I regret that evening every single day. If I could turn back the clock, I would, of course I would. The look on your face when I turned away for the final time, to follow my new, cool ‘friends’ to the party is forever etched in my memory.
In the end, it was never about her, but me. Nobody stopped me from dancing – but she danced so well, all eyes drawn to her swaying hips and joyous expression, I gradually began to sit down more and just watch. I felt as though I was doing the right thing in joining others in their adoration, and ignored the small niggle saying otherwise, dismissing it as selfishness. The microphone always passed to me as well on the family karaoke nights, but she sang so well, with time I thought it best to just pass the mic along so that everyone could take pleasure in her voice for that much longer. That high school summer when we both qualified for the temp job in the library, I backed out of the interview so she could claim it, and told myself it was fine – she needed the experience. Continue reading
To be read in conjunction with ‘First betrayal…and revenge‘…
The only reason I come to the half-open window in the first place is because the wind is swooping through it with unseasonable force for this time of year, and when I catch sight of you next to the car, I freeze. A familiar, nauseating mix of guilt and fear envelopes my heart and a constellation of memories flits through my mind – embraces that have lost their warmth, your earnest protestations that everything will be just fine, a long-sought-for spark as her lips meet mine for the first time. The world quietens and slows for just a moment, as you raise a lit match – and then it speeds up again with a terrifying clarity. As you flick the match and I scream, anger enveloping fear, I realise that I have known from the very beginning what you are capable of. Continue reading
Late-at-night story-fiction-dark poem. I think that’s an apt if not eloquent description. Not *entirely* satisfied, but thought would put it out there.
You, in the centre of the room,
Standing there with your smirk,
Expect me to wilt on this wall,
Fated forever here to lurk. Continue reading
I know, I know, the gaps between posts remain long – sorry 😦 I’m in a bit of a creative rut at the moment, just desperately trying to catch up with the travel blog posts over here, and neglecting this space!
Anyway, I said I’d do a follow up bit to a previous post about a girl called Harriet’s anger at her mother’s affair/other things, this time from Harriet’s mum’s PoV so here it is 🙂 no word count adhered to here, just wanted to cover mum’s thoughts.
Mary had stopped calling about three days ago, because she had realised that there was no point. Harriet had always been that way: stubborn, especially in the face of what she saw as ‘morally wrong’. Mary desperately wanted a chance to explain, and to tell her daughter she hadn’t meant to hurt her, that she still loved her, that she still loved Jack and even their father, in a way, despite everything.
Well, I hope that paints mum in a more understandable light than the one Harriet painted her in! I’ve checked both posts for discrepancies already but if you spot any I’ve missed, let me know. Thanks for stopping by 🙂