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For those that follow my blog…

Hello all,

Just to inform everyone that this blog will becomes even less active than it already is, I have created a new site which will contain only FICTION. Details will be below. I am doing this because currently i am posting alot of different material and i need to focus on one style and be known in that genre. that is what the new blog will be doing. I’ve created Facebook and Twitter pages aswell and it would be very helpful if you could follow and like these too.

Twitter: @lifeof_nat

Facebook: Natalie Louise Hussey


uncensored, unedited

I am a night walker. In the night time I dream of you. You with your quirky ways and affectionate looks. The feeling of content whenever I was in your arms. I dream of you holding me while we fall asleep. Of your flesh against mine. Your hands on my waist. Lips on my cheek. How after you left I felt cold and shivered without your contact. Missing you on cold winters nights anticipating your return, the visit. Give me another day.
In the night I see you. As we used to be. The you in the beginning, the before all of this. The before I thought you changed. I see you, the you I fell in love with. The you I want to hold and kiss. Just give me one more kiss.

Walking in the night I want you I need you. I crave you. Give me passion. Lover.
You are the night walker and in the night you want me back. I dream of you and you need me too. It is always you. it was always you. and in the night I crawl back to you so willingly, so desperate for you. so still in love. I fall down at your feet and I beg you to kiss me and you always do. Every time. You take me into your arms and cradle me, make me yours again. You tell me you that you want me back.

I always say yes.

For in the night my subconscious talks to me, it tells me my greatest desire for my dreams are a wish fulfilment and this is a dream come true. Until I wake up. But in the night I will say yes. I will still love you. that I will always be yours. That you are mine.

In the night I always have you.

But that’s not true. That’s a lie. All I know are lies. The tedious words and actions. The same old routine.

No I don’t want you.

Because I am a day dreamer and in the day I hate you.

I despise the way you laugh at me. The way you mocked me for where I’ve come from. A dirty council house upbringing. God forbid you lower yourself to such standard. It’s just a joke right?

In the day I think of you with anger and I tell you hell no. don’t come back. I know you won’t. I’ve played the scenario around in my head so many times. It’s getting old now. But you beg me and plead for me to forgive you for all the hurt. To come back to you.

I’ll give you a piece of my fucking mind you bastard.

I don’t yell at you or swear. For that is how the common less educated argue and defend themselves. They fill up their sentences with words that are numb, dumb because they can’t articulate a decent comeback. But I can. I am not afraid to tell you how much I hate you, how badly I want you to burn.

Fucking cunt.

But wait.
It’s not like that. It’s not like that at all.

Fuck! Why do I think like that. I guess they’re the stages we go through though. There’s the wishing for the way it was, but then a switch goes off and it all turns into hate.

The swearing is for myself. Not you. you’re not worth it.

It’s easier to be numb than to feel pain, love, hurt. It’s all the same thing to me.

But now in the day you are nothing, no one. I barely even remember us. None of it seems real. Part of me is still trying to hold on. I know that. I can’t run away forever. But for now this numbness will have to do. It’s got me this far. Its opened up new things. I’ve changed. I’m not the girl I was 3 years ago. Wow. Look at me? I don’t recognise who I am, but I like me better now.

I can’t control what happens in the night walks when my eyes are closed. But I can smile and wave and be me. I’ll be happy, at least try to be. I’ll be civil with everyone, stop the hostile feelings towards new people. Be free.

So in the night, when I can’t control it, I’ll want you.

But here in the daylight, I am strong without you.

I will be me.

Wolf Man

a textural intervention based on little red riding hood int he style of Angela Carter (because apparently its ok to copy other authors)* disclaimer: contains adult content (but i know my mum will still read it anyway) *

We were cold hearted, like the constant snow on our lands. We were ignorant of the natural forces, the things they were capable of. We feared what we didn’t understand.

We feared the wolves, the forest, the other something that was out there. So we gathered our blacksmiths to make the sharpest of weapons. We dyed our cloaks red, a safe colour; the wolf wouldn’t come near. We built a wall of logs around our village; we painted it with the blood of the wolf. Decorated spears with the heads of the beast and we skinned them for fur blankets. We bathed our newborns in wolf blood in hope it would protect them. Superstition has a way of working into facts. After so many generations it becomes a ritual, a habit. It was a lie.

I knew what he was long before it happened. I saw it, the change. He transformed to cease my curiosity, to prove the stories wrong. His bone structure reshaped itself and changed to form that of the wolf. It was magnificent and terrifying. Think of the pain he must have gone through. His skin tearing at the joints, his nose stretching to a snout. A pile of human teeth were left on the ground from where the wolf’s fangs had forced themselves through the gum. I watched as his body hair thickened and spread until it was of the thickness of fur. He was beautiful, as both man and wolf. How could we fear them when at times they were one of us? One of us was a wolf, living in our village. Hidden and obvious at the same time, and I knew about him. I loved him.

The only woman I knew who didn’t fear the wolves was my Grandmother. She built her own house outside of the village after the log wall went up. She didn’t believe in the rituals. She refused to take part in them, ‘they say I screamed when they bathed me in blood. The loudest scream a baby could manage. You see even then I was against it all. We mustn’t fear the wolf. We must embrace them.’

I tried to visit her as often as could, mother rarely allowed me to go out into the forest. But Grandmother had no trouble from the wolves, so why would I?

She told me to embrace them. So I did, perhaps a little too much. I’d known my wolf man since we were children. He wasn’t always a wolf, he said he changed, but he refused to tell me how. No matter how persistent I was.

