I thought I knew my death.I thought I knew my death. He grabbed my heart one day and squeezed tightly, banded fear wrapping its way around my body and terrorizing the air from my lungs. "Not..Like..This.." I would gasp, thinking that there must be some better way out. I would start to beg but it would soon be over. He'd release me and my body would give up. There would be nothing left to say.I thought I knew my death. She would slip into the shadows some months before I thought my time was up. She would slowly take my memories for my own, replacing them with child's talk and nonsensical things. "Oh please, won't somebody help me." It would be a rhetoric, although I
If Anne Frank were alive todayI remember once asking someone, 'If Anne Frank were alive today, what would she say?' and the almost immediate reply was that, 'She would say, I'm one of the lucky ones.' But would this really be the case? If she was alive today, would she consider herself lucky? This was written from the point of view of Anne Frank as she speaks to a class, telling them about her experiences. This is what I think she would feel, if she was alive today.The tired face looks at us, the eyes beg us to take the numbers away from her skin, but we can’t, they wont go, they are there for eternity. There is a glow that surrounds her, unmistakably bright agains
The Death of LanguageThey say that every fourteen days, a language dies. The statistic isn't alarming, after all there are supposedly seven thousand languages in the world. That a language dies every two weeks, is just a statistic. The concern comes with the knowledge that a language dies because it has been forgotten. Thus it dies without recognition, without farewell and without acknowledgment. It was merely there before, a communication bridge once upon a literary dream - now a nothing. This fascinating tool that we use to interact with our fellow human beings is lost. And we don't care. The Eskimos, they say, had a hundred words for snow.That favourite pair of shoes that you love all the holes and splits into because they are so perfect and fit you so well - gets a better send off than a language. That coat that's become too small or too big, or too much last years fashion and too little of this years craze gets more of a farewell than a languag
Sea Glass and SandThe only day she could recall that they lived without fear, was a trip to the beach when the children were small. It was late September and an Autumnal breeze whipped skirts and peeled their long blonde hair back from their heads without mercy. Nobody complained though. They spread blankets on the fine sand and despite the chill the sun warmed them briefly - just enough to get by. That was all she ever would ask for. They drank hot chocolate from the cafe and didn't eat the grainy sandwiches that she had lovingly packed that morning. Instead they bought fish and chips and shared a carton of mushy peas, warm and sweet. The children swam in waves that gently caressed the shore. Whilst she pretended to read but really kept two well trained eyes on the bobbing heads, they hunted sea glass and sand dollars. When they finally heeded her calls to the beach they were shivering and salty, their hair knotted and woven with the ocean. She enveloped them in bright blue towels and instantly the sme
InsomniaFrom the day they had met until the day she died he had always known she was an insomniac. Her most entertaining emails and their deepest conversations were exchanged across many late night hours. So when they told him she had died peacefully in her sleep, it was only natural that he questioned his very existence and everything else on this earth that he had thought to be true.Grief came and became increasingly difficult to shake off when the day came to a close and he wanted to sleep. He could only think of life, of the life in her. He could only think about how touching her was like wading into a lake in the Summer and bending forward to capture the ripples as they danced across the surface of the water. Impossible in your thoughts - but achievable when you put your mind to it.Yet alone at night without her body alive with energy and aching to write beside him, he felt empty. It was during these times that he understood they
The ChangeAlzheimers had not arrived with the air of an unexpected guest. Guests were friends or acquaintances somewhere along the line. And this disease had never been one of those. And deep down – it was never unexpected.He hadn't spoken a word until they passed the electronics aisle in the supermarket. They had their arms linked as they pushed the trolley between them and she felt a gentle tug as he slowed to a halt. He muttered something and she gently persuaded him to speak up.'Convection...microwave.....' He mused in barely more than a whisper. Then he turned watery blue eyes on her, imploringly.'I used to know what those words meant
Here lies the truthI found myself trapped in a whirlpool of the might have beens - and I did what any ordinary person would do and spent most of my life trying to climb out. And then I realised I was doing it all wrong. You might not ever be able to climb out - but you can wait a bit longer and somebody will come along who is more than capable of jumping down to your level - with a bit of rope.You wouldn't know the truth about me by casting an eye over my body. You wouldn't find it in the crease of my smile or the green of my eyes. You couldn't see it in the way my hair falls forward because I'm feeling shy. You just couldn't. What I once had could never be
A Lifetime of TortureThey brought death that day. It wasn't planned, but it was predicted. We slept without fear but woke with dread pouring from the creases of our screams and...And if I told you everything I saw, you would not sleep again. So I wont. But I will tell you this.They might have only brought death that one day, but it has lingered in the air for every minute of every hour since. It hides in the drains and the gaps between fingers. You can't see it anymore, but you know it's there. It's in the shadows of the buildings that once were respected. The factories that provided so much work and shade for the town that struggled in the glaring heat.Dea
Silence Made Us IIIHelen remembered the day that they had become introverts. For most, there's never that one thing or moment that they can pinpoint. No one event that they can say the change occurred with. But for them it was different, they knew exactly when it had happened and Helen often wondered if Alex held that against her, deep down. She remembered trying to blend in seamlessly with the other parents at the school gate, whilst waiting for Chloe. It was just another day to everyone else, but to her it had marked a week since her daughter had stopped talking. And rumours had spread. Chloe was the school freak, and the feeling in the air told her that ev
Wanted WantedA man with eyes that hold a raging storm but with the calmness of a lazy sea. A hand that will fit just neatly into the palm of mine, but that knows when to gently let go. Someone that will happily walk the country roads but who wont speed up just because there is a corner to turn. A person who can quietly fill the other side of a double bed as if it's no big deal. A man who can captivate my heart without questioning what lies within, who can take the Thunderstorms and the powercuts. A man who can be casual enough to throw a paper plane but with I love you written in the creases.
