Work for It

by Talia Hibbert

Emotions are not allowed to rule my body and feelings are not allowed to affect my reality;

Fuck it; why not? I’ll be a troll. I bet trolls get an unfair rep, anyway. I bet they’re proper decent blokes trying to make a living, but handsome, entitled princes keep turning up to cause trouble,

Sheep, as a species, have a fundamental flaw: I hate them. They lack charm, and they do not respond to charm.

For Christ’s sake, Olu, now isn’t the time for emotional exploration. I have sheep to deal with. Shudder.

This is how he wins, how he makes me all dizzy and soft: he smiles, for real, and for me. He’s dangerous.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with him if he doesn’t want tea?

Keynes sounds like he’s talking to a pair of flies stuck together as they fuck.

Bumbling around this idyllic little farm with my journal in hand is wonderfully restful. In fact, it’s been five days since I last wanted to commit murder.

“You’ve got a face like a slapped arse,”

I wonder how many people treat ostracised, circumspect Griff like that—how many see in him a mystery rather than a man, an opportunity to insert themselves into some dramatic, meaningful tale, as if he is a character rather than a human being.

How can he talk about deserving, when I’ve got this gut-deep suspicion that what we really deserve is each other? And I don’t mean because we’re a pair of brooding arseholes.

Keynes is cool enough for the both of us; my job is to keep him warm.

This man is mine. All mine. The way he makes me feel, he couldn’t be anything else.

I think he might be sun and air and water. I think I might be hooked on the feeling of having him.

I’ve tried my best, but it’s hard to put down on paper how it feels to be alive.