‘How did you become a wolf? Did it hurt?’ I asked.

‘It felt like I was burning from the inside out. Now hush, little girls don’t need horror stories from a wolf.’

‘I am not a little girl!’

‘Enough,’ he whispered and pressed his lips against mine until I forgot our conversation.

‘Will you take me into the woods?’ I said breathless after he’d pulled away.


‘Today, now.’ I took hold of his hand and led my wolf man past the log wall and into the forest. We walked far enough so that we could see just the top of the wall. Several wolf heads jutted out from the log wall on spears. Fresh blood still ran down the wood from one of the murdered wolves.

The forest was dense with trees, their braches intertwined with one another, as if each tree were holding onto its neighbour. Snow sat above our heads like a canopy held up by the tree’s. It was eerily warm under its protection. The ground was damp from melted snow and mud. I sat down against a tree and pulled my wolf man beside me.

‘It’s not safe for you here; I can’t let them see us together,’ he told me.

‘Can’t let who see us?’

‘The others.’
I could see the concern in his eyes, but this was where I wanted to be. It was all so peaceful, so perfect.
‘I’m not afraid, I trust you.’ I sat up on my knees and cupped his face in my hand. ‘I trust you with my life,’ and I kissed him. I kissed him with a fierce passion and moved myself until I had a leg on either side of him. I heard him growl and felt, for the first time, that part that made him a man.

‘You have to stop.’ He whimpered in my ear.

‘I won’t,’ I replied, then I ceased any further words with my lips. I pushed the fur coat from his shoulders and lifted the fabric of his shirt so that I could explore the skin underneath. His hands found the knot that tied my red cloak around my neck, with one tug the cloak fell from my shoulders. The bodice of my dress was tied with a complex of knots at the back, but he didn’t even attempt to undo them. Instead he grabbed me by my thighs and flipped me onto my back. The damp ground soaked into my dress, but I didn’t care. All I could focus on was the touch of his hands and the way his body felt beneath my fingertips. He growled again, louder this time. Then his hands crept under my skirts to find the bare skin of my legs. So I wrapped them around his waist and pulled his body down onto mine, his hips grinded against mine. I wanted him; there was nothing I’d ever wanted more than to have him right then.

‘If at any point you want me to stop just-‘

‘No, don’t ever stop.’

His hands raced up to grasp my arse, his nails digging into my skin. But the pleasure took away any pain I might have felt. He ripped away my underwear and touched me where no one had ever touched before. I opened up and welcomed him in with ease. I felt a burning pleasure as his fingers moved in me. I moaned and begged for more, reaching out for the clasp on his trousers. Finally grasping hold of it, I undid the clasp and pushed the material down past his hips. He pushed my skirts up past my thighs and lowered himself down into me. I felt every bit of him ease into me, slowly, as if he were afraid I might break. When he was deep inside me, my wolf man looked at me with his dark eyes and smiled.

‘I love you, little girl.’

‘I’m not little, but I love you too.’

He pulled out slightly then plunged quickly back into me.

‘No, defiantly not a little girl anymore.’

He fucked me. It wasn’t making love as some people call it, that would require some type of compassion. A tenderness. He fucked me like I was a piece of meat and it was his duty to tenderise me. But it wasn’t painful. It was a type of pleasure you can’t imagine until you’ve actually experienced it.

But then suddenly all I felt was pain. He changed. His face started contorting and his bones broke and reshaped themselves into the wolf. His jaw elongated into a snout with large gleaming fangs and hot breath. I screamed as the size of him increased in me. He snarled viciously at me then plunged his fangs down on my shoulder and clamped around my collar bone. The pain was like fire, I felt his fangs grinding on my bone; the noise echoed in my eardrum. I battered at him with my fists and pulled at his fur.

Suddenly he released my shoulder and looked at me with sorrowful wolf eyes. Blood flowed out of my wound rapidly. He licked at the blood for a brief second, like a cat drinks from a puddle, then slowly withdrew himself from me and backed away into the woods.

My vision began to blur and I couldn’t feel my shoulder, or the arm that was attached to it. But somehow I managed to push myself upright. Grandmother’s house wasn’t far from there. So I stumbled towards the safety her arms would bring me.

For the first time I feared my wolf man. How easily he lost control of who he was, turned on the one he said he loved. How could I love such a monster? Perhaps the legends were true and my village was right to fight the wild. He couldn’t be tamed.

As I stumbled through the forest I knocked my wounded shoulder against a tree. A burst of pain spread down to my fingertips. I cried out then bit my lip to silence my screams. What if more wolves were out there?

Grandmother’s cottage came into view and I urged my legs to move me faster. I threw my body against the door. My body twitched with a foreign energy. I felt the skin on my shoulder tingle and I watched as the flesh began to stich itself back together to mend the wound. I banged my fist on the door several times. Please be home. My back involuntarily arched itself. Then every single bone in my body vibrated and reformed. My skin burned and itched, I scratched away it. Wanting to peel it away. I fell down to the ground and went into spasm. Then I herd footsteps and the sound of the doorknob turning. I looked down at my hands. But they were no longer hands. They were paws, and in front of them was a pile of human teeth.

The door of the cottage opened and I smelt the delicious scent of human flesh. I couldn’t help myself. My new body was alive and hungry. It was the one need I felt, the burning desire to rip into tender flesh and chew on her frail bones. I leapt onto her and dug my fangs into her neck. She struggled briefly, but soon her energy was gone. Hot creamy blood slipped down my throat. I lapped it up with my wolf tongue then gorged on the rest of her meat. I couldn’t eat it fast enough. I tore at the flesh with my teeth and clawed at the body with my paws. But there was so much. My instincts told me to devour it at once or another would try to claim my prize from me. But this was mine. No one else could one morsel of my banquet.

