Penny

The penny was beautiful. The copper shone just right in the sunshine, the bronze gleam looking like treasure. He’d stuck it in vinegar and scrubbed it ’til it shone. It was the perfect offering.

Clove climbed the steps to the shrine, panting a little as he got to the top. They didn’t design the giant stone steps for little legs. He rested a second at the top, feeling the wind muss up his hair and the cool tingle of sweat evaporating. He’d learned all about sweat and glands in biology. He loved it.

The bubbly bubble of the fountain was magnificent and his jaw fell open in delight. The penny gleamed as he flicked it, sending it twirling end over end until it landed in the water with a very satisfying ploink.

I wish…

Clove sighed. He knew what his biology teacher would say about wishing – that it was all made up. He was a boy on the cusp of something, a balancing act between belief and knowledge, between imagination and facts. He felt too old for wishing fountains but too young to give up on miracles. People at school were beginning to get cynical and spend too much time building reputations and not enough time day-dreaming. Clove felt just a little bit torn in two.

“I’ll tell you what, kid – that’s the best penny I’ve had all year.”

He thought he’d been alone. Clove wiped snot on his shirt and sniffed three times in quick succession.

“It’s just so shiny!” the voice continued. “I appreciate the effort, kid, I really truly do. I’m so fed up of people tossing in their loose change. It can make a fountain feel kind of worthless. But that – that was a penny worth wishing over.”

Clove’s eyes widened to the size of tennis balls.

The girl sat by the fountain had hair the colour of his penny, and skin like the rippling water of the fountain, and the smile of sunshine breaking over clouds.

“So,” she grinned from ear to ear, “What did you wish for? I can tell it was an important one. I felt it in my stones.”

“Who,” Clove asked, completely breathless, “are you?”

The little girl grinned. “You can call me Penny. But stop changing the subject! Your wish, now – what did you wish for?”

He twiddled his fingers. “I wanna tell you… But what about that thing? That people say? If you share your wish it’ll never come true?”

The girl snorted like a pig. “That’s froth! People tell me their wishes all the time. I’m the one that makes them come true!” Her eyebrows did a little nervous dance on her forehead. “Well, okay, not just me. I help the family. I pass it on to mother Oak, and she gives it to brother South Wind, who takes it to – hey!” She stamped a foot, and the sound was like two rocks cracking together. “Stop changing the subject!”

“Um. What was the subject?” Clove asked cluelessly. His jaw was hanging loose again.

“Your wish!”

“Oh.” He shuffled. “Well.” He coughed into his hand, rubbed his head, scratched his nose. “I wished that I would always be me.”

The girl from the fountain looked at him with understanding, her voice soft like the patter of rain when you’re warm in bed. “I hear you. Everything is changing, right? And you’re worried that the best time of your life has already happened, and that you don’t like the way things are going now.”

Clove nodded. He couldn’t have said it nearly so well, but she just took all the difficult feelings he’d been wrestling with and made them easy. “Yeah.”

“Sometimes, we go through hard times. The sun sets and everything is cold. But you’ve got to look back and look forward, and know that things won’t always stay this dark. You’ll get through this night.”

Everything went a bit misty. Clove blinked, the front of his t-shirt getting increasingly wet. “I don’t want to grow older.”

“Me neither. But saying ‘no’ to growing older means saying ‘no’ to a lot of lovely things that haven’t happened yet. It means friends you’ll never meet, music you’ll never hear, birthdays you’ll never celebrate. You have an adventure ahead of you, Five-Leaf Clover. Be brave. Get ready for it!”

Clove hugged her tightly. “Thank you, Penny!” He turned and struck a heroic pose, his hometown speed below him like a map. With his hair mussed by the breeze, he bellowed “I’m ready to do this! I can handle it!”

There was no reply from Penny: the girl had disappeared as suddenly as the sun on a cloud-studded day. But as Clove ran down the shrine steps whooping loud enough to startle the birds, the water in the fountain bubbled and laughed.

Tidal Volume

Definition: the volume of air taken in with each breath.

My ribs move out, my chest expands
The water rushes in
This is the tide of my breath

Waves crashing up the beach and sweeping back
The rattle of pebbles in the current
This is the tide of my death

Stranded in that bed, I dream of beaches
When beeping machines drown everything out
I meditate on sand and summer and you

And just as the tide is moved by the moon
So you orbit my bed and fret
We don’t kiss

My lungs expand, the water rushes in
These pebbles scrape the seabed.

On an aside,
Do you remember the story of the King who tried
To hold back the tide?
He died.

