better to burn out than to fade away.

I miss AS drama too.

#4

A Selection of Memories

 

A dash ( - ) at the beginning of a line indicates a change of speaker. There is no set amount of speakers or characters.

A slash ( / ) marks the point of interruption in overlapping dialogue.

- In one form or another lies her past.

- In photographs.

- Diaries.

- Recordings.

- Yes. In photographs, diaries and recordings but not in herself.

- No. Because she has changed. As everyone does.

- Yes. Of course. At a point.

- At some point in everyone’s lives they experience a series of significant, life-altering, future-determining changes, whether they want to or not. Until / eventually.

- Eventually their past only exists in photographs, diaries, recordings.

- Memories.

- Memories. Exactly. Memories that she thinks about while she’s flying to a cosmopolitan city somewhere in central Europe.

- Memories that he thinks about while alone in the bath after his one true love has / left him.

- Left him for a younger, more attractive success of a man.

- Who’s a better fuck, obviously.

- Obviously.

- He recognises that he has failed.

- Not necessarily.

- No?

- No. He recognises that she made him doubt himself. He recognises that he was never truly himself while he was with her.

- And it makes him stronger.

- It makes him all the more determined.

- More determined to get over the fact that she corrupted him.

- She took his dreams and screwed them up just before she screwed her toy boy.

- Whose dreams she’ll also screw up.

- And he’ll recognise that too.

- Eventually.

- Too late.

- Perhaps.

- Or maybe not.

- It might make him stronger, too.

- Because everyone needs something that is going to grind them into the ground so they can build up from it.

- Her phone will ring / and – exactly – it’s him.

- It’s him.

- But she doesn’t answer.

- Because she’s on her way to the house of a man she doesn’t know.

- This stranger and her brand new cosmopolitan city life are far more important to her than he ever was.

- Than her past ever was.

- Or ever will be.

- And when her future becomes her past it will be the same. She will carry on making the same irrational decisions she always did.

- Because even though aspects of her life change, she remains the same.

- People say they change but really they’re the person they always were. And they always will be.

- And while the night time city lights sparkle like the diamonds on the ring she once loved, she’ll realise. She’ll realise that even though her life didn’t turn out as expected, she wouldn’t change it.

- No?

- No. She wouldn’t go back and change a thing because-

- Because life isn’t about regrets.

- Exactly. And a life with regrets is a life wasted.

- She’ll review her past as shown in the photographs, diaries, recordings and memories, and she’ll treasure them.

- And so will he.

- Yes. Because without them, they wouldn’t as God intended.

- Controversial.

- Controversial, yes, but interesting.

- And it’s the same for everyone. These are examples of people all over the world who will make one life-altering change. They will realise that elements of their past were failed experiments.

- Experiments that, even though they seemed as if they were working, caused an upheaval in their life and the lives of everyone around them.

- But it’s only natural.

- Of course.

- Because if experiments were successful every time, then they wouldn’t be experiments, would they? Because everyone would know the outcome. So they’d just be, well, predictable events.

- Foreseeable futures.

- And that would be / boring.

- Boring. Exactly. Because that’s not what life’s about.

- It’s not. In the end, he and she and everyone else will just end up a collection of selected memories based on experiments.

- The collection of selected memories that she thinks about while she’s flying to a cosmopolitan city somewhere in central Europe.

- And that he thinks about while he’s laid in the bath after she has left him.

- They select them because, despite the outcome of their experiment, they want to hold on to the foundations for the future.

- Because they so very nearly worked.

- But naturally crumbled the same way a volcano naturally erupts.

- So really, they were two tectonic plates anticipating the earthquake.

- The tsunami.

- Mother Nature.

- Potentially.

- Controversial.

- Controversial, yes, but interesting.

#3

Storm

She’s at a loss.
Her voice quietens, weakens.
She’s not herself.
She’s been transformed, absorbed into someone else.

She’s a fishing boat in a stormy sea.
Stormy then calm.
Stormy then calm.
Her brain is a whirlwind of easy offences.
She is a pit of jealousy,
a lustful late-teen.

Her mind is a television
broadcasting her desires:
eight red lines upon a pale back;
shoulders indented with two curved rows
from clenched teeth;
Morse code embossed on sweet flesh;
love bites around nipples
on thighs, on buttocks.

A fictional programme.

Turn fiction into non-fiction
and save her mind; a mere sailor.
Reach the shore and rescue her.
Find her again.
Find her voice, her strength.
Evaporate the stormy sea and leave her,
wholly herself.

#2

Concrete/Feathers

I turn over the pages.
Fold the corners to remember.
Feathers.
I trample through the rest of this anthology.
Try to rip and tear to forget.
Concrete.

My sledgehammer is rubber
and my drill is sponge.

The wind is a thief
and my tools are blunt.