As I frantically tried to tear away the flesh of my grandmother, I felt once again the vibration of my bones and screamed as humanity regained control over my actions. The transition from wolf to girl was less painful, but the horror of what I had just done preceded over any physical pain. I could taste my grandmother’s blood. There was something stuck between my teeth. I pulled out a piece of flesh and threw it as far from me as I could. I backed away from the half eaten corpse and ran into the bedroom of the cottage.

I slammed the door shut and pressed my naked back against the wood. I could still feel the hunger of the wolf inside me, the burning desire to go back and eat the rest of my grandmother. I bit down onto my hand to stop my screams. I couldn’t prevent the tears from running down my cheeks like a waterfall. What have I done? I had ripped apart the one person in this world who could understand my alliance with the wolf. She was the only one who didn’t fear them, who lived out in the forest among them. What did she know that I didn’t?
I pushed myself up from the door and made my way to the bed. Folded up on the pillows I found grandmothers night gown. I picked it up and inhaled the scent of lemons. She always used lemon juice when she washed her clothes. I put on the nightgown; it came just a few inches above my ankles. The collar was embroiled with patterns of green leaves whilst the rest of the gown remained a plain white. I wondered where she had acquired such bright green cotton. But it was too late to ask now. I curled up on the straw mattress and cried until my eyes fell into a deep sleep.

I was woken by a scratching at the front door. I crept out of the bedroom and towards the door. A whimpering sound followed by groaning sounded from the other side. Several loud cracks sounded, accompanied by a mainly grunt. Someone knocked at the door.

Slowly, I placed my hand on the door knob and turned it. I opened the door only enough to peek out and see my wolf man standing there naked. I slammed the door shut again.

‘I don’t want you near me!’ I shouted.

‘You need me. I’m sorry, I lost control, I had no idea that would happen. Just let me talk to you. Let me help.’

I needed him. I couldn’t go back to my village. They’d cut my throat the minute I showed any sign of the wolf. Even my mother would turn on me. I couldn’t go back to them. I rested my forehead against the door and began to cry again at the realisation that there was nothing left for me to do.

‘How can you help me?’ I sobbed.

‘I’ll teach you to control when you change. How to stop yourself from losing control… like I did.’
‘She’s gone,’ I whispered, ‘I killed her.’

‘I know, I buried her. Come with me to find some flowers for her grave, please?’
I pulled the door wide open and threw myself into his arms. He held me tight and stroked my hair. His lips gently brushed along my neck and whispered in my ear.

‘Hush now, it’s okay your safe. No one will hurt you now.’

I nodded my head in acknowledgment. As long as I stayed away from my village, no one would know what I had become. Perhaps I was better off for it. Set free from the confinement of the log wall. Forced to watch as the new borns were bathed in wolf blood. Blood that could one day could be my own.

I walked away with my wolf man that day. He brought me to his pack and I was welcomed in as one of their own. For the first time I felt like I belonged there. Though we lived in caves and hunted as the wolf, the horrific kills didn’t frighten me anymore. I embraced my wolf and learnt to control its urges.

Now we hold hands as humans, we run as wolves and we fuck like lovers.

Planet Moon

‘Ahh shit!’ Rick shouted as he bashed his head on the pipe. He crawled backwards out of the shaft and stood to face me. ‘If I can’t find the problem soon, we’re gonna have issues with the heating and cooling system; find me a hammer will you?’ I nodded and rummaged through the tool box. I handed it over to him and he ducked back into the shaft. A second later a loud ringing penetrated my ears. He’d whacked the pipe with the hammer. Typical guy using brute force. I covered my ears in a vain attempt to block the noise.

‘Rick!’ I yelled, ‘hitting the problem is only going to make it worse. Have you tried turning it off and on again?’

Rick stood up and gave me the look. I smiled at him. I thought that he should try smiling once in a while, but I was only his intern, and I knew he had a strong dislike for people like me. He hated training people on the job, probably because we got to know that there really wasn’t much brain power involved. He had just tried to fix a pipe by hitting it with a hammer. Not the smartest decision he’d ever made.
‘So tell me, intern. What happens if the heating system simply doesn’t turn back on?’ I opened my mouth to reply but he carried on, ‘I’ll have to inform the head officials that my dumb intern thought it would be a great idea to switch it off.’

‘Yes, but-‘

‘But now, because of her, the entire moon colony is going to freeze.’

I stared at him. Yes, what he said was perfectly true but I only meant it as a joke right?

I sighed and walked over to the control box. ‘Lara, what are you doing?’ That question stunned me for a second. He never called me by name.

‘Just looking for… aha!’ I’d found the switches. ‘Look, the temperature control is at thirteen, we just need to push that up and check the fuses.’ He came and peered over my shoulder and grunted in my ear. I was very aware of his breath on my neck. I reached out and flicked the temperature up to nineteen. ‘So simple,’ I said.

Rick moved away from me, ‘I guess you can be useful sometimes. Do you know how to check a fuse?’
‘Duh, you’ve seen me do it’ I replied. But he just stared at me with his dark condescending eyes and shook his head. I shrugged my shoulders in reply, unlocked the control box with my finger print and checked over the fuses. One of them had burnt out.

‘This one needs changing’ I said as I pulled it out. Rick handed me a new fuse from the tool box and watched me put it in place. Changing a fuse wasn’t difficult. It was the tension I felt when I knew he was watching me that made it hard.

