Quicklinks:
|
Great Writing - Home > Non-Fiction > Relativity
| READING ROOM | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
|
| COMMUNITY | |||
|---|---|---|---|
|
| ABOUT GREAT WRITING | ||
|---|---|---|
|
| WORK AWAITING REVIEW |
|---|
|
| GW IS... |
|---|
|
Great Writing creative writing community is designed to prompt ideas
and provide inspiration and motivation within aspiring and amateur
authors. Whatever your topic; from love poetry to Doctor Who or Harry
Potter fan fiction, Great Writing's online writing group is where you
can make new friends and improve your creative writing. |
| WHO'S ONLINE |
|---|
| We have 1271 guests online and 2 members online |
Non-Fiction
| print friendly version | |
| Relativity | |
| By homeagain | ||||||||
| 18 September 2008 | ||||||||
|
Really not sure about the layout and format. Not familiar with including dialogue in my writing. Lou knew how inconsistent and expandable time could be and the paradoxes which riddle the theories of light. She remembered times of darkness and the relentless grey road she’d walked down. The memory was a paint colour-swatch from the DIY store stretching out into the space behind her in hues of scarlet and charcoal. The questions had become comparative. ‘How are you, Louise?’ the smiling man asked, gently, from across the room where sat in his swivel chair next to a desk for an hour every week. It sounds like such a simple question, but to Lou it was overlaid with meanings, ambiguities and pointlessness. ‘How am I?’ she repeated back to herself. The answer needed some internal discussion. Had she planned a means of killing herself that day? No. ‘I’m okay, I guess.’ Had she injured herself in the last twenty-four hours? No. ‘Fairly good, thank you.’ It had been so long since she had woken up without feeling disappointed at having woken up, that these simple questions involved skewed ratings and factoring. The full-colour world was now an antique crystal vase packaged and stashed up in the attic which her great-grandmother had mentioned before she died and which she had fuzzy recollections of seeing once in 1993 but couldn’t say for sure. (It might have been a jam-jar.) The well-meaning doctor glanced around his office, reached over to the windowsill and handed Lou a jam-jar he’d emptied his pens out of and said ‘You mean this?’ She looked down in despair at the glass pot with ink splodges around the base. ‘No it’s okay, you keep it,’ and swung her gaze back up into a thousand-yard stare out of the window behind his head. There were shades of peach and green too. Pretty, pastel pills and cotton-wool between her ears – shakes, headaches, emesis and vertigo. Lou had developed a taste for them. The smiling doctor told her that they would make everything better, these magical potions from the billion-dollar apothecaries. They were magical enough to undo the past and take back trauma. Somewhere in the peach wrappers and white powders lay the secret to putting a gone-wrong life right. Maybe if she swallowed enough of them, the powders would dissolve and reveal the key to mending broken hearts and torn apart bodies, which lay somewhere underneath their coating. She swallowed all colours of them diligently and obediently for 9 years. One year Lou came across another man who also sat in a room with her and their two soft chairs and a table-lamp for an hour every week. There were no pastel pills and all the time in the world. He tugged on the cord hanging down from the lamp. Lou gawked at the lamp and the table it stood on as the room lit up in a wash of yellow. ‘How are you, Louise?’ She listened for the internal discussion and stared at the lamp. Had she planned a means of killing herself that day? No. Had she injured herself in the last twenty-four hours? No She looked into his eyes, confused. ‘I’ve really not been okay,’ she wept as she realised that she had been sitting in the dark for almost a decade. It wasn’t a jam-jar. There was a crystal vase in the attic, packaged and stashed, that had been waiting to be unwrapped since 1993 and the beginning of a smile appeared on Lou’s face.
Only registered users can rate and write comments. Powered by AkoComment 2.0! |
||||||||
Next item
|
|---|