L.A. Millett's Blog, page 4

An Unforgettable Journey

About 6 years ago I was running late into work on the other side of Liverpool. I thought nothing of spending £20 on a taxi. It was my money to waste. Swirling around my head was millions of self-created problems I had developed in my mind on my drive into work.

I can’t recall the taxi driver’s name but I felt as though he was meant to pick me up that day. Noticing my soured face and frantically moving nails as I punched in emails and messages, he looked at me through the mirror. I put down my phone as we made small talk. A few minutes later the subject and tone changed.

“It might not seem like much but doing these taxis has saved my life.”

He went on to tell me about how he lost everything, his wife, home, and children to his drug of choice. Alcohol. Before I could offer any condolence for his family or congratulations on being sober, he began to tell me another story. One which has stuck with me all these years.

There is a well-known pub for those who live near north Liverpool. The steps before the pub a man was often there, asking for small change or food. From what I remember of him, his frame was small, clad in all black or perhaps navy. His hair was shaggy and the deep black was pepper with grey that framed sallow, sunken skin. When the taxi driver asked me if I knew him I replied I did, but not personally. What I did know was he had recently passed away.

“I went to school with him, bright lad. Knew he was going to do well.”

It was a start, of course, I was intrigued by. How did someone so bright and full of ambition find himself begging for change? Cocaine. For the purposes of putting a name to a story, we shall name him Alan. Alan had been raised in a quite ‘well-to-do’ family. They weren’t the richest but they didn’t struggle. This was his platform and after many successes in education, Alan started his own business. Growth in the business saw him leave for America. It would be his start and end. For a while Alan thrived, his business was going strong. It was around this time he was introduced to cocaine. What did it matter? It was his money to waste. He could afford the luxury. Until money became harder to come by and a once booming livelihood had left him broke. The decision for him to come back to the UK was made for him when his mother suddenly died. Broke and alone Alan found himself inside an addiction that he could not control. When he died, he left behind a girlfriend and a memory for many who lived in the area.

“Not many people really knew him or his story. Can happen to anyone you know, becoming homeless.”

Those words have never left me.

A brief taxi journey I took 6 years ago completely changed my outlook. Being self-absorbed is easy, you can never be hurt. Once you think about a stranger’s life and what that could mean for them, it’s harder to sleep without thinking ‘what could I do to help?’ This is the inspiration for a new story I want to tell.

We all appreciate the beauty of a rose but forget about its thorns, nothing is what it seems. 

Sol and Luna – Part Three

The risk we took leaving a day early was Luna kin would be still somewhat powerful. It was the last bit of their energy, the last burst before the rebirth of their power. However, this was when we were at our strongest. Sol clans started to rebuild their strength and Luna children were exercising their last bout.

New Moon Eve was our day.

Isaac’s keen intuition had saved us multiple times throughout the years. There were many long stretches in one place, 80 days or so. We thought it would be safe after that amount of time, but it was only Isaac who warned us we would have one more day before we needed to leave. Of course, he was always right.

Isaac’s intuition was a force to be reckoned with.

One morning, the night after the first full moon, we were all jolted out of our makeshift beds as Isaac pulled the covers from us. Panic packing, he told us that Sol clans would be here within the next twenty minutes. Pitching in, the entire living site was scooped up with a few minutes to spare. A confident eight-year-old Isaac told us where we needed to hide; behind the valley in the blue rigid, a small dip just ahead.

Sol clans arrived.

No one could believe what had happened. On their weakest day, they still tried to catch us off guard. Just like the early arrival of their new Sol children. As always, we were ready to move right at the last minute. It had been glorious staying in the cool blue hones of the Rigid Valley Blue again but soon we would all be susceptible to our Sol lineage. My two elder sisters ran ahead, flaunting their Luna skills in ice.

Luna and Sol’s gifts were very different.

That’s why we were so hunted. Not just for our box opening ability but experimental purposes. Find out to what extent both Luna and Sol can go to in creating a new selection of powers. Luna kin were seekers of the truth and mind. Hearing thoughts and seeing events unfold before their time is what we called our intuition. Our elements are water and air, they responded well to us and often kept us safe.

Sol clans didn’t understand this.

Many believed that Luna were shapeshifters, werewolves, or some form of ancient mythological creature. it was mainly because of their own ability to morph into another creature. This made them dangerous. Sol clans were destroyers of peace but keepers of tranquillity. They were here to stop wars happening but create them when necessary. They did this through magic. Not just any type of magic but old universal sorcery. If they thought it, it would happen. We call this our will. Some are stronger than others. Our elements are fire and earth. These elements allowed us to transform into any animal of the ground. So, neither Sol or Luna could see they were an asset, not an enemy.

Ignorance has led to hate.

Which was why we had picked up our speed as we power walked through. The youngest of my sisters felt safer in animal form. She could run faster and often kept our pack out of looming danger.

“She needs to stop!”

Isaac’s speed was impressive as he passed me, heading straight for Lora. The urgency in his voice forced us all into a lightning sprint. Stopping just a metre behind Isaac we saw why Lora needed to stop.

A wolf sat opposite her.

A Sol clan in wolf’s clothing.

A Journey of Time

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Night life

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Sol and Luna – Part Two

Now when I say my family, I use the term very loosely. There were members of my actual family, my two brothers, three sisters, and my aunt, Emily. She raised us after my parents were both killed. Not in battle as such. Their friend betrayed them both offering them up to Luna. When Luna folk realised that my parents would put up a fight, they killed one, a threat. Sol clans killed the other in a desperate attempt to stop Luna gaining any victory.

Neither side cared for the people that had been sacrificed.

That’s when we went into hiding. Aunt Emily knew that both sides would come looking for us. We needed to be in a place where neither could find us. Or survive the terrain. So, we headed for the rainbow lines. Not actual rainbows or the pot of gold at the end of it but a place that was too hot for Luna folk to survive during the day and too cold for Sol clans to sleep through the night. Our own pot of luck.

We gathered a few strays along the way.

There always seemed to be a few in each rainbow line. The weird and wonderful Lunols as I called us. There was Ricky who never spoke only to let us know when he had sourced the next line to hide in. Now, we needed to find it quickly. More and more children had been born without the mark of Luna or Sol over the past 5 years. The next rain of stars might bring more separation to families. However, the next time Earth would go dark would mean more Sol children. Then there was always the possibility of our anomaly.

No one knew what caused it.

The only thing we could be sure of was that if a member of Sol found themselves hit with a ray of Luna they would be in trouble which in turn placed us in danger. The first seven years of my life was spent fleeing every three days. The Luna phases would be different then. After three cycles of three more than likely would be nearing a full moon or with some luck a new moon. This was when Luna’s children were at their weakest. Sadly, it is when Sol clans gained strength. Depending on the Luna cycle it dictated when we moved. New moon we were safe to move during the night. Full moon meant day was the safest time.

A new moon was soon to be approaching.

This fell on the same day forecasted for the stars to rebirth on Earth. One more day.

“Anaya, you need to find your brothers before we leave.”

