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Update

Will be writing again soon!

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I have written around 57 articles in the past week and I am super tired. Once I get my energy levels back up (and my brain isn’t so fried), I promise I’ll get back to writing.

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The Experiment (extract)

So I use to write a lot when I was a teen (I’m 24 now), I would start writing and then have a new idea and start a new story, without finishing the other. I have a lot of little extracts that make no sense to anyone, except for me because I know the backstory and where I was going with them. However, I’m going to upload them anyway, because even though I never finished these stories, someone else might.

The Experiment

She saw him standing there in the grey corridor. He looked like an angel, but something was wrong. She rushed forward, her bare feet connecting with the rough icy floorboards. So close. She felt the relief flood through her as she desperately pushed her tired legs forward. Her blue eyes lifting to meet his.

That’s when she saw it. The blank expression. Those eyes that had glistened with a thousand memories were now empty. Soulless. Her legs were suddenly unsure whether to keep running forward or to buckle under her. The relief she felt was quick to turn into a cold trickling fear.

His left hand was sternly stretched to a block on the colourless wall. The button: red, glowing, and big. She wondered how she had not noticed it before as it now illuminated the long corridor, making the distance between them heavier.

She gasped when she realised what it was. Her eyes frantically shooting back at him. Her mouth trembled open and a heart wrenching scream escaped as her legs slowed to a halt. His once soft touch looked hard and cold as it pushed down on the button.

“NO!” She screamed. It took a matter of seconds for them to rush at her. Their thick heavy bodies appearing out of the hidden doorways, grabbing at her sides and dragging her back. She threw herself forward helplessly, straining her face to see his. “NO! NO!” He stood their expressionless as she screamed.

He started to turn away as she screamed at him, her defeated body smashing to the floor. The monsters gripped at her ankles and pulled her further down the corridor away from him. She clawed at the wooden floor desperately trying to fight her way back.

This couldn't be happening. He wouldn't do this.

He stood there, his hair perfectly highlighted from the overhead light. “NO! Please no!” Her nails ripped at the floorboards, the sharp ragged wood digging into her fingers. They embedded themselves deeply into her skin, trying to detach her pearly white nails.

"No! You promised! YOU PROMISED!". Her voice had turned hysterical, as the bodies continued to pull her. Their claws dug deep into her ankles as she fought back. She knew she was losing the fight as a trail of her blood painted the floor.

He was just a golden silhouette in the distance, but she couldn't give up, not yet. She screamed continuously, but the pain splitting through her fingers had started to cloud her mind. The thick red liquid dripped through her fingers making her grip on the floor breakable.

The unseen monsters tore at her dress as they pulled her and yanked her upright. "No! How could you! I hate you!" A strangled scream escaped her mouth as the hot tears started to spill out of her eyes. "I FUCKING HATE YOU! YOU BASTARD!" Her throat burnt as she screamed, but she couldn't stop as they pulled her through the metal door.

WHACK!

A piercing white pain spread across her head.

WHH-CHHH WHACK!

Her widened eyes danced with the grey spots threatening to blur her vision, but she finally saw him. The real him. He turned sideways. His head lifted hesitantly to the steel door where her body was slowly running out of fight. His hair was perfectly placed, but his eyes shone watery bright. His rigid face was slashed with pain as he locked eyes with her.

That was all she needed to see. He was still in there, somewhere, and the need to desperately cling on had disappeared. She finally let go as the darkness consumed her.

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Diary of a Psychotherapist

I’m super busy so I don’t have the time to write anything new, so have the ending to a book I was writing, but never really started...

Diary of a Psychotherapist

Day 430

It wasn’t until I got home that I realised Eve had said goodbye to me. Without thinking I rushed out the door and didn’t stop running until I was storming through the hospital ward past a flustered looking Nurse Roberts and an angry Nurse Winnie. I banged on her door and screamed for her, but even before it was unlocked I already felt the emptiness in the room.

She hung there. Her small body hovered above the floor and her pale head limped forward. I don’t want to go into detail, but the image of her small, lifeless body will forever scar my dreams, my memories, my life.

