A Question Of Perspective: A Short Story

(under 5 minute read)

I can feel Emma on top of me. Her weight is evenly distributed, but heavy nonetheless. To be honest it’s a comfort, an early sign of what’s to come. The weight of her body lets me know that it’s nearly time to go home. Or as close to home as possible.

Emma’s family came to visit yesterday. I must admit I was very nervous for their arrival as I wasn’t sure whether these people were coming for another round of chopping, cutting, scraping and colouring. I was relieved to find out they only came to see Emma. Though her mother did mention how beautiful I was, she was the only one to acknowledge me at all. The rest of her family members seemed to look through me, as if I were invisible. However, I refused to allow their negativity to burden me further. It was the likes of them that brought me here and made me what I am today. I didn’t ask for this.

Emma and I were left to get acquainted in a small room of which boasted soft glowing candles and colourful windows. That was until we were transported to an even smaller room that moved, just after flowers had been placed on top of us by sullen men in matching suits. I saw other moving rooms as we made our way to a large field with a stone house in the centre. I spot Emma’s mum and her red eyes fill with tears as soon as she notices our arrival. She turns her back and cries into the shoulder of a man I’ve never seen before. He certainly wasn’t there yesterday with the rest of the family. He is very tall, thin and gaunt. His presence unnerves me for reasons I can’t explain.

“Why is she crying? Why does everyone look so… Red?” I ask Emma.

Silence. I admit defeat and promise myself not to dwell on it. Today is my day and she can’t ruin it for me. Even if we are being forced to spend the foreseeable future together, they do say time is a healer.

I notice everyone in the room turning to look at us as we are brought to the front, every row filled with long faces. After a short speech and a few songs, people start approaching Emma and I. Some people place trembling hands on me, while others are simply staring with glassy eyes. The men who carried us in here are big and strong, not dissimilar to the first men I ever met not too long ago. It’s hard to enjoy the attention when the atmosphere feels thick with despair and is swirling with sadness. The room empties and I am once again lifted into the arms of men.

“Earth you are, and to earth you will return,” says the man who is sprinkling a rain-like substance on top of us. Oh, how I’ve missed the rain. If only my roots were still intact, perhaps I could quench this dry thirst. I still feel Emma’s weight on top of me, but then I finally feel the cool earth underneath me. I take the opportunity to revel in the familiarity of the dirt and find myself holding Emma closer. I think myself luckier than most. Some never get the opportunity to be as close to home as this.

“I know it must be hard to leave your family and friends, but I’m going to help you return to the Earth. That way, you will always be near them.”


So, this is my little story. I do hope you enjoyed it and if you did (or didn’t) please let me know in the comments!

Signed,

Jen x

Why I Haven’t Been Reading

Hello everyone,

I haven’t written a post just having a chat in a little while. I have been in writing mode for a while and have enjoyed getting my creative juices flowing.

However, I’ve found that it is proving very hard to read AND write at the same time. You see, I have been working on 3 short stories as well as my current WIP recently. This has come after having a break from writing as I had a lot of Uni work on. But somehow I still managed to read quite a few books and short stories while still doing uni work. I’m not sure how to balance both?

I’ve picked up a few books and read the first few chapters and each time proceeded to slam it down with frustration. Nothing is gripping me and I’m wondering if that is due to me being so invested in my own stories. It’s as though everything else doesn’t quite evoke the same feelings as my own.

I would like to think this is a good thing, but I miss reading. Yet I can’t bring myself to power through more than a couple of chapters.

I have been reading a lot of short stories here on WordPress, does that count?

I also quickly wanted to mention the current mismatched style of my blog. As I still consider myself a newbie blogger, I feel like I’m experimenting with what I want to post. I still love everything I’ve shared and hope the eclectic style is not distracting or off putting.

Anyway, ramble over. If you have any tips on how to balance writing with reading, please leave a comment!

Signed,

Jen X

Time To Go: A Short Story

I have been here for what seems like one hundred years. The trees have grown unbelievably tall and the cars now require no human intervention. People keep taking pictures of me as they go about their days. Some of them say hello. Most of them walk past without a second glance. I understand though.

Until today, I have never felt the urge to leave this place. I have been quite content with my home and the exotic wildlife who visit me everyday. Today though, I want to leave. I want to see what lies beyond this place. I want to explore and meet new species of birds, other than pigeons and the mutated seagulls that dominate the skies. Today, I believe it is time to go.

My legs ache as I will them to take a step. They refuse. I try for hours to move even the smallest muscle but every joint feels too stiff, it is proving very difficult to leave. Every time somebody passes me, I try to tell them. I try to ask for their help but thus far nobody has offered their services. Somebody is coming my way now. I clear my throat and wait for them to become close enough to talk. It is a little girl, no older than six or seven. Her mother strolls not far behind her. The young girl spots me and runs straight for me. My heart soars as I see her bright eyes studying me.

“Hello Mrs. Hayes” the young girl says to me with a curtsey. Such manners. If I wasn’t already smiling, I would beam with delight. However that joy is soon overshadowed once again when I ask her to help me and we are instead interrupted by the child’s’ mother. Her eyes are studious as she comes closer.

“Lydie, would you like me to take a picture of you next to Mrs. Hayes?” The tall woman says kindly.

“No, she’s asking me for help.” I take in a sharp breath and almost refuse to believe it. This child has heard me. She heard me.

“Yes, yes. Good child and lady, I’m stuck and would like very much to leave this place” I continue, I let my eyes fall upon the woman standing before me, but her eyes are glued to her daughter.

