Going Crazy (A Short Story)

Walking into her dining room, she stops in the doorway. What exactly was she here for? Raising an eyebrow, she laughes it off, and walks away shaking her head.

Stepping into a new room this time, her bedroom, she sits at her desk with her laptop open and notices an almost empty draft in front of her. What exactly was she writing? Raising both eyebrows, she allows her head to fall into her hands, the way she herself fell onto the chair, and a sigh of defeat to escape her lips.

Venturing to a third room, the kitchen this time, she opens up a cupboard, before slowly shutting it again. What exactly was she planning on getting? 

Finally, giving up, she heads outside, and collapses down on a sunbed. Sitting up suddenly, it all comes back to her. She was in her dining room to get her phone from the table, then she was going to write a German essay before grabbing a cereal bar from the kitchen. 

This, she reminds herself, is what a sleep deprived brain does to her. Never again will she function on a mere hour of sleep. Of course, by the time another late evening has arrived she’ll likely have forgotten that vow, and will instead have to watch the small hours of the morning grow ever larger once more.

~My LifeOnline 

Manchester Terror Attack

This post is going to be a mess. I’m a mess, you’re probably a mess, the world’s a mess. 
I feel sick. Heartbroken. Physically sick. Children younger than me. People my age. 

I can’t muster words. I was meant to be going to Manchester in few days to see a concert at Manchester arena. I saw one woman on the news say she wished the attack had been on that concert so those killed would probably be older. I just wish the attack hadn’t happened at all. If  those attacks had been a few days later it wouldn’t have been strangers affected, but instead myself and people I know. 

I’m frustrated that I can’t get my words straight. I have so many words and I have a platform to share them on, yet I can’t string these individual words together in a powerful enough way.

We’ve all seen the photos. The videos. Heard the stories. I’m not going to go into detail on individual stories, they’re all heartbreaking, but some are particularly gruesome and I don’t want those of you who haven’t stumbled across them to be haunted.

Innocent lives. Innocent. Children. Targeted. Those poor kids. Poor Ariana. She didn’t deserve this either. None of them did. Buy her song on iTunes, if needs to get to the top for 22 weeks.

No one really knows how to help. My friends and I have spent so long crying – sharing stories we’ve heard and breaking our hearts more. It’s 23:45 as I write this. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore, I can barely see the screen through my tears.
It hits home how these are people my age. It was in the sort of place we go to have fun. The exact place I was going to go to in a few days.

[Don’t read the next two paragraphs if slightly more violent descriptions upset you]

I hurt. My heart hurts. My head hurts. The nails from the bomb were imbedded in people’s skin. It’s sick. They’re sick. 22 are dead. 

The things these people have witnessed. Dead bodies. Blood. Half an exploded person. Real people. Real feelings. Real blood.
[Continue reading here] 

I don’t even want to continue writing this. I don’t want to poison your mind with the images that have been haunting most of us for days. I hope you’re all safe. Oh god, please all be safe.

Safety. What even is that when the terror threat is critical. Another attack is ‘imminent‘. 

Love. Hope. Families. Broken. Bodies. Blood. Death. Destruction. Terror.

My attempt at writing something cool

Paint. Splashing across a canvas in a spectrum of colour sketching a tale of jubilation and bliss. Then, nothing . A blank sky, a clear piece of paper. Tension sharp enough to cut with a knife, waiting and watching as the world slows. Over-looking eagerly, the moon smiles – like shattering shards of glass, a breathtaking display finally fills the air. Down below the moment is captured : an avid camera flashes. Vibrant and vivid, the image prints, floating slowly down, reaching the river below.

Spiralling like falling snowflakes, a light mist rises from the water, a blue lagoon of peace and tranquillity. Gently placed on top, Tower Bridge stands, a glimmering crown perfecting the sight. Reflecting a ray of beaming lights and magnificent colour, the water ripples happily. Undisturbed, it’s free to dance and spin to its heart’s content.

~My LifeOnline