"The Pessimist complains about the wind;
The Optimist expects it to change;
The Realist adjusts the sails."
I slam the upstairs window shut with a little too much force and a pain shoots through my finger and up my arm. I wince, and shake it out a bit, before collapsing on my parents King Size bed next to me, stomach first.
With a deep sigh, I roll onto my back and stare out at the moon outside. Tonight, it's a full yellow circle against a dark, navy sky. It's not yet quite pitch dark, even though its ten o'clock.
I close my eyes and imagine myself a sleek female werewolf, leaping out of the window and bounding off up the gallops outside our house- maybe even snacking on a horse or two.
I skip through the green fields, my eyes like nocturnal goggles- seeing anything and everything.
I feel the brambles scratch at my fur, pebbles fly up and hit me but I lift my head to the full, yellow moon- my eyes widening in awe and then narrowing wickedly. I was going to kill tonight. The sky grumbles stormily and I slip through the trees, silent and deadly- stalking fluffy, innocent sheep.
I growl furiously as I jump forward, my teeth spreading into a wolfy grin. Mid air, I find myself falling, pain shooting through my chest. What is this? I look down, searching for a stab wound, a dart, a silver bullet- anything! But there's nothing there...and as another pain shoots through- I jerk back to the real world, and my real life. Hissing, I sit up quickly and clutch my chest- panic rising in every inch of my body.
"You're okay, you're okay..." I whisper, but I didn't even fool myself. Still, I felt a bit better as the pain subsided. I look at Truffle, who had barely moved a muscle through it all.
"Selfish cat." I mutter, turning the light off, and head downstairs.
Taking one last envious look at the moon, I head towards the bathroom.
Wiping the cold water from my face, I look at the reflection staring back at me in the mirror- wondering how the hell all of this happened.
The cancer, then the leg problems...I turn away from the sad girl looking back at me, nothing like the powerful werewolf woman I had imagined.
Sighing again, I lean against the wall and tip my head back- my thoughts buzzing in my head like a swarm of bees, occasionally stinging when they felt like it.
One jumped out at me, more persistent than the rest. The Queen Bee, I guessed.
The chest pains, the night sweats, the snappy mood swings...the sadness. All my old symptoms were starting to come back...
'It's just the aftermath of chemo.' Positive me reassured me.
'The cancer's back- you're dying!!!' Negative me screamed frantically.
'Get it checked out, just in case. But don't get worked up about it.' Realist me murmurs softly. I ignore them all and choose to do what I always do with all my problems. Pretend they're not there until I absolutely can't ignore them any further.
Kicking the bathroom wall in frustration, I take a deep breath and put a smile on my face. The first attempt looks hysterical, so I tone it down a bit and head downstairs.
Bursting into the family room, and seeing noone in there, my facial muscles spring back into a frown and I flop onto the sofa, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Knackered, I let my eyes drift shut and try to forget all my stress- if just for now.
Much Love,
Befuddled and ABSOLUTELY KNACKERED [but attempting to fight through the tiredness] Baldy <3 xoxo
The Optimist expects it to change;
The Realist adjusts the sails."
I slam the upstairs window shut with a little too much force and a pain shoots through my finger and up my arm. I wince, and shake it out a bit, before collapsing on my parents King Size bed next to me, stomach first.
With a deep sigh, I roll onto my back and stare out at the moon outside. Tonight, it's a full yellow circle against a dark, navy sky. It's not yet quite pitch dark, even though its ten o'clock.
I close my eyes and imagine myself a sleek female werewolf, leaping out of the window and bounding off up the gallops outside our house- maybe even snacking on a horse or two.
I skip through the green fields, my eyes like nocturnal goggles- seeing anything and everything.
I feel the brambles scratch at my fur, pebbles fly up and hit me but I lift my head to the full, yellow moon- my eyes widening in awe and then narrowing wickedly. I was going to kill tonight. The sky grumbles stormily and I slip through the trees, silent and deadly- stalking fluffy, innocent sheep.
I growl furiously as I jump forward, my teeth spreading into a wolfy grin. Mid air, I find myself falling, pain shooting through my chest. What is this? I look down, searching for a stab wound, a dart, a silver bullet- anything! But there's nothing there...and as another pain shoots through- I jerk back to the real world, and my real life. Hissing, I sit up quickly and clutch my chest- panic rising in every inch of my body.
"You're okay, you're okay..." I whisper, but I didn't even fool myself. Still, I felt a bit better as the pain subsided. I look at Truffle, who had barely moved a muscle through it all.
"Selfish cat." I mutter, turning the light off, and head downstairs.
Taking one last envious look at the moon, I head towards the bathroom.
Wiping the cold water from my face, I look at the reflection staring back at me in the mirror- wondering how the hell all of this happened.
The cancer, then the leg problems...I turn away from the sad girl looking back at me, nothing like the powerful werewolf woman I had imagined.
Sighing again, I lean against the wall and tip my head back- my thoughts buzzing in my head like a swarm of bees, occasionally stinging when they felt like it.
One jumped out at me, more persistent than the rest. The Queen Bee, I guessed.
The chest pains, the night sweats, the snappy mood swings...the sadness. All my old symptoms were starting to come back...
'It's just the aftermath of chemo.' Positive me reassured me.
'The cancer's back- you're dying!!!' Negative me screamed frantically.
'Get it checked out, just in case. But don't get worked up about it.' Realist me murmurs softly. I ignore them all and choose to do what I always do with all my problems. Pretend they're not there until I absolutely can't ignore them any further.
Kicking the bathroom wall in frustration, I take a deep breath and put a smile on my face. The first attempt looks hysterical, so I tone it down a bit and head downstairs.
Bursting into the family room, and seeing noone in there, my facial muscles spring back into a frown and I flop onto the sofa, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Knackered, I let my eyes drift shut and try to forget all my stress- if just for now.
Much Love,
Befuddled and ABSOLUTELY KNACKERED [but attempting to fight through the tiredness] Baldy <3 xoxo
Lily,
ReplyDeleteI was at an award ceremony about a month back for a flash fiction competition. There was a teenage category, and I read all the winning entries, which were on the wall. They were all fine, but none of them were a patch on you for intelligence, control of the language, or a maturely humourous look on things. And those girl won good money for their only alright stuff!
You have talent. Start sending your stuff out. Use that duotrope website I showed you, look out for local writing competitions, whatever you need to do, but just send stuff out.
And don't let anything deter you either. Sylvia Plath treated writing as an office job, she kept sending out all her stuff, incessantly, systematically, everyday, and for every acceptance letter, she might have got twice as many rejection letters, but she just got on with it. (Ok, fine, she put her head in an oven, but that wasn't because she wasn't succeeding at her art, she was just depressed.) My point is, she kept sending her stuff out, and she made a living out of her writing, and now she is taught in schools, and has left a legacy.
Write things. Send them out.
Cannot emphasise this strongly enough.
love you,
the undead spirit of Valerie McHale