Jenny has submitted a piece for the blog. This is Jenny’s first piece on here, but she’s not a stranger to Writers Anon. She was a regular until about a year ago, when other commitments meant she couldn’t get to the meetings. It’s great to see her back (in text, at least) and hopefully she’ll also be able to make it to some meetings soon. This piece is for the First Page Competition and she’s pared it down as far as she can but still needs to lose 42 words from somewhere. Suggestions, observations and some good, balanced feedback would be just the thing.
This is to you, Jack. This is my say, my side of the story. This is what I should have said but didn’t because I was too in love and too damn slow to understand what you were doing at the time. That was my mistake. Your mistake was to think I’d just accept what you did. Keep quiet. I won’t. So here I am, excuse the delayed reaction.
I’m sitting at my computer in the living room. My fingers tingle on the keyboard. I’m coming alive, fingertips first. 3am. I should be in bed, but I can’t sleep, not tonight, not any night in this endless, pointless slow-roast summer. I long for rain, to lean out the window, feel the raindrops, the outside world, on my hands, my head. Instead, one small bead of sweat slipping down my spine.
I got to thinking – it’s like that philosophical problem: if a tree falls in an empty forest, does it make a sound? If you are the centre of the universe, do I exist when you’re not there? Yes Jack, I do. And this is what you didn’t see, what happened when I was alone. I think you should be aware of the damage you can do.
I used to have these dreams where I’d be chasing you through a city, a maze of silver skyscrapers. You’d be there, climbing escalators or in a lift, glimpsed through glass. Ascending, always. I’d try, but could never catch you, I’d get stuck, turning forever in revolving doors, or thumping on glass but you don’t hear me, just carry on, a small smile on your lips. I wanted you so much, you know.
I don’t have those dreams any more. Now it’s you that’s stalking me. Catch glimpses of you, in a mirror, a window, or in fitful sleep. I wake flinging my body about and then I’m awake and I don’t want to be, because it’s scary being alone, when it’s dark. I was never afraid of the dark until I met you, Jack.