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You nodded towards the cup. Want more? I shook my head. What about the car? Didn't find it. You were heading back towards me when I found you. Towards . . . ? You nodded. So I reckoned the car had probably got stuck or died somehow, and you were just coming home. Home? Yeah. Your mouth twitched. Back to me.

Lucy Christopher

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Lucy Christopher
Age: 54
Author
Writer
WAL
Coming
Mouth
Probably
Somehow
Twitched
Head
Stuck
Reckoned
Found
Mouths
Nodded
Didn
Towards
Heading
Home
Car
Headings
Back
Yeah
Shook
Find
Died
Cups

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When the darkness gets easier, you know you're sinking deeper, becoming dead yourself.
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Far, far away something made a single ghostly howl, like a banshee in the dark.
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The deep blue of your eyes had secrets. I wanted them.
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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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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 is no need to put your heart in a bottle, then you will die. - Ty from Stolen
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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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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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Everyone wanted answers I wasn't ready to give.
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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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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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It was like I’d stepped out into an afterlife. Only there were no angels.
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I chased money, pretended to be someone else to get it. It got easier the longer I did it... but that's the trap, see? When the deadness gets easier, you know you're sinking deeper, becoming dead yourself.
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It happened like this. I was stolen from an airport. Taken from everything I knew, everything I was used to. Taken to sand and heat, dirt and danger. And he expected me to love him. This is my story. A letter from nowhere.
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How would she find her herd? How would she find you?
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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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You smiled then, and your whole face changed with it. It kind of lit up, like there were sunbeams coming from inside you.
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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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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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