Day 14: Side Street

Come pick me up from the side street
Where I stand nursing a broken flask
Won't you share a cigarette with me?
So I can smell your decaying breath
Waver in puffs and disappear
Like the smoke of burning newspaper.
Winter is coming and kisses in car back seats
Don't keep my bones warm long enough
To maintain the shivering from injections.
Hallucinations haunt my street hauntings
Where I'm losing my memory of you.
Come pick me up from the side street
It's where you dropped me off.

Day 13: Rainy day Studying

Note: I know, I know, I missed a another day. But I wasn't home til 12 yesterday!

Rain outside window is lulling me to sleep
Sitting next to a friend who hasn't started his assignment
Half-stirred, half-shaken milk coffee to keep me awake
Uneaten sandwich crusts sits in a plastic bag
Did you know crusts gives you curly hair?
Procrastinating with Facebook scrolling addiction,
I don't think he's getting any work done
Trying to keep our laughter down,
Whispers and heads patrol us
Christos Tsiolkas is a skilled writer,
I got turned off men on the first page.
It takes skill to make such realistic and unlikable characters.
Highlighting and scribbling on pages is almost scandalous
But that's how you really appreciate and analyse a text.
I swear we are seriously studying.

Day 12: Realism

It's a bit of a sad thing to admit but I realised when it comes to men, I shouldn't expect anything unless they confirmed themselves. Compliments are just empty words. Gestures, touches are just empty actions. Promises are so often left broken that it's difficult to trust that they'll ever be kept.

I don't want day dreams any more. I don't want fantasies of maybe's and what ifs. I want facts and confessions. I want to know the true meaning to words being said. I want to be able to read between the lines. I don't want to grab at patchy words and decipher hieroglyphics. I want a word for word, mirror reflection of your heart because I'm tired of watching mine break.

I want realism.

Day 11: Hell

From just within my hearing, the news anchor on channel 10 is panicking. You know the world is about to end when a news reporter stops speaking in that nonchalant way they always do, “Yesterday, a mother drowned her baby.” They would announce as if merely stating an obvious fact that the sky is blue and that grass is green.

‘Since early this morning, there has been a global attack on civilians by what seems to be zombies. Apparently, once you’re bitten you will also become infected. It has been declared a pandemic.’

The staff crowd around the television, whispering buzzes of concern and excitement. Trust university researchers to find an epidemic exciting. I watch from the corner of my eye as Phil continues working on his thesis. He has a severe case of workaholicism. Not a real word. But it should be.

Phil is a true sceptic. His philosophy, “Nothing is proven real until I see it with my own eyes.’ I hope we don’t get the chance to see the zombies. Our university is a private research institute that values privacy from the public. Our campus is surrounded by a thick brick wall and steal enforced gate that can only be opened through key cards. So we’re safe for now. 

‘I bet it was the Chinese.’

I return my attention to the Vice-Chancellor. He came to the science department this morning demanding our attention. He has been speaking none stop since he walked through that door.

‘Sorry?’

‘I bet the Chinese are at fault. They’re always up to something, inventing crazy contraptions.’

I think he’s referring to the Japanese.

‘Sir, that’s Japan.’

‘Or it could be those people up in Israel, Afghanistan. I bet it was the Taliban. Terrorism, I say.’

Images and shaky video recordings of people being eaten alive flicker on the television screen. I think this is something more sinister than terrorism.

‘Vice-Chancellor, I think the terrorists are also suffering from this pandemic.’

The phone rings and I instantly sprint for it. The orange blinking light indicates that the call is coming from the security office. My pulse quickens. This can’t be good. They never call us. I know that it’s regarding the pandemic.

‘Hello, this is Dr Kimmy Khang from the science department.’

I listen intently as the voice from the other end gush words out so furiously that they jumble. All of a sudden, I hear screaming and the line dies with that hollowing beep-beep-beep. I drop the phone, hearing it crash into oblivion onto the tiles like my heart that died with the screams of the security guards.

‘They’re here. The pandemic has breached our gates.’

A hush falls upon the office as people slowly digest the news. Silently, I pray to a God I never once believed in. But it’s too late; Hell has come to greet the living. We are that Hell. Humanity created Hell. 

