Freewriting

Well I wasn't going to post a blog today because I only posted one yesterday and I understand that I stated in my resolutions that I wanted to be a frequent blogger but every day is going to take the actual mess, right? However, this coincides with another one of my resolutions.

It coincides with resolution seven: write more.

One of my lecturers stated that when we were having difficulty writing our assignment, we were to open up another word document and just write. Anything that comes into our heads and let it flow. Usually people write their shopping list or how they're feeling but my brain has always been tuned to write fiction whenever I'm given the choice to free write so I thought seeing as I haven't had the chance to take heed to resolution 7, I'd post you the short (well 2000 words) piece I wrote during my free writing. It's also, slightly, the return of my teenage writing age which is always good!

One day, there was a young girl sat at her computer pondering over her assignment. She didn't care about her looks today. She sat wearing an oversized white tee shirt that she'd been stolen off her younger brother once to wear as pyjamas with leopard print leggings and a pair of large fluffy pink slippers – her small feet often laughed at by family and friends. Her ginger hair was scraped back into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, loose tendrils framed her skeletal face while her block fringe fell into her cold grey eyes as she stared blankly at the screen in front of her. Three words sat on the document, the cursor flashing in a taunting manner as if teasing that she couldn't think of anything to write, sorely reminding her that if inspiration didn't strike soon then she would cave as always and that, ultimately, would lead to a fail. The chipped midnight blue painted fingernails tapped a consistent pattern against the space bar, her top teeth worrying into her bottom lip as she bit back the urge to slam her fist down on the table and storm out of the room.

The hardback book, the latest novel by her favourite writer, sat to the right of her laptop. It's barely thumbed through pages were calling out to her, praying that she'd leave the confines of her over-sized and coffee stained computer desk and sink into the confines of her bed. There, where she'd simply lie with her head in her pillows, nothing would matter but the world that the book she was reading would open to her. A new world of time-travel, heroism and romance that a person like she could only find between the pages of a well written novel. Reaching out, she stroked her hand over the untarnished skin that covered the hardback and sighed. The idea was tempting but she couldn't. Removing her hand, she returned to the awful habit of tapping her fingernail against the space bar, her free hand running across her unmade face as she realised how tired she'd become.

Some might say she's an insomniac and with the clock on the corner of her laptop screen reading 03:54, she wouldn't dare disagree with you because maybe it was true and there was no evidence to state otherwise as most of her nights followed this pattern, even those where she didn't have homework, because of her tiny little secret. It was a secret that no one knew about, not even her parents, and most definitely not a secret that any twenty five year old would ever dare admitting out loud without expecting some sort of ridicule thrown in their faces.

She, an avid reader of horror stories, was terrified of the dark. Even without telling anyone, she could sense that everyone would blame it on the awful books that she read. She had a reputation of only ever reading books that would leave your skin crawling for days because of the horror you'd read, the cover showing blood and usually instruments that could be used to inflict pain or books that would promise you a good strong character that was chasing the ghosts of their past. This genre of crime and thrillers, even of the macabre, had been her favourite ever since the day she'd turned seven years old. It had become an obsession that filled shelves in her small bedroom and cluttered up the floor when she eventually ran out of space. Those around her worried that she was slowly becoming a sociopath due to her extensive knowledge and due to how she loved to tease, in a dead-pan voice, that she'd be able to commit the perfect murder.

However, what kind of sociopath was afraid of the dark? Could you imagine Jack the Ripper skulking about the streets of London hunting for his prostitutes during the day because the night had been too terrifying for him? The idea was simply perverse. No serious sociopath would be afraid of the dark or if they were, they'd be able to use it to their advantage by killing people and asserting their power over the natural occurrence that is nightfall.

It wasn't that she couldn't be out after dawn. At twenty, the idea of being in before the sun went down would be ridiculous due to how it stinted her social life. She could be around people and feel comfortable because the fear didn't start until she was alone, in her bed, under the heavy duvet and with the lights off when it would come back and take hold of her. It was the demons that got her every time. The painful reminders of nights listening to her parents fighting, listening to her younger siblings sniffling in their bed next to her and as she got older, the painful reminder of taking that blade across her wrist and watching as the thick liquid dripped across her milky white flesh... and in each time she dreamt this scenario, she succeeded in killing herself. Her parents bursting in and finding their thirteen year old lying in a bathtub filled with rusty coloured water, her eyes glazed over as she stared at nothing in particular and their tears would fall as they realised that it was their fault. If only she had suceeded then...