“What are you on about?” She says, her eyes are drowning in worry. “Stop messing around, you’ve seen that before. You know better than to make things up.”

“Didn’t you just hear her? She wants to leave, she’s stuck. Mum we need to he-“

“Enough! Your imagination is too much Lydie. Do you really expect me to believe that?”

The girl walks slowly towards me. I can feel my heart breaking as my eyes fill with tears.

“Look mum, see? She’s crying. You’re horrible mum.” For a moment, the woman looked almost, sad. She took a long look at me and then up at the sky.

“No Lydie. Look. It’s just started to rain. That’s just a statue darling, they can’t speak or cry silly girl” the softening lady says reassuringly “the lady who it’s made to look like died a long time ago, she can’t talk”. She leads her daughter to me and knocks three times on my shoulder. The young girl wrinkles her nose and mimics her mother’s actions. The sound is like an echo chamber, every knock sending more and more ripples of sound that roll through my body. They turn around and in moments they are gone.

They are free to leave while I am imprisoned within this metal cage. It is certainly time to go now.


Let me know what you think of this short story! I have planned countless stories and haven’t finished them. This is something I came up with last night and have basically “pantsed” the entire short.

Hope it proved an interesting read.

Signed,

Jen X

My First Book : An Extract From “Project Delilah”


“The dream began the same as it did every other night. I was standing in my front room, not the fancy one, the normal one. I looked around and every corner of the room was dark. I glanced over to the tall bookcase to my left and it was…Impossibly dark. Like a shade of black that was yet to be discovered. The thought that I was not alone unsettled me, so much so I scrambled around in search of a light source, opening drawers, feeling for a light switch along the walls. There was nothing.


Next, I heard somebody crying. The sound echoed through every room in the house. It was as if a spirit was carrying it through the walls, flying from room to room, seeking me out. I couldn’t let it find me. I looked down and found I was running down a long hallway that seemed to go on forever. The picture frames on the walls taunted me as they kept on coming, no matter how fast I ran. I remember trying to keep my eyes forward but it was impossible. Not when the only face I saw in the thousands of frames, belonged to a girl I thought was my sister. She stared at me as I continued to sprint as fast as I could.

“You’re not real!” I said sternly. “You never existed!”

At last the hallway ended and there stood a large black door. I wanted to turn around and keep on running but instead, I walked straight through the door. Every hair on my body stood up to attention. I didn’t recognise the empty room, but something about it felt uncomfortably familiar. The walls were painted black as well as the ceiling and floor. The furniture then started to appear one by one. First the wardrobe, then a bedside table, a filthy rug and finally a bed. On the bed, sat a heap of dirty duvets, blankets and stained pillows. My eyes then adjusted to the darkness and to my surprise, the blankets seemed to be breathing. I could see the pile rising up and falling back down again; its breaths short and jagged. I blinked hard and let out a quiet sigh I didn’t know I was holding. I could sense the darkness creeping up behind me, as though some kind of evil entity was consuming the room with me still inside.


I tried to call out, but the words refused to leave my lips. Though I did sense the atmosphere shift, as the pile on the bed suddenly froze. Maybe I had spoke after all, maybe it heard me. I took a silent step towards the bed, trying to stay quiet as I approached. I managed a few more steps before a squeaky floorboard cut through the silence; the pile suddenly snapped around and stared straight at me. I was stunned to see that it was not a pile of old duvets, blankets or stained pillows. It was my sister.”

– An unedited extract taken from my current project

This is an extract from my first book, of which I will be referring to as ‘Project Delilah’.

This extract is taken from my main characters book, of which is featured between (almost) every other ‘main story’ chapter. This chapter was written from the perspective of Delilah’s main character, Elodie. (Confusing, I know but all will become clear once the book is complete (I hope!))

I chose to make it harder for myself to essentially write two different stories within one book. However, Delilah’s book is very significant to the plot and I believe it adds a lot to the book in terms of depth and it offers a unique insight into Delilah as a character as well as an author.

The two stories are interconnected and that’s about all I can say about it at the moment!

I hope you enjoyed this little extract and if you have any feed back that would be great. Please bare in mind, I have copy and pasted this directly from my manuscript and it is completely unedited. (Please be nice haha)

Please let me know what you think in the comments. Even if you thought it was boring, or cheesey or clichè. Write out your initial thoughts up on reading it and I shall do a celebratory dance and take it on board.

Thank you in advance.

Signed,

Jen X

Not Yet: A Poem

I want to sleep

But I can’t

I want to dream

But when I do

I feel fleeting hope

But then I am awake once again

I want to live

But I long for the comfortable nothing of death

I want to be happy

But when I smile it feels wrong

I want to sleep

But I can’t

Not yet


Signed,

Jen X

The Moment: A Poem

I live for the moment

That tiny window when you just wake up

And in that fraction of a second

You feel

Content

Then you feel the weight of your world

Descending

Suffocating you

Until the next morning

I live for the moment


Signed,

Jen X

Internal Thoughts: A Poem

BEEP

The darkness is fading

BEEP

The sounds hurt my head

BEEP

Where am I?

BEEP

What on Earth is that sound?

BEEP

My blood runs cold with the startling realisation

BEEP

Tears escape my closed eyes

BEEP

No. This cannot be

BEEP

I force my eyes open and stare down at my wrists

BEEP

They are bandaged but the crimson red is trying to escape

BEEP

No. I thought this was over.

BEEP

I thought…

BEEP

Next time.