And my darling, I lied.

I won’t survive.

Harry’s Birthday

I wake early and with a sense of excitement, my blood singing in my ears.

What, what day is it? I can’t find myself. Is it Christmas? The first day of the holidays? My birthday?

I feverishly run through a list of dates in my head, searching for the puzzle piece.

Valentines Day, Thanksgiving, New Years Eve…

Then I remember, and my excitement fades away to nothing.

Today is Harry’s birthday.

Memories float to the surface of my mind. This day, repeated back through my life; of cake and candles, of parties and presents. Of his choppy blonde hair, of his obsession with tractors. His swing set in the garden. The love I saw in his eyes when he looked at me.

Of him, toddling around the house, creating wonderful chaos. Without him everything is so cold and echoing.

When will this pain heal? When will this hurt fade? Not yet – it’s still too fresh a wound.

But, one year, I want to be able to wake up on this day and only see the loveliest of lives… and not the hole he left behind.

Goodnight Kiss

A young child waits alone in the dark
His duvet pulled up to his chin
He waits for his goodnight kiss
But his mother forgot about him.

He can hear her voice, drifting upstairs
She giggles, gossips, drinks tea
And while her son waits alone in the dark
She laughs, obliviously

While upstairs her son is alone in the dark
Thinking, “She doesn’t love me.”

We Were Together

You were five and I was six, and we were together.
You were a princess and I was your prince. Swashbuckling pirates, the fearless captain and mate. A crime fighting duo, superman and catwoman.
We were always together, two halves of a whole. Joined at the hip.
But then your mum began to get anxious. She said that it was time for me to leave. She wanted her daughter to make new friends, better friends than me.
You were loyal. You stood by my side. We weathered the storms, as we always have.
We were together.
_
You were nine and I was ten, and we were together.
We created our own world and made ourselves Queen and King. Our people adored us, and we had mighty battles against dragons and witches and goblin armies that threatened our rule.
We were closer than siblings, closer than spouses. Two peas in a pod. One person in two bodies.
But then your mum realised I was still around and she was angry. She threatened to stop your ballet classes. She made you go round to other little girls houses, girls that liked pink and ponies and parties.
You were loyal. You stood by me. We survived, as we always have.
We were together.
_
You were thirteen and I was fourteen, and we were together.
You were my first girlfriend; I was your first kiss. We went to the cinema together, to school together, shopping together. You laughed at the funny things I said and I told you that you were beautiful.
We were two halves of a whole, joined at the hip, inseparable.
But then your mum found out I was still around, she was terrified. She dragged her daughter to hospital, doctors, shrinks. “You’re thirteen! You shouldn’t still be doing this!” I was labelled as a bad influence.
You began to waver.
We were together less. You kept giving me strange looks and asking questions that were too near to the truth. As you got further away, I got sicker. I was weak, pale, as though I was wasting away. I felt invisible. I was sure I was dying.
I pleaded with you, I begged you, I kissed you, I told you I loved you, but you had stopped listening. I was a ghost, someone you wanted to forget.
I drifted around in the corner of your vision, watching you erase me from your life. But I was never completely gone. You kept me alive, kept believing in me just enough. I was still alive in your memories of me, but barely. Every day it was harder.
_
You were twenty and I was twenty-one. You were strong and healthy and I was nearly dead.
Your mum approached you and asked nervously, “That… boy. Is he still around?”
You turn and glance at me, the translucent ghost in the corner.
“No, mother, I’ve followed your advice. He’s not my friend any longer.” My heart is shattered into so many pieces that it can’t be broken any more.
Your mum nods, relieved. She motions for you to sit down.
“Well… the thing is, dear… he was not a real boy. When you were five, it was okay to have an imaginary friend. But when you were thirteen…” She shudders delicately, reaching out to pat her daughter’s hand in what she probably thinks is a reassuring way. “I hope you understand now. I did it for your own good!”
You pause. I can see your thoughts churning, but you’re too old now for childhood games.
“I know, mother.”
You turn and stare at me. For a moment, the intensity of your gaze brings me to life. For the first time in months I am solid, human, breathing.
But your expression is flint, and I know that it’s all over.
“We were together,” You inform me, your icy voice echoing through your head. “But I have no need for you now.”
I’ve been on the brink of this for seven years, but the finality shocks me to the core. “No! Don’t!” I cry, running to you. I reach for your hand, thinking that if you felt me, you wouldn’t be able to kill me.
But you draw away with a look of pure loathing and turn your back on me.
I know now that I am dead.
Sinking to my knees, I look down at my see-through fingers. A sharp searing pain tears through me as you rip me out of your head. Tears are flooding from my eyes; everything is a watery blur. I can feel myself being undone by you, my seams being torn apart, the colours under my skin merging with the air.
For a brief moment I am suspended in the air. I am everywhere; and then… I am nowhere at all.