‘I’m done; see I know what I’m doing. You should stop doubting me.’

‘Just remember who’s in charge here, don’t get cocky, let’s leave.’

‘Said the most obnoxious person I know,’ I smiled nicely, I knew I was pushing my luck with that comment.

I shrugged again and headed back to the step ladder. He followed quietly behind. He just hated it when I was right. Or when I did something better than him; which happened quite a lot. Sometimes I wondered how he would cope without me.

I grabbed hold of the ladder and hauled myself up. At the top I had to knock against the closed hatch. Security were posted on every door that led to anywhere important. We had to scan our finger prints just to get to the canteen. They always had to know where we were.

The hatch creaked open and florescent lights momentarily blinded me.

‘Everything alright down there?’ John, the security guard on duty asked as he helped me out. Rick followed hot on my heels.

‘It’s fine. Everything’s fixed.’

‘Good to hear, don’t forget to fill out the form as protocal,’ John waved us away. Rick never let me chat with the guards, he placed his hand lightly on my back and steered me down to the door. It felt so warm while it rested there, in the space between my shoulder blades. I felt cold when it withdrew and I crossed my arms to stop myself from shivering.

Rick placed his hand on the sensor pad, it beeped in recognition but the doors stayed closed. They wouldn’t open until everyone who passed through signed out together. I placed my own hand on the pad, still warm from his touch. It beeped and the doors slid open.

‘I wanna go outside,’ I said carelessly.

‘What, so you can float around and do somersaults in the air?’ Rick mocked.

‘Erm no,’ damn I wish I hadn’t said anything, I sounded like an idiot, ‘I just want to know what it’s like to be out there’.

‘Can’t,’ Rick replied, blunt to the point as always.

‘Can, I just need to ask for permission.’

‘You won’t get it.’

‘You know who my parents are right?’

He stopped walking and stared at me.

‘If I were you, I wouldn’t give a damn about the people who sent you up here to do god knows what. Your existence is illegal. You’re here because you were their second child. So blame your parents’ hanky panky business for you not being able to dance around in space.’

That hurt, the truth hurt. My parents still loved me, we talked on video chat all the time.

’What about your parents? Or a sibling? I never hear you talk about any one,’ I asked.

‘I was born on the moon.’

‘Oh, so your family is here?’

‘No, they’re all gone.’


‘Drop the subject, intern.’

I shut my stupid mouth then. There was no use in trying to get information out of him. Stubborn dicks don’t talk about feelings. Even if they do smell like leather and oranges. Sometimes I wanted to rip off his clothes and do bad things to him. But then I remembered that he was a dick to me, like all the time. I was also his student, so it would be inappropriate to just pounce on him. But he was so very pretty with that curly dark hair and stubble. I really needed to stop thinking like that.

I went straight back to my room after that. It was small, walls made of steel like everything was there. A mattress on the floor, because clearly they couldn’t afford to give us a proper bed. Must’ve spent too much money on sending us up there in the first place. We did get a wardrobe and a bedside table though.

Everyone on the moon had some type of purpose. Those with a decent education become doctors and nurses. The physically fit ones were security. Us technical ones (like myself) became mechanics and engineers. Then we had the people who were classed as ‘almost insignificant’, they did the cooking and the cleaning. We still needed bin men on the moon.

Why was I on the moon? Because I was the second child and the new law dictates that each woman may only be permitted one child. And that only a married couple may have a child. I didn’t want to think about what they did to the unborn children of women who’d been careless, perhaps even raped. But that was Earth, over populated with the stench of humanity.

Rick was right. I shouldn’t even exist. My life was taking up supplies on Earth so I had to go to the moon and contribute something worthwhile to prove my significance. I’d always been good at fixing things, that’s why I’d chosen to become a mechanic.

I flopped down onto my mattress and kicked off my shoes. I pulled my tablet out from under my pillow, it was just a frame until it was turned on. I could put my whole arms through the middle of.
‘Tablet on,’ I said to wake it up. The centre soon filled up with the familiar blue glow of the welcome screen.

‘Call mum,’ the screen changed to an image of Earth, it then zoomed into the UK and further onto my house, until at last it found my mum’s tablet. I could tell from the image on screen that she’d left it in the kitchen again. I could just make out the glass fruit bowl and the cat clock on the wall. I hoped she would hear it ringing from wherever she was in the house.

Mum came into view then and smiled when she saw my face. It always made me feel better, talking to home. I’d been living on the moon for most of my life so I couldn’t remember much of my life on Earth, I was too little back then.

‘Hey honey how are you?’ Mum’s sweet voice echoed around my bare room.

‘Oh you know just the usual. Rick being a dick and all that.’

‘Lara! Mind your language.’

‘I’m in space, mum, there’s not a lot you can do about it, and I’m just saying how it is,’ I laughed.

‘You know, I could pull up his files and tell you his life story, could be interesting,’ she giggled at the thought of doing something she shouldn’t.

‘Thanks, but that’s illegal, you can’t conspire against your own government project.’

At that moment the dinner bell sounded. Each sector had to have dinner at a specific time, which was indicated by our buzzers going off in our quarters. Our hallways and rooms would also flash in our sector colours, mine being yellow.

‘I gotta go mum, dinner time, love you.’

‘You too.’

That night dinner was a choice of chicken and tomato pasta, or chicken with potato and peas. There was no leeway for vegetarians or vegans, they’re moralistic ideals were fucked on the moon. Our law dictated that everyone have the correct vitamin substances for every meal. We were after all doing our bit for science. The future of the human race partially depended on us adapting an artificial breathable atmosphere on the moon. Also known as the ABMA project. God forbid we didn’t get our daily fix of protein.

