xeric world

Many years pass by Ages grow old and die Rounds of friends Gather and tie loose ends Another woman another man United they stand as one clan Xian, they mourn at the light of dawn.

A bunch of different version, I hope they’re ok :)

Apple, kiwi, lime, They grow, rot and die. An apple core lives on And lime skin gives.

Ok the table, the fruit bowl stands The children reach in with their hands; Unable to understand The fate of a heavy hand.

A cry calls out From the children came a shout Unlike the apple or lime The kiwi does not survive.

Idk if the metaphor is shown enough here.

Hold me down Hold me up Chains of hate Chains of luv.

That you can’t escape, Like the constant course of time, Chains will hold you To your crime.

Or the pinky promise You chose to take To your lover, Did you make.

In life you see Chains in every snail or bee. Chains are the strings pulling on What you do or who to be.

[I don’t like this but hey ho.]

I guess my heart is too leaden with what happened, so heavy that my body collapses under all its weight. Slowly my knees start to quake and my ankles quiver. The ground begins to grow, it reaches to my head; that’s when I usually black out. This time it was different. I couldn’t black out. I couldn’t get away from the curse mutating in my soul. All I could do was crumble. My head was pierced with the bright sun, my eyes were too used to darkness. To move any part of my corpse would take the strength of one hundred men. But not even one person would help me.

I’m sure it wasn’t as busy as it seemed at the time but I could’ve sworn the passers-by were increasing by the thousands all there to watch me fall. I squeezed my eyelids into my sockets pushing my palms agains my skull. I needed to get away. I needed to black out. Just black out.

Black out.

Black out.

A scream echoed through my insides I couldn’t escape this, I needed to though. Desperately I smashed my knuckles into the thick gravel, perhaps I could’ve punched my way to the other side. Or perhaps my malediction was to survive with the gaping wound inside.

{Edited} I think this is alright (it’s kind of based off the scene in Moon knight at his mothers funeral).

Sitting on the bench was an old man, he was hunched over but pulled his head back to gawk at the children. Beside him was a woman with a buggy. The buggy held a tiny baby boy wrapped in soft blankets. “ So, which ones yours?” Said the woman, gesturing to the children in front of them. The man shifted his weight to stare at the woman; his cold grey eyes pierced into her in a way that caused a shiver down her spine.

“I’m not sure yet,” he grunted.

Silence filled the bench, beyond that was an eruption of laughter and screams. Children played on swing sets and climbed over bars without witnessing the curse of the old man. He stood. With sudden abruptness, the woman stood alongside the man; she couldn’t trust him alone, but she couldn’t trust him with her and her baby too.

It was only five minutes. But sometimes five minutes can feel like five years, or five decades or five centuries. Those five minutes I’ll never forget. That is until I get Dementia, or Alzheimers, or I get in a bad car accident and hit my head and loose all my memories. We always joke about this. But then when I was standing there by the fireplace on the phone to my estranged husband I thought no joke could convey the horror.

What stands out that seems to go unnoticed by the interviewers is before that. The phone started ringing on the my coffee table and I was grading some papers. Normally I wouldn’t ever answer an unknown number. Since this all came up, I started picking up just in case it was connected. It took two shrill beeps for me to draw away from my work. I stared at the screen, almost until my eyes were watering.

Until five rings did I press answer. Almost with no hesitation and a slight roll of my eyes I placed the cold glass to my ear. “Hey baby…I’m gonna miss you… I know…I know I messed up…I’m sorry” my husbands faint sobs echoed through the cell. All I could do was comfort my soon-to-be late husband.

Her arms pushed against the rough waves of the river. Every stroke of the paddle caused a shiver to course from her calloused hands to her soggy-sock-covered feet. Behind her was her pursuers, jeering at her, calling for her to exceed her plan.

(I’m not really sure where I’m going with this so I stopped early)