Hospital Bed

I can’t do this.
I’ll fall.
My foot fumbles forward, the icy floor making gooseflesh crawl across my skin.
My legs are twigs… too thin, too fragile. They’ll snap.
I hold onto the bed with both hands, knuckles white.
Rapid raspy breathing; deafeningly loud in the sterile room.

“You need to let go,”
A jerky, terrified shake of the head.
I am hunchback, trembling, folded inwards on myself.
“If you don’t let go, you’ll never be able to leave.”
My breathing hitches; half a gasp, half a sob.
Softly spoken; “Let go.”

I release one hand. The blood begins to flow again. It hurts.
My toes inch forward.
My feet are concrete, stone, rock. I can’t shift them.
“I’m too weak!”
“You can do it.”

With all my strength, I lift my foot.
My eyes widen. I let it hang in the air, flightless bird.
Lower it. The frozen floor greets it like a friend.
I’ve taken a step.
I’ve moved.
My left foot twitches
I take another hesitant step.
And another.

My other hand is holding me back, gluing me to the hospital bed.
I pry the fingers off one by one, cutting off my lifelines.
I shuffle forwards, tenderly, slowly.
I expect pain;
None comes.
I straighten my spine, standing tall.
Flex my toes.
Breathe deeply, savour the sweetness.

Shuffling, walking.
Walking, striding.
Chin up.
Eyes forward.
I smile, amazed, happy.
I can do this after all.

I don’t stumble.
My body remembers being alive.
I begin to jog,
Air filling the sails of my lungs.
Wasted and dying muscles gaining their past strength.
I run down the corridors, grinning.
Skin-coloured blurs and startled faces
Nurses and patients and doctors and family
Flash by.

I’m flying.

_

Inspired by this song, 3:20 until 4:21.

Spotlight

A thousand spotlights
The fluid babble of the audience
The stage, gleaming like the sun
All that open space
A map, unrolled, just waiting for an explorer
Inside my ballet shoes my feet begin to itch
Everything is holding its breath
My ears ring with unheard silence
I am ready.

Without warning, the orchestra burst into song
And audience are struck dumb in awe
The music swells
The high, sweet notes of the violins
The patient cellos singing softly
The trumpets crying out in pride
All intermingling, blending
Separating and joining
Reaching higher and higher
Soaring above the clouds
A skyscraper of music

I am more than ready:
And I rise on tiptoe
My arms in the air
And fly out of the wings and across the stage
I dance
Mindlessly
The open stage surrounding me,
The audience adoring me!
The spotlights searing my eyes,
The orchestra filling my ears and
Making them throb with music, my heartbeat
And this moment is so perfect
That I must be dreaming…

But then I slip in the mud
Trip, begin to fall
Barely catch myself
And stand upright,
Facing the headlights.

I am not a ballerina after all.
I am a just a girl
Standing, alone, in a muddy field
In the glare my cars headlights
Dancing my solo in my pyjamas.

Dreaming Adam

I’m at the beach.

The sea is slurping at the sand, toying with small pebbles, pushing them back and forth. The smell of salt is in the cold wind coming off the sea. Children dressed in bright clothes, the only colour in sight, dig and play in the sand. I feel like I’ve been here before, like this has happened before: but I can’t remember when.

“You came.”

I turn.

Behind me stands a young man, his chestnut hair wet from swimming. He’s barefoot, his jeans rolled up to his knees. I know him. He’s Adam. I’ve definitely been here before, I remember this! My sense of deja’vu is making this whole thing feel a little surreal.

“Of course I did,” I tell him, smiling. “You know I can’t refuse you anything!”

He smiles back, but his eyes are worried. He looks like he’s about to say something; but nothing comes, and he closes his mouth.

I feel as though I’m in a play, reading out my lines. This has been said before, done before. “Are you okay?”

He stares at me, his eyes intense and so deep I feel like I’m at the bottom of the ocean.

I feel like I know what should happen next. He’s going to smile, shrug. His line is, ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing’. And then he will take my hand, pull me into the shallows, and we paddle and laugh and get soaked.

I’m so sure what will happen that when he blurts out, “Jenny, you’re in trouble,” I freeze.

