I'm sick of this.

Tossers

I feel terribly cheery ce soir.

Home Again

“Gabriel,” a soft voice called and made him turn.
He was putting the finishing touches on the room he was preparing for her. This room was a little piece of earth on heaven for her; as close to earthly as anything could get in this ethereal environment. The walls were draped in gorgeous fabrics that shimmered in the golden light, and in the corner sat a collection of paints like no other on earth, whilst her window overlooked gorgeous mountains to waste days on.
He looked at the beautiful creature standing in the doorframe, bringing more golden light with her, even with the frown on her face.
“She’s not coming.” Ariel told him.
Gabriel felt his spirit sink for a moment. A look of pain crossed his face and his features crumpled.
“What do you mean, she’s not coming?”
Ariel took Gabriel by the hand and led him out of the room.

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Isla threw back the glass in her hand again, looking out over the now blurred, but still captivating, cityscape in front of her.
“I don’t even know what I believe anymore!” she yelled to no one in particular. A bottle smashed in the distance and some equally drunk youth yelled back at her.
Patrick scoffed and sidled alongside her. Nowhere near as drunk as she was, but he was getting there. He’d get there.
“Who cares?” he asked, swigging from his glass once more. Patrick admired the view too- the one next to him rather than the one in front of him. Shapely legs exposed under a floral skirt, a shirt that hugged her figure in all the right places.
“Maybe that’s how it’s meant to be, you know? Not knowing, just finding out.” The double entendre of Patrick’s words didn’t even register on Isla’s radar.
She simply nodded and continued sipping away as Patrick’s hand moved up her leg, too close to unconsciousness to even notice what was going on.

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“But she does believe,” Gabriel spoke quietly to Ariel, somehow scared of others hearing. “I hear her pray, I’ve heard her talk about Him.”
Ariel sighed and looked out over the crimson gilded landscape.
“She’s not coming now. But she might find her way back just yet.”

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Patrick breathed heavily on top of Isla. He ran his fingers along the side of her torso, digging his nails in slightly as he pulled himself closer. She didn’t remember how it started, but she was making no move to finish it. Isla smelled nothing but whisky, felt nothing but pressure, and saw nothing but darkness. She heard Patrick grunting, and the only thought in her mind before she faded out again was that this was how it was meant to be. She wasn’t made to be strong. Wasn’t built to be faithful. Wasn’t created to fight the desires of the flesh. So why not embrace them?
Patrick’s flesh moved roughly against her own.

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Gabriel carefully took down the precious fabrics and folded them neatly, and placed them in a box marked ‘Isla.’ The paints had already been stored away gently, and no light or exposure could cause them to perish anyway. Nothing perished in Heaven. Gabriel pulled the door closed as he walked outside, and found Ariel waiting for him. He smiled a weak smile as she fell into step with him.
“Don’t be sad, Gabriel,” she started, glowing with hope next to him. “The lamb will find her way home again.” She smiled now, “And then we can rearrange Heaven for her again.”
“I’d gladly rearrange it several times over so long as she makes it here,” he replied as they strolled along the emerald path.

The Beautiful People

Kerry swore quietly as she stumbled through her door. Her key and doorknob had turned slightly quicker than her brain had been able to process, and she rolled her ankle as she fell forward into the darkness. Her roommates were already asleep (at least, she hoped they still were) and she was far too intoxicated (among other things) to tell how loud she was being. She reached to her left to flick on the light. No sooner had she turned the light on that it blew- flickered into life for less than a second, illuminating her bed, bookcase, the figure next to it, her duchess, her desk, her open window and then it was out.

Kerry straightened up for a second as her brain tried to process what was going on. Bookcase. Figure. Duchess. Open window.

She squinted in the direction of her bookcase and tried to keep herself standing upright, rocking back and forth on her heels as she did so. The wind whistled outside, and she wondered where the moonlight was hiding.
Had she left the window open? She attempted to rack her brain but the dots she’d taken earlier had rearranged her brain entirely for the time being. She was lucky her heart was even still beating.

She staggered forward a couple of steps when she heard it.

“Stop.”

Kerry stopped and her eyes widened. She looked towards her window for the moon again, but saw nothing, only heard the rustle of her curtain.

“Stop.”

The voice was sweet. Angelic. Multi-layered. In one syllable, the voice had made Kerry feel so much emotion that her eyes welled up slightly.
The voice was obviously aware of the effect it had on her, as she heard it sigh in relief. Its sigh was melodic, and Kerry hung on to every second of it, waiting to hear the voice again.

