Posted in Uncategorized, writing

Teeth

My hairline is cold with sweat. I feel the nape of my neck peeling away from the pillow as I roll onto my side, prompting a solitary bead to travel across the skin behind my ear. It settles for a moment before running its course along my trembling jawline.
I had another one. This time I was sat right there on the floor, everything seemingly normal, yet normal seemed so far from reach. The mould was still thriving in every corner, the cobwebs still clinging to the highest point of the roof. But everything was sepia-toned and distant, like an old, grainy movie. I was cross-legged, my mirror looming in front of me, the bare plaster behind it an empty reminder of everything I’d left behind. No photographs adorn these walls; the paintings we’d fallen in love with on our honeymoon are held hostage in his mother’s garage. Continue reading “Teeth”

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Posted in Uncategorized, writing

Mother Knows Best

‘There’s T-shirts! We get T-shirts!’ Kaitlyn’s excitable squeals rose above the chatter as we emptied the contents of the box onto our assigned table. She held the emerald T to her front, admiring the stitching of the golden logo on the chest. University of Winchester Foundation Music, with a shining treble-clef and the words MUSIC MAKER on the back, in the same shimmering thread.
‘Oh, it’s gorgeous. We’ll take it in turns to change, I’ll be back in a minute.’ And with that, she flew out the door, practically tugging off her clothing as she went.
Kaitlyn and I had both been asked to represent FM at the Applicant’s Open Day that Saturday morning, and had arranged to meet at reception to retrieve the box of leaflets and instructions for the day. I arrived at six minutes to nine, bleary eyed and yawning, expecting to have a couple of minutes to grab a cup of strong tea from the machines; living in student digs means being kept up until 2am by the flat upstairs playing beer-pong or deciding to hoover their room above your head in the early hours of the morning. To my surprise, Kaitlyn bounded towards me with the box already clutched in her hands and a large grey bag, much like one that carries golf clubs, slung over her shoulder.
‘Are you excited?’
‘Er–’
‘I am. Come on, you can carry this.’ Continue reading “Mother Knows Best”