Moments (II)

Receiving that text you’ve been waiting for

Getting a call from an unknown number

Trying to recall someone’s name

Thinking of something happy before you fall asleep

Remembering an entire dream

Realising the absurdity of a dream

Missing someone

Laughing till your stomach hurts

Working out till you’re producing rain

Completing a workout

Eating after a fast

Sitting down after standing all day

Taking your bag off your shoulders

Wrapping a blanket around you

Remembering something from a long time ago

Someone complimenting your outfit


Forgetting your epiphany

Watching wildlife

Finishing a book

Being emotionally moved by a film

Watching someone else be moved by a film

Falling in love with a fictional character

Making a list of things to do

Ticking the checklist

Opening a new tab

Using cold water in cold weather

Drinking cold water in warm weather

Using hot water in cold weather

Hot showers after a workout

Closing the laptop lid at the end of the day

Taking off your glasses

Sitting down after cleaning the house

Taking off your shoes after a long day




Old Ways Won’t Open New Doors

In the black of night, under shut eyelids, I see you and I wonder what you are up to.

Blurred visions of our future, clear memories from the past and every moment shared between us unwind in a heaped mess.

All at once the peace of my mind is a ground for the impossible stories and inevitable fate to play out. 

As if they are true, as if they are live, as if they are present and they’re happening. 

They’re haunting and mesmerising together. 

Like the sand on a beach, the same sand in a desert. I want to enjoy it for as long as I can take it but I’m done with it so quickly because it’s starting to burn.

But just when I think I’ve cut you by the stem it turns out the root is still there. And although the fantasy of us keeps me up at night I’d much rather forget because there’s a saying that “old ways won’t open new doors”

#0206 My Wife-I

I stare at the little dinosaur looking robot face on the screen wishing it’s on sleep mode but it’s just the damned WiFi. Good for nothing. I wonder if it does this on purpose sometimes. It’s already been a whole 5 seconds. I hold the wireless mouse tightly and chuck it a whopping 2 inches from it’s original position, throwing my head back in anger and kicking my feet like a 3 year old once again, as if the gesture of my frustration would somehow channel its way to the router upstairs.
“You always do this!” I yell. To no-one in particular of course. The router clearly doesn’t have any ears or it would’ve stopped this nonsense a long time ago. My laptop screen has probably learnt to shut his off because it’s heard it all before,
“The one time! The one time I let my guard down and you little…” Of course it’s not the one time I’ve let my guard down. I do it all the frickin’ time.
I click the refresh button furiously. Then you say that’s not going to do anything, but all I hear is …… that’s right nothing, I don’t hear anything you say. Clicking furiously doesn’t do anything but I just want it to know I’m here. By ‘it’ I mean the router. I want it to know I haven’t gone and I’m impatiently waiting for it to stop being a jerk. Then again, I know it’s not going to stop being one but as soon as I see the page refresh automatically I have those high hopes again. It knows how to play me, I have to treat it nicely – slow clicks, easy scrolling, only two/ maximum three tabs open at one time. Secretly everyone knows that doesn’t do anything, the WiFi is just Cruella De Vil – pretends to be on your side when the whole time she just plain as ass isn’t, even if you give her a chance.
I can’t believe it’s been off for a whole minute already! All those internet users going about their business and me here waiting. Actually waiting. The things I give up for WiFi and it does absolutely nothing for me. What provider tells you one thing and then doesn’t follow up on it? Mine! My provider! I’m going to write a review, that’s what I’m going to do. Oh wait I can’t because the damned WiFi isn’t working!! What is my life?

*Gasp* ……. “The page is refreshing… Oh sweet lord, Mother of Jesus. I will do you right this time I promise.”

#0604 Concepts

It’s so easy to mistake that desire for acknowledgement as love. Wanting to hear that reliable voice in the morning when you wake. The kind words and gentle compliments that you deserve. Their absence in your past has got you mixing up flattery with friendship. This narrow minded idea has you believing that those who say nice things must love you deeply. It’s poison. The taste is sweet or new to you and yet the damage is permanent. Love is not absent, it is very much present in many different ways and forms. However, it is important that it’s not mixed with the concept of love because if it is then even your own mind can play your heart’s strings to make believe a failed relationship will work eventually.