Day 10: Dodgeball

You are standing on asphalt with your shoe laces double knotted and your fingers tingling. Anticipating the meteor shower of rubber balls. Anticipating the impact. You think that you can't come out of this without at least a bruised gut, thigh or forehead. You watched the previous match. These people aren't human.

The whistle blows and you join the stampede of feet running towards the centre. You mentally chant that you must get a ball. Must get a ball. Must get a - motherfucker! Somehow that faggot of a player  snatched the ball away before you could wrap your hands around it. You retreat behind the safety of your teammates. It's okay. You don't have much of a throwing arm anyway. But you are light on your feet. You can dodge, catch and survive.

You blink as a ball almost makes contact with your stomach. You duck as another almost hits your side. You would catch except these aren't dodgeballs, these are fucking cannonballs. You would get knocked out with a single hit. These people are not fucking around. They want to win and your pain is their goal. You smirk as you manage to grab onto a ball. That's a player out. With the ball in hand you try to single out their weakest link but miss.

You twist back behind the shoulders of your teammates and continue to dodge as one by one, your team starts to dwindle. But at this point, all you can do is hope to survive. Left. Right. Duck. Dodge. As you try to steady your breathing, you realise that all of a sudden you're the only one left on the court.

Every nerve in your body tingle with anticipation as you watch an almost full team of men grip onto their dodgeballs and ready their arms. You almost shiver as they smirk at you, taunting as they walk close to the centre line.

'Little girl, you better run.'

Shit.

Day 10: Fear

I stepped out of the rav4 into the skin biting cold air. Winter is fast approaching. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw a man lingering around the car park. Probably just waiting for someone.

'Excuse me, can I please have two dollars for the train?'

I glanced at the man with both his hands outstretched. I recognised him. He had asked me for money before. A few months ago. Last year. The year before and the year before that. I have memorised his face. I was never going to give him money. Not when it was clearly not for a train ticket.

'Sorry, no.'

I shook my head and continued walking. And that was the end of that. But it was not. Hearing footsteps trailing after me, I turned around. He was following me.

'Can I please have money?'

I gripped my handbag hard, so hard until my knuckles turned white and took in a deep breathe, 'No, I'm not giving you money.' I spun around and with my heart beating hard against my ribbcage, I sped up my walking. Da-thump, da-thump, da-thump. Trot. Trot. Trot. He was still following me. Shit. Why the hell was he still following me?

'Can I please have some money?'

'NO!'

Run. Run. Run. I ran away. I just kept on running until I couldn't hear his footsteps. Or his breathing. So I could no longer hear the words, "Can I please have some money".

Day 9: Missing Person

Note: My attempt at a conventional ghost story

Missing. Her black and white eyes stare back at mine with an almost hollow expression. Missing: Ella Harris, 23 years old. Please call 0462216611. The missing person’s posters have been plastered on every wall, shop front window and light pole. Her parents could have chosen a better photograph. Her lips are unsmiling as though she had predicted her situation. Where is she now? People have been whispering prayers under their breaths, “God bless her soul. The poor girl must have died.”

‘They say that if you walk alone at night, you can see her ghost.’

‘Well then, you better not miss this bus, Alice.’

I drag Alice on board the 804 as the sun starts to set behind Parramatta’s tall skyscrapers. Work had gone over time. Patients arrived to appointments late again. We had a patient even arrive half-an-hour late but Johnny still treated them. He’s too nice for his own good sometimes. He’s a good doctor.

Alice slumps into her seat, letting out a long sigh of protest, ‘Come on Haley. Just because you haven’t seen a ghost doesn’t mean they don’t exist.’ I flick Alice a tired look, we’ve been discussing this topic on and off for weeks. More frequently since the media has been hyping up Ella’s disappearance. Maybe her body was butchered and the remains were scattered? Maybe she eloped? Maybe she was an undercover agent and Ella Harris never existed?

‘Ghosts don’t exist. It’s illogical and defies all laws of physics.’

‘You’re such a med student, it’s not funny.’

‘I feel sorry for the parents though. There’s speculation that Ella was abducted and killed.’

Alice crosses herself and whispers a silent prayer, ‘Only God knows what happened to her. Thousands of people go missing a year. Where do they go?’

Where do they go? Where do people go when they go missing?

‘Okay, it’s my stop. Good night. You should take a nap but don’t oversleep and miss your stop like last time. It gets dark so quickly now.’