AccessoriesShe wore bravery proudly, like a hat. Never taking it off, especially when she slept.
The Reality of Salt You came back to me last night, A smile in the right place but eyes all wrong. Sadness hung there now. A stretched body beside me, sheets creasedCool. Calm. Caressing. No contact was made, never needed, Your breath whispered against my neckYour chest rose and fell.Harmonious heartbeat. You caught the single tear I gave, Trailing a snail kiss across bereft skin, You rubbed a finger across my lips, I could taste bittersweet and knew.Tonight,You were not a dream.
SolidaritySurrounded by plenty, yet so alone.
Nothing But The TruthThe first time he met Camilla Danover, he was instantly sure that she would be one of the most trying clients he had come across. He'd read her file of course, and he knew her history. She did things that his wife would never even dream about and she had a past that would make the most open-minded woman blush. She was going to be a handful, that much he knew. But quite how he was going to handle her was something he had not yet decided.He talked it over with his Supervisor earlier that week, and together they had come to the conclusion that perhaps conventional methods of therapy needed to be abandoned in this case. Quite what that meant,
The Last MonologueShe smiled before she died.This would be the way, he thought, to remember her from that moment onwards. Did knowing me, change you for the better?He was teasing - they both knew there was truth there.She shook her head, Who can say. It was rhetorical. He had learnt not to pretend words on her long ago. The moment of silence that followed passed with ease. She rewarded him with whispered words,All I know is, it changed me for good.
A Silence Broken By GriefShe kept the baby monitor, despite there being no baby anymore. He had scorned her through his anger,wiping a dismissive glare onto his face when he saw her fiddling with the dials. They hadn't talked since that day. The way things were going she doubted they would ever speak again. She spoke with bitter smiles and twisted lips. He replied with his fists. And that night the baby monitor scorned them both with silence.
Four Thousand PiecesWe met outside the morgue. You were there with your hair too bright and clothes that we had fought over that very morning. You were crouched, your body looking impossibly small and broken. You can't wear that out. You look like a prostitute. I'm eighteen years old Mum, I can wear what I like.All at once you were the brand new baby that I had held in my arms, sobbing over the tiny miracle that your Father and I had never thought possible. Then, you were five years old, and it was time to begin school. You had looked up at me with big green eyes and a serious smile as you proved over and over that you could fasten the Velcro on your brand
Accessory to GriefHe made a top hat from her grief, that she may rise above it and become someone stronger. Untouchable.She loved him for that.
We are no longer equal"The first time you let me go first," she said, "you won't remember how it feels." I smiled at her with a question behind my concerned eyes."You will worry at the time" She allowed me that one gift but firmly set her lips in a stubborn smile before continuing, "But afterwards you won't ever look back."I wondered how we had come to this. My eleven year old daughter was telling me how I would feel about her growing up. She knew my concerns, every flaw and falter that I took when planning her future alongside her. She knew it all. I couldn't even begin to fathom how.My mind traveled back to last weeks Autumnal sleepy mornings. One of man
A Broken DreamHe was just eight years old when he witnessed death for the first time. They had been moving through staccato traffic for fifteen minutes in the growing dusk before his Mother spoke. It's beautiful she had said softly, her eyes settling on something caught in the headlight reflection bouncing back from the front window. He had leant forward in his seat, craning his neck to see what had captured her attention. An opaque moth lay helplessly trapped beneath the wiper blades. Touching the cold glass gently he had pleaded with her to set it free.As they crept forward, inching along the motorway, the traffic on either side grew parrallel with
Telling A StoryIf you knew, you wouldn't sleep.
UnlockedCornered by your smile, I have no other choice than to meet your eyes. When I look at you, it feels okay to see the reflections of myself in clear blue. Those same flickers of the past that I used to turn away from. The other day we spent an hour with over a thousand other people sharing the same ground as us, and yet I could only look at the Thousandth-and-one human being that was you. And each time I met your glance I knew with such clarity and wholesome faith, that I'd never look away again.You told me that before, a before that seems so long ago you had considered yourself not good enough. But Love is so much more than being good
Counting BonesTo An Unknown Lady,They found your remains a few days ago. They speculate that you were buried more than half a decade ago. Yet people have only been looking for seven days. Properly looking I mean. Somebody somewhere must have searched out of love for you the minute you disappeared. We don't know much about you yet, but the newspapers will begin to piece together fragments of your tragic life and how you came to be lying in the earth without recognition. No gravestone, no testimony to your living and breathing existence, not even an empty vase with the congealed dead particles of flowers to signify grief. There are flowers
Sta.sh
