unread. Her phone beeps again, and she rummages through her bag: Raven. She decides that reading the messages and answering is the only way to get some peace.
‘Got us tickets for Combichrist next month. You owe me £40 Raven x’
Bitch, you know I hardly ever listen to that industrial shit. Forty quid!
The second text reads, ‘Where are u? Answer me dammit.’
‘Okay,’ she texts back and starts to cry. Feeling someone standing just behind her, she looks up. It is Wendy.
‘I-I’m sorry,’ she says again. Her eyes dart down to Wendy’s stockinged feet.
‘Just go. Come back when you’re well enough. We’ll talk about it later,’ Wendy answers. Not waiting for a reply, the woman marches back to her office.
Sarah gathers her things and trudges to the elevator. Outside the sun is shining and the air feels warm for October. Seagulls swoop and glide overhead. She passes through a cloud of cigarette smoke as she walks towards the bus stop. Blinking at the bright sky above her, she wishes she could join the birds.
The bus is almost empty. The few people sitting downstairs are laden down with bags of shopping. A mother reaches towards her young son as he yanks a roll of shiny, holly print wrapping paper from a bulging Debenhams carrier. He jabs at the empty aisle with his prize, humming.
‘Michael, give it back,’ his mother growls.
‘I’m not Michael, mum. I told you already, I’m Luke,’ he says, slipping off his chair. A huge grin lights up his face.
‘Come back here. You’ll fall.’
The boy looks up at Sarah and frowns. ‘Why’s her face all weird?’ he hisses at his mum.
The woman shoots a glance at Sarah. ‘Shh,’ she says, taking the opportunity to pull him back onto his seat.
Sarah blushes and looks out of the window, mobile phone still clutched in her palm. Maybe I should call him. Make sure he’s okay? His number is still stored on her speed dial.
‘Welcome to Mobnet answer phone. The mobile you are calling is switched off. Please leave a message after the tone … ’
Pressing the disconnect button, she sniffs. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why can’t he think of anyone other than himself? Why do I care? Frustrated, she throws the phone back into her bag. She presses her nose and the palms of her hands against the cold glass. Condensation tickles her skin. Pushing as hard as she can, she imagines the glass melting. If only I could grow wings and fly away. The glass remains solid. Her breath simply obscures the outside world even more. I hate my life! She wants to scream the words, but the people around her stifle the sound before it is even formed.
The apartment is empty. Sarah switches on the television and turns up the sound. Excited voices fill the room. She takes her mobile phone and places it on the coffee table. One at a time, she pulls open the heavy velvet curtains. Shafts of sunlight hit the dusty air and for a moment Sarah is mesmerised, watching the tiny particles swirl and dance around the room. Picking up her phone, she checks she has a signal then replaces it on the table.
The kitchen is dark and she switches on the fluorescent strip light. It hums and crackles as the tube warms. She fills the kettle and drops a tea bag into a mug. Her favourite mug, the one Donna bought her last year. You’re just jealous because the voices only talk to me. Today, the slogan makes her smile.
Opening the fridge, she looks through bags of salads, tubs of hummus and a bowl of lentil salad until she finds a bar of chocolate hiding near the back. She grabs it and a half empty bottle of milk and pushes the door closed. The fridge exhales as rubber seal hits rubber seal. She replies with a sigh.
Tea in one hand and chocolate bar in the other, she returns to the living room. She puts the confectionery down first and hunts for a coaster. Spotting one beside the television, she grabs it. Peter Murphy pouts from the black and white image as she covers him with the hot cup.
Shiny
‘Got us tickets for Combichrist next month. You owe me £40 Raven x’
Bitch, you know I hardly ever listen to that industrial shit. Forty quid!
The second text reads, ‘Where are u? Answer me dammit.’
‘Okay,’ she texts back and starts to cry. Feeling someone standing just behind her, she looks up. It is Wendy.
‘I-I’m sorry,’ she says again. Her eyes dart down to Wendy’s stockinged feet.
‘Just go. Come back when you’re well enough. We’ll talk about it later,’ Wendy answers. Not waiting for a reply, the woman marches back to her office.
Sarah gathers her things and trudges to the elevator. Outside the sun is shining and the air feels warm for October. Seagulls swoop and glide overhead. She passes through a cloud of cigarette smoke as she walks towards the bus stop. Blinking at the bright sky above her, she wishes she could join the birds.
The bus is almost empty. The few people sitting downstairs are laden down with bags of shopping. A mother reaches towards her young son as he yanks a roll of shiny, holly print wrapping paper from a bulging Debenhams carrier. He jabs at the empty aisle with his prize, humming.
‘Michael, give it back,’ his mother growls.
‘I’m not Michael, mum. I told you already, I’m Luke,’ he says, slipping off his chair. A huge grin lights up his face.
‘Come back here. You’ll fall.’
The boy looks up at Sarah and frowns. ‘Why’s her face all weird?’ he hisses at his mum.
The woman shoots a glance at Sarah. ‘Shh,’ she says, taking the opportunity to pull him back onto his seat.
Sarah blushes and looks out of the window, mobile phone still clutched in her palm. Maybe I should call him. Make sure he’s okay? His number is still stored on her speed dial.
‘Welcome to Mobnet answer phone. The mobile you are calling is switched off. Please leave a message after the tone … ’
Pressing the disconnect button, she sniffs. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why can’t he think of anyone other than himself? Why do I care? Frustrated, she throws the phone back into her bag. She presses her nose and the palms of her hands against the cold glass. Condensation tickles her skin. Pushing as hard as she can, she imagines the glass melting. If only I could grow wings and fly away. The glass remains solid. Her breath simply obscures the outside world even more. I hate my life! She wants to scream the words, but the people around her stifle the sound before it is even formed.
The apartment is empty. Sarah switches on the television and turns up the sound. Excited voices fill the room. She takes her mobile phone and places it on the coffee table. One at a time, she pulls open the heavy velvet curtains. Shafts of sunlight hit the dusty air and for a moment Sarah is mesmerised, watching the tiny particles swirl and dance around the room. Picking up her phone, she checks she has a signal then replaces it on the table.
The kitchen is dark and she switches on the fluorescent strip light. It hums and crackles as the tube warms. She fills the kettle and drops a tea bag into a mug. Her favourite mug, the one Donna bought her last year. You’re just jealous because the voices only talk to me. Today, the slogan makes her smile.
Opening the fridge, she looks through bags of salads, tubs of hummus and a bowl of lentil salad until she finds a bar of chocolate hiding near the back. She grabs it and a half empty bottle of milk and pushes the door closed. The fridge exhales as rubber seal hits rubber seal. She replies with a sigh.
Tea in one hand and chocolate bar in the other, she returns to the living room. She puts the confectionery down first and hunts for a coaster. Spotting one beside the television, she grabs it. Peter Murphy pouts from the black and white image as she covers him with the hot cup.
Shiny
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