So in one of my creative writing seminars we were asked to write something based on a prompt. I chose ‘your childhood bedroom’ and afterwards we were to read back over it and see how many different senses we used to describe the scene. I included sight and sound – being primary senses, we often tend to rely on these the most – but it’s actually really interesting how most of the time writers overlook the lesser used senses such as smell and taste. [I feel like the introduction to this is definitely longer than the piece itself but oh well, here it is]
Bed tucked into the corner, I remember the room so well. Bookshelves of education and planets spinning above my head, as if I was in the entire universe whilst merely standing still. Dolls. And lost toys. And so many, too many pink clothes. I could look out the window and see trains running by, a humming noise above the silence when I tried to sleep at night. Until it became a room full of boxes and a wallpaper of memories. It’s funny how the bedroom only returns in my dreams.
So I’ve already shared this piece on Instagram, but here’s some flash fiction inspired by a sign at an Aldi car park.
You’re sitting in the car park in the dark. Sirens. Wasted radio noise humming above the speakers. Wasted mind noise humming inside your head. Dark. Sirens. Glazed light across the windshield. Not enough to see above the noise of the dark. Sirens. So many sirens in this car of yours, running down veins and puncturing tyres. In this car park there are so many just like you, yet you’re here after dark when there’s only one and a half hours max stay. Dark. Sirens. Does everything have a limit?
This is something that for some reason I was thinking about at like 1am last night and I’m glad I remembered so I could just drop it here.
sometimes I worry if excitement exists anymore.
when I was a child excitement meant
running around the kitchen screaming;
smiling as if there was a giant half button
pinned to my face
and it’s glowing yellow.
it meant doing literally anything
like eating your veggies
just to get a slice of
but now it’s like this thing
and I’m like ooh there it is
excitement is happening
and I say “ohh that’s so great”
and that’s it.
am I meant to feel it any more deeply than
because sometimes I’m afraid
that I’m losing everything
I ever felt.
Since I’ve been at uni I haven’t posted in ages, so here’s a random flash fiction thing. It’s not wonderful but will do as a filler for a better post.
I would never have come here if I’d known that the earth would reduce to such a whisper; that the ground would shake like a hurricane; that I’d be trapped in so much lost thought – like an inflated yet deflated balloon. The skies were blue and the light was painted watercolour, in remembrance of the memories I didn’t want to remember. Remember. Remember. I never would have come here to remember.
As posted on Instagram, here is my most recent piece of writing!
I looked out over the sunset, at the pinks and the oranges and the yellows and I saw freedom. Most of all, I saw space. The light bounced off eyes that were ready for nighttime yet craving a bit of light to ward off the nightmares; a tree of shadows ready to protect the core of this burning heat from the blue of the sky and the blue of my eyes and the blue of this sadness. but I like these colours for a change. god, I really do like these colours. I like these colours to gently gently ease me into the dark.
This is a piece I shared on my instagram account a few days ago that went alongside a photo from my recent holiday (just some casual shoes on a beach). Thought I’d share it here with you guys too!
you hobbled across the stones of the beach and then took off your shoes. it was like you could finally breath; like you could finally feel. it was as if the stones weren’t beneath your soles but inside the shoe of your mind, poking at all the inconsistencies and trying to find a way out (but there is no way out).
until you stopped believing it.
into the waves you ran with no care for the stones; no care for the shoe of protection that you put on just because everyone else did. who cares what everyone else does? who cares what everyone else thinks? you asked this over and over until the sun came down and the grass comforted your feet into a new home.
By the edge of the world he sat;
The diluted wave of the ocean a mass of
Words that flew from the horizon in speech
But buried dirt within his skin.
And the world was mocking him.
Why was it mocking him.
Branches like arms caved over his being –
A stone of a being –
On the edge of life’s cliff
To be thrown into the waves with the
World’s loudest wail –
And the world was hanging him.
Why was it hanging him.
And the sounds of the ocean that
Ran in brain waves
All through the night –
Is this right
Is this right
And as the words of his head
Became at one with the shore
His eyes met the
Mind drowning in water –
Becoming one with his sight.
And the world was his fight.
How could he hate what the world fought within him.
So on the other edge of the world he sat;
The strengthened wave of the ocean a mass of
Words that flew from his mouth in speech
As into the water he dipped his feet.
And this world was his own.