I didn’t know it at the time, but that was her final word to me. Goodbye. She had let fate take the chance to steal time and her life away. Of course, she had planned it that way, but a part of me didn’t want to think that Eve would do such a thing.

She had been getting better. She was strong, independent, and damn right crazy but that was one of her best qualities. Her craziness. She spoke the truth through it and like the first day I had met her, she had strongly held by her words.

Owen. Somebody who had messed her up so badly that she got locked away. He left and she had blamed herself, just like the others had.

It wasn’t your fault Eve. Damn it, I will shout it out on the rooftops until everyone believes me, believes you. That girl was scared, they never gave her a chance to explain. Maybe that’s why the world is failing, nobody listens anymore.

I listened Eve and even though I didn’t understand at times, I do now.

As I was leaving the hospital, Nurse Roberts gave me an envelope addressed to me in Eve’s scribbly writing; they had found it on the floor next to her bed.

I haven’t opened it. I can’t.

Day 436 I’m so sorry Eve. So damn sorry.

Day 462 You crazy girl. Why did you do this to me?

Day 498 Eve.

Day 612 It’s been 6 months since Eve killed herself. Even though I don’t want to admit that.

I haven’t slept. I wish I could have helped her more, I should have helped her more. It's too late now, it’s all too late.

I keep going over my notes and cursing at myself for not seeing the obvious signs. She had been planning it all along, the subtle hints had been testing me and I had failed.

I failed her.

Day 613 I woke up to the sound of heavy rain pounding on my window. The silvery grey light was not welcoming like it used to be. I found no magic there anymore. I sat on my bed for hours and at some point, I had retrieved Eve’s letter; unopened.

I picked it up and examined it. My eyes burned as I opened it slowly. I could already see her scribbly writing through the thin page.

This was it. It was time to read her letter.

The letter

Dear Dr. Evans, i apologise for my messy handwriting. I aM writing this at 4 in the morning and I can’t really see at allll. Tomorrow is the day I die. You do not know this yet. But I’m sure you will figure it out pretty fast, thought I will be one step ahead of you. Don’t blame yourself, as I know you will. Wow, what a terrible first patient I am for you! I must say I would recommend you to my other crazy friends, but well… it may be a bit tricky to tell them (dead and all that). I didn’t write anyone else a letter. Not my parents, my brother, or even Nurse Roberts. Only you.

You changed my life, you might not know it, but you did. I felt hope in humanity again and that was a nice feeling for a while, but life's a bitch and she alwayS did have a grudge against me.

You haven’t failed. I can assure you that you did help me. You saved me from boredom, the institution's food (yuckyuckyuck!!!) and most of all, you saved my mind. After being told endlessly I was crazy, I did start to believe it. But I’m not crazy. I never was and you knew that. Thank you.

I left you. I’m sorry. I must say I fell in love with you, and don’t lie - you fell in love with me too! The cardigans were just too much for me (I joke!). But really, I have never loved someone before, I don’t like it.

Screw you, Dr. Evans, how could you make me love you? That was unfair.

I studied and observed you, as you did to me, in the hope that I would hate you. Just like all the other therapists, but no such luck.

ANyway. Thank you for listening and thank you for being there. I will definitely leave this world with a smile.

Uh oh, I have to go, I can hear Nurse Winnie stomping down the hallWay.

Goodbye Dr!!

P.s.

I saved myself, but I know it’s not how you wanted me to.

P.s.p.s

call me Evelyn

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I’ve been working on so many articles these past two weeks, so haven’t had time to write for fun. Hopefully will be back at it during the week!

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Emily was running late again, something that the Angel of Death hated, but she knew he wouldn’t mind when he saw what she was wearing. Tonight she had chosen her favourite red slip-on dress and decided to put her hair up - something she never would have dreamed of doing before. Something was different about tonight though, the air seemed warmer and everything just seemed right. She hurried out the door and tried to think of a valid excuse for her lateness.

It wasn’t long until Emily sat across from the Angel of Death in a cute tucked away Italian Restaurant. One that Emily had picked, even though he had wanted to take her to the opera house.

