Rain

I love the rain. The sound of it hitting the street below and splashing as cars pass by. It’s inspirational in its own right. There’s something very calming and therapeutic about rain. Like a million tears running down windows, witnessed by many a lost soul. It changes things, the smell in the air, the mood of a teenager sat watching it pour down the windows, the excitement of a child who gets to go jump in the puddles, it sums up the feelings, when there are no words to explain them.

She walks in the rain, it pelts at her skin, blends in with her tears and soothes her. She has no knowledge of how far she has come or how long she has been gone. Head down, the streets all blend into one. Car horns sound around her and she jumps as the sound invades her mind. From the moment she turned that corner, she was alone, only aware of her thoughts. The reason for leaving has gone now, it’s back there where she left it. The path she’s taking is a familiar one, she has walked it time and again. The brain is not capable of thinking more than one thought at a time, although she does not believe the truth of that statement when the thoughts running in and out of her make no sense or reason. She never feels alone here, there are always eyes upon her. She’s aware of them, always aware but never acknowledges them. She feels content in the rain, she can feel it now, beating down on her face, cleansing away the sins of her past. She’s gone past the place of comfort, the loving arms who’ll hold her. Turning and continuing on, to the place that will haunt her. It hasn’t changed through the years, the images are all the same. This is the place, sheltered by the trees, droplets seep through the leaves. Slowly, but surely, her conscious comes back to her. She has not known how long she’s been gone, nor how far she had walked.

 

 

 

I wrote this when I was (approximately) 12 years old. I just found it by happy accident and wanted to share it. I had thought it had been forever lost to me. 

Unnoticed

The bangs of the cannon can be heard from the walk up
A smell in the air that baffles my brain as it tries to place it
The canal, calm, as people walk and the taxi boat floats by
There is a plane up ahead; I wonder when it will be me up there looking down
Parents and children walk with tired intention
Another milestone achieved, silently unnoticed.
Even by me.

I Can’t Breathee

dscf0542.jpg
A photo which shows one moment, of every moment.
By my side, always with me.
The dreams continue.
You are there.
But you are dying.

And then I find this picture and stumble across this song and my eyes start leaking.

I miss you, so very much, I miss you.

I Can’t Breathe

Somebody get me a hammer
Wanna break all the clocks and the mirrors
And go back to a time that was different
A time when I
Didn’t feel like there was something missing
Now my body and mind are so distant
Don’t know how to escape from this prison
How can I
Free my mind?
Cause I can’t breathe
I can’t breathe
How can I live in the moment
When my thoughts never feel like my own and
Don’t know how to admit that I’m broken
How can I
Be alright?
Cause I can’t breathe

Writer(s): JULIA MICHAELS, JAMES WONG, BEATRICE MILLER
( https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/beamiller/icantbreathe.html )

 

Six Weeks

images(https://www.oif.ala.org/oif/?p=9937)

Week 1:

The man in his mid 20’s is presented wearing a stiff white shirt with a bright blue necktie. He sits behind an oak wood desk, the paperwork covering it seems to be placed in even piles as a laptop has been placed to one side, idle.

The sound of a clock ticking in the otherwise silent room is piercing. The two occupants sit across from each other, sizing up who might be the first to speak.

“So, tell me about yourself?”

Curious eyes dart from the window to the eyes of the man behind the desk. There is a head tilt that suggests the man is being judged. Curious, dark eyes dropping to land on the file on the desk that reads: MILLS, Alexander.

“Shouldn’t you already know?”

“I’d like to hear it from you. In your own words, Alexander.”

“Alex.” Dark eyes revert back to the window, looking out at the view of the City.

“Okay. Alex. Do you want to tell me what brings you here to my office?” The man keeps his gaze on Alex, trying to gauge the boy’s reaction.

The following silence is heavy, weighing on the man’s shoulders. He sits in thought, wishing he had forgone the necktie – if only to not feel so constrained.

A buzzer sounds to mark the end of the hour, “same time next week, Alex?” the man says with a sigh. The only response is a lift of one shoulder, as Alex stands and leaves the room without a word.

