At seven, he said,
"Don't tell. I'll give you a cigarette."
He said, "Men can make milk too,
Pull down your underpants; I'll show you."

At fifteen, he said,
"Shh," And ran his hand up her arm.
Another turned his head and saw.
She shook her head, "No. Help." He turned away.

At seventeen, he said,
Nothing. Just pulled her to him,
Shoved his tongue down her throat,
Pushed her dress above her thigh.

At twenty three, he said,
"Hi." He said, "I'm..." She doesn't remember.
She remembers his car, and his bed.
She remembers sneaking out while he slept. It was her first time.

At twenty nine, he said,
"You're beautiful." She said, "You're married."
He kissed her anyway, and she let him.
He entered her anyway, and it was too much trouble to say no.

At thirty, he said,
All the right things. She said, "It's just sex."
He said, "That's all I do."
Then she met his girlfriend.

At thirty three, he said,

"I think you're awesome. He said, 
"My wife doesn't want us to be friends." He said,  
"Come home with me." She said no.

At thirty seven, she cries,
Often, and alone. Because she knows secrets that she cannot talk about, 
Because she loves the only one she turned down, 
Because she doesn't know what it is to not be compromised.

A couple of months ago I joined a writing challenge that was supposed to make me do a different writing task every day for a month. I fell behind on the very first day. A few weeks in I decided that I was going to do it and got to Day 2 before I gave up 'temporarily' (completely). On Day 1 though (not the actual Day 1 - obviously - but the Day 1 task), I wrote what is possibly the most honest piece of writing that I have ever completed. This is it.

A LETTER TO MY 25 YEAR OLD SELF (I'M SORRY)

You’re 25 now and you’ve been working at a temporary job, that was supposed to be for six weeks, for about four months. Less if you take away the time that it was closed over Christmas, but it feels like more. It already feels like forever because you hate it, but you really believe you won’t be there for much longer. You’re wrong. And I’m sorry that you’re wrong. I’m sorry that you’re going to be there for eight years while you try and fail at so many different things. And I’m sorry that when you do finally get out, it’s not going to be the happy ending you’re envisioning. But know this – you will come to realise that everything you do is just another step along the path. That nothing is forever, and that you will at least get to say that you tried.

Know this also – you need to try more. There are so many things that you’ve done that were not your dream. There are so many things that you will fail at that are not your dream. It’s going to take you a long time to realise that what you really need to try at is what you long to do. To accept that you may fail at it, but that failing is never going to be as bad as not trying at all. Failing is never going to make you as unhappy as not trying because failing is not an end. Failing is only an impetus to try harder. It will take you until now to realise that. But you will.

In about four years’ time you will meet a man who you think you love. You don’t. He will hurt you. Badly and repeatedly. And you will give him the means. He will hurt you carelessly. That will be the worst. The fact that he doesn’t mean to hurt you but won’t care enough about you to know that he is. And that will be on you. You’ll try to protect yourself by pretending that you don’t care about him, but it will only make things worse.

Should you still do it? I don’t know. I don’t know yet how he will change you because that process is not yet complete. I don’t know whether what he will make you will help you or harm you because not enough time has passed. I do know that it’s over now. I can give you that, at least, because there will be times when you just want it to be over, when you’ll want to skip ahead to a time when he is out of your life for good, and I can at least assure you that that time will come. It will. Even when you think it won’t.

That won’t be the worst. One day you will meet a man who you could love, who I still believe you could be happy with. And he will be with someone else. He will feel it too. That connection. And you will both tell yourselves that you can be friends until the night comes when you both realise that you can’t be. That night you will connect with someone in a way you have never connected with anyone else. And you will be the one to walk away. And it will be the right decision. Know that it will always be the right decision even though it will hurt you for years to come. Even though you will cry for years to come and wonder if you will ever feel that way again. I wish I could tell you that you will. But I don’t know yet.

I wish I could tell you that one day you will be happy. But I don’t know yet. 

This is the third installment of a fantasy story that I am posting here. You can find the second installment here. You can find the first installment here.

No one knew me
But I told you everything
Poured out everything
Gave you everything.

You showed me your soul
Said, "No one's been in here"
Said, "Please come in here"
But she should have been in there.

This path ends in pain
I will not take it
Did not take it
Wish I'd taken it.

Alone,
In the dark,
I would cut out your liar's tongue
And feed it to you piece by piece.
But when I see you, I smile
As if we don't both know what you are.

Alone,
In the dark,
I would rip out your still-beating heart
And hold your gaze as I wring it dry.
But when I see you, I say hello
As if we don't both know what you are.

Alone,
In the dark,
I would tear you limb from limb
And scrawl 'Beware' on every one.
But when I see you, I kiss your cheek
Just to feel your skin once more.

This is the second installment of a fantasy story that I am posting here. You can find the first installment here. 

This is the first part of a fantasy story I'm working on that is of an as yet undetermined length. It may become novel length, or it may just be a long short story. I've decided to publish as I go, with a view to publishing an installment each week...

PROLOGUE

Vynos, Kalambra

Andra pulled on the iron shackles, testing them, but it was no use. Her strength was gone, and the manacles were fitted so tightly she had no hope of slipping her hands from them unless she meant to cut them off.

“Well this is quite a quandary, is it not my little Andra?”

Andra turned her head towards the sound of Ylla’s voice and saw her; beautiful and perfect as always, her black hair somehow gleaming and her pale skin luminous even in the dimness of the cell.

“Where’s Mailani?” she yelled. “What have you done with my dragon?”

She averted her gaze as blinding white light filled the dungeon, radiating from where Ylla stood. The goddess caught her chin in an iron grip and forced Andra to look at her, her blazing eyes burning into Andra’s own. “Your dragon?” she raged, her voice as cold and hard as steel. “Your dragon, you ungrateful wretch? You are both mine! I chose you! Above all my priestesses! Above all those loyal to me! I chose you to raise above the rest!”

Andra drew her head back as far as she could manage and spat in the goddess’ face. “You chose me because I was a warrior. All you gave me was the dragon and now she is gone. I owe you nothing!”

The force of Ylla hit her hard, knocking her off her feet and throwing her head against the rough stone wall, but she barely felt it because her blood was boiling inside her, her every nerve on fire. She tried not to cringe as Ylla bent down to her, but couldn’t help herself, her body betraying her in its reflexive need to escape from further pain. Ylla laughed and planted her smiling lips against Andra, kissing her gently but purposefully, making her ownership absolutely clear. “Tomorrow you die, my dearest Andra.”

Andra smiled against the pain, darting her head forward to return the kiss with no hint of gentleness. “I’ll be back,” she said.

Ylla cupped her face, her smooth white palm soft against Andra’s cheek. “Oh child,” she said. “Do you really think you can kill a god?”

“Yes,” Andra told her softly. “I do.”