We were three girls in a dark tunnel.
One of us was leading. Taking on the brave role of torch-holder and navigator as the others followed behind. She pretended to be strong, pretended that she was confident, because in reality she was too scared to face herself.
One of us was in the middle. We put her in the middle because we said she’d never been in the tunnel before, she would be too scared at the front or back. She was almost offended by this. She wanted us to believe that she wasn’t a wuss. But because we’d assigned this character to her, she played the fool and whimpered when the tunnel got darker.
The one at the end was happy, but she wanted to be up the front. She wanted to be the torch-holder. She couldn’t understand why the girl up the front got to be up the front. She often wondered why the girl up the front so arrogant and confident all the time, while the girl in the middle was such a pushover. It drove her completely crazy.
The three of us huddled together, forcing laughs, pretending to be brave or scared.
Next word: Felicities
A burst of sadness
I drew up some new walls, and
I erased my heart
Pick me. Pick ME as his dancing partner.
No. Don’t walk over to that side of the room. NO. Don’t pick her. DON’T.
Put that hand down, woman, or I will slap you.
Please, God, please, God. I’ll do anything.
Too late. She’s just pointed at somebody else.
I’ll be braver next time, I promise.
She catapulted downwards through the air, feeling the excitement bubble through her veins like an erupting fizzy drink.
Spinning to and fro, she looked up to smile at her friend back in the helicopter, only to find her friend tumbling through the sky without a parachute.
No. Love was too…how I actually felt. I erased it and twirled the pencil around, trying to think of some other way to end the letter.
Too cold. Too impersonal.
Best wishes? Nah. Your friend? Absolutely not. I didn’t want him to think that I just wanted to be his friend and nothing more than that.
I mean, that was what he already thought, but I didn’t have to rub it in.
I peered out the window of the plane, hoping to see some sunset or some skyline or something. It had just been clouds, clouds, clouds. Plus a little lightning, just to shake things up.
(I didn’t really like the lightning. But the babies loved it, I assure you.)
Hiding behind my thick makeup and my guitar. Hiding behind this crazed, stupid persona.
I scream into a microphone when really, I’m screaming at myself. At my circumstances. At the world. And then the crowd cheers, cheers at my misery, laughs at the stupid clown I have become.
We both stare at each other, thinking unspeakable words.
I’m sorry. I forgive you.
But we can’t say those things. Not in front of other people, not when we’re supposed to be strong and thinking about other things. Not after we already promised each other to move on.
Maybe that’s just an excuse in our heads. Maybe we’re just not saying the things we need to say because we’re scared.
My mouth remains closed. But I know what I’m going to say, when the time is right. I’ve already said it in my head a million times.
I sat in the shower, the soap stinging my eyes and the steam smothering me. How could anybody truly enjoy a hot shower when all it did was scald you, burn you, just like the rest of the day?
My tears mixed with the water running down my face and disappeared forever into the drain.
“How stupid are you?!” the teacher yelled, whacking me on the back of the head. “Do you need me to simplify things to you all the time? Can’t you do something by yourself for once?”
I sat quietly in my seat, wondering if it wasn’t a teacher’s JOB to teach things.
Tears flow freely down my face as I grip the pencil tightly in my hand.
I’m so, so sorry I couldn’t give you the happy ending we wanted. I just couldn’t do it. And I know you couldn’t do it either.
Maybe this story just doesn’t have a happy ending, or maybe your happy ending was when you left.
Thanks :) When you mentioned Blue October, I went to go look it up, and now I’m hooked XD
I really don’t think
I just do, and now I have
Broken your poor heart.
Next word: Pencil
Burning. Scalding. The hot coffee trickles down my hand, feeling like molten wax.
I yelp and jump away from the now empty cup, in too much pain to watch it clatter to the floor. Everyone around me looks at me as if I’m crazy.
“What are you doing?” screams my boss, rising out of his chair, and in doing so he spills his own hot coffee all over his new suit.
“Why don’t you believe me?” she asks, sobbing on the floor in a crumpled mess.
Everyone just stares at her. They’ve heard this too many times before.
“Please. Please. I swear this time I’m not lying. Maggie killed her, not me.”
The crowd starts laughing at her. Maggie stands in the corner, her expression angelic.
I haven’t seen you in years, so I decided to scroll through your Facebook timeline.
Top of the class. Full marks. In this newspaper, that article. Performing here, excelling there.
Going to Oxford.
I “like” your status, although I don’t really like it at all.
Hello! I’m October, and I love writing, music, and photography.
I stare at your face
Nothing but emptiness. Ugh.
Emptiness and frowns.
Next word: taste
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