 

Week 2:

The door opens, a woman with mousey hair wearing a warm cardigan leads in a boy of 17. He towers over her as he passes by and walks through the threshold. His posture straight, eyes determined he walks straight over to the armchair in the middle of the room.

“Good afternoon, Alex.”

“Doc,” Alex replies with a slight nod of the head.

“How have you been since we spoke last week?” The man asks with bated breath.

“Yeah, good.”

“That’s good to hear… what have you been up to since we last spoke?” he prompts.

Alex maintains eye contact as he sits there silently contemplating how much of a reply he wants to give. His eyes trailing to the Doctors collar and tie – it’s a dull red colour today.

“School.” Alex responds with a casual shrug, “that’s pretty much it.”

“You like school?”

“It’s alright. Same shit, different day. The teachers don’t care, why should I, right.” No hint in his voice that his statement is a question.

“What about your friends? You don’t see them outside of school?” The question is asked in such a way, it’s as though he is unsure of how it will be received.

Alex’s gaze shifts and drops to his shoes, “Not really.”

 

Week 3:

The door flies open, banging against the wall as it swings with surprising speed. With a startled jump and a raised head, the man looks up, speechless.

Alex stands in the threshold, face like thunder. He grabs the door and forces it shut, throwing himself in the chair opposite the desk.

“Alex? Is everything alright?” The doctor asks, head tilting to one side, unsure what may have caused such a reaction.

“Why do you do that? Why does everyone do that!? The sympathetic head tilt thing like you understand my life. You don’t even see me! No one sees me. I’m just a number to you, a special case, a “looked after child” whose mother can’t put the bottle down long enough to remember she has a kid.”

“What makes you think… Has something happened to make you think that?”

Alex looks up, eyes dark as he makes shaky eye contact. His lips form a tight line, the tension in his shoulders almost painful as he sits ramrod straight in the chair. Taking a breath to try and regain some composure, Alex returns his gaze to the window. Looking out at the City skyline he speaks, “I got a detention today because I didn’t do the homework and wouldn’t tell them why I didn’t have it.” He scoffs, “Detention. I’m 17, not 7.”

“Would you like to tell me why you didn’t do it? We haven’t discussed your new placement yet, have you settled in alright?”

“It’s loud and busy. Hard to concentrate on anything other than keeping out of people’s way. It’s fine. The best thing for me, right…” Another scoff.

 

Week 4:

“Alex, I want to start straight off from where we left things last week. I’d like you to tell me more about how you’re managing to settle in, in your new placement.”

“Like what? It’s not like if I say I don’t like it, there’s anywhere else for me to go.”

The man leans forward, hands clasped together over the desk, “Are you saying you don’t like it?”

“It’s fine…”

“But…?”

Alex shrugs, “It isn’t home.” His eyes raise to meet the Doctor’s gaze before immediately dropping back down to his shoes.

“Last week, you acknowledged that where you are now is for the best. Do you believe that?”

“No. It wasn’t even that bad, we were fine. We were coping.”

“At home, you mean?”

“Yeah. We had issues but doesn’t every family?” Another shrug, “We had each other’s back. Now we’re both alone. They won’t let me see her. That isn’t the best thing for either of us.”

“Do you know why you aren’t able to see your mum, Alex?”

“She’s in rehab. Cold turkey, right. Treating us like I’m what she’s addicted to.”

“That may change, in time. Once she’s recovered. They might allow you to visit or to phone her. In time.”

 

Week 5:

“How long you been doing this, doc?”

The doctor flushes pink, clears his throat, “I graduated just over 6 months ago.”

Alex doesn’t answer, just sits contemplatively.

“How’s school been going?”

Alex shifts in the chair, “Fine.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“It’s fine. People mostly just leave me to get on with whatever. They don’t bother me.”

“Do you socialise with the other students?”

“They look at me weird. Like I’m damaged or like they might catch something just for being in the same room as me.”

“How does that make you feel?”

Alex looks up, an amused look on his face, lips curling up into a smirk, “Really? You’re going with that cliché?”