#2703 Carrie

Carrie was a beautiful, olive toned intelligent women. For someone like Carrie, it was inevitable that within her there lay deep, dark and dirty secrets. Her natural plump lips, her elegantly shaped collar-bones and her incredibly well kept posture were a strategically devised demeanour. She was almost perfect.

Every morning she would wake on the dot of the hour. Four o’clock, five o’clock, six o’ clock. Never later than six. Sitting up before sliding her legs off the bed and placing her feet in a pair of clean, white slippers. A calculated manoeuvre that her mind was accustomed to. She would fold the sheets as neatly as you can imagine and then stand in front of the mirror blank spaced as she brushed her thick, black hair. This was the only time in Carrie’s day that she did not keep track of. Well, to a certain extent. Her neck would twitch involuntarily shaking her from her zone, reminding her that it was time to move on. To brush her teeth, wash her face, wear her clothes, eat her breakfast and finally leave for work. Each of these acts lasted a mere minute to five depending on her mood. Her mood never appeared on her face though, it was always kept hidden away for herself. Level-headed, organised and emotionless, almost as if she were a robot…. But she wasn’t, Carrie had a living beating heart. A heart that was half black to the core and for this reason, Carrie was a murderer.

Carrie was a twenty year old writer who owned a small fashion company. Recent events had got the best of her, she had reached what some would call a writer’s block and her sense of fashion had become drained and typical ‘workaholic’. Her every day wardrobe consisted of a black pencil skirt, black stockings and smart black heels. Her top half was the only feature displaying some change. From a chiffon, white, collared, sleeveless shirt to a chiffon, white, collared, long sleeve shirt. Every now and then, the white would change to peach, to beige or another pastel colour. Her hair, always in the same high and tidy pony tail. At first, her employees didn’t notice her declining enthusiasm surrounding her outfit choices and when they did, they muttered judgements under their breaths. The sudden shift of Carrie’s behaviour offended them, they believed she had lost her sense of creativity. Little did they know, her creativity was spiralling, it was not that she had lost it, it was directed elsewhere for the time being. After all, there is only one thing worse than a murderer, a murderer who enjoyed being one.

Three months prior came Carrie’s first kill. The prices were high, the quality was high, the demand was exceedingly high, but the stock was low. Carrie’s business provided professional hand-made state of the art fashion. Each item was a unique original piece of her imagination. Since the day she started, she made sure that there were no duplicates of any one item. Soon she would be having to create fifty new pieces for fifty new clients, for just one event. It was a small business, but it grew until it was impossible for her to take it all upon herself. Being unusually stubborn, she made the irrational decision to withdraw her clients’ offer and focus on expanding her collection rather than her revenue. It was the first big kill to Carrie’s company, her employees were certainly not happy. Carrie however, had more pressing issues, her husband-to-be was acting very strange.

Carrie was engaged to an equally handsome and intelligent man. Glowing chocolate skin, chiselled cheeks and a sharp jaw. His inevitable piercing blue eyes were quite mesmerising too and just like Carrie, this man was too perfect. It is safe to say that Aaron made Carrie everything she was today. His eloquent, witty words and a dimple on one cheek had her falling for him in no time. It was not until they moved in together, that Carrie noticed Aaron’s calculative behaviour and strict routine. He would wake up every morning on the dot of the hour. Four o’ clock, five o’ clock, six o’ clock. Never later than six. He would stand in the mirror as he combed his hair and smiled to himself a most peculiar smile. Previously his outfits usually included a new clean-cut silk suit every day, Carrie started to notice he wore his navy one more often than normal. This was not the man she had originally met, fell in love, moved in with and agreed to marry. It dawned on her that this man may not be who he claimed to be. She couldn’t confront him directly though, on the off chance she was wrong. Then there was the possibility that he was obsessed with her and would never let her go. One thing was for sure though, Carrie’s intuition was true. Something was definitely not right with Aaron.

