Thin
I wobbled down the street beside them. My feet dragging. Belly shaking to and fro. I'd always been this way. Apart from when I was younger. I still had the photograph of myself at five years old, wearing a light t-shirt and shorts on holiday somewhere in Spain. Is it possible to be jealous of oneself? I was so tiny then. So thin. A distance memory. Something I must strive for. Something outside my reach. To think I was unhappy then, about nothing in particular, while being so thin. I would rather be so malnourished as to invite death, than be what I currently was. I announced this to them with a whimper. Then I cried. I wish I'd respected my body back then.
Still Happening
This was getting ridiculous. It’s been happening more often. More than I can count. How long had it been now? Years at least. It was useful at times, but now I just wanted it over with. Usually only lasted a couple of minutes, that was a blessing. I was involved in a conversation, so I couldn’t move away. Maybe a sip of my drink would be permitted, but better not chance. I’d walked away from someone mid conversation before and the reaction was horrifying. Their mind couldn’t make sense of what had happened. They been committed that evening. So here I stood still in a sea of frozen bodies, humming to pass the time. As my eyes glanced across the room - laughs and chattering caught in throats - I noticed a movement. My heart quickened. What was this? A play of light? I didn’t want to look back, this hadn’t happened before. So I sipped my drink, and waited for a semblance of normality to return. Again a movement. I saw him across the room, a smile plastered across his face. Dark hair and features. He stood still too, his glass raised towards his mouth. Mid sip. ‘I thought I was the only one,’ I shouted. His voice bounced off the walls towards me. ‘Same.’ Burst of noise. Deafening. Swallowing the silence whole. The man talking to me spat out his last syllable and eyed me. Everything completed in a moment, and then tumbled on. “You okay?” I dismissed him and kept my eyes on the man across the room. He caught my sight and winked.
Remote
“It’s like whatever I do... you just don’t listen!”
He stormed towards the kitchen.
Clattering. Smashing. The hiss of a can.
“What am I meant to do! How can I explain myself!”
I grabbed the remote. Silence. He stumbled through, handing the can to me.
I sipped at it.
He fell into my arms. Silent. Quiet. We kept watching the tv.
I’ll deal with it tomorrow.
Growing strong
It seems When growing You must always be strong
I didn’t shed a tear When you left Cause that’s not how it should be
I was raised strong To never betray an emotion To never show fragility
To never show anything
So when you left I guess that hurt
But at best it is a guess Cause sometimes I look In a mirror
And wish I’d never grown strong
I wish I’d grown fragile
Perfection
The realisation that she hadn’t gotten away with it happened when she saw the Scooby-Doo Mystery Van pull up to her drive. Milo and Dean piled out the back, ripping away the Daphne and Velma masks. They lifted Token out the back, who was covered in blood and looked towards the sky, muttering prayers. They brought him into the kitchen, laying him down on the tiles. He gasped and spluttered. Blood shot out over the surfaces. “What the happened?” She said. “What’d you think? Your fucking plan didn’t work.” Dean dragged a kitchen towel down and held it to Token’s wound. “He caught a stray.” Milo searched through the cupboards, grabbing a bottle of vodka and set the gas hob on. “What’re you doing?” “You think a doctor would take him? We need to seal the wound and get out of here. That van needs burned out too.” She looked on at the entire scene, almost in a daze. Her plan so perfect, every angle realised. Her confidence had been shown in her choice of the Mystery Van and matching masks. Imagine the headlines that would have generated. And all it took was one stray fucking bullet to ruin it. She drew and shot Dean through the head, who landed with a thump on Token. One more ended Token. Milo threw the bottle towards her, but he was dead before it hit the floor. She’s have to do better next time. She grabbed a can of gasoline from the garage, pouring the contents out from the van to the kitchen. She lit a cigarette on the hob and took a draw. Today was not the day to quit smoking.
We are the same.
What’s the point of being able to speak If no one else can understand the words
I guess the vibrations of my voice might be comforting or soothing or frightening
I could shout and have you jump Or whisper and have you draw near
Your curiosity wanting to know
Of all the tiny vibrations that can tell a thousand stories that have yet to happen
Parents lie.
It was late one night. Raining. Cold. I was five. My parents said everything was going to be fine. Parents lie.
That must have been the first time I came across the concept of lying. I guess in this case it was a white lie.