Aunt Emily had our best interests at heart but sometimes completely forgot that my two teenage brothers often disappeared for days, often meeting us at the next line. As always, I would nod and head outside to try and find wherever they could have got to. Only this time they had already returned.

“I was just about to look for you two.”

“Something isn’t right Anaya, I can feel it.”

“I can hear it in the wind. The song has changed.”

“What do you mean Isaac?”

“I think we move now. In case the Earth falls to darkness before the stars.”

The cracking of their voices was enough proof for me. Something beyond our control was about to happen. The stars had fallen first last time so we had all assumed it would happen like that again. What if we plunged into darkness as new Sol children arrived? We wouldn’t have time to move on. They would be too strong.

It wasn’t a chance we could take.

Part two of Sol and Luna!

Saturday Starters – Sol and Luna

The endless symphony of night stars crashed, burning out of the sky. Earth was alive with the sound of fallen stars. Pressing your ears to the ground would entice you to the song of light as the world fell into night.

Over three hundred years had passed since the last rain of stars fell. We had not been prepared then. Did not know what we would expect but this time we were waiting. Waiting for our time to come and theirs to pass. It wouldn’t be long until they arrived, ploughing through our makeshift cities and towns. The only safe place left was the country. Even the rolling hills and endless lakes couldn’t stop them from reaching us.

We hide.

You see, there were two types of people left in the universe. Those that adorned the cold silver jewellery furrowed into their skin that would explode into violent rays of violet when the Moon shined upon them. Then there were the those blessed with the warmth that the Sun brings. Our light glowed from the very inner core when the Sun beamed. When the religions broke down and science could no longer help us we looked to the Gods of old. Sol and Luna separated us once more as they did before the world of Hades and Osiris were created. No longer were we human. No longer did we worship Gods and Goddesses. We were born with either the element of Sol or Luna.

Sol folk thrived in the summer, as you would expect. Whilst Luna lovers would forever bury themselves into the depth of cold and night. Naturally, people started to relocate.

Except for my family.

I was born, like all Sol children, in the summer. My skin glowed with a sparkling warmth. Yet, when the light faded and night seeped over, my skin still radiated in colour. Only this time it was a purple tone that ricocheted from the silver etched into my skin.

It had to be hidden.

When the stars first fell over three hundred years ago, we thought it was the end of human destruction, the religions all loved it, ‘look how God is casting angels from the sky’. Then something started to happen. People were hit by silver shrapnel, but not everyone. Of course, the religions jumped on this again ‘look how our God has chosen the people he wants’. The stars went from fallen angels to God’s choice of the human race very quickly. That was until preachers weren’t chosen and criminals were. Then, naturally, these were the people marked for hell.

Complete nonsense of course.

The years separated the people. At first unintentionally, people needed to live where they could thrive in the conditions. Anywhere dark and cool. Families torn apart. When Sol arrived that’s when things intensified. Those not ‘chosen’ to be Luna folk were emblazed with a golden aura.

And then the world went dark.

Five days later the universe erupted with Sol’s rays reaching us once more. Only this time the golden aura stayed dazzling until the night arrived. That was Luna’s time. I believe both kin lived peacefully for many years, nothing was questioned. Until one son of Sol and one daughter met and never returned. Luna blamed Sol and as you guessed, Sol blamed Luna. The last point they were seen happened to be conveniently by a river. Washed up in the middle a large box with handles each side. Daughter of Sol and a daughter of Luna lunged to grab the handles. The problem they faced? One side was adorned with the mark of Luna, the other with Sol. Unless they worked together the box would remain closed. They chose to fight.

Our powers were awakened.

So, we’re still only one hundred years after the first people of Luna and Sol had been created. The next two hundred years each side spent harnessing whatever it was inside that transformed humans into the next stage of our evolution, and fighting for that box.

That brings us to now.

The falling of more stars could only mean one thing, more Luna children. More of Luna meant more of Sol. This was good for whatever war they wanted to fight. Bad for my family.

We needed to move.

 

A short beginning into the latest short story. I hope you enjoy. 

 

Short Story Saturday – Serial Survivors

“For the record and recording please state your full name.”

“Joanna Mary Turnbank.”

“Joanna, please inform us why you have come to Argyll police station.”

“For twenty years I have lived with killers.”

 

Keep your eyes closed and never speak a word. Two of the rules I had to abide by to stop any beating. My Father would repeat this every morning and night in a slow chant until both my Mother and I joined in.

His mottos, those words, they were the fond early memories I had of my family. I knew from a young age to follow his rules. My Mother stood and let it happen, but she was by no means his victim. Nor was he my Mother’s oppressor. They worked like a cog, you see. Whenever one would move the other would fall into place. Either one could be the dictator and we all would follow.

The day I learned we always played by their everchanging rules I must have been about eight years old. In the cold November Scottish air, I remember it so well. It would be the last day I was ever allowed to go to school.

The morning was just like any normal day. My Father reeked of stale ale from the night before as my Mother nervously tried to hide the Valium choking down her throat. Before my laid meat so mangled I could not fathom what it could be. This was served to me with eggs and bread that was starting to become hard. I would thank them graciously for the bountiful feast I was to behold breaking my fast before the ritual chanting would begin.

“You’ll do well to remember those words,” Father grunted before leaving to tend to the farm.

The morning continued as I was hauled into our gold Volvo Estate that always seemed to have its own smell. I’ll never understand why my Mother would drop me a few roads away from the school. Yet, I always felt her eyes burning my flesh as I ran to the safety of the school playground. I would rather take my chances with bullies every day than to stay at home and see what utter hell was unleashed in my absence.

It was evident to the children at school that my parents did not care for hygiene or modern technology. It may have been 1999 but no interest was taken in the latest mobile phones, even if they were more useful as door wedges than contacted another human. Still, I was venomously bullied daily for being behind with technology. Or my parents being odd, rumours had circled through our village that my Mother had lost her license to practice medicine and hold a practice open due to her drink problem. Then there were the other talks of what my parents did to earn an extra living. This was when I would normally stop listening as they threw empty bottles and sweet wrappers at me. Naturally, with parents choosing poor hygiene regimes my clothes still carried the soiled smell of pigs and cows from when I would help after school had finished. To them, the smell was unbearable; making me fully aware each day as I walked past them. No matter what issues my parents subsequently caused me at school there was no way I would dare to approach it with them. The beating would be relentless.

Luckily, I did have a friend. Seema, she was also a target but stood up for us both. I always thought the children were jealous of her. I know I was. Her parents were loving and hardworking which had recently paid off for them. When the time came for high school Seema would be attending a private school far from our small village. It had already been arranged with still another three years to go.

On my last day of school, I wasn’t concerning myself of when I was going to lose ultimately my only friend but why she seemed so upset. During our breaks and lunch that day Seema explained that her auntie had recently passed away. It was on our second break that afternoon she suggested that I could stay at her house for tea that evening. Of course, I immediately agreed, I doubt my parents would even notice. It was a chance to be away from the farm and maybe stay awake past my normal bedtime of 6:30pm. Perhaps a chance to see if everyone had the same house rules.