Carrie began to investigate, her creative mind placed her in the shoes of a detective. She worked her way down from the top, cleverly taking time off work to follow his footsteps. She became his shadow, his second, quiet, secret shadow. She watched through her binoculars as he entered his favourite pub and exited out the back. She watched as he looked suspiciously left and right. As he headed to his office and wouldn’t come out for lunch. As he left at the exact same time every day. Soon, she found that this was his immaculately followed routine, down to head turns and handshakes, every manoeuvre carefully calculated. She could not for the love of her, gather what was going on with Aaron. She began to question her own state of mind. Was she becoming overly protective of Aaron? Afraid of losing him? Well, she was afraid of losing him, but were his actions really extraordinary? Oddly the answer finally came to her at a time when she was in her office. An old newspaper lay buried on her desk revealing the words ‘Crystal Bar & Restaurant’. Carrie hoped this was just a coincidence but when she looked at the headline it read something that had the hair on her back standing. She read the article. The times matched up and even if no-one believed her, she knew in her soul she was right. Aaron, oh Aaron. She thought. Who are you?

A week later, Carrie sat at her desk upright, calm and collected. Her arms at a right degree angle, her hands touching her laptop by the palms, her fingers typing away furiously. The news about Aaron’s hobby had left Carrie confused. She researched further, found out more and ultimately felt like a crushed spider sprawled against the back of a slipper. Only writing was able to clear the mess in her mind, well, until she saw his face again. She heard the front door click open, she looked at the clock. He was on time as usual. She listened carefully to each echoing foot step up the stairs, the wind behind the door as he lifted his hand and pushed the door open.

“Hey honey, I’m back.” He said, like normal. As Carrie turned to face him, she saw the peculiar smile on Aaron’s face and the dead body of his victim in her head. She shuddered at the thought. She replied with a weak wavering voice, one that she used before she had met Aaron. Aaron’s head tilted and his eyebrows frowned.

“Are you ok?” He asked. He slowly walked to her, extending his arm to her cheek. Or was it her neck? She flinched.

 “Carrie, honey. What’s wrong.” Aaron sensed the scared look in her eyes, the obvious avoidance of his touch. Carrie ran to the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

“You’ve been acting strange all week. Is there something you’re not telling me?” His voice stern, mono-tone and but a little on edge. Carrie looked at her reflection in the mirror and whispered crazily,

“Me hiding something from you?! More like, is there something you’re not telling me! You psychopathic con man.”

She shook her head and took a deep breathe. When she exhaled, Aaron’s voice could be heard distantly.

“Carrie, what’s wrong. You’re worrying me. I’m going to come in if you’re not coming out.” He’s going to come in? She thought No, no, no. He can’t. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me for sure.

Carrie frantically searched for something sharp. Aaron’s shaving blade revealed itself. She held her hand up with a solid stance, weapon at the ready and took a deep breathe. She listened as there were a few quick running footsteps and a BANG. The door was forced open and in stumbled Aaron. It took Carrie two seconds to close her eyes and do what she had prepared herself to do.

Carrie sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring aimlessly at the dead body in front of her. She pictured the police arriving at her door with noise complaints, entering for a quick check, discovering of the blood bath that had ensued – mainly Aaron’s blood. For the first time Carrie’s mind remained silent. She willed herself to think of what characters from her stories would do but she saw herself running into a brick wall. Attempting the climb and failing, over and over. Thus beginning her writer’s block. What was she to do now after killing the love of her life? She stood up, and looked blankly at her reflection, I must wash. She did just that for as long as she could remember. When she finished, she stood in front of the mirror again and brushed her hair.

Disposing of the body was a somewhat easier task for Carrie. All the tools she required were at her feet. The car, a rug and a reservoir twenty minutes away. The night sky played the perfect cover. Carrie looked at her victim one last time, inflicted with countless wounds. She kissed her hand and placed it on his forehead. She loved Aaron, but only the Aaron she had met, not the Aaron that she had come to know and with that last gesture, it was time to let him go.