I’ve decided to post all the things I’ve written in the past year.
#1

This is an extract from a novel I started to write but I’m not sure whether to carry on with it or not…

Quandary

One

I woke up to find a leftover McDonald’s staling on the floor beside the bed I was in. I could feel my stomach bubbling as saliva filled my mouth. I opened my eyes to an unknown room. Clothes were sprawled across the floor, on the desk chair and, classically, off the door handle. I needed a bathroom and quick but I didn’t fancy flashing my bits to some more potential strangers in a house I didn’t know. He might still live with his mother. I noticed a half empty glass of water on my apparent lover’s bedside table, so I leaned over him and took it. He didn’t stir. Once the feeling of imminent puking was gone I decided to take a look at this man dozing next to me. From what I could make out he wasn’t bad looking; not my usual type but not bad nonetheless. One side of the room displayed a lot of sports trophies, medals, badges. The other shelved a CD and vinyl collection, propped up by a large, near-empty bottle of Bell’s Scotch whiskey. A vintage-style record player sat beneath. The carpet was covered by a wash of, presumably clean and dirty clothes, text books and notepads, empty fast-food boxes and a selection of food-stained crockery. This was quite clearly a student’s bedroom.

                Despite the mess I scanned the room some more. I noticed his wallet on the floor so I picked it up and pulled out his driver’s licence. The name read Alexander William Dewhurst. I replaced his licence and reached for a pen and the notepad in my bag. I added the new name to the bottom of the list. I looked at the names I had lazily jotted for a second, replaced the notepad and picked up my phone. The time read 06.57 and the screen was flashing ‘Messages (3)’. They were from my best friend saying, in order:

                “Wheres my burger”

“Dying”

And, three hours later:

“Caitlin where are you and why aren’t you texting me?! Just let me know if you’re safe please.” I sent Robyn the usual text to let her know I was fine and put my phone back into my bag.

                His wallet was still sat on my lap. I opened it up to find three twenty-pound notes stuffed into a pocket. Without thinking twice I took the money, put the wallet where I found it and started to get dressed. I was sat on the edge of the bed putting on my stilettos when he turned over.

                “Isabella.”

“Shh. Go back to sleep, it’s early.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to go to work.” I lied.

“I had a good night.” I gave him a smile and he turned over with his back to me. As I was zipping up my leather jacket I noticed a discarded tenner on his chest of drawers. “Careless.” I thought.

                Carelessness is what makes me as successful at my craft as I am. Carelessness on the part of everyone else, I mean. That night wasn’t a one-off. I am very particular. There are rules that need to be followed and one slip could mean game over. Some nights I’ve earned up to a couple of hundred pounds in cash, as well as a bit of jewellery here and there. Gold is very valuable these days. A seventy pound profit that night was about average, though surprising for a student. I usually pick my targets more accurately but business wasn’t strictly on the mind with Alexander. He looked like a good shag.

                The key component of the game is identity. To most people I am Caitlin Kirkwood, but to others I’ve been Sarah Marriott, Abbie Turner, Alexandra LeBlanc, Sophie Atwood, Ayla Morrison, Louise Vernon and, to Mr Dewhurst, Isabella-Rose Fink. The reason is simple: Caitlin Kirkwood is more likely to get caught.

I wish I could relive just one day of last summer.

reality-stevie:

“Keeper of my Soul” by Kris Tate

Really want some Kris Tate artwork ‘cause this is fucking cool.

reality-stevie:

“Keeper of my Soul” by Kris Tate

Really want some Kris Tate artwork ‘cause this is fucking cool.

BOY - Boris

Now that she’s back in the atmosphere
With drops of Jupiter in her hair, hey, hey
She acts like summer and walks like rain
Reminds me that there’s a time to change, hey, hey
Since the return from her stay on the moon
She listens like spring and she talks like June, hey, hey

But tell me, did you sail across the sun?
Did you make it to the Milky Way
To see the lights all faded
And that heaven is overrated?

Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star?
One without a permanent scar
And then you missed me
While you were looking for yourself out there?

Now that she’s back from that soul vacation
Tracing her way through the constellation, hey, hey
She checks out Mozart while she does Tae-Bo
Reminds me that there’s room to grow, hey

Now that she’s back in the atmosphere
I’m afraid that she might think of me as
Plain ol’ Jane told a story about a man
Who was too afraid to fly so he never did land

But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet?
Did you finally get the chance
To dance along the light of day
And head back to the Milky Way?

And tell me, did Venus blow your mind?
Was it everything you wanted to find?
And then you missed me
While you were looking for yourself out there

Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken
Your best friend always sticking up for you
Even when I know you’re wrong?

Can you imagine no first dance, freeze-dried romance
Five-hour phone conversation
The best soy latte that you ever had, and me?

But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet?
Did you finally get the chance
To dance along the light of day
And head back toward the Milky Way?

But tell me, did you sail across the sun?
Did you make it to the Milky Way
To see the lights all faded
And that heaven is overrated?

And tell me, did you fall for a shooting star?
One without a permanent scar
And then you missed me
While you were looking for yourself?

And did you finally get the chance
To dance along the light of day?
And did you fall for a shooting star?
Fall for a shooting star?
And now you’re lonely looking for yourself out there.