When school finished at 3.20pm Seema’s mum was waiting to pick us up. A nice change from sometimes waiting until 4pm for my Mother or Father to stumble there. So, of course, neither parent could stop me from going to Seema’s home. Their home was beautiful. Still, a farm much like my own home but warmth resonated from deep within. We were given freshly baked cookies to enjoy as we ran through the trees coming back briefly to play with the abundance of toys Seema held.

It had only been three hours but it felt like a mere minute had drifted by. Enjoying every moment of a house with no rules or chanting it was sadly cut short as ferocious fists began hammering down on the Khatri’s door. After a few screams and flurry of tears, I was dragged out of that home.

No concern for me left Mother’s mouth only “what if they started asking questions about our home? Would you remember not to say a word?”.

I promised nothing had been said, nothing was discussed about our home life. Why would I? I was in a haven. My words weren’t good enough for Father when I got home. His fists buried themselves first in my face, neck, and chest. Then finally my back and legs when I tried to crawl away. Laying on the floor in a heap of clothes and blood he laid next to me and began to cry.

“Joanna, you don’t understand how special and important this family is. We can’t be taken away from each other. We need to stay together, you could have ruined that tonight. What if you would have said anything at all to make them question us? Joanna, you can’t go back to that school again. I’m not stupid I know the kids make fun of you anyway. You’re better staying here. I can teach you about the farm and your Mummy will teach you all the things they teach at school. But you must never leave the farm without one of us, we can never be separated. Do you understand my girl? Sweet Joanna?”

If I knew then I was about to become a prisoner and an unknowing accomplice, I would have found the strength in my battered legs to run. Run far from that cursed farm.

Lessons started two days after when the swelling and bruises had started to ease on my small body. When sober, Anna my mother, was a fantastic doctor and an even better liar. So, taking me out of school was easy enough. A feel of nausea surged through me on the first day on lessons. Would I be beaten if I didn’t know the answer? What sort of retched punishment would this be?

To my surprise, the first few months things seemed to be somewhat normal. Never before could that word be associated with my upbringing. Neither Joseph, my father, or Anna were drinking every night as before. They never openly drank alcohol in front of me, it seemed to be one moral they kept to. However, it was evident that in the past when I had gone to bed between 6:30pm and 7:30am when I woke up, they had been somewhere to drink alcohol.

Each morning the once beautiful Anna had returned fresh-faced and ready to teach me and extended my bedtime so I could fit in all the reading I would need to do to keep up with her standards. She even returned to doing house calls once more to the elderly patients of the village. An ordinary life had finally begun.

Of course, nothing good can last forever. Two weeks into the fourth month something changed. My Mother snapped one night. The attack started with me but I was quick enough to run. Next, my Father felt Anna’s catastrophic anger plough into him. He wasn’t quick enough to run. I watched the fight continue for at least half an hour before her body grew weak from exhaustion and collapse against my Father’s bloodied body.

I never spoke a word.

The next morning my farm studies were to take place instead. I spent my time helping Joseph and learning about the farm. Midday we stopped for a sandwich and a warm drink from a flask.

“Joanna, your Mother is a sick woman. She has these issues that things need to be in a certain place and the floor must be cleaned in a certain way. And then sometimes Joanna, she needs to lash out a little. To get rid of some of that turmoil. It’s perfectly normal for her condition. She hasn’t been able to do it since home schooling you. You see, I have a bit of that illness as well. Normally when you used to go to bed we could go out, have few drinks and do things that we need to do. Joanna sometimes your mum and I need to let out our illness. I’m thankful you have never been cursed with this so far. So, I think it’s best if you hear us going out just go to sleep. And Joanna, never come down if you hear anything. Just as before. Things have to be done in a certain way.”

Only before I never really knew that they left the farm. I would never leave the safety of my room even if I heard something in case they blamed me. My room was my sanctuary, a haven where neither of them ventured between 6:30pm and 7:30am but I never realised why before that day.

I nodded at my Father to signal I understood what was now expected of me and finished my sandwich.

Just as promised that night they left the farm after my new agreed bedtime of 8pm. Although I was alone, with my door tightly locked and the house otherwise on lockdown, nothing could scare or get to me. With a safe feeling washing over me, I fell into a deep sleep.

When I woke up it was daylight already. Checking my clock, it was 9am. Panic surged through me as I quickly threw on some clothes wishing I had not slept so long. As I unlocked my door I was greeted by a smiling Mother. She ushered me back into my room and told me there were no lessons today but I was to finish a book and not leave my room until I was told to. Slyly pulling a book out to my face I could see the letters ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’. I almost squealed in excitement. Everyone in my class had talked about the books as rumours swirled about it potentially becoming a film. I gave my Mother a tight hug and blissfully found my way back to my bed to read. Never once questioning why I had been bought this book. I guess it stopped me from questioning why I was not allowed downstairs for the day.

As the day went by I felt myself relating to Harry in many ways. A cruel family that kept me locked away, trying to stop me from attending a school. Only for Harry, it was fiction, and as the book went on he found salvation at school and with his friends. I had neither. The room I once saw as a sanctuary was slowly becoming a prison cell. Four walls that kept me inside.

Soon it became ritual. I went to bed at 8pm and never asked my parents where they went. Some days I was working on the farm, others Anna would educate me. There were days when I was given a new book to read and banned from leaving my bedroom. At this point, I’d say it would happen about once maybe twice a week.

Only November in 2001 it never happened at all but they made up for it in December. At least three times every single week I was left with a new book up until Christmas.

Other than that, home life became somewhat blissful. They didn’t drink as much when they went out. Whatever was happening certainly helped their ‘illness’. I no longer feared being at home like I had done the first eight years of my life.

For the next seven years, we all fell into our own routine. My education was priority and Mother began teaching me about psychology, briefly touching upon mental health and medicines used to treat is, something she specialised in.

Although my education took place at home I was still required to take exams. My GCSEs were completed a week after my fourteenth birthday. From social services and an educational point of view, I was excelling in my studies. I would later learn this played well in building the idea that we were a normal family. Adding into that was my Mother continuing her house calls to some patients and even opened an evening practice in the village until 8pm. With more money coming in my parents could afford to accelerate my education, leaving me with seven A-Levels at the age of sixteen.

As before, nothing this great was sure to stay in my life. Over the next four years, nothing could have prepared me for the nightmare I could not wake from.

Billy was moved into the house three week after I received my exam results in August. He was fresh out of university after studying to become a doctor and needed a placement in a local general practice. They could do with the help of opening a little earlier and Billy seeing to some of the people in the village would restore the reputation completely. How generous the Turnbanks were helping a student out and letting him stay free of charge in their own home.

Obviously, I had my concerns. My parents assured me he had been thoroughly vetted. Billy had no convictions or family, he had been orphaned at a young age and spent his life in foster care. Never being adopted. He had moved around quite a lot and was described as a loner throughout his education. Mother informed me that this was a good thing. He had no ties, it meant he had no commitments, no one looking for him so he could focus entirely on his work.

Upon his arrival, the rules were just as strict for him. They explained he was not to have a room of his own but share with me. He would need to take care of me when my parents did their nightly rounds from 8pm until 7:30am. If he was to go out it would only be with one of the family members.