‘Good night.’

I exchange a quick hug with my colleague and curl myself into the back seat, getting as comfortable as possible, an aging public bus could allow. The sun is completely gone now and Venus is peaking from behind the willow-wisping clouds. My eyes flicker from telephone pole to telephone pole. Ella’s eyes keeps staring back at mine from the posters, almost hypnotically.

Missing.

Missing.

Missing.

I open my eyes to the dim lit bus. Groggily I squint out the window. It’s pitch black outside. I swing my head around, no passengers. Alone. I’m alone with the exception of the driver. I missed my stop. Crap. With my heart pounding in my wrist, I hit the stop button and jump out the bus. Outside, I’m embraced by the cold air and the green and brown of trees. In the distance ahead, I recognise the dark blue sign of the Metro petrol station. I let out a sigh of relief which puffs into the air. Bonnyrigg. I’m about twenty minutes walking distance away from home. Good. I can do this.

Turning my back to the safety of the petrol station’s lights, I begin my trek home. My legs make long strides along the footpath with my shadow my only companion. I jump at the sound of something rustling. Tree leaves? A paper bag rolling in grass? I stare ahead as I walk. It’s nothing. I’m fine. It’s nothing.

As I approach a bridge, I see a silhouette. I tighten my grip on my handbag. Is it a person? As I come closer to the figure, I mentally scold myself. Of course it is a person. A woman. What is she doing standing on a bridge at night? Her long fair hair and dress sways in the wind. She seems almost demonic in her tattered dress that is stained with something blackening, contrasting with the white fabric. Her blue-grey eyes lock onto mine. I recognise her.

Ella.

‘Oh God, Ella? You’re Ella Harris, right? Are you all right? Where have you been, everyone has been searching for you.’

I pull out bandages from my handbag and reach out to her. I grab onto air. She’s intangible. What? My hands shake as I stare into her empty eyes. The same eyes from the posters. They say if you walk alone at night, you can see her ghost.

‘Say something, please. Where have you been?’

Ella stretches out her left arm, pointing to the creek that runs underneath the bridge. She finally speaks. An eerie reply, ‘I’ve been laying there waiting for someone to find me.’ I watch, stupefied as she fades away. I don’t dare lean over the stone railing. I’m afraid of what I would find. Instead, I run across the street and keep on running until I see the headlights of an approaching bus and desperately hail the bus driver. When my heart finally stops bashing against my ribcage, I dial 000.

“I found Ella Harris.” 

Day 8: Winterland Lost

Note: I know this is late but here is post 8!

Tip-toeing out the back doors of the lecture hall, we find ourselves embraced by the creeping frost of Winter. It crawls up our toes, fingers and spine. We release the cold out in long smiling breaths. It's cold, we say in between blowing on our popsicle fingers. With that grin that's up to no good, you say that we should get lost. So we do.

We blindly trek along the riverside, dodging ghostly shadows of trees. Twig fingers scrape my shoulders and I flinch. I'm scared, I say as I squeeze your hand. And you squeeze my hand back, "Don't worry, you're too scrawny for monsters to eat."

Our laughter wakes the stars as we run up and down the swaying hills. Shrapnel dandelions dance around our faces until we lose ourselves in the swirling so we lay our backs to the ground and our eyes to the sky. Do you think it'll ever snow, I whisper as we watch the stars. So white, so bright, it looks as though they'll fall and embrace us. No, you say in your quiet voice. No, we left the snow millions of years ago.

Day 7: Undecided

I can't tell the difference between lonely desperation, 

hormonal lusting or simply and purely, 

which is a hard concept to grasp right now, 

I might actually like you.

Day 6: Give me love cause it's getting harder to breathe

Disclaimer: Give me love by Ed Sheeran and Harder to breathe by Maroon 5

When it gets cold outside and you got nobody to love
Give me love like her
Cause lately I've been waking up alone
And like a little girl cries in the face of a monster
that lives in her dreams
Is there anyone out there
cause it's getting hard and harder to breathe
Maybe I'll call ya, after my blood turns into alcohol
How dare you say that my behaviour is unacceptable
So condescending unnecessarily critical
Give a little time to me or burn this out
We'll play hide and seek to turn this around
You'll understand what I mean when I say
There's no way we're gonna give up