She stood there for what felt like a very long time, waiting, holding her breath, hoping to hear it again.
She’d once come home after one too many microdots and found ten bears having a tea party in a kayak on her bedroom floor. The first time, it’s terrifying, but she’d come to expect a lot, and an angel in the corner of her room was nothing to worry about, she was sure.

Finally, she couldn’t bear it any longer and she spoke, “Who are you?”

The angel was closer now; she could tell- she heard its toes crack as it adjusted its position. There was a slight pause before it sang back to her, “Who are you?”
Kerry figured this was a valid question, and laughed hysterically to herself as she moved forward and fell onto her bed.


Kerry spent the next wee while babbling to the beautiful creature in her room, watching as the lunar eclipse passed and the angel’s form became more and more noticeable. She drifted in and out of sleep, dreaming of objects floating out of her open window, of more angels below the house singing to the angel who floated back and forth in her almost black room. She fell asleep with a smile on her face as she listened to the shadowy choir of voices serenading each other.

________________________________________________________

Alistair threw the last of the jewellery over the balcony down to his waiting friends. After climbing down the trellis and swearing as he pricked his finger on a rose thorn, he turned to face the three waiting for him.
“What the fuck was that!” Chris started, shoving Alistair in anger and feeling more than a little confused.
“Mate, she was off her face.” Alistair replied, picking the bag Chris had made him drop and swinging it over his shoulder. The four of them started briskly walking down the path as he continued talking.
“She was on something. She thought I was an angel.”
“She obviously didn’t see your face, then,” sniggered Cameron.
Chris quickly silenced him with a scowl, then continued interrogating Alistair,
“And what if she had seen your face? Why didn’t you dive out the window straight after us!”
Alistair shrugged and kicked a pebble along the ground, “I just froze. Worked out anyway, got everything we needed.”
Chris shook his head while the other two stayed silent, still shaken at almost being caught.
“I’m her guardian angel, anyway, no way she’d report me!”
Chris grunted in reply as the four of them scurried towards a waiting car.

Brick

She stared up at ceiling, laying with her back on the ground and legs resting up on the couch. It was cold- so cold she could see her breath even in their lounge- but she didn't mind. She needed something to cool her off.

The small of her back pressed comfortably into the carpet as she sang.

She didn't know how long she'd been laying there. Just singing and laying, that was all. The occassional shiver, but she didn't know if that was from the cold or not.

From time to to time she laughed a nervous laugh, or perhaps a hysterical laugh.
If anyone had walked into the room, they might have thought she was losing her mind.
But, no. She'd already lost her mind long ago.

She had that familiar feeling she often encountered in her body. Her nerves were everywhere. She felt like she had an adrenaline rush, but that wasn't it- not anymore, anyway. Adrenaline rushes aren't that long lasting.
It was as if every atom in her body was jumping everywhere at once, battering themselves against her skin, attempting an escape. Whenever they did that, all she wanted to do was run. Run until her legs hurt. Run until she lost control of her arms. Run until her heart stopped and she fell forward so her cheek could rest on the cool, mossy ground for the last time.

But for the moment (and this was rather a long moment), she was laying there. Just listening. Examining the ceiling and thinking about everything, anything and nothing all at once. She could run herself into the ground later.

She was a silly thing, she decided.

She always let everything build up to an incomprehensible level of intensity that could never sustain itself for very long, and then would come the inevitable insanity as it caved in on itself.

Someday, she would learn, she thought.

She wiggled her toes that stuck out from under the shawl that rested over her body. It was only just wide enough to cover her body. She needed to paint her toenails.

Maybe her attention span was her problem. Maybe she was fickle.
But no, she didn't think that was it. She just knew what she wanted.

She laughed out loud at this thought.

She didn't know what she wanted. She didn't know much at all. But someday, someday, she'd learn to stop living the tragedies she wrote over and over again.

The girl laughed again and carried on singing, mist leaving her mouth as she did.

Everything will be okay.

Through the Day and through the Night

For a long time my dreams were all very odd reflections of my day.

Then in the house I lived in last year, they became more and more sinister.

Then, the dreams became very real, uninteresting and long once I moved home. I was living extra days while I slept. Just ordinary days.

Now they're short, but they're no longer obscure. Last week I dreamed that I had a sip of bourbon and lost the bet. I then had a dream that I was running with a friend from Lyttelton. Last night I dreamed that I started my new painting that I'm so excited about, but the canvas was really too small.

My dreams are confusing me.

I'm going to exercise a whole lot more.