They explained to Billy about being victims of strong allegations after I was taken out of mainstream education. I was to be kept implicitly unaware of any rumours. This piece of information was only given to me by Billy after he left. I was never aware of any allegations my parents had faced.

As you can imagine, it was odd at first having to share my room with a twenty-three-year-old man. An invasion of my most sacred place. Thankfully my parents had bought a room dividing screen, giving us the privacy we needed.

After a month or so of very awkward small talk, Billy had noticed my parents had finally caved in and bought me a laptop and iPod. Bring me into the modern day. Hearing my music choice, he came over to talk about when ended up being everything. I never realised how thankful I was that I had made a connection with a normal human. A friend I could confide in as the year went by.

After our first talk, it became easier once 8pm hit and we were ushered off to bed.

“Why do we have to be locked in after 8pm? Did you hear the weird noises a few nights ago? It was weird keeping us up here for the entire day after.”

I knew my role well enough after sixteen years not to answer any of these questions truthfully. I told Billy not to ask any questions or raise this with my parents. Softly I explained it was something they were quite embarrassed about. My Mother had some mental health issues and OCD plagued her. Occasionally she needed to clean everything to satisfy her compulsion.

It was easy enough, Billy believed every word my Father had taught me to say.

Sadly, I knew it wouldn’t be long until Billy asked too many questions and I would be alone once again.

I Survived Serial Killers for Twenty Years

“For the record and recording please state your full name.”

“Joanna Mary Turnbank.”

“Joanna, please inform us why you have come to Argyll police station.”

“For twenty years I have lived with killers.”

 

Keep your eyes closed and never speak a word. Two of the rules I had to abide by to stop any beating. My Father would repeat this every morning and night in a slow chant until both my Mother and I joined in.

His mottos, those words, they were the fond early memories I had of my family. I knew from a young age to follow his rules. My Mother stood and let it happen, but she was by no means his victim. Nor was he my Mother’s oppressor. They worked like a cog, you see. Whenever one would move the other would fall into place. Either one could be the dictator and we all would follow.

The day I learned we always played by their everchanging rules I must have been about eight years old. In the cold November Scottish air, I remember it so well. It would be the last day I was ever allowed to go to school.

The morning was just like any normal day. My Father reeked of stale ale from the night before as my Mother nervously tried to hide the Valium choking down her throat. Before my laid meat so mangled I could not fathom what it could be. This was served to me with eggs and bread that was starting to become hard. I would thank them graciously for the bountiful feast I was to behold breaking my fast before the ritual chanting would begin.

“You’ll do well to remember those words,” Father grunted before leaving to tend to the farm.

The morning continued as I was hauled into our gold Volvo Estate that always seemed to have its own smell. I’ll never understand why my Mother would drop me a few roads away from the school. Yet, I always felt her eyes burning my flesh as I ran to the safety of the school playground. I would rather take my chances with bullies every day than to stay at home and see what utter hell was unleashed in my absence.

It was evident to the children at school that my parents did not care for hygiene or modern technology. It may have been 1999 but no interest was taken in the latest mobile phones, even if they were more useful as door wedges than contacted another human. Still, I was venomously bullied daily for being behind with technology. Or my parents being odd, rumours had circled through our village that my Mother had lost her license to practice medicine and hold a practice open due to her drink problem. Then there were the other talks of what my parents did to earn an extra living. This was when I would normally stop listening as they threw empty bottles and sweet wrappers at me. Naturally, with parents choosing poor hygiene regimes my clothes still carried the soiled smell of pigs and cows from when I would help after school had finished. To them, the smell was unbearable; making me fully aware each day as I walked past them. No matter what issues my parents subsequently caused me at school there was no way I would dare to approach it with them. The beating would be relentless.

Luckily, I did have a friend. Seema, she was also a target but stood up for us both. I always thought the children were jealous of her. I know I was. Her parents were loving and hardworking which had recently paid off for them. When the time came for high school Seema would be attending a private school far from our small village. It had already been arranged with still another three years to go.

On my last day of school, I wasn’t concerning myself of when I was going to lose ultimately my only friend but why she seemed so upset. During our breaks and lunch that day Seema explained that her auntie had recently passed away. It was on our second break that afternoon she suggested that I could stay at her house for tea that evening. Of course, I immediately agreed, I doubt my parents would even notice. It was a chance to be away from the farm and maybe stay awake past my normal bedtime of 6:30pm. Perhaps a chance to see if everyone had the same house rules.

When school finished at 3.20pm Seema’s mum was waiting to pick us up. A nice change from sometimes waiting until 4pm for my Mother or Father to stumble there. So, of course, neither parent could stop me from going to Seema’s home. Their home was beautiful. Still, a farm much like my own home but warmth resonated from deep within. We were given freshly baked cookies to enjoy as we ran through the trees coming back briefly to play with the abundance of toys Seema held.

It had only been three hours but it felt like a mere minute had drifted by. Enjoying every moment of a house with no rules or chanting it was sadly cut short as ferocious fists began hammering down on the Khatri’s door. After a few screams and flurry of tears, I was dragged out of that home.

No concern for me left Mother’s mouth only “what if they started asking questions about our home? Would you remember not to say a word?”.

I promised nothing had been said, nothing was discussed about our home life. Why would I? I was in a haven. My words weren’t good enough for Father when I got home. His fists buried themselves first in my face, neck, and chest. Then finally my back and legs when I tried to crawl away. Laying on the floor in a heap of clothes and blood he laid next to me and began to cry.

“Joanna, you don’t understand how special and important this family is. We can’t be taken away from each other. We need to stay together, you could have ruined that tonight. What if you would have said anything at all to make them question us? Joanna, you can’t go back to that school again. I’m not stupid I know the kids make fun of you anyway. You’re better staying here. I can teach you about the farm and your Mummy will teach you all the things they teach at school. But you must never leave the farm without one of us, we can never be separated. Do you understand my girl? Sweet Joanna?”

If I knew then I was about to become a prisoner and an unknowing accomplice, I would have found the strength in my battered legs to run. Run far from that cursed farm.

Lessons started two days after when the swelling and bruises had started to ease on my small body. When sober, Anna my mother, was a fantastic doctor and an even better liar. So, taking me out of school was easy enough. A feel of nausea surged through me on the first day on lessons. Would I be beaten if I didn’t know the answer? What sort of retched punishment would this be?

To my surprise, the first few months things seemed to be somewhat normal. Never before could that word be associated with my upbringing. Neither Joseph, my father, or Anna were drinking every night as before. They never openly drank alcohol in front of me, it seemed to be one moral they kept to. However, it was evident that in the past when I had gone to bed between 6:30pm and 7:30am when I woke up, they had been somewhere to drink alcohol.

Each morning the once beautiful Anna had returned fresh-faced and ready to teach me and extended my bedtime so I could fit in all the reading I would need to do to keep up with her standards. She even returned to doing house calls once more to the elderly patients of the village. An ordinary life had finally begun.

Of course, nothing good can last forever. Two weeks into the fourth month something changed. My Mother snapped one night. The attack started with me but I was quick enough to run. Next, my Father felt Anna’s catastrophic anger plough into him. He wasn’t quick enough to run. I watched the fight continue for at least half an hour before her body grew weak from exhaustion and collapse against my Father’s bloodied body.

