No Girls Club
Rule 1. No girls.
Rule 2. No baths.
Rule 3. No parents.
Rule 4. The clubhouse location is top secret. Guard it with your life.
Rule 5. President has the power to decide who's in or out.
Amendment #1
Rule 1. Seriously no girls. I don't care if she "has nice hair," Jonathan.
Amendment #2
Rule 4. What don't you get about SECRET, Elliot? I appreciate the enthusiasm in the efforts to take down the girls, but when you decide to eat their faces, don't do it in the clubhouse.
Amendment #3
Rule 6. Absolutely no kissing. (Credit: Thank you Marcus for the correction)
Amendment #4
Rule 2. A bath and a date? That's the last straw, Jay, you're out.
Amendment #5
Rule 5. But order of popular uprising, the President has been replaced with democratic rule. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, Michael. And take a bath, jeez.
Amendment #6
Omit "No Girls" and permit the girls.
Public Notice:
Cootie shots will be administered on Tuesday.
(Just in case)
Pleasantries.
"Hello!"
A woman. Blonde hair, short.
About my age, maybe a little older.
A friend, maybe?
"Hi."
"How are you, love?"
Knows me well then.
A relative?
"Fine, thank you."
I need her to say it. Just once.
Ask her.
"Beautiful day, isn't it?"
I can't. She'll know something's wrong.
"Yeah."
Something is wrong.
They'll send me away, poke me, prod me.
"How's your mum?"
I have a mother.
"She's alright."
The woman smiles.
"And the kids?"
And children, evidently.
"Doing well, thanks."
Say it. I can't go running around like this.
"And how's that new job treating you?"
Oh no. Job?
I look down. Jeans and a shirt.
Nondescript.
What job?
"Just the same."
She smiles.
A badge shines in the sun.
Sarah. She has a name.
Where's mine?
"Well, take care, love."
Shit, she's leaving.
Say it, just once, please.
I lunge into a hug. She's surprised.
"Nice to see you, Sarah."
Please say it.
Ask.
You can't.
I'm lost.
"Aw same with you, Lucy!"
Success.
pool.
It didn't take much.
Laughter, splashes, a phone call.
Silence.
Twenty seconds, maybe less and she couldn't see him, maybe he was inside, maybe he dried off.
Hair.
Floated like seaweed at the bottom of the pool, on a body that seemed too small, too small, too small.
A scream, a splash.
Breathe, breathe, BREATHE.
Her cries rip from her throat and she pushes and pushes and pushes until strong hands wrench her away from him. They hold her as they take him and she bites and thrashes and screams. They can't. Where is he? It was only a second. Where is he?
There's a grey hand, a grey chest.
All she can see is grey.
And then it goes black.
Day 1 of 1
Dear Diary,
Today marks what has officially become the most tiring day of my life.
Anything and everything that could have happened, did. I'm talking; accidentally snoozed my alarm four times before waking up; coffee machine deciding today would finally be the day it kicked the bucket; and to top it all off, managed to trip and reopen my stitches on the way to work. Remind me to talk to Colin and ask him again why in God's name he thought it'd be a good idea to take me rock climbing, on a real bloody cliff. Only had time to wind a cloth bandage on my arm before leaving.
But that wasn't the worst thing, oh no, not by a long shot.
So, at the end of my TWO HOUR LONG commute (not at the beginning mind you, but right before my stop (some people have all the luck)), some guy decides to expel, what I can only assume was the result of copious amounts of alcohol on the weekend, all over me and the poor school kid next to me.
Oh god it was chaos.
The kid was crying, I was screaming and the rest of the carriage was trying to move as far away from us as they could. Felt sorry for the poor guy really, could not stop apologising. Even offered us money. Come to think of it, he really didn't look all that great. Poor bloke.
So I get off at the next stop, leaving the kid in the hands of a couple of furious old ladies dabbing him vigorously with tissues. Now, I was soaked. I'm surprised the guy didn't deflate in front of us from the amount of bodily fluids covering me (not to be indelicate). Thank goodness there's a Target right next to work because I ended up having to buy a whole new outfit (should have taken his money...).
Even the bandage was soaked through. Grabbed another from the first aid kit. Will have to call the doctor soon, get it sewn back up.
Now I'm a patient woman usually, but when someone asked me for the 40 000th time what the smell was (I tried, I really did, but there's only so much you can do with a sink and cheap soap), I snapped. Poor Sarah, she didn't deserve that.
However, it's really not good to hold bad moods. Since then I've had this splitting headache that has just not gone away.
I think the heater's on the fritz again, unfortunately. One minute I'm freezing, the next, sweating like a pig. Took a couple of Panadols for the head just now so hopefully that will ease up.
In bed now and it's getting to be a real effort to write this down.
Tiredness is reaching my bones. Can't get up to get dinner but don't think stomach would like that
Need to call doc in morning about arm
Got to turn light off
too bright
Night xx
To hate.
To hate is to boil from deep within,
to fester and bubble,
on what things have been.
To hate is to feel your heart in your chest,
to watch it grow angry,
burst forth from your breast.
To hate means to hurt, inside and out,
a bruise that you cannot see,
to cast love into doubt.
You don't have to love,
Nor forget and forgive.
Raise your voice above,
Let life and love live.
My Words.
My words build.
Great lands rise up around the type on a page.
They dive to the deepest seas and rise up to the heavens.
My words dance.
Each one twists and twirls among sentences.
Meaning and structure are fickle things.
My words breathe life
Into things, ideas and worlds.
They hold meaning beyond their dark lines.
My words cut.
They destroy with little rhyme or reason.
Their wounds run much deeper than the surface.
My words shine.
They take my heart and place it on a page.
They build, they dance, they breathe life, they cut.
They are mine.