Why isn’t he following the script? An odd feeling of fear slides into my heart; by breaking away from the script, he’s broken a rule.

The words jump from my throat without permission. “Don’t say that!” I cry. “Don’t!” If he does, if he does, something terrible will happen, this world will break down…

He speaks over my frantic pleas.

“You thought you’d escaped Dan after New York, but he’s close. He’s right on your tail and closing in. You’ve got to get out of there, now!”

This is wrong. The Adam from this memory couldn’t possibly know these things. This was Adam before any of this started, this was Adam from before New York…

The world feels like it’s spinning. The sound of the seagulls, of the lapping of the sea, children screaming; everything seems to mute. My vision tunnels so I can only see Adam.

“How can you possibly know that? You don’t even know where I am!”

He smiles sadly. “No, I don’t. And I never will. Wake up now, get up and get out! I don’t want you to end up the same as me.”

I’m so dizzy, the world is flying away from me. The bright clothes of the children are so colourful they make my head ache. Adam’s face blurs. The world is pulsing to my heartbeat.

“What are you talking about?” I cry, feeling suddenly alone. My voice echoes in the emptiness of the void.

I can’t see Adam anymore, but his voice is as clear as if he’s talking in my ear.

“I’m dead, Jenny.” He whispers. He speaks haltingly, emotion snapping and splintering his voice. “Daniel killed me. Now stop dreaming and wake up before they get you too!”

The beach disappears; I’m falling through black space, tumbling in empty air, my fingers raking through nothingness for something to hold…

I wake up with a start and tears on my cheeks. Adam’s voice echoes through the emptiness of my head.

Get out… before he kills you too.

Seedling

 

When did you become so important to me?

 

Your name was such a small word. A pill, easily swallowed

Only it didn’t leave me; travelled to the epicentre,

Burrowed itself in my heart

A seed taking root in fertile earth

 

I didn’t notice for so long; it was only when

The pain of being around you became unbearable

I couldn’t see it, I didn’t know

But the seedling had grown and grown and filled

All the space. Nowhere left to go

 

So it split my heart wide open

I noticed then, but too late to do anything:

Already an unstoppable force

Bursting through my flesh, ripping me to shreds

Splintering my bones. Ruining me.

 

I am broken by you, you have undone the tendons

That knitted me together

My skin peeled off, my tender flesh exposed

For the world to see.

These wounds I bear belong to you.

 

You’re making me live, and you kill me slowly.

Military Brats

My seventh school

The sea of strangers surrounds me

I introduce myself to a girl in the lunch queue

“Why did you join in the middle of the year?”

I tell her my parents are in the navy.

“Oh.”

She says, her face calculating.

“You’re one of those.”

 

Mother’s eyes are stone.

“Later, I’ll inspect your room.”

Look down, nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

Every night, we watch the news.

The war footage is hellish and with every death they announce a fresh terror seizes me.

I keep checking the photos, but it’s never my Father.

Relief fills me… but then I feel guilty;

Somewhere in the world a family is mourning.

What right do I have to feel relieved?

The news theme tune is the soundtrack to my nightmares.

The cycle never ends.

Merry Christmas

Christmas Day.

At lunch, the little boy squirms, impatient to escape from the dinner table. He pesters and pleads with his father until at last, worn down by the endless complaining, his father sets him free.

His gleaming new toys beckon him from underneath the Christmas tree, and the TV guide lies open, slyly showing all the marvellous movies that are currently on. The boy ignores them both.

He sprints upstairs, switches on the clunky computer and goes on Skype.

As promised, she is online, waiting for him. He double clicks on her name and her face fills the screen, smiling at him from the other side of the world. He hasn’t seen her for seven months.

Her khaki uniform is covered in dust. She smiles like a star in a distant galaxy, distant but warm.

“Merry Christmas, Mommy!”

Driftwood

She has been dislocated in time.

Her bones are made of stone and anchor her in place. Without them, she would have escaped long ago. She is the eye of the storm and everyone else is frantically busy with their own lives, all around her, but she cannot leave.

She’s been washed up on the sea of humanity and lies abandoned on the tideline, like driftwood.

Rules

Jade glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder, then leant towards me.

“Rules are made to be broken, are they not?” She said, her low voice not disguising her sly grin.

Alarm shot through me like adrenaline. “No!” I exclaimed. A couple of heads flicked in our direction. I swallowed, lowered my voice and spoke firmly, “No, Jade, not this one. They’ll find out, and then they’ll never let you return.”