Every time she closed her eyes she remembered the drunk man that forced himself onto her at the young age of fifteen, his hand covering her mouth to stifle her screams as her tears fell down her cheeks and pooled just above his hand before slipping over. They say you can't smell in dreams but she can. The overwhelming stench of Jack Daniels causes her stomach to turn every time the memory hits her as well as the smell of cigarette smoke that clings on his clothes. The metallic taste of blood trickled down her throat as she struggled against the heavier man, her hands clawing at his arms as she prayed that this would be over soon. It was. Once he released her mouth, she'd gasped and sunk to the floor as her loud sobs racked through her tiny frame. The long unkempt ginger hair hiding her tear stained face as she used her hands to keep hold of her torn clothes. She wouldn't be found for another three hours by a man walking his dog, her tears long since dried and her hands long since dropping their task of keeping her decent but it was obvious to anyone what had happened to her.

It was then that the nightmares started. The vivid recalls of both scenarios in her life that would make anyone want to break down and cry. She'd scream for her mother, tears rolling down her cheeks as she clawed at her chest as she fought off an invisible attacker and scaring awake her younger sister. Only in her mother's arms, her face buried into the crook of her neck and gently being rocked would she eventually fall back to sleep again without any more nightmares. This pattern continued for a few weeks until eventually her mother stopped answering her nightmare induced pleas due to thinking it was the best medication for her to be able to 'grow' out of the phase. Instead, she'd just stopped sleeping when it was dark.

It was only by accident that she learnt that you didn't dream during the day. It had been an exceptionally warm today and her maths teacher was dragging on about something that she didn't care about - ever since her attack, she hadn't cared much for anything but no one seemed to care about how she felt – so she'd been lulled into a gentle sleep against her desk. When she woke up, she'd be written up and sent to the head of year for a warning but that didn't matter. She'd slept peacefully for a full hour, nightmare free. This tiny piece of information was enough to get her through high school, several years after everyone else in her class due to having to resit a year or two due to transferring and taking a year out, and onto university where she was now.

However, at twenty-five, she couldn't help but wonder what this could do to her social life.

She was great for a night out with her friends. She was never too tired and always up for being around people so that she'd be putting off the inevitable of sitting in her room alone, staring into the abyss as she tried to hide from her personal demons for another couple of hours. She, usually, did great at studying during the night because it was when her brain was now more in tune and she always felt like she'd achieved something working at night. She rarely ate so not being up at appropriate times to eat didn't bother her but there was one thing she really wanted but didn't know how it would work. She wanted a boyfriend.

Before her attack, she'd just been approaching the age where girls got interested in boys and thinking of her high school crush put a smile on her face, even to this day, but no one had looked at her the same after word had got out. She felt as if everyone thought she was dirty because of what had happened and had left the school after one too many pitying looks. At the new high school, no one had known about the attack but she couldn't look at boys in the same way. Every time one accidentally bumped into her in the corridor or sat next to her in class she'd start to panic and would eventually run away like a startled deer. During those last painful years of high school, she hadn't felt as if she'd been missing out on anything but now... now she felt as if everyone was leaving her behind because of their new found love.

In a flat of five girls, she was the only one that was single and she couldn't help but find herself standing in front of her mirror just staring. She'd run her slim fingers over her frame, pointing out every blemish and imperfection, before finally convincing herself that she was never going to be good enough for anyone. Each session of self-abuse would end with her sliding down to the floor, her face buried in her knees as she wrapped her arms around them while she sobbed her heart out as if she was fifteen years old again.

Looking at her laptop, she took a deep breath before closing her eyes and shaking her head. No. She wasn't going to allow this to happen anymore. From tomorrow, she'd ditch the over-sized tee-shirts that she'd stolen from her brother and go out to buy some pretty feminine dresses. It was time to stop worrying about the message each outfit she wore gave off to men. It had been ten years now since her attack and it was time for her to grow up. Closing down the word document, her word count still at the grand total of three, she stepped out of her chair and moved towards the mirror. Grabbing hold of the baggy white tee shirt, she pulled it in tight at the back and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

“Who'd have thought that was hiding underneath all that material,” the warm words caused her to jump as she turned to see her flatmate standing behind her, two cups in her hand as she stared proudly at the sight in front of her and the woman couldn't help but blush as she turned to look back at the mirror. She might never be ready to face her insomnia but she was definitely ready to face the world. Letting go of the tee shirt, she smiled as the familiar sensation of the material floating at her sides comforted her before she turned to look at her flatmate. It was rare that anyone else was up at this time but tonight, for some strange reason, she welcomed the company as they both settled on the double bed to start talking.


I know, it's long winded and it will need editing if I'm ever to do anything with it afterwards but thankfully after writing this, only took me ten minutes because of how desperate I was to get my flow on, I finished my first assignment. Yay!

It also makes me think that all my resolutions are reachable!