Carrie sat in front of her laptop screen just as she did that day. Her fingers however were not furiously typing. The sun set in the pocket of the horizon and the house was silent. Carrie’s strict schedule meant she only had ten minutes left at the desk before she would go to the kitchen to prepare dinner. She knew though, that she wouldn’t be writing anything in those ten minutes because she hadn’t written anything for almost three months. The natural state of order would be for Carrie to use this wasted time to reminisce about her victims but instead; the blank document stayed open as she watched the clock on her desktop and waited. One minute passed, nothing. Two minutes passed, still nothing. Three minutes passed. Then something unusual happened. Carrie may have missed it, if she had been caught up thinking deep thoughts, but she wasn’t, so she didn’t. She felt a breeze stroke her neck. Her eyes widened. The door to her room pushed open.

“Hey honey, I’m back.”

#1103 Min (Part 2)

After Min had successfully gotten rid of her horrible, ugly friends she stood staring down at them with wide eyes. Almost with a certain admiration of her work. Until it dawned on her just what she had done. Suddenly she felt like she was floating amongst heavy, grey clouds that were about to burst any second. Unfortunately for her, they did just that. It took less than two minutes before the rest of the class arrived. Inevitably the scream of the first student had a domino effect.
Min at this point was so lost deep inside the maze of her mind that she didn’t hear the screams of her classmates, her new friends and her lecturer. She didn’t notice the police come in 20 minutes later, or feel the handcuffs tight around her wrists. Instead she stared blankly straight ahead as she replayed in her head the moment of the incident. When she was shoved in the back of the police car her head hit the frame, knocking her out unconscious.

When Min came to, she was alone. She sat on a chair in the middle of a dimly lit room facing a wide mirror in the wall. Her mind and vision were both cloudy and still adjusting, I must be dreaming, she thought. What was I thinking about before I went to sleep? For a minute or so she sat blinking, waiting for her dreams to conjure up the next scene. The door slammed open as someone stepped in and Min started laughing. For no obvious reason, she didn’t know why she was laughing, but she just was. The officer who had walked in, stepped back, surprised and clearly a bit worried. Cautiously he walked to a stop in front of her.

“What is your name young girl?” He asked
What is your name young girl? Min’s mind repeated and she began to laugh. What is this? Min thought. I’ve never dreamt of this before. It must be a new one.
The officer waited for Min to stop but it was all beginning to be an unnecessary misunderstanding.
“Girl. What is your name?” He asked again.
Girl what is your name? Min repeated…In her mind.
A misunderstanding that would very quickly result in Min’s death.

#0803 Conversations Are Tough

Anxious, nervous and a social wreck. I’m listening to you speak but my attention averts to your nose. I’m thinking about thinking about your nose and I try to move my eyes. Shift my thoughts again, back to the conversation but suddenly i’m looking at your head, your hat and the way your eye lids shut and open. I’m looking at how your mouth moves and how you tug at your shirt every now and then. I’m not thinking about them because I want to. In fact I don’t want to. I think hard about what you’re saying, trying my hardest to absorb it. I do. I absorb. It just takes an awful lot of effort to do it. I’m distracted by the movement behind you, the heaviness of my books, the constant distressed look on people’s faces as they walk pass. I try. I really do and when I’m caught back to the conversation I could swear i’ve been there the whole time, i’m able to reply with a qualitative answer. But just like that I drift again. I’m thinking about how you’re such a nice person,  standing here talking to me, what about you, what do you think of me? Can you tell i’m distracted, is it obvious? Does my face show it, is it written in red across my forehead? I don’t want to leave, I really enjoy talking to you but your words will float away amidst the crowd of lost thoughts.  Thoughts of mine that linger and creep themselves out again in another time, another place and another conversation. So please excuse my anxious, nervous and socially awkward self. It’s not personal, it’s just me.