I sat alone, most of the people in my sector were either over thirty or pretentious arseholes. Like Rick, who avoided me like the plague when we were off duty. I watched him from the corner of my eye walking over to a table on the far side of the room. Twat, I thought to myself. It’s so true when people say there’s a fine line between hate and really liking someone. I’m refusing to call it love. I’d go with strongly infatuated by him. Yup, that was just pure attraction and nothing else.

It was at that moment that John, the security guard from earlier, sat down next to me.

‘Oh hey,’ I said, ‘you’re not in my sector what’re you doing here?’

‘This is the only break I get today, so I thought I’d grab dinner now. And seeing as I only know two people in this sector, my choices for dinner company are very limited.’ He winked at me.

‘Well Rick isn’t exactly the most social person on the moon.’

‘He isn’t the best looking one either.’

I tensed, ‘That’s so cheesy, please don’t.’ I laughed, hoping that my humour would lighten the mood.
‘I know, just messing with you.’

I relaxed and smiled, had to be polite to the security, they could report me. We still had jails in space. The death penalty was in strong force up there, you’d get floated if you did something too serious, like murder. We needed the extra bed space for people worthwhile to help create the atmosphere. They’d do anything to get rid of the riff raff.

‘Do you know what I love most about this canteen area?’ John asked.

‘No, what?’

‘The windows, it’s the only place where you can literally look outside and see home.’

He was right. The windows in there went from floor to ceiling and there was a big sky light in the roof. It was beautiful outside. The constant stars meant every night, and day, was a starry one. Earth looked magnificent; I could make out the rain clouds. They gathered in clumps and travelled around inside the atmosphere. I felt like I could just reach out and hold the Earth in my hands. It looked so small from the moon. It was just like a marble really, a green and blue marble. With a couple of white splodges on opposite ends. From that distance I could forget about the issues down there, I could pretend that everything was ok. That it didn’t break me by being up here, alone. For a moment I could just look at how beautiful it was. Pretend that there wasn’t skyscrapers where there used to be fields. I could still remember looking at old photos from hundreds of years ago of fields and forests, country sides. But they were gone now, I’d be lucky if I ever saw a tree. But I wouldn’t be seeing that on the moon.

At that moment it dawned on me that I would probably never go back to Earth, I was imprisoned on the moon. Stuck to the same old walls and routines. Attempting to help benefit our future. And for what? So that our future generations could spoil it again, just like our ancestors did.

‘Yeah, space is beautiful,’ I said after realising I hadn’t spoken for a while.

‘You don’t sound so convincing.’ John nudged me with his elbow.

‘Well I am stuck up here against my will you know. You’re here for your job, one day you’ll get to go back home. I won’t.’

‘Oh come on, Lara, cheer up. You’re here for a good cause you know.’

‘Yeah I know, building a better place for the future of humanity so on so forth blah blah blah.’

‘Hey, I think I chose the wrong person to sit with. I thought Rick was the moody one.’

I looked over to where I knew Rick was sitting. I could just make out his face, dark eyes staring at me from across the room. His plate was empty so I didn’t understand why he was still there. Normally he’d leave as soon as possible. But there he was, watching me. Because I was talking to John? Was he jealous? No don’t be silly. He practically hated me.

I think he must’ve noticed me then, because he quickly got up and left. I wanted to follow him. I felt a little lost watching him walk away.

‘Sorry I have a thing, need to go,’ I said as I got up. I left before I got to hear a reply. The corridors were busy with people from my sector leaving the canteen. I had to push my way past, being tall came in handy sometimes, I spotted Rick just turning a corner. I sprinted to get to him.

‘Hey wait up!’ I called.

‘Oh, you didn’t bring your new friend along?’ he replied as he turned to see me, I caught up and walked by his side, panting out of breath.

‘Who, John?’

‘You know security isn’t allowed to associate themselves with us riff raff.’

‘But we’re important, we fix things, they need us.’

‘You’ve been living here for eight years but you still don’t understand how society works up here. You baffle me sometimes.’

‘But I knew John on Earth, he went to my school, he knows my parents.’

‘Maybe you did, but it’s a different world up here.’

I didn’t know how to reply to that. Why was he so condescending to me all the time? I didn’t get it. I only ever tried to be nice to him but he always found a way to knock me back down. Typical Rick. It would’ve been nice to have at least one friend on the moon.

‘It’s nice just to know one person from home,’ I replied.

‘Here is your home now.’ He stopped outside the door to his room. I hadn’t realised how long we’d been walking for. There was no one else around. I breathed in his scent, why was he allowed a leather coat? I was only allowed to wear the stupid itching grey jumpsuit all the time.

‘Well I’m sorry I disappoint you so much,’ I said, I went to walk away but he grabbed hold of my arm. I looked into his dark brown eyes, just inches from my face.

‘I’m trying to help you. Can’t trust the security guards, you’re my intern so I’m watching your back.’
‘You’ve got a strange way of showing it.’ I tried to pull my arm away but he still gripped me tight.
‘You need to be more careful.’

‘If you want to look out for me try spending time with me, sit with me at dinner or something.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not? Just because we work together doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.’

‘It’s not that. Something’s not right here.’

‘No shit Sherlock we’re living on the moon, that’s not right.’

‘Lara, just go back to your room.’ He let go of my arm and I stumbled back a couple of steps.