As she sat in the wickered chair, Emily suddenly felt scared. The Angel of Death smiled at her, his teeth alarmingly sharp. She blinked a few times as she stared at him; had they always been so pointed? Emily wasn’t sure, but she shyly returned the smile.

“You must try the chardonnay” Emily jumped at the sound of his voice. She was startled at the deepness. What was once so smooth and inviting, now sounded dominating and threatening.  

“Right yes, sounds lovely” She stared down at her hands, that were now trembling slightly. “Sorry I was late, I…” Emily drifted off as the Angel of Death reached over and put his cold long hands on hers. She gawked at the difference between her soft polished skin, to his pale greyish leathered hands.

“Don’t worry about that, love. I’ve come to expect you being late”. He laughed deeply and a shiver shot down her spine. “Are you cold? Here, let me warm you up”. He moved across the table to sit next to Emily, his big arms wrapping themselves around her like a cobra with a mouse. Emily froze, waiting for the inevitable. She turned to face him, her skin stung at the closeness of his.

“Actually, I…I..”, she stuttered and cursed at herself for sounding so afraid. He simply stared at her, his eyes burning into hers.

“Yes, darling?” Emily could only stare in response as his breath waved over her. She tried desperating to surpress herself from gagging, but the stale stench was too much. He frowned as she tried to stifle it with a cough.

“I think I’m coming down with something, I should go home” She carefully, but quickly unraveled herself from his grip, and stood up. She could see the words forming in his mouth, that he would take her home, but the very thought made her sick to her stomach. “Alone. I want to go home alone, I’m sorry…” She gathered her bag and hurried off out the restaurant without giving him a chance to respond.

Emily debated whether she should risk getting into a taxi alone or to ring her friend and hope that she would come and pick her up.

With a surprising start Emily rang her friend because, for the first time in what felt like forever, Emily didn’t want to take the risk, she realised; she wanted to live.

You are suicidal and you meet the Angel of Death. They are the most beautiful thing you have ever seen and instantly fall in love. You ask them for a date and surprinsingly they say yes, but not before warning you: “I appear beautiful to those who seek me. Those who do not want me find me hideous”. Some weeks and dates later, they start looking differently…

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From a book I never finished writing

All Josey wanted was a nice warm cup of tea that didn't resemble the dirty bath water they tried to make her drink in the hospital. She understood that the hospital staff were busy and had much more important jobs than making tea, but that hadn't stopped her from gagging every time it was thrust in front of her face.

"You need to keep your fluids up, Josephine". The nurses insisted. They nagged at her daily; "Josephine you must sleep to get your strength up", and "Josephine, you must eat this amazing pile of crap that we just pulled out of the trash, it's healthy". Perhaps the last one was a bit of an over exaggeration, but the food really wasn't great. Her mother had said if they fed the patients like royalty, people wouldn't be so eager to leave. Which would make the hospitals overcrowded - as if they weren't already.

Honestly, she wasn't even sure why she needed to get her strength up. Doctors had kept telling her: "You are very lucky to be alive, young lady". Yet the reason why had not been shared with Josey, just that she was going to be fine - if she ate the crap they gave her and swallowed all the little pills.

It had started with the Doctors. They asked her if she was ready to talk about what had happened. She was confused, so they gave up. Then came the police, trying to probe answers from her unresponsive brain. They wanted to know how she had got there, but 'there' was not a place Josey knew.

What had happened there? How many people were there? Does she remember anything about the last months she had spent there? They had found bodies there; did she know who they were?

Josey had been severely confused, it hadn't taken long for it to turn into anger as the days went by. The same questions, the same roll of eyes and deep signs as she repeated she didn't know anything. She just couldn't remember.

Why would they think she would conceal information? All she knew was she was in agony, but she didn't know why. Her body ached, her insiders felt bruised as if she had downed a bottle of bleach and then been hit by a train repeatedly.

Fortunately, they had given up and she was discharged. Though she was to ring the police, you know, just in case she happened to remember anything.

