Size is Relative

10 Years Earlier

Father – Drunk, Addict, Dangerous 

Mother – depressed, damaged, broken.

Brother – spiralling, addict?

Her – stuck in an endless battle of guilt and selfishness.

 

I would give anything to have a normal family. It’s not always like that. When it is, it’s hard. I just want to shut off and forget. Forget where I am, who I am and where I belong. To become somebody else. I look at their lives, those around me. I know not everyone has it peachy but I would love for it to be different. No arguments, no drunken ramblings of addicts that make no sense to anyone not in their world.

Fraying at the edges like a carpet caught on a nail in a dusty market in summer. Slowly ripping and tearing apart, disappearing. The nuclear unit within the whole was fracturing. Keeping up the façade that all was well was beginning to falter. She felt like she was about to be swallowed whole by the overwhelming emotions she was slowly succumbing to. Would they notice she had gone? Possibly, once she had disappeared for good.

 

It felt like a lifetime ago.

It was still real.

Summer Hopes

Ghosts

She woke suddenly; something had startled her and broken into her dreams. She was overcome with panic and an urgency to get away, practically falling out of bed. Forgetting where she was she jumped up. Fear breaking across her like all those past London nights, those long nights, waiting for the dawn to come and the illusion of safety that it brought. She swung round, back against the wall, knowing not to make the same mistake again. One that cost her that unforgettable scar that ran horizontally from her right knee to her hip.

It took her several minutes to calm and recognize where she was. Realising she’d been holding her breath, she exhaled slowly, still not quite believing it hadn’t been real. She could feel cold beads of sweat slowly making their way down her back. Quickly, she checked the bedroom; she felt 6 again, looking for monsters. Room by room, searching, 5 minutes later she was satisfied the house was empty and she was alone. Then the relief flooded in, homing in, it overwhelmed her with safety and peace it brought. Collapsing into a chair, she sat there for some time, minutes to hours, until the emotions had been quelled and inner demons locked back away, until the next time a flashback penetrated her sleep and turned her dreams to nightmares.

She stood up and took a few tentative steps towards her bedroom, nothing seemed to move. She was safe this time, unharmed and still hidden; pondering on this for a moment she wondered how long she could live like this. It made her feel sick; having misjudged that she started to sprint, barely making it to the toilet before vomiting and gasping for air. She scorned at her own stupidity ‘Don’t think like that Amelia, you’re safe now’. Yet there was still that niggling little voice at the back of her head, it whispered “Yeah safe… for now”.

Standing Tall

The First Chapter

Three months and after an inordinate amount of interviews, emails and cover letters later, she had managed to get herself into a reasonable role. The new company seemed okay, everyone was friendly enough. Sod that, who was she kidding. It so silly to assume that, especially when she’d only been in for the interview, met them in passing and even then that was only the receptionist and a couple of pleasantries in the lift. Other than the interview panel the only other people she exchanged more that a couple of sentences with were the other interview candidates and well, she wasn’t going to be seeing them again was she.

Today was her first day. So there she was, standing at the bus stop in the blistering heat lost in thought, that is until the idiot driving past chose his moment perfectly and swerved into a huge puddle bringing her back to reality with an icy cold jolt. Let’s face it, it is never sunny in Manchester and now she was soaking. It was her first day of her new job, the job she had worked so hard to get and now she faced a decision, not by any means an important decision but essential nonetheless. Go to work soaked on her first day, what a great way to make an impression. The alternative, go home, change and risk being late. Neither sounded great to her. First day, first mistakes?  So this was it, the first day of the rest of her life, Amelia Brown, 22, and she had probably already fucked it up.

She wasn’t an excessively pessimistic person by any means, she thought of herself as more of a pragmatist. She also always seemed to over analyse situations and to her bad first impressions were usually remembered. This meant it could put a halt to any plans for progression and promotion within this job. “Fuck!”, She thought angrily, cursing the driver who so easily could have avoided that puddle, “What a twat, I’m sure he did it on purpose. Drivers. Or as a friend once reminded her ‘Road Users’. Cyclists could be wankers too and there were always some idiotic pedestrians about.” Now she had to make that decision, it was getting later and later. The noise reverberating in her head was annoying and deafening out all other thoughts, “Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock…”, over and over. She just wished it would stop. That was when she started back home hurriedly, choosing tardiness. Better to be a little late, blaming it on public transport than arrive soaking wet and cold.

Spider in the garden.

Time to begin.

This time, she thought, this time I mean it. She opened the word document that contained the words that, when combined, attributed to her life’s successes. Her achievements, qualifications and to any prospective employer: who she was as a person.. Well that or another mindless statistic in a sea of other obsolete Cv’s of people who, like her, probably didn’t give a fuck either. CV’s. What’s the point? Yeh sure, there was money, better job prospects, careers.. but if she didn’t have an end game, or any idea what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. Did it really matter what she wrote? The kettle clicked, another excuse not to start. The coffee smelt good, she took a sip. Placed the mug down next to her and began to type. Amelia Brown.