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I could hear you, talking to the daffodils and tulips, whispering to the fairies that lived inside their petals. Each separate flower had a different family inside it.

Lucy Christopher

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Lucy Christopher
Age: 54
Author
Writer
WAL
Separate
Flower
Tulips
Lived
Daffodils
Inside
Daffodil
Hear
Fairies
Talking
Petals
Family
Whispering
Different
Fairy

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I love you, you said, simple as anything.
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Where are you going? I asked. The middle of nowhere. I thought this was it. Nah. You shook your head. This is just the edge.
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Far, far away something made a single ghostly howl, like a banshee in the dark.
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When the darkness gets easier, you know you're sinking deeper, becoming dead yourself.
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If there'd been an astronaut on the moon right then, I'm sure I could have seen him. Perhaps he could have looked down and seen me too... the only one who could.
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There were tiny stars behind my eyelids, a whole galaxy of tiny, spinning stars.
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I didn’t want the person standing there, beside the bed, to have the same face I’d found so attractive at the airport. But you were there all right: the blue eyes, blondish hair, and tiny scar. Only you didn’t look beautiful this time. Just evil.
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In a moment, when I'm ready, I will turn off this computer and that will be it. This letter will be finished. A part of me doesn't want to stop writing to you, but I need to. For both of us.
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I remember the lights turning into blurs of blazing fire. I remember the air-conditioning chilling my arms. The smell of coffee smudging into the smell of eucalyptus.
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It was so big, that view. I’ll never remember it properly. How can anyone remember something that big? I don’t think people’s brains are designed for memories like that. They’re designed for things like phone numbers, or the color of someone’s hair. Not hugeness.
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You won't be able to hurt me, or touch me.
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The land wants you here. I want you here, you called. Don't you care about that at all?
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It was like I’d stepped out into an afterlife. Only there were no angels.
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I remember that feeling of skin. It's strange to remember touch more than thought. But my fingers still tingle with it.
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Had you been lying all along? Mum gently stroked my hair. I whispered into her shoulder. “I can’t go back. Not yet. I can’t leave.” And she held my head tight to her chest and wrapped her arms around me. “You don’t have to,” she said, rocking me. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, not anymore.” And I cried.
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There is no need to put your heart in a bottle, then you will die. - Ty from Stolen
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You're right, he's a killer, you said. A rooster with some serious issues.
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I didn’t look back, but I knew you were still watching. It probably sounds weird, but I could just feel it. The hairs on my neck bristled when you blinked.
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It sounded weird to hear you talk so much normally you only said a few words at a time. I'd never imagined that you'd have a story, too. Until that moment, you were just the kidnapper. You didn't have reasons for anything. You were stupid and evil and mentally ill. That was all. When you started talking, you started changing.
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But what else can I do, other than to plead with you like this? Other than to write down my story, our story, to show you that what you've done . . . to make you realize that what you did wasn't fair, wasn't right.
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