I never spoke a word.

The next morning my farm studies were to take place instead. I spent my time helping Joseph and learning about the farm. Midday we stopped for a sandwich and a warm drink from a flask.

“Joanna, your Mother is a sick woman. She has these issues that things need to be in a certain place and the floor must be cleaned in a certain way. And then sometimes Joanna, she needs to lash out a little. To get rid of some of that turmoil. It’s perfectly normal for her condition. She hasn’t been able to do it since home schooling you. You see, I have a bit of that illness as well. Normally when you used to go to bed we could go out, have few drinks and do things that we need to do. Joanna sometimes your mum and I need to let out our illness. I’m thankful you have never been cursed with this so far. So, I think it’s best if you hear us going out just go to sleep. And Joanna, never come down if you hear anything. Just as before. Things have to be done in a certain way.”

Only before I never really knew that they left the farm. I would never leave the safety of my room even if I heard something in case they blamed me. My room was my sanctuary, a haven where neither of them ventured between 6:30pm and 7:30am but I never realised why before that day.

I nodded at my Father to signal I understood what was now expected of me and finished my sandwich.

Just as promised that night they left the farm after my new agreed bedtime of 8pm. Although I was alone, with my door tightly locked and the house otherwise on lockdown, nothing could scare or get to me. With a safe feeling washing over me, I fell into a deep sleep.

When I woke up it was daylight already. Checking my clock, it was 9am. Panic surged through me as I quickly threw on some clothes wishing I had not slept so long. As I unlocked my door I was greeted by a smiling Mother. She ushered me back into my room and told me there were no lessons today but I was to finish a book and not leave my room until I was told to. Slyly pulling a book out to my face I could see the letters ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’. I almost squealed in excitement. Everyone in my class had talked about the books as rumours swirled about it potentially becoming a film. I gave my Mother a tight hug and blissfully found my way back to my bed to read. Never once questioning why I had been bought this book. I guess it stopped me from questioning why I was not allowed downstairs for the day.

As the day went by I felt myself relating to Harry in many ways. A cruel family that kept me locked away, trying to stop me from attending a school. Only for Harry, it was fiction, and as the book went on he found salvation at school and with his friends. I had neither. The room I once saw as a sanctuary was slowly becoming a prison cell. Four walls that kept me inside.

Soon it became ritual. I went to bed at 8pm and never asked my parents where they went. Some days I was working on the farm, others Anna would educate me. There were days when I was given a new book to read and banned from leaving my bedroom. At this point, I’d say it would happen about once maybe twice a week.

Only November in 2001 it never happened at all but they made up for it in December. At least three times every single week I was left with a new book up until Christmas.

Other than that, home life became somewhat blissful. They didn’t drink as much when they went out. Whatever was happening certainly helped their ‘illness’. I no longer feared being at home like I had done the first eight years of my life.

For the next seven years, we all fell into our own routine. My education was priority and Mother began teaching me about psychology, briefly touching upon mental health and medicines used to treat is, something she specialised in.

Although my education took place at home I was still required to take exams. My GCSEs were completed a week after my fourteenth birthday. From social services and an educational point of view, I was excelling in my studies. I would later learn this played well in building the idea that we were a normal family. Adding into that was my Mother continuing her house calls to some patients and even opened an evening practice in the village until 8pm. With more money coming in my parents could afford to accelerate my education, leaving me with seven A-Levels at the age of sixteen.

As before, nothing this great was sure to stay in my life. Over the next four years, nothing could have prepared me for the nightmare I could not wake from.

Billy was moved into the house three week after I received my exam results in August. He was fresh out of university after studying to become a doctor and needed a placement in a local general practice. They could do with the help of opening a little earlier and Billy seeing to some of the people in the village would restore the reputation completely. How generous the Turnbanks were helping a student out and letting him stay free of charge in their own home.

Obviously, I had my concerns. My parents assured me he had been thoroughly vetted. Billy had no convictions or family, he had been orphaned at a young age and spent his life in foster care. Never being adopted. He had moved around quite a lot and was described as a loner throughout his education. Mother informed me that this was a good thing. He had no ties, it meant he had no commitments, no one looking for him so he could focus entirely on his work.

Upon his arrival, the rules were just as strict for him. They explained he was not to have a room of his own but share with me. He would need to take care of me when my parents did their nightly rounds from 8pm until 7:30am. If he was to go out it would only be with one of the family members.

They explained to Billy about being victims of strong allegations after I was taken out of mainstream education. I was to be kept implicitly unaware of any rumours. This piece of information was only given to me by Billy after he left. I was never aware of any allegations my parents had faced.

As you can imagine, it was odd at first having to share my room with a twenty-three-year-old man. An invasion of my most sacred place. Thankfully my parents had bought a room dividing screen, giving us the privacy we needed.

After a month or so of very awkward small talk, Billy had noticed my parents had finally caved in and bought me a laptop and iPod. Bring me into the modern day. Hearing my music choice, he came over to talk about when ended up being everything. I never realised how thankful I was that I had made a connection with a normal human. A friend I could confide in as the year went by.

After our first talk, it became easier once 8pm hit and we were ushered off to bed.

“Why do we have to be locked in after 8pm? Did you hear the weird noises a few nights ago? It was weird keeping us up here for the entire day after.”

I knew my role well enough after sixteen years not to answer any of these questions truthfully. I told Billy not to ask any questions or raise this with my parents. Softly I explained it was something they were quite embarrassed about. My Mother had some mental health issues and OCD plagued her. Occasionally she needed to clean everything to satisfy her compulsion.

It was easy enough, Billy believed every word my Father had taught me to say.

 

It’s been a long time since my last post – sadly health called for me to rest! A little something I started working on. It is entirely fictitious! The first chapter of ‘I Survived Serial Killers for Twenty Years’. 

Laura

x

Short Story Sunday – Sara Aphrodite

At birth, a human holds two-hundred and seventy bones, as our bodies decay and bones fuse together it settles at a reasonable two-hundred and six.

Settling and decaying was how Sara felt scraping her makeup on. The soft bristles wiped away her aging skin, with ease her freshly painted mask settled back into its normal pores. After thirty minutes of horrifyingly gazing at her own reflection, the plumped up dewy skin of her youth had returned. The skin that had witnessed the trapping of her nineteen-year-old self when her now husband stole the best years from her. Sara had not always felt like this. There was a time when every part of her was alive and not just the rotting flesh shell that held in her hopes and dreams. Shortly before she had married, her then best friend Julia had given her the best advice she never took.

“You’re too young to get married. He’s twenty years older than you. It won’t work, you need to live your life, listen to Julia…” Sara repeated her words out loud. “I should have listened to Julia…”

With one last glance into her mirror, Sara dusted out the creases in her dress and dragged herself down the never-ending stairs to where a once attractive man stood.

“I’ll be away for the next three weeks Sara, try and keep yourself busy.” The loveless words wandered through the empty home.