‘Stop treating me like a kid, Rick.’ I marched off back down the corridor to my own room. He didn’t have a say in who I could speak to. Why would it matter who I was friends with? He had no choice in the matter. He was acting like a child, getting jealous because I was talking to another guy. Jealous of what though?


I walk out the doors. Strange how I am the one to leave the others behind. Those who are strangers to me, who are now trapped. I don’t remember how I got here. I still don’t know. Who I am or where I am.

I am nothing.

I am human, yes, not animal or mineral. Human I know; the who, what, and why I do not.

Outside I am surrounded by grass, oak trees and bluebells. A meadow; something about it feels so familiar. What is it? The smell of pollen sticks to my nostrils and I try to sneeze to rid myself of its intrusion. But the smell stays. Of course it does. I used to play in the forest near my house when I was a child. Holding buttercups up to my chin and getting a friend to inspect the yellow light that guaranteed I liked butter.
Everyone likes butter.

How do I remember that, but I can’t recall my own name?

I turn around to gaze back at the house. But as I turn the meadow moves with me. It spins around like a frisbee. I try turning the other way, but it still follows me. So instead I walk forwards. There’s no pathway so I have to wade through the thick grass. It sticks to me, the grass blades wrap their edges around my ankles and hold on. I used to play stuck in the mud. Running from my friends as they tried to catch me, standing with arms out stretched and legs apart waiting for someone to free me. No one was coming to my rescue now.

Around me the grass starts to grow. It shoots up past my head and begins to morph, closing around me like a cage. I watch as the blades change shape, spread their width and get fatter, divide themselves into sections to create arms and legs.

I’m surrounded by people.

What was once a field of green is now a swarm of faces I do not recognise.
They all stare at me in recognition, but I have no idea who they are. Then all at once they cheer, shout and applaud.

Why? What did I do?

The people closest to me wield cameras, notebooks and pens. They are suddenly dressed in fine suits and holding out microphones. Blank expressions. The cameras flash, I blink hard. The lights stun me, the noise of the crowd drowned out by the pounding of blood in my ears.

The crowd parts and ahead is a stage; nothing but a chair on it, numerous lights surrounding it, illuminating the stage for the audience’s pleasure. You stand there, at the edge of the stage with your hand out towards me.

And suddenly I am there: I am holding your hand walking up onto stage. How did I get here so fast?
I think I know you, I’ve seen you before. But I can’t place your face or think of a name. You wear black; a shirt and trousers, polished shoes. Your hair is dark, as is too your stubble. You lead me towards the chair and make me sit. The crowd goes silent.

‘How do you feel?’ you ask me.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘How do you feel?’

‘About what?’

I look back out into the crowd; they look at me with the same blank stare as before. I glance back to you. Your eyes don’t look at me, but through me. You know something I don’t. You’re playing with me. Teasing.

‘How do you feel?’

Can’t you say any other words? I refuse to reply.

The kitchen is alight with the glow of candles. They line every work surface, every shelf. The dinner table is set out neatly, cream table cloth, bluebells. The silverware rests perfectly straight in comparison to the plates. Everything is symmetrical. Do you have OCD? One of the many mental disorders they can diagnose us with these days. Picking out each little flaw that’s wrong in our heads. You have intrusive thoughts; it makes you uneasy, repetitive. I imagine you excessively washing your hands. Thinking there’s lurking bacteria on your flesh. One wash just isn’t enough.

In the 15th Century we used to believe that people with obsessive thoughts were possessed by the devil. The only cure was an exorcism. But I don’t know you. I’m just making assumptions, where are you right now while I stand in your kitchen?

I walk back to the table and sit. Leaning forward, I smell the bluebells on the table, but they do not have the familiar sweet scent. I inhale bitterness; it creeps through my nose and into my throat. I cough. Bile crawls its way up and into my mouth, I splutter blood. The white table cloth is decorated with drops of crimson.

I look up and suddenly there you are, sitting across from me holding out a tissue.

‘How do you feel?’

God I wish you would stop saying that and tell me what the hell is going on. It’s only now that I notice your eyes, unusual. We normally notice the colour of eyes first. Shades of blues, browns and greens swirling around each other. But your eyes do not have this. There is only the dark hole of your iris contrasting with the whites of your eye, like a rotten egg yolk.

I shiver and reach out to take the tissues from your hand. You stare at me as I wipe the blood from my mouth, ruining my lipstick. Do you realise how intimidating your gaze is? You look through me again as if you’re staring at something just behind my head. I turn around to check, but there’s nothing there.

When I turn back dinner is on my plate, roast chicken with a mushroom sauce, sweet potato mash, green beans and carrots.

You’re already eating, I pick up my fork but dinner is gone and now I’m sitting on your sofa. I want to know who I am, where I’ve come from. How did I get here?

‘Who am I?’ I ask.


I hold my breath. You just said something. You didn’t ask how I feel.

‘Who am I?’ I repeat.


‘What’s my name?’


‘Tell me.’


‘That’s not my name!’

‘How do you feel, Nobody?’

‘Stop it!’

‘Do you feel?’


‘Nobody, do you feel?’

‘I don’t understand, just tell me what’s going on’

‘How do you feel?’

‘I feel nothing! I remember nothing, I am nothing until you tell me who I am!’


All I want to do is slap you right now. You’re so frustrating. Why won’t you tell me anything? Why am I in the dark? You are all I know. Escape isn’t an option from the only person who may know who I am.
Tell me who I am.

