Chapter One

***

~ Part One ~

The Paper

***

We were hopeful

Sickeningly so

A slow breeze through the tufts of our hair

Smiles that could shatter even an inch of melancholy

And even when sad, there was a joy in it

We shared it all

Together

But growth does take what was

Once a present time

And crumples like foil

Into a memory past

The breeze feels cold now

The smiles waver, and end

Sheets of muscle pulled over

The mask of cheerful delight

Where I stay

Alone

I can't see you in me anymore

Time made sure of that

Ticking away as it does

You decayed

Rotted into something else

Into me..

***

Something was off, this I knew. I had a knack for the discovery of offness to be frank. Knowing a soup needed salt. Knowing the difference in body language. It was a good skill to have, if not entirely pointless to stick on a CV. I was always right however, and this wasn't any different. Leaning back in the metal black garden chair, I gazed down at the open Google Docs app on my phone. I did most of my writing outside, as cliché as it was. I almost didn't do it at first, the idea of feeding into the 'teen poetry' trope was enough, but doing it outside? I may as well upload them on Tumblr, go the full mile.

But I'm not a teen, I'm Twenty.

And outside was better. Calm, quiet, spacious.

Quiet.

I blinked in quick succession to snap myself out of this thought process. I had more important things to think about. What was the 'offness' here?

I spent a good few minutes analysing the text on my screen. It was in the last of those minutes where frustration began to set in.

It's no War Photographer, or Ozymandias. It's a good poem, sure, but if the people reading aren't me, then will they even understand without guidance from a metaphorical English Teacher?

They need to hear me.

Just once.

I sighed, another one for the drafts I suppose.

I tucked my phone back into my beige jacket's breast pocket and drew a cigarette from its box, along with a crappy lighter I got from the local Bargin Booze down the street. With a few flicks, and a couple of muttered curses uttered towards it, the weak orange flame sputtered upwards. Placing the cig in my mouth, I drew in a few quick breaths, and when the sickly flame passed its torch to the paper and tobacco, I flicked it off, and placed it back in my pocket. This had been my daily routine for about seven months now. Wake up. Go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. Scrunch my hair a few times and say "good enough" knowing it had made zero difference to its bird nest-like appearance. I didn't mind though. Mum did, but I didn't. I thought it added character.

After this I would hobble down the stairs (at this point I had already changed out of my pyjamas), a thin piece of plywood with two stumps on each bottom corner we used as a 'gate' to stop our dog from clambering up and down all day, in my hand. She wasn't up yet however, so I placed it in the dining room, to avoid the inevitable high speed collision of dog to wood.

From here I would fill the kettle up with fresh water, and as it boiled, do any dishes that were in the sink from last night. By this point, as I'm pouring the boiling water into my mug of instant coffee, I realize I haven't taken my antidepressants. This is usually followed by a sigh and a quick "f***s sake" under my breath, before making my way back up the stairs, and starting a small archaeological dig in my top Chester draw for the box, of which I normally found straight away.

Five left. I should put my prescription in soon. I sigh.

I drink my coffee in the living room normally, curled on one side of the sofa, swiping through TikToks with the occasional sip. I try not to focus on anything anxiety-inducing when waking up.

Then again, I am drinking coffee.

And that's what leads me outside, and to where I am now, leaning back into a cold metallic chair, breathing out the multitude of blindness-cancerous-baby-killing toxins from my lungs, trying not to beat myself up over another failed attempt to stop myself from falling into yet another bout of existential dread. It hadn't worked for several months. This day was no different.