That was the relationship Bryan wanted. Loveless. Just for show, a younger wife to play ‘keeping up with the Joneses’ within his business circle, only Sara was now thirty-five and nearing her sell-by date in his views. His views were the only ones that mattered in his house. Something that Sara slowly started to learn after her third year of marriage, after the warmth had faded from this once charming man. She knew she was his fourth wife and expected to be his last but nothing in Bryan’s fast lifestyle ever lasted. Unfortunately, Sara at nineteen did not realise and Sara at thirty-five did not want to accept. Naïve to think that she was marrying for something more than a bank account, Sara wanted excitement in her life. To find adventure with the man she wholeheartedly loved. That would never be the case.

Though three weeks to play the part of a devoted wife pining for her husband as she really sat in the bliss of silence was something that Sara could accept. Pulling out her little purple diary she flicked through to this week’s itinerary. Her finger landed on Tuesday, October eleventh, today she was meeting her beloved friend Imogen for coffee after Imogen had dropped her children off at school but before her nanny brought back the youngest to her in the afternoon. Prime time for the two friends. If Sara would be honest with herself she would clearly recognise that they were not friends in the most orthodox sense of the word. More of a convenience friendship. Imogen lived only a few houses down from Sara and much like Sara, Imogen married young to an older man who is constantly away on business. If that business was including holidays away from his growing family to spend time with one of the many women he managed then his business was booming. Now, that is not to say either of these women were victims of terrible husbands. Of course, Imogen had been through her fair share of gardeners and the odd electrician, filling Sara in with the excitement and gossip of her small life. Though in Sara’s case, a sadness always dawned upon her. These women knew what they were marrying into and knew how to live the life, she did not.

“So, any gossip?” Imogen perched at the edge of the slack, brown leather couch in their favourite, and only, coffee shop.

“I wish, it’s a small town nothing much ever happens. How about you?” Sara was right, it was a small town just a regular suburban American town, the gossip Imogen was referring to, as always, was who was sleeping with who. Or what new affair had surfaced.

“It’s a small town but come on Sara sweetie, there’s so much that takes place! Did you hear about Faye’s husband being caught with their gardener? What a scandal!” Imogen continued to gossip about the affair between one man and his garden help as Sara’s mind wandered off into the safety of her own daydream. Something that was desperately needed when taking coffee with the most prolific gossip mill.

This was their friendship. Sara pretending to listen to Imogen’s boring, endless gossip while Imogen made Sara feel like she was not completely alone. Often during these coffee mornings, Sara found herself back to when she had real friends, like Julia. To when they would stay up all night as friends do talking about the adventures they would go on, throwing caution to any breeze. Anything to escape from their current lives. They were young then and it seemed possible to go travelling without a care or move to another city without a job to go to. Most people grow out of this knowing that at some point they must become a mature, sensible adult. Not Julia. Not Sara. They made a promise that one day they would travel. The promise was made sixteen years ago and not one that was kept. It was broken the day Sara married, when Julia never arrived at the venue the night before, leaving Sara to search for her best friend. When she finally got back to the hotel room a postcard was left on Sara’s pillow with only the word ‘life’ written across a sunset picture.

“Sara, do you agree?” Imogen asked becoming annoyed.

“Yes!”

“So, you agree that Faye drove her husband to sleep with another man? Seriously?”

“Couldn’t you hear the sarcasm?”

“No, you’re not very good at that…” Again, Imogen began to talk while Sara half listened, half looking out the window into the street. Imogen had just finished telling Sara why she thought Faye and her husband had an odd relationship when something caught Sara’s eye. A face she had not seen in such a long time. A homely face that she was now almost running towards, leaving Imogen mid-sentence and alone.

“Jesus Christ, you really did become the desperate housewife.”

“You recognise me?”

“Not the old you no, that died the day you signed a prenup. But whatever you have been injecting your face with is working, I need that!” Julia started to laugh. She had the sort of laugh that would paint a smile on your face even if she had just slapped you with an insult.

“Where did you go? Why did you leave that night?”

“Botox is killing your memory doll. That was the night we had planned three years before. That was the date we were going to travel. I got my ticket and you said you would get yours.”

“I was engaged though you knew that.”

“You got engaged after three months of knowing the guy and set the date for three months after. I had already bought a none refundable ticket to Edinburgh, Scotland, before you even met him, like you were meant to. I hoped after we had talked you would see sense and leave.”

“So why didn’t you tell me?”

“What was the point? We said we would meet at Benny’s Books before we went to the airport and when you didn’t show I knew you hadn’t changed your mind. So, I left a postcard in your room and underneath it, the letter.”

“What letter?”

“The one with all the places I was going and the dates in case you changed your mind.”

“I never got that letter.”

“No, I guess that was stupid of me, Bryan probably still has it.”

As the initial sting faded to a gentle throb, the pain between two old friends lingered but the unanswered questions and years of life they had both lived needed to be told. Sara invited Julia to her home so they could learn what had happened in the past sixteen years.

Normally coffee would have been made, but this was something momentous, worthy of opening the good champagne. Despite Bryan’s forewarnings that he expected the wine and champagne to still be intact. He liked Sara to remain sober in case alcohol gave her ideas of leaving before he was finished with her. With every sip years melted away taking them back to how they were long before marriage and travelling began. Sara described in detail her life so far, the parties she was expected to attend, the dresses she was expected to wear, even down to the friends she was expected to have. Of course, this took no longer than twenty minutes.

“It has just taken you twenty minutes to describe the last part of your life Sara, that was never you. That’s not how you wanted to live your life.”

“I know. Tell me about yours so I can at least imagine some adventure!” Sara laughed.

This went on for quite some time as Julia began in Scotland, where the journey was to start. She described how, when she arrived she was alone in a pub listening to a few local bands, sampling everything, not just the beer and spirits. After Scotland, she did the whole American in England visiting everything from the Beatles museum to Buckingham Palace. Once England had been conquered France was next, then Germany and slowly working her way around the entire of Europe before she found herself back in the small pub in Edinburgh.

“Was it that good you went back?” Sara laughed, with her buoyancy of spirits returning so did the trust of their past friendship.

“No, it was who was there that made me go back!”

Sara listened as Julia described a Scottish drummer called Aaron. He left with his band to travel to America while Julia travelled Europe, promising that they would meet back in that pub once Aaron’s band had finished in America and Julia had made it back to Scotland.

“Did you meet? What happened?”

“We were meant to meet in The Hog’s Head on October fourteenth. I arrived, ordered a drink and sat alone drinking until the end of the night. He never showed. I stayed there for another three nights waiting for him. I realised he wasn’t ever coming back and took the first flight back here.”

“I’m so sorry Julia.”

“I’m not! It inspired me to write this,” placing her bag on her knees Julia pulled out her best-selling novel, Broken Hearts and Lemon Tarts: An American Girl’s Guide to Britain.

“You wrote that?”

“Yeah, the entire series of them. Well, now you know Destiny King is actually your good friend Julia Green.”

Unknown to Sara, all the times she had read the adventures of Destiny King she was following the real life of her long-lost friend. A sickening mist of regret clouded around her. Those could have been her stories to tell, her mysterious French man, her broken heart. Sitting in silence, Julia knew what her estranged friend was thinking, leaving her to stew in the regret.