It’s going to fine.
They kept repeating it. Over and over. Till it became a meaningless slogan. An echo with no emotion.
Father packed his bags over the next couple of days. Slowly. Taking his time to make sure everything was in order. He’s only paused to hold my mother close as she wept.
I’d hide under my bed. Sometimes I’d see his feet in the doorway. He’s lean down and his face swallowed my vision.
You okay champ?
No
If you want to talk...
No
And then he’d leave.
We had our last dinner together on the Sunday. Mother made us say grace. Her hands held my father’s. Tight. My sister’s hand held mine, who I turn held my mother’s. Our heads bowed as my sister gave thanks for the meal that lay before us. My father squeezed my hand softly, and I looked up. He winked at me and we said amen.
The next morning we all got up early to join him at the train station. The place was busy with tears and strong brows. Men with packs slung over there shoulders.
It’ll be fine
I’ll be back before you know it
I’ll bring you back a stone from the beaches For your collection
He hugged my mother one last time. Kisses my sister on the forehead.
Finally he kneeled down in front of me. My eyes were glued to my feet. He drew my head to his gaze. He began to start speaking, but the words trailed off.
In that silence, instead, he stared at me. He didn’t say any words, no final goodbyes. He just smiled, and I smiled back. Cause I knew that we didn’t cry. We didn’t show emotion. My grandfather hadn’t when he’d been sent off. His father before as well.
He drew me close one last time, and boarded the train. We waved amidst the crowd. Mother was worried he would lose us. As the carriage drew away, he never took his eyes from us. Mother broke down in my sisters arms. I stood still, and wished I’d said something. Anything.
He was brought back the following year. His eyes closed. His smile faded.
It’ll all be fine, they said.
Parents lie.
Untitled
What ever happened to our love? To feel so close to someone Who now resembles a passing stranger
Your friends send messages under the guise of affection I see them only as declarations Of an ever fading hope That we will never return to what once was
The passion we shared The tender moments shaped together Are hidden by the anger The upset Of all that has happened
That same tenderness is a fleeting moment Never to be regained The past kept from us Nostalgia letting only glimpses through The true form of the us lost to time
Until I met you I felt hopeless Love Affection Passion Tenderness We’re just words
But they are not just words They are feelings
Feelings that can be returned
Feelings that have not perished But survived in the ashes of before
And through your nature Can be built once more On our new foundations
Runaway
“Do you not have anything stronger?” “It’s a coffee shop, what do you expect?” “I don’t know, you must have a bottle hidden somewhere.” “I’m off it.” “So you must have something hidden then.” He disappeared into the back for a couple of minutes, reappearing with a half bottle of wine and a nip of rum. She rolled her eyes, popped the cork and poured to the brim of the cup. The cup rattled as it hit the bar empty. “You look a mess” Her smudges for eyes and glistened brow from the running did her no favours. “Least I have an excuse, your always a mess. That another grey hair.” She poured another cup. She bundled her wedding dress up from her heels, casting it down in a heap next to her. “They’ll be looking for you” “I don’t want to talk about it.” “You just ran from your own wedding. Everyone said it. Everyone said it would happen.” “Yeah, even my own family.” She glared at him. His eyes fell to the bottle. “I...” “Don’t worry, you were right it seems. Everyone was.” He grabbed the bottle and poured the remains into the cup, swigging it. “Tight arse can drink” she smirked. “Shut up - so what are you going to do now?” “Find a hole to die in. Become a corpses bride. I can’t face that house at the moment.” “Mum might give you the couch.” She let out a roar. “Mum? You know she shouted ‘I knew it’ when I ran down the isle.” “I’m glad I didn’t go.” “Your own sisters wedding, you were low not too.” “You know I don’t do well in social situations” “I know, I know. - got a light?” “You’ll need to go outside.” She glanced around the empty coffee shop. “Fine,” he replied, lighting the cigarette she draped out her mouth. “I don’t understand. Your the most socially awkward person I know, yet you run a coffee shop.” “I like coffee, and there’s hardly anyone here mostly.” “Thank god for dad.” “Least he did something for us after dying.” “His moneys wasted on this wedding.” “This place too.” They paused for a second. She suddenly collapsed to the bar top, sobbing. He walked to her, drawing her close. They’d always been close, always looked out for each other. Nothing would change that.