Sunday, January 4, 2015

Can you remember?

Over at Teen Words of Steel, they are having a writing contest! This is the first time I've entered one of their writing contests- the first time I've had time, really. I'm going to use one of the prompts, but change the tense:

"The breeze brushed my cheeks."

The breeze brushes my cheeks and makes the silky strands of my hair tickle my neck. I push them away, irritated at the unfamiliar feeling. Then, instead of tickling the back of my neck, the pale strands wave around my face, as if they are trying to get my attention. 

I grab them with a growl, and hold them in my hands. For a second, I am in limbo, and memories flash across my vision. 

Mummy brushing my hair, it is waist length, I wiggle while she mockingly sighs.  

The golden locks falling, falling, falling, tumbling to the dirty grey ground. 

He stands in front of me, shocked, and I reach up, to touch my head, to feel the boy-ish haircut. 

I drop my hair as if it is a hot coal, and swipe it from my face. From this hill, I can see across the valley. It is worth the climb, and I set to memorising the landscape, even though by the time I am halfway down the hill, I will have forgotten that there is 10 trees dotted across a paddock to the left. 

I have to keep my mind busy though, that is what my therapist said. She gave me some rope to carry with me, to keep me busy, busy, busy. I slip my hand into my pocket, and touch the piece of rope, and when I do, I accidentally touch the other item. 

I withdraw my hand, and watch it shake with slight amusement. 

To create, we must first destroy. 

The golden locks falling, falling, falling, tumbling to the dirty grey ground. 

She also said other things, my therapist, but I was to busy creating the only knot I know with my new treasure. She asked me how I knew such a complicated knot. He taught me, he taught me everything. I frowned at her silly question. 

Have you ever swallowed a piece of ice whole? That was how I felt when she told me he didn't really love me. I screamed, I picked up my chair and threw it at her, I picked up the nice picture of a little boy off her desk and smashed it, making glass fly, fly, fly. I picked up the file on her desk and scattered the papers. 

It was a beautiful mess I stood in the centre of. I created it. He would be proud, proud, proud.

To create, we must first destroy.

'He loved me.' I scream it, and the breeze carries my message away. I set off back down the hill, slipping on the damp grass. Halfway down, I can't remember if it was 7 or 4 trees in the paddock. Maybe it was 8. I give up. 

Can you remember?

You must remember.


9 comments:

  1. This is really well written, Wild Horse. I'm intrigued. :) Good job!

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  2. I love this—it's awesome! It reminds me a little bit of Rapunzel, actually, although I don't know if that's what you intended. It's sweet and haunting at the same time. Good luck in the contest!

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    1. I can't say I've ever read Rapunzel :)

      Thanks!

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  3. Oh. My. Gosh.
    I cannot stress just how much I want to read more of this!!!

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  4. This is very intriguing and the voice is clear! Keep up the great work.
    Also, thanks for commenting on my blog!

    ~Sarah Faulkner

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