“Did you ever go back after that?”

“After he left me waiting? Hell no!”

“I think you should go back. No, I think we should go back! What if he’s there? What if every October fourteenth he waits there for you! Julia, we should go! Tonight!”

“You need to calm down! I’m pretty sure Bryan will be due back from a business meeting or buying some more land or whatever it is he does. I should go.” As Julia stood up to leave Sara grabbed her by both arms.

“He’s away for three weeks anyway, he wouldn’t even know if I had gone! Besides he told me to keep busy and this is!”

“Are you going because he told you to keep busy or because you finally want to live your life?”

Reaching inside her perfectly kept black bag Sara slipped out her purple diary, slightly opening it allowing a piece of card to fall out. A postcard. The postcard Julia had left her sixteen years before. With both friends grinning a quick dash to the laptop opened the flight possibilities for tonight, they were in luck but unfortunately, only first-class seats remained.

“Thank you, Bryan!” Sara laughed as she booked their flights.

Rummaging through her wardrobe Sara and Julia found all their travel needs including two Radley London suitcases, they were going to the UK after all, they seemed fitting. Once the hour-long rush was over, Sara left a note for Bryan.

If you’re back before I am then I have gone away with a friend. No, I’ve not run off with another man, I’ll leave that to Faye’s husband

Love you forever,

Sara xxx

“Love you forever? Really? “Julia asked.

“I did love him at one point, I guess I always will.” Sara realised this note was not a simple, be back soon, more of a goodbye.

The car arrived taking them to the airport and the long journey to Manchester, England, started with the popping of more champagne corks.

The flight took less time for the two friends as they were reminiscing on their youth. Finally, making the journey together for their planned adventure. They decided to stay in Manchester for one night, before making the next flight to Edinburgh as they had a few days to kill before Julia would find herself back in the pub that started her journey sixteen years prior.

Getting into a taxi they were dropped off not long after in front of a tall silvery glass building with glass doors sliding open they were greeted by two men on the reception front desk.

“How can I help you?” One man asked.

“We’re looking for a room just for tonight,” Julia answered.

“Ah! You’ll want the Hilton Deansgate, just next door, I’ll walk you through.” The older man stood up and kindly escorted Sara and Julia back through the doors passing many refined men in suits. They did not go unnoticed. Despite the plethora of distracting men, Julia and Sara eventually checked into the hotel. Swiftly throwing their bags into the rooms, they took the day to sleep after a long flight. When night time had arrived, Sara faced Julia for the friend approval test on her outfit before heading to Cloud 23 for a few celebratory drinks. Settling in at a table for two, overlooking Manchester, it was not long before the dazzling lights were not the only things demanding their attention.

“From the two gentlemen at the bar.” Placing down the two daiquiris, Sara smiled at the tall man stood at the bar who was now walking over.

Introducing himself as Jamie, his arrogance and confidence was something Sara could not resist.

“Thank you for the drinks, my friend here is just waiting for her husband to come back from his business meeting.” Julia smiled.

“I apologise, this is my number if your husband doesn’t come back from his meeting tonight.” Winking at Sara the suave man sauntered back over to his chubby friend.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because he’s the normal dick you tend to end up with. Remind you of anyone?”

“What? Does it hurt for one night?”

“You have his number, call him when we get back from Edinburgh. I’m sure he’ll still be here.” Julia sniggered.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing, you’ll have to play wing-woman and keep his little friend over there amused!” They both turned to look at the two very different men with a giggle escaping them.

“Yeah, little is the right word, honestly he must come up to my boobs!”

“He might be a sweet guy!”

“See if he wants to join you and Mr. Swagger then if you think he’s so sweet!”

Still laughing when they reached their rooms, they said goodnight and for the first time since her marriage, Sara felt alive.

The next morning, however, saw the deadly curse of the hangover loom over them both. Being over the age of twenty-four, meant these once easily curable mornings were now a nightmare when trying to stomach boarding a plane. Even after twenty-four hours had passed since the last drink.

Staggering as they boarded their next flight Sara and Julia’s bodies were paying for the reckless night of drinking they had been part of. Landing into Edinburgh the cool wind eased over them as they vowed never to drink again.

“Maybe just one for courage?” Sara asked as they arrived outside the beautiful boutique hotel they would be staying in for the next few days.

“Not in The Hog’s Head, I can’t face there until tomorrow night!” Julia replied.

That evening they headed to the hotel’s restaurant filling themselves up on the greasy home-made chips and battered sausages. Even treating their palates to the taste sensation of a deep-fried Mars bar, a brilliant Scottish delicacy. The fat and grease were just what they needed as they turned the talk to the rest of the evening’s plans.

“There’s a haunted walk tour around Edinburgh we could go on?” Sara suggested.

“Where do they take you?”

“It says it starts with the stories and sites of witch trials, pagan rituals, and executions at Calton Hill and North Bridge. Then visiting Old Calton Burial Ground and Canongate Kirkyard, oh says you go to a local pub as well!”

“Let’s book it then! Do you get a tour guide?”

“Yeah, says here you do!”

Ensuring their place on this ghostly walk was secured, Sara and Julia went to their rooms to change into something more appropriate for walking and climbing around Edinburgh in mid-October. With sensible shoes tied, the tour had begun with many screams from petrified walkers as the hired actors from the tour jumped out in the graveyard and from behind the walls of the twisting, narrow roads. Around ten o’clock, the evening came to an end leaving the many frightened people from the walk in the Black Bull Inn trying to drink away the feeling that something ghostly was following them. Naturally, Sara and Julia found this highly amusing as they sat down with just a pint of soda water each, enhanced by a dash of lime.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

“No, of course not, seeing a man who stood me up sixteen years ago who probably won’t be in there. Not making me feel nervous at all!”

“Is that sarcasm? Because I’m really not good with it.”

“Yes, Sara and no. I do feel nervous but at the same time the likelihood of him being there is probably slim.”

“But he might be in there.”

“Hold on my phone is ringing,” Julia paused for a moment, “I need to take this.”

Running outside to get a better signal, left Sara fiddling in her bag with the business card she had been given in Manchester. Making a sober decision a quick text left her phone, her heart beating faster when a message flashed across her phone. What was it she was feeling? Nerves? Regret? Betraying her husband by consciously flirting with another man? No, it was excitement. Sara was feeling the rush of the chase, something she never felt with Bryan. He was overpowering in his direct approach it left no time for flirtation. From nothing to marriage in six months with only one person feeling in love giving the other the power to make them feel how they want. Bryan’s choice of emotion was always detachment, it suited him becoming more aloof over the years. Jamie, however, gave Sara equal emotional control. Not quite the arrogance that Julia had first thought. One more message was sent as Julia took her seat.

“That was my literary agent.” The words came out slowly, calculated.

“Yes? Is everything ok?”

“It’s better than ok! They’ve been contacted about the rights to my books, someone wants to make them into a film series!” Julia could no longer hide her excitement but that was quickly covered by her apparent worry.

“That’s amazing! Julia congratulations! Julia?”

“What if they don’t do them right though? Also, there’s no end to them.”

