Excerpt #10

There is anger in her.

The kind that's been held for too long, and it is now spilling out of her.
There she is, kneeling on the wooden floor of her bedroom, rifling through a dark, wooden box. She keeps opening pieces of paper, reading them and then tearing them into confetti. Occasionally she burns things. One time she does both. She's trying to rid herself of all the things that have been destroying her.
Photos, quotes, poems, writing, ideas, plans and pills, bandaids, lyrics, memories.
She has a soundtrack playing loudly so she doesn't need to think. She keeps going until there are only three things left in the box. A neatly folded piece of paper. A photo. And a now-blank notepad.
She puts everything else into a glass jar. The jar is filled with paper and water and ash and ink. She thinks she is free.

In a few days she'll realise the jar is still in her room, she'll want to get rid of it, but she won't.

photos.

I don't know what happens next.

Excerpt #9

photo. 

She nods to satisfy his question but she is no longer listening. If you watch closely you can hear the ringing echoes -of whatever song holds her head today- swinging through her mind, taking her over. He is still talking but she is already gone. She has slipped away.

She treds along the dusty corridor and when she reaches the opening of the stairs hers eyes brush the shadows, that linger at the bottom of the stairs and the hallway beyond. She hesitates when reaching for the lightswitch, and her fingertips almost graze the hardened plastic before she pulls her hand away.
As she descends she finds herself wondering if she will fall.

Excerpt #8



photo.   

She sits at the kitchen table. The worn wood is soft beneath her fingertips. A large window behind her lets the light filter through, creating melding patterns on her pale skin. She breathes softly, her gaze lingering on the figures that traipse in and out of the kitchen and dining room, down the corridor, up the stairs, her mother and brother.
They are so full of life, she can almost feel the extra slipping out of them. She isn't jealous of their careless happiness, it makes her smile. And as Jacob slips into a chair beside her with his meal he exclaims in such an exuberant voice that she finds that rare, genuine laughter bubbling up inside of her and with it comes a peace she hasn't felt in a while.
She thinks of all those that care for them and now comes the inevitable, forbidden thought that they might be alright when she leaves. You can see her now with a faint smile caressing her lips and you can almost read her thoughts, the quiet, persistent ones which are planted just beyond the high fences she has built. She's thinking, "I hope things stay like this when I'm gone".

Excerpt #7

photo.   

She hadn't eaten anything for breakfast. That's the first thing you need to know.
And she was sad, that's the second.
That morning she had looked into the speckled mirror. She had taken her eyeliner and -hypnotised- drawn a curved line beneath each eye. She had smudged them until they blended with the real shadows under her eyes, the soft ones. Until she looked as tired and as unwell as she felt. After that, she had smiled.

Later, she walked to the bus-stop. The air was cold, it slipped past her many layers, seeped into her chest. The wind streamed through her ribs, tore inside of her. She felt like she had no body. She felt insubstantial. She decided it was better than the other feelings.

After the novelty had worn off, she would tire of it. She always does.

Excerpt #6

photo. 

Guilt eats at her.
So she eats at the chocolate
that he gave her,
it's her favorite.
She has never felt more guilty.

Excerpt #5

photo. 

There was a boy standing in front of her, his ebony jacket a stark contrast to the soft colours and broken shades of the others clothes. She could vaguely smell the warm scent of worn leather peeling off of it. She wondered what he would order. Ellen stood by her side, crunching a ten dollar note in her long fingers. The morning air was cold, crisp and fresh. Behind them she could hear the hollow barks of the mechanical dog as it bounded up the street amidst wafting scents of market food.

Excerpt #4

photo.  

She realises she no longer recognises the person she has become.

She decides there is not much scarier.

Excerpt #3

photo.   

She picks her way. Stepping over the brambles, between spider's webs. The untidy path twists beneath her feet.
The branches pull away and she finds herself with a clear view. A rolling asparagus-green hill, crowded by brocolli. Sunlight leaks through, softening the curved road that disappears behind white gums. She stills, drinking in the sight.
The gaps are filled by the quiet hum of life emmanating from the ground, the air. From those flying, their wings catching the light. Her feet are sinking slightly, into the ground. Look -you can see the air sinking into her skin, the rough breeze catching her.

She swallows the lump that has gathered in her throat. It hurries back, transforming into a laugh, loud and true.
She laughs because if this were a film, the outside world would mirror her feelings, not mock them. The lazy crooning of insects does nothing to ease the turmoil inside her. The sunlight should be rain.

Excerpt #2

photo.  

She didn't know when it happened. Only that it did.
That her emotions had slid away from her and she was once again surrounded by cotton wool that tasted like apathy. When people looked at her they could hear a faint ringing, like she was a bit hollow but they couldn't pinpoint what was odd about her, what was missing. It didn't last long, a few hours, after they returned she felt worry niggling at her fingers.
Days later, at a park as her friends drank but she didn't, she noticed a vague look in a friend's eyes. They were glazed, blunt, shadowy. She recognised that look. It looked exactly as it felt. It scared her.

Excerpt

Her footsteps thud in time with her heart, each a traitor to the other. Rusty air pierces her lungs, sometimes she closes her eyes. It doesn't matter. She knows where she's going but not how to get there. Her direction changes with the wind. She doesn't know why she is running anymore. She just knows she is running away from something that once lived in her, something she thought she had defeated. Like the world has forgotten how to stop turning she has forgotten how to face her shadow. She runs knowing that one day, one day she will trip.