Once again, the doctors face turns pink. He laughs, embarrassed to be called up on using such a phrase.

Alex turns his head, observing the landscape. He has become drawn to the view, often getting lost in thought as he watches the clouds move.

“Alex?”

“Invisible. It makes me feel invisible.”

 

Week 6:

The room holds a young man, in his late teens. He wears faded jeans with a short-sleeved shirt, band logo prominent. He sits in the chair that he has come to think of as ‘his’, a small smile on his face. Across from him is a young man, not all that much older, a white, crisp shirt tucked under a grey waistcoat, looking much more relaxed than previous weeks.

“They said I can speak to my mum in a couple of weeks,” Alex explains, smile growing into a grin.

“That’s good news, Alex. On the phone?”

“Yeah, they said she’ll be able to make a call to the group home and then I can talk to her.”

“I can see you’re happy about that.”

“Yeah. This group home won’t be forever. I’ll be 18 in a couple months. School will be over, finally and I can get my own place and when my mum comes home, I can see her again. I can help her.”

“One step at a time, Alex. She may be doing well right now, but it can be different once people try to return to ‘real life’. It might not be as straight forward as you want it to be. What do you want to do when you leave school?”

“I just need to get a job. Like labouring or something.”

“What about college or University?”

“Doc, I grew up in the worst neighbourhood and go to the worst school in our area. Kids like me, we don’t have the same opportunities that kids like you have. I just want a job and my own place. Then everything will be fine.” His gaze once again, only on the clouds.

 

 

Authors Note:
If anything in the above causes offence or does not ring true, it was not intended. I do not know what it is like to be in any of these situations, this is fiction and something I have written to try and practice writing dialogue.
Chloe.

One Day

You always told me, “One day…”
Trying in vain to prepare me for these days.

In the early days, I notice your hat is still there – I make a mental note to ask if I can keep it,
But then in the blink of an eye – it is gone.

I take your collection of ties without waiting for a better time,
Folding them up neatly in a bag.

I think of the sadness in your eyes whenever you spoke of a family who was long since gone,
Always preparing me for, “One day…”

I never expected ‘one day’ would feel like this,
Never imagined I would understand so accurately that sadness I saw within you.

Weeks later, we are standing outside our house,
We are all here, waiting.

Liz announces the arrival of the hearse with a deafening, “He’s here.”
Nic and I lose composure, eyes dropping immediately to our feet.

I sit in the funeral car, with your daughters – the magnitude of that moment hits hard,
I am the only grandchild in the car and I wonder, does that not speak volumes?

The house is empty,
I am showing prospective buyers around.

They want to change everything – strip it bare and start anew,
I want to drag them out but instead, I just remove myself.

“One day, I won’t be here anymore. You’ll be telling your grandchildren about me like I am telling you about mine.”

 

University

In 2016, I had to go through the process of UCAS. I had to apply to several different Universities and hope that one of them would invite me to an interview.

In 2017, all but 1 sent for me (the other 1, no longer ran the course I had PAID to apply for).

My top choice asked me to go for an interview. How exciting!

Except it wasn’t. My cat had just passed away and the world felt incredibly numb. All my coursemates were applying and interviewing and giddy.  I just wanted it all to be over with. I would never be accepted anyways, I would just go and do it, just to say that I had.

So off I went…dxxcvvzxcae746f.jpg-large

The interview included: a one to one interview, a group interview/discussion and a written piece of work.

I was never once nervous, I did not fret. I said what I thought and was honest with my educational background. I wrote what I thought and did so with an academic flare.

Today is one year since the interview.

I am now a student at that University.

Sometimes, those days where you really do not want to, are the days where you absolutely should.

 

Unimaginably

“Residential Population: 21,707.”
“The proportion of ethnic minorities is 4.6% – significantly lower, by 12.2%, than nearby regions.”

This is where I grew up. I do not recall any child being from an ethnic minority at school. I do not recall seeing a person who was not white.