“You can request creative control over it, think of the things that are important. What if this is the end to them? To come full circle and finish where it all began with Aaron?”

“I think I need something stronger than this!”

One drink made way to another and eventually to the unlucky Scottish man taking them home in a taxi, having to decipher exactly where they were staying through broke speech and drunken slurs. Driving around the city for what seemed like two hours Julia finally pointed to a hotel. With a soft spot for the two American women, the taxi driver did the decent thing by charging them a small fare and helping them into the hotel. Where they now became the hotel’s responsibility.

Sleeping well into the afternoon, Sara awoke to the buzzing of her phone on the wooden bedside table. Her eyes half shut she briefly skipped through messages left and a few phone calls from Jamie accompanied by twenty missed calls and the culprit now banging on the door.

“Sara! It’s Julia! You need to wake up!” Dishevelled, Sara opened the door and slumped back into bed.

“What’s happened?”

“It’s Aaron! I was speaking to one of the guys in the restaurant and he said Aaron owns the Hog’s Head now!”

The new information sent chills spiralling around Sara’s body. It was like it was meant to be. There was no other way for her to describe it. Julia ushered Sara into the shower so they could spend the afternoon calming Julia’s nerves, planning what would happen. Eventually, the afternoon’s planning slipped into the night’s actions. This time it was Julia looking to her friend’s approval for what she had chosen to wear, to greet a man she should have met sixteen years before.

Walking through the cobbled streets linking arms together they finally arrived outside The Hog’s Head.

“This is it, no turning back.”

“No turning back.”

Julia walked through the weathered oak doors into a pub that had not changed. She quickly located the exact same spot she was sat in when she first came here and grabbed Sara by the wrist, leading her over. Being a good friend, Sara went to the bar to get the first lot of drinks in. With bile rising in her throat Julia wasted no time in emptying an entire bottle of wine within the first thirty minutes.

Through her blurring vision that is when he saw him. Aaron had not changed in the time that had passed, his dark hair and blue eyes were easily distinguishable. Even distressed jeans had not changed. Though, Julia did not recognise the blonde woman who was now kissing his stubble. Nor did she know the teenage boy calling him dad and the young girl asking her ‘daddy’ for a drink.

Julia did not need to speak. Her doleful eyes were the only expression Sara needed as the reality set in. Julia was just too late.

“I want to leave.”

Without question Sara picked up her friend’s coat and bag she had left in the rush of running out, following her into the night and back into the hotel.

“How could I have been so stupid? I actually started to believe that maybe he was still here, maybe he was still waiting for me.”

“No, it’s my fault I shouldn’t have made you come here!”

“No, you should have, it’s been fun, doing what we said we would do. The best thing to come out of all of this!”

“Not the best, when we get back I’m filing for divorce. It’s not too late for me to live my life.”

Squeezing her friend, Julia could not stop the grin on her face developing.

“I’m going to head to bed, we can go back to Manchester tomorrow, if you still have that Jamie guy’s number?” Julia smiled leaving her friend to wander into the hotel bar.

Sitting at the bar by herself, Sara did not feel alone, especially since the taxi driver from the previous night took up the seat next to her.

“Aye, I thought I might have found you here. But the question is, what brought two nice girls to Edinburgh?” He asked,

“I guess we were looking for answers we already knew.” Sara smiled.

“Did your friend find Aaron at the Hog’s Head?”

“Yeah, and his wife and family. How did you know about that?”

“Well, that’s all she kept saying when she was in the taxi. I tried to tell her about his wife and kids.”

“I wish you had, it might have saved her the sobering heartbreak tonight.”

“He waited for her you know.”

“What?”

“Aye, he was a young lad, when it all happened. The tour he was on had a few extra dates added, so by the time he got back in late October he was hit with two lots of bad news. First, his father had passed away while he was in America but had left him this pub. The second was more of a shock. A few months before he left, Aaron had broken up with his girlfriend, by the time he got back she had given birth to his son. He promised to help with the child but he told one of his friends he was waiting for a girl to come back as she had promised. A year went by and no mysterious girl. Eventually, the friendship between the mother of his child and he grew into a relationship again. They got married another year after that on the fourteenth of October. He’s been running that pub for sixteen years.” Taking his glass from the bar the taxi driver smiled and walked to his own table.

The next day Sara and Julia travelled back to Manchester and on the short plane journey, Sara told Julia what the taxi driver had mentioned.

“I guess I got my end.” Was all Julia said as her finger smacked the keyboard to her laptop.

Sara sat in Cloud 23 waiting for Jamie. They took a bottle of champagne back to his hotel room. Seductively sat on his armchair she allowed her clothes to fall and as the last piece of clothing slipped to the floor Sara felt like her life was no longer in fragments, escaping her. She was only just starting to make up for the lost time and escapades.

In a rush for her flight home, Sara promised to keep in touch with Jamie once she got back to America but the truth was she never would. She had more important things to handle like leaving Sara Henderson behind, becoming Sara Aphrodite once more.

The divorce was quick and painless, apparently the prenuptial agreement she had signed only counted for the first ten years of the marriage, to Bryan’s dismay.

Free at last Sara could spend time with her real friends, creating memories and not just social events.

Although, one event she could not miss came a year after her first adventure. Sara Aphrodite met her friend Julia Green outside Benny’s Books, October fourteenth, for the launch of Destiny King’s final book.

Broken Hearts and Lemon Tarts: An American Girl’s Best Friend and The Bitter-sweet End.

Fake It Until You Make It

It’s easy, isn’t it?

Post something inspirational for everyone to think about. Create the illusion that, following your very easy methods of self-discovery can lead them to a better life.

Faces filtered was just the first step. Next, making a life that can look amazing to the outside. But is it?

I sat down one day with a friend and someone who claimed to be an ‘Instagram Model’. How those two words have now become the aims and futures for many worries me.

Not for the fact of the life they live. I have no issues. Just the lies they have to paint. They are indeed real writers and artists. Fabricating every inch of their lives.

My friend told me she was that broke she was living in her car. I asked her how she had managed to hide it for so long. The truth? Clothes were given to her by companies. A make-up artist would use her for their work. She would have a free fresh face ready to snap a picture of herself in a wardrobe of free clothes.

Restaurants would offer her free meals and champagne for the night but only if she brought her clan of attractive friends.

Boutique hotels hired her to sit at a bar and look pretty as they snapped pictures for their online gallery. In exchange, she used their rooms to add to her own online portfolio.

After spending almost a year living off the goodwill of others, real cash payments started, not much but enough to stop living on a sofa or in a car.

I have no doubt in the heights that girl will reach because of sheer determination.

However, it’s not for everyone. Some fly and some fall so miserably that square one seems like a safe place.

I guess her story is like many. The term ‘fake it until you make it’ gets used so loosely today we forget the meaning.

For example, there are those who write reviews for products/books/movies who will have you believe that they are an outgoing, full of life individual. When the reality of it they are sat, just like me, surrounded in chocolate wrappers and empty bottles of Coca-Cola after, unlike me, destroying someone’s hard work as they shy away from any form of social interaction.

For once can we just be real in a place that is so false?

I didn’t think so.