But you won’t. Instead you cup your hard, calloused hands behind my neck and bore those dark irises into me. You look into me, searching deep inside me for something, I don’t know what. But I feel it. I feel you searching, delving your way through my mind, pushing around my blood cells. Give me a memory; I beg you, give me something to go by. Let me know.

Your lips press down on mine. They are cold, frostbitten. They crunch against my own reluctant mouth. Frost falls onto my tongue; it melts into the crease down the middle. I taste it. Sour, like lemon. It stings as though I have a cut on my tongue and you have poured salt onto it. But you are still moving your lips against mine. Forcing my head in place with a single hand.

You’re passionless, like this is a repetitive chore that you must go through. I don’t want it. I’m trying to push you away, my hands on your shoulders, using all my strength to get you off. But you don’t budge; my efforts do not affect you.

I’m trying to scream now, but you silence me with your tongue. Sliding and grazing over my own. No! Stop! I struggle and for a brief second my lips break free from yours. But you clamp back down onto my mouth, your teeth digging into my lip, sharp as flint. When did your teeth become sharp? I taste metal. Blood.

Am I supposed to go along with this? Is this some type of test I need to pass in order to proceed, to know who I am? But I can’t force myself to go along with something that feels so wrong, so repulsive.

You run your hands over my face, shoulders and down my back. I shiver at your touch but this doesn’t faze you. You release my lips from your hold and stare into me as your hands explore. I try to stand but the sudden movement makes you grip my arms tight. Nails dig into my flesh. But you do not have nails anymore, they are claws. No, talons. Like a vulture. But they don’t kill, they’re just scavengers. So what do you want from me?

Hands that were cold just seconds ago are now feverishly hot. They burn my arms where you grip me. I struggle but you hold me tighter again. I slouch, defeated in your grasp. Just do whatever it is you’re going to do.

‘How do you feel?’ you ask me once again.

‘Fuck off.’ I refuse to look at you. ‘Let me go.’


We’re on a bed. I don’t remember moving to here; did you have to carry me? Drag me here? Your body is on top of mine pinning me down. I am the paper, you the weighted object designed to keep me in place. Stop me from escaping with a breeze that comes in through the window.

Your talons tear at my clothes, scorching my skin, ripping shreds and flinging them to the floor. Your skin is darker than before. It changes as I watch, almost purple now compared to moments ago. You don’t seem to notice, you just keep tearing at my clothes like I am your carcass.

Your clothes disappear as I blink. All over you are black now, like charcoal. Where you touch me you leave a fine black dust. Are these the ashes of those before me? Or am I cremating under your tainted touch?

Please stop.

But I don’t have the energy to voice the words. The more you touch me, the less fear I feel. I don’t enjoy what you’re doing, but my head is clouded with a dark mist, numbing common sense. You look up at me now, even the whites of your eyes have turned black. There’s something not quite right with your head. Two small bumps are protruding from the top, like little cat ears. Do I have a cat?

Maybe, I’d like to have one, or two.

I reach out and touch a bump, little kitty, it’s hard and pointed at the top.

You’re aggressive; the type of aggression that can get confused with passion. But there is no passion in your blank expression, nor in your touch which draws blood as you scald down my arms. Your teeth find a nipple and bite me.

Shit that hurts.

Suddenly energy comes flowing back into me. I slap you. You retaliate with more biting and drawing blood and I continue to hit you with fisted hands but the impact does nothing. You grab hold of my hips and pull me closer to you. I feel you burn against me, hard down there. Am I a virgin? I don’t even know how old I am, is this going to hurt me?

I open my eyes to a blanket of blue sky, pollen sticks to my nostrils. I sneeze but it makes no difference. I’m lying on my back on a mattress of grass. It itches. There’s no wind, no birdsong. Just this meadow for miles around. I’m naked, but not cold. I stand up and wonder where it is I should go, who I shall be. Just walk on forwards, see where the land takes me. My tail flicks itself round my leg like a cat, but I cannot control it. I step on it and trip; my hands contact the ground saving my body from impact. Strange, what use do I have for a tail?

You are waiting for me when I come home, like always. Dinner ready on the table. It’s Tuesday so its lasagne night, my favourite. As I walk in I hear the cat meow, begging for his dinner too. You welcome me into your strong arms and kiss me.

‘Missed you,’ you whisper.

‘I was only at work, silly.’

‘I know, but I get lonely on my day off.’

happiness is a state of mind

Your happiness is a state of mind. It’s your thoughts, your choices, your words that put you into situations. You can’t expect everything to just magically fix itself, it doesn’t work that way. When you truly hate yourself, hate the way you look, the person you are. Then you’re the only one that can change that, do something about it. because nothing good will ever happen if you just sit around dwelling on those demon thoughts. I’ve been there. I’ve wanted to hurt myself so many times. I thought about killing myself. Admittedly I still do sometimes. But that’s in my head. No one else can get it. They can’t fix me, I’m not broken. But if I let myself continue to dwell on those demon ideas, then there’s no one around to stop me from doing something stupid.

You have to make yourself stop. Be positive. Distract yourself and keep busy. Do the things you love. Surround yourself with friends. Good friends who can listen to your rants and distract you from the dark things in life. But pile all your problems onto them and expect them to come up with words of wisdom every time you send a long depressive Facebook rant. There’s only so much they can do.

Why am I writing all this? Why am I sharing shit on the internet that not many people know? Because I know too many people who won’t talk about it. Too many people who hide everything away until it all comes out at once. They end up hurting everyone else. Been there too. If you let it build up too much you end up with this mental house of anger in your head, and one day someone will say something that triggers the door of that house to fling open. And BAM you’re a spontaneous emotional wreck lashing out on everything around you.