She raised her eyebrows and leant back.

“Jade, I mean it! Can’t you see they’re just longing to get rid of you? Any excuse and-”

Cutting me off with a dismissive wave of her hand, she said lazily,

“Stop your fussing, they’ll never know. Trust me. I’ll be back before lock-up so nobody will even notice I’m gone. And if they do…” Her words ran off significantly.

“Don’t get me involved!” I blurt hastily. Her expression makes my heart shrivel up, but I take a deep breath and say, with as much confidence as I can muster, “I’ve helped you in the past but this is beyond anything you’ve done before. It’s not going to work and I’m not going to end up in prison with you.”

Jade stood up and looked down at me. Half of me wanted to shrink into a tiny ball. The other half was screaming at me to stand up for myself.

“Fine,” She said, her voice oozing contempt. “If you’re going to be a coward, I can manage perfectly well without you.”

She turned on her heel and walked briskly away, her long hair swishing from side to side like a swinging blade.

I squirmed where I sat. My mind buzzed with worries. Worries that she would be caught; worries that she wouldn’t. She might be overstepping the line, but she’s my only friend…

“Jade?” I called hesitantly.

She turned around with raised eyebrows and a question in her eyes.

I bit my lip. “Just… be careful.”

Her smile didn’t hide the malice in her eyes. “Oh, don’t worry – I will!”

And with those words she marched away, leaving me with a twisted stomach and horrible decision to make.

Refugee

I sip the hot drink and feel the skin on my tongue tingle from the burn. It’s heavenly; so rich and strong, the consistency of syrup or melted chocolate. I clasp my hands around the mug and shiver as the warmth rushes up my arms. Raising the mug to my burnt lips, I take another sip.

I close my eyes, and allow myself to think about the others. How cruel this world is, that luck decides who lives and who dies. If one of a million things had happened differently, Randy would be sat in this refugee camp drinking too hot, too strong hot chocolate and I would be the one buried beneath our high school.

If I look back now, I can trace back the cause and effect.

My sister was two years older than me and amazing at everything. My parents adored her and I grew up in her shadow, doing exactly the same things that she had done two years previously; but I could never do anything to her standard.

When she moved up to high school, she joined the school gymnastics club. Soon she was being entered into county, and then regional, and then national competitions and winning everything she tried. She was amazing. When she came home with all her medals and trophies my parents would turn to me and tell me that “if I worked hard that could be me”.

When I moved up to high school, I didn’t join the gymnastics club. I joined the basketball club.

I was the only girl on an entirely male team. At first, I was terrible. I knew nothing about the rules and the boys teased me mercilessly, but every time I felt like giving up I thought what my parents would say. They would compare me to my sister and wonder why I had turned out so badly. So I put my head down and worked like hell. I improved slowly, but a time came when I was officially a member of the team, and we would go and play games against the other schools, and gradually we began to win them.

I wasn’t at school on that day because of a game. It was huge; if we won, we would be entered into the South West tournament, further than we’d ever got. We’d been training for months. I more was terrified than I’d ever been in my life, but somehow, when I stepped into the court, everything fell away. The match was infinitesimally close but we won, and were in the coach on the way home when our coach driver turned up the radio and we heard the news report.

I am alive because I didn’t want to be my older sister. Is that fair? I decided to rebel and my reward is that I get to survive, while my sister, who never did anything wrong, is dead.

Or maybe it’s not my fault at all. Maybe it’s not my fault but pure luck. Maybe an earthquake on the seabed a thousand miles away caused a small disturbance out at sea that became a giant wave that came and swept away our city. Maybe the world is just randomly evil and cares not for who it destroys.

Or maybe we did something wrong. Maybe our city was evil and didn’t deserve to exist, and some God somewhere decided to sweep it off the face of the earth, like a spring cleaner carelessly ripping through the delicate cobwebs of spiders.

Or maybe this was going to happen anyway. Maybe nothing we could have done would have changed the changed the pattern of events. Maybe, in the future, people will look back on this day and say that this was when everything changed, the pivot point on which everything rests. Maybe this was necessary. Maybe all this death and destruction has some ultimate purpose. Maybe there’s some lesson to be found from this mess.

If there is, I can’t see it from here.

 

 

Autumnal Haikus

Buttercup, golden

Brown and burgundy; the leaves wave

From the trees like hands

In the darkness, the

Orange grins of pumpkins are

Glowing eerily

Parents light bonfires

Sparklers spell names, draw pictures

Cold toes, hot coffee