Week 21

The depression was like a black liquid seeping through his veins. It made his bones feel heavier, his heart emptier.

She, on the other hand, was feeling weightless, a new light surrounding her. Her bags packed, her things in boxes, it was time to say goodbye to a world holding her back.

The more she looked forward to her new life, the more the darkness took hold of him.

He understood why she was leaving, had even supported her at first, but as this day had grown closer, his smile had struggled to remain.

She tried to hug him but received little in return.

“I’ll call you. And text you. Heaps.” She held onto his shoulders and grinned. Her lips pushed together, her cheeks puffing out.

The darkness receded slightly where her hands rested but persisted to pull at his face.

“I’ll be back for a visit in a few months too,” she said, swinging her arms down to her side before picking up one of the boxes with swiggles of vivid across the side.

“I don’t want you to go.” He hadn’t meant to say it. Had meant to just nod and say OK but the words were out now and her light had dimmed. As his head dropped, the first of the tears leaked.

The box was quickly put down and her arms wrapped tightly around her younger brother.

“I know.” She squeezed her arms slightly, enough for him to feel it in his ribs. “I’ll miss you.”

Another squeeze and then he was let go.

She picked up the box again while her mum grabbed the others. Dad was already loading her the bags in the car.

“I’ll be back from Uni in no time,” she said. “Come on. Grab my laptop for me. It’s time to go.”

Week 20

Pillows bleeding, their stuffing strewn across the floor in pockets of violence, newspapers wet and crumpled in a corner, a lamp shattered into multiple pieces, and photographs knocked on their sides.

Down the hallway, toilet paper had been pulled from the bathroom and weaved its way into the laundry, while petals and leaves had been eaten and vomited up by the bedroom doors.

The blankets had been pulled from the master bed and lay against the wall, where settled in them was one half of the culprits, the other curled up on the bed.

As they realised another figure was in the room the cat simply stretched and turned away, while the dog’s tale wagged against the covers, eyes filled with guilt.

This would be the last time the pets would be left inside alone.

Week 19

Time is irrelevant. Unless you want to go back. That, unlike in the movies, can’t be done.
But hitting pause, slowing things down, or speeding things up, it’s how the Observers get by.
They walk among us, helping where they can – sometimes hindering – all the while fascinated with our obsession with time.
It seems we don’t have enough of the stuff. That, at least, is the complaint. The Observers however see time wasted, time ill-spent, time forgotten.
There’s plenty of it, really. So much, in fact, that it’s easy to get lost in its folds, it’s intricacies, its complexities. Time can be a wondrous and beautiful thing when appreciated.
And appreciation is all the Observers have for time. After all, time is all they have.

Week 18

The rain came quickly.
Water blanketed the already dark city and overwhelmed drivers; the sheets of water making the roads fade and almost disappear. Bright flashes of red pushed through the haze as cars braked and slowed to half the 100k limit.
He was barely visible in his hoodie and black trackpants, walking north with the traffic.
Only on the corners did headlights catch a glimpse of his outline, hunched over and alone.
The light steam rising from his shoulders wasn’t just because of the heat he’d worked up from the ever rising path, it was a sign of his frustration, his hatred for a world that had shut him out.
He was 17 with no destination but forward.
The blue Holden had no time to stop, even after the thud of flesh against metal when instinct hit in and foot went to brake, the car skidded taking its victim with it.
The driver already had his door open before he’d completely pulled back on the hand brake, rushing to see what he’d hit.
The body was slumped against the curb, alive but dazed. The car, now twisted to its left, was completely blocking the northbound lane, traffic heading south slowly stopping as they realised something was wrong.
Calls came for an ambulance and help arrived to the figure in black. The driver was more confused than anything else, asking where this boy had come from.
Had he walked out in traffic on purpose? Or was he simply blinded by the rain?
A spiderweb of light flashed above as thunder rolled around the hills.
17, with about that many broken bones. 17, but at least he’ll have a place to sleep tonight.