So this may sound odd but I feel that throughout my almost 21 years of life I have had several different versions of ‘me’. So from birth up until the start of secondary school is the childhood phase, where I don’t remember much but hell do I miss it. Then there’s the awkward preteen phase with the whole ‘I don’t fit in where do I belong?’. But then I started fixated on staying connected with my childhood and dreading growing up. Like seriously I used to think about it every day then I’d put on a Disney film and cry myself to sleep. Every. Single. Night. Then in 2007 I lost a dog and both grandmothers. Then I went into what seemed like an endless spiral in the dark abyss. Nothing felt right, there was nothing that could make me happy. I have eczema and used to continuously scratch my legs till they bled, I had it on my eye lids and the inner joints of my elbows. I couldn’t stop it. I just thought about all the negativity and I couldn’t help myself. I deserved to bleed. I deserved the pain.

I guess the point I’m trying to make is that I wouldn’t allow myself to be positive. The shit feeling just consumed everything. In the end I saw a councillor. But I don’t think she was the reason I got better. Sometimes you have to do things by yourself. I felt like I bored people with the same problems every day. I said the same things over and over, but what could they do about it?

I think that’s when I turned to reading. For me reading a book is an escape from reality. It’s how I run away from everything, it’s my distraction. But I still hated how I was, who I was. I hated that feeling inside me telling me that nobody wants you, they’ll reject you if you don’t get happy. I wanted to tear my flesh off, turn back time, say goodbye. Everything was my fault. I had dug myself down into the dirt. But sometimes you have to reach your lowest point before you can find the light again. You have to fight, you have to realise what it’s doing to you. Battle your demons. The bad thoughts were in my head so I had to use my head to put them down.

Start accepting that this is the way things are now. No one can change it. It’s happened, man up and deal with it. Yes everyone needs time to grieve about stuff. But you can’t do that forever.

But how do you deal with a death? How do you cope when someone’s been there your entire life but suddenly they’re just gone? Yes everything falls apart and the tiniest thing will remind you of them. You’ll reach for the phone to tell them about your promotion at work, only to realise they won’t pick up. You’ll be lost for a while, but it will get better once you allow yourself to go on. The honest truth is that it will never heal 100% it’s been eight years and I still cry when a memory decides to show itself. I can’t remember the sound of their voices or Holly’s bark. But I still remember picking bluebells and playing cards in the caravan. I’ll always cling to those. But we have to let go a little. Otherwise we’d be trapped in remorse and sorrow. Accept that they’ve moved on.

With every knock down, you have to build yourself back up. Every time you rise again you become stronger. So the next problem that tries to bulldoze you in the face will only scratch the surface. You’re not going into the coma of sadness again. You’re a fighter, battle your way to happiness.


How To Rewrite

The rewriting process can be difficult once you’ve attached your heart to the novel you’ve created. But every writer needs to edit their work. Better to do it yourself then have an editor change your work. So here’s my helpful tips I’ve learnt since being at Uni

1. Write up a full complete first draft.

Once you have finished, save it and then close it. Do not look at it for a day or two. If you have enough time leave it for a week or even a month. This will open up your mind to think about other things and return to your piece with a fresh new approach.
When reading through your first draft try not to focus too much on spelling grammar and typos. You can concentrate more with this later on.

2. The main focus should be ‘how is my piece working? And how can I make it better?’

For example: If your piece is written in third person, consider how it would be different if it were written in first person. It may help you a great deal to write two versions, one in first and one in third person. This will allow you to play about with your main character. Do you want the reader to be in their head? Knowing only what they know? Or would you prefer them to be slightly distant, only knowing certain thoughts and feelings but always following them throughout the story?

3. How your story is driven?

Is it character or plot driven and how does this affect the way the story is working? When a story is plot driven it can be common to reveal too much too soon to the reader. Think about what can be kept secret and what needs to be revealed.

4. Clichés are bad.

They’ve been overdone so much that sometimes we can’t help but write them down in our own pieces. Try to avoid these, find a different way to describe something, think of a new metaphor. It might help to make a list of words and phrases that have the same meaning as the clichés but are more obscure. Using a thesaurus is always helpful.

5. Does your dialogue sound real?

Do the characters sound different from each other? If you struggle with dialogue try writing a paragraph in the perspective of each character. Choose a scene where they have importance or feel strongly about something and write as that character. By doing this you’ll find their ‘voice’ and personality easier.

Another tip for dialogue is to write a conversation between two characters as a script. That way you’ll find what words and phrases suit your character and give them a strong personality through what they say.

6. Less is more.

Cutting is better than adding words. Nobody wants to read three pages worth of a description, cut it down and get to the point. It is always best to overwrite your first draft, get it all out, word vomit over that document. This makes it easier for you to picture the description and then cut it down to the precise details that matter.

7. Show don’t tell.

The one rule to rule them all. If you take creative writing as a degree this rule will be engraved into your brain by the end of first year. Show your reader how a problem affects a character. Show how the character develops as a person. Don’t tell them how they have evolved. Examples of this are too much telling of a characters backstory. Let it gradually come into play as the story progresses. The reader doesn’t need to know their entire life story in the first chapter.

8. The physical copy

It’s easier to rewrite when you have a physical copy in your hands. Read through it first and highlight and cross out anything that doesn’t sound right. Then start a new blank document and retype everything. You’ll find that you change and edit a lot more if you start again rather than going through the document itself again. It evens helps with writers block.

Hope this helps, and thanks for reading.

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