#0403 Musings

A blogger I follow called Dirty Sci-Fi Buddha very regularly publishes posts called “Musings”. They are short little snippets into a stranger’s mind but it’s also quite interesting to see that otherwise they could’ve been mistaken as a display of our own thoughts.
They are so relatable, simple and logically reasonable, it made me wonder about something Benjamin Zephaniah had talked about in an interactive session I went to.
“Everyone has at least one single thought that is completely original and has not been formed by another person.”
Quite thought provoking and inspirational, but the real question is how the hell are you supposed to know what thought that is?

#0303 Cold Tea

The clock strikes 23:30 and you want to go to sleep. There’s that big pile of papers just sitting there still and what about all those books you haven’t read?  You yawn as you try to tick off the things in your head. Priorities you think. What are my priorities? Sleep… Sleep… Sleep.  At this point even your eyes are speaking to you, sleep… Sleep… Sleep. In the back of your head there’s still the image of the pile, the actual pile sits in front of you, but it’s somewhat not real anymore. You start to question yourself. Why? Why is it here? Why do I have to do it? Do I have to do it? There you go, it’s begun, that tiny little devil in your head that tells you, “You’ll have time to do it tomorrow.” You believe it and then you question it because you know that’s not true. Believe it. Question it. Believe it. Question it. Believe it. It’s already 23:45 now and you still haven’t moved. What have you been doing actually? Ah, that’s right, staring at the wall deciding whether you’ll ever get that pile of work done today. Probably not. I need to sleep. You’ve said the word sleep so many times already it’s beginning to lose its meaning. I just want to sleep now. It’s not even you speaking anymore, it’s that little devil dancing around in your head. He has definitely won. All you do is sleep but you just can’t seem to get enough of it. You shut off the laptop, organise your piles of paper, see that wrapper on the floor, pick it up, throw it away. Oh look, how did that get there? You pick it up, throw it away. Woah, my room… I need to clean up before I can sleep in here. Suddenly you have all this time to clean, re-organise and tidy but that pile still sits there staring at you or rather you stare at it. Nah. I get it already, you’d rather just sleep. It’s already 12:10 now, you may as well just go to sleep. Oh no! My tea! It’s been sitting there for hours, it’s ice tea now, just leave it. No. You just couldn’t, you had to take a sip, screw your face and stick your tongue out even though you knew exactly what it would taste like. Not having this, I’m going to sleep now. Yes go. Go, for goodness sake. Just go. Go. To. Sleep.


#0203 Leap of Faith

“Don’t look down,” he said. “Just look straight ahead and think positively.” I thought of Peter Pan.
I wasn’t scared, I was excited and yet completely calm. I wasn’t thinking negatively either – the only thing I did was shiver patiently as the cold slapped me from every direction. The crane came to a slow and steady stop, I wouldn’t have even realised if Dave didn’t say
“Alright, get ready.” I stood up immediately. I wondered what I was going to feel. Would I chicken out? Could I handle it? Was I as brave as I always think I am? Dave removed his arm like he said he would, leaving a huge gap in the metal container. It was just big enough for one person. I stepped forward into the gap, freeing myself of all barriers. If I jump now, what am I jumping into? What does it look like? It may not be an ocean but I want to breathe in every moment of it.
“Don’t look down!” Dave said sternly. I felt myself pouting a little. Why not? I wanted to. I looked up about to take in the view. “Hands up.” I hear and I do as he says. “Take a deep breath.” But I didn’t need to. I don’t know if I was pushed off or if I dived head first but what happened next was a silent revelation. I flew.

When I first saw the ground beneath me, it suddenly all made sense; what it felt like when people’s hearts quite literally stopped beating, how it felt to jump without regret, jump and yet know that you are completely and utterly safe. In that moment my mind was incredibly clear. Only as the rope snapped back pulling me back to reality did I remember who I was and what exactly I was doing.
This was just a 10 second bungee jump, tomorrow I would be back in the dreary duties of life, sitting at a desk behind my books once again, day dreaming of what’s next to tick off my list. So, when I reached the ground and Dave asked me,
“Higher next time?” The biggest smile grew on my face as I replied,