This is where I grew up. I do not recall, as a child, seeing anyone who was not heterosexual. I do not recall being aware of any existence other than white, straight, employed men and women and/or stay at home mums…

I grew up with every single person not having an issue with this. I grew up wondering where the hell everyone else was. I grew up watching TV and films and wanting to meet those people.

I grew up in a place that was not meant for me. I was placed in a box, I should never, ever have been placed in. I never fit into it, it was never comfortable.

So many people I had known as a child talked about leaving, travelling… they are still there. I never imagined I would leave, it did not seem an option for me. And yet, unimaginably, I was the one who did. And yet, somehow, they are still there.

It baffles me, so completely. Perhaps it always shall.

The one with all of the odds against her was the one to leave.

Irony is an amazing thing.

 

Silence

…and so she left, with her head held high and tears in her eyes. The footpath was uneven and overgrown beneath her boots, her thoughts focused not on balance but on not looking back. The face in the shadows behind her, one of anger and remorse, a face that she had once known so, so well. To look back would have been disastrous, for she had once promised his mother she would not speak to him in anger. She would keep her promise, even as the worst had happened, even as her heart hurt with the effort to remain silent.  72472c116dcca355bdd8b632f4170917

Bird Box

220px-bird_box_(film)( https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bird_Box_(film) )

I was late to the party, guys. I had such high hopes for this new Sandra Bullock and Sarah Paulson film that I put off watching it once I heard people’s bad reviews.

However, I finally watched it. As a means of distraction from a terrible day.

I watched it with my mum and fended off questions of “Why are they in a boat? Are they prisoners? Why are they ALL blindfolded?” with the answer, “I don’t know.” While genuinely not knowing why they were in a boat or why they were blindfolded. All I knew was what I had seen in the trailer
( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPWMBITCudM ) and what I had heard other’s speak of.

I had heard people say, “they made it look better than it actually is” and “such and such a film is pretty much the exact same but done better.”

I liked it. I cannot say it is the best Sandra Bullock film ever made but I enjoyed it and the part she played was flawless.

I do feel the trailer was misleading in regards to the role of Sarah Paulson’s character  – I would have liked her to be in it a lot longer than she actually was.

46800438_390787938334504_4493971126736650240_n( https://www.picbon.com/tag/AHScrossover )

The general premise for Bird Box is something that I do feel has been done before. The Fog, The Thing and The Mist are what spring to my mind, however, I am sure there are more recent variations.

I found Bird Box to be watchable and enjoyable. I was entertained, I did not get bored and start hoping for the end (which happens a lot with me).

I think some people are maybe a little harsh with their words.

Perhaps my being a huge fan of both Sandra and Sarah makes me biased, but I enjoyed it and I would definitely watch it again.

 

 

 

January

Happy January!
It is already a month of discovery and firsts.

I have started the year off with a bang and already done several things that I have never before done. What an experience!

I am a teetotal person, I have zero interest in any kind of substances or drugs (apart from caffeine). This did not, however, stop me from:

  1. Going to a last-minute party on New Year’s Eve (despite only knowing 2 people there)
  2. Playing cards against humanity (for the first time)
  3. Dancing on my friend’s pool table (despite my brain telling me that I would look stupid)
  4. Attending a nightclub at 2am (even though I’m usually asleep by 22:00)
  5. Dancing with strangers (who were big on invading personal space)
  6. Arriving in bed at 5am (without any anxiety)

I have started January off with being super proud of myself. These were things that I have always wondered if I would ever have an opportunity to do (I never did them in my teens/early 20’s). While the jury is still out on whether it was my cup of tea, I have no regrets and remember a night full of fun, laughter and smiles.

For the first time, EVER, I feel as though I have started the New Year off right! Reminding myself occasionally throughout the night that it is okay to just be in the moment and enjoy it for what it is.

I saw in the New Year with friends and strangers who were all superb – it was exactly what was needed.

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And then, this morning… I got attention from this Mr.

 

 

 
And while I miss my own boy terribly, I felt comfort from the cuddles I received from this little feline.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I carry your heart
I carry it in my heart

( https://www.hitched.co.uk/wedding-planning/wedding-poems/i-carry-your-heart-by-ee-cummings_315.htm )