It hadnt been an hour since they’d let her leave the hospital that she now stood in the dim light of Starbucks waiting for her tea. Her thin white t-shirt had been unforgiving in the December air, but the thought of going home and being coddled like a broken doll had practically made her crawl the icy streets of London in search of a coffee shop open at 5 in the morning.

"The tea won't be long". Josey smiled tightly at the barista behind the bar. She didn't consider herself a violent person, but the thought of jumping over the stacked packaged coffee and punching the guy in the face was very appealing. She didn't know what was wrong with her, but his quick glances and frowns at her cut face and heavily bruised body was starting to irritate her. Her mind was interrupted by the sound of her name.

"Josephine?". Josey froze as her name was repeated, this time with more conviction. The voice; thick and hesitant bounced around her head. A pang of anxiety crept up her throat and wrapped itself around her neck.

A boy, who looked older than her, stood 5 feet away. He looked deeply exhausted, clutching his coffee cup in his hands as he swallowed slowly. His large hazel eyes looked like glass, ready to break under the pressure of their stare.

"Yes?" She stared back at him with a confused sad gaze. This guy looked even worse than she did. His skin was patterned with cuts and bloodied dots. She didn't recognise him, but she felt that she should have. "Umm, do I know you?" His expression flicked, an unreadable emotion quickly disguised into a blank stare - his eyes flat and no longer intrusive.

"No, no. Sorry. Wrong person". She watched him look down at the floor hesitantly, his messy brown curly hair bounced at the slight movement. He looked back at her once more before turning around to walk out the door into the ice cold air. He didn't look back.

For the first time since she could remember, Josey burst out crying.

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I died

It wasn't how I imagined. I wasn't prepared. I didn't have the luxury of confessing my deepest darkest secrets on my death bed or uttering the words goodbye to my loved ones one last time. My whole existence vanished. All my dreams, my hopes, and wishes were snatched away from me with no warning. I didn't even write a will - not that I had anything worthy of giving away. I guess my life wasn't extraordinary, I won't go into much detail, but let's just say the only exciting thing I did was graduate university (and that was a bloody struggle).

I won't be remembered in generations to come. I wasn't a hero or a villain. I didn't cure a disease, feed the homeless or create world peace. Honestly, sometimes I didn't even get out of bed.

My life didn't flash before my eyes like I had been led to believe from endless of films and books. Although, maybe it did and it was just so shit I didn't notice. I wasted a lot of time. Anxiety does that to you though. You spend your seconds, minutes and hours worrying about wasting time - whilst the time is flying past you.

Then there's depression. You love painting? Not any more. You find comfort in reading? Don't bother. Everything you loved doing is pointless. Nothing can conjure any hint of engery or motivation from your muscles to do anything.

Have anxiety and depression? Well, good luck with that. It's hard. You obsessively worry, pacing the room. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

Then you finally get into bed, but you can't sleep because you're not done worrying. No, not yet. Then the morning comes and it's time to start it all over again.

Don't get out of bed: sleep. For hours - no, days. Want to see your friends? Why? What's the point? Brush your teeth. if you can make it to the bathroom without wanting to sliver onto the floor and die there.

Do you look both ways before crossing the road? I stopped looking years ago... so I guess I'm to blame for all of this. I tried fighting for the first time in my life. I was fighting to live, to feel the cold air bloat my lungs. Blood filled them instead. It gurgled inside my chest.

I was drowning in my own blood. It was the most dramatic thing my body has ever done. It had finally turned against me and death had come to collect my soul.

I couldn't see anything, I guess the shiny red metal that had collided with my head had probably done that. I would say that the car came out of nowhere, but that would be a lie. The car had come out of a car park situated next to a skyscraper at exactly 6:38pm.

It was cold. The kind of cold you feel when you stick your wet arm out of warm bathwater - the icy air is now a part of your skin. Though, the smell was worse. Everything smelt burnt: rusty, iron, burnt. Oh, but it was so cold.

They had to collect pieces of my skin off the road, yet I kept on fighting. I didn’t win though, on the crumbly tarmac, I took my last breath and died.