Thursday, January 29, 2009


It's the cold that hits me first.
Then the sheer emptiness and my memories.
I breathe in deeply; the echo created startles me, but the dusty ice-cold air fills my lungs satisfyingly.
I open my eyes, the cold makes them sting; I blink a few times as my eyes try to grow accustomed to being open.
I sigh.
The cold concrete beneath me digs into me and I'm numb all over.
I put my hands on the ground and stand up cautiously, wary of losing my balance. The sound of my every movement is amplified a thousand times and so, even though I'm barely moving at all; the sound is so loud that it hurts my ears.
I can finally see, but it's the middle of the night and there're no windows anyway, so my sight is limited. I can make out only outlines of the familiar surroundings, this cold dark place that has become my home.
I stretch out my stiff weary limbs and shiver. I pull my coat around me tighter and wish I had a blanket.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Short Story.

It's three in the morning. A girl is in a garden. She is laying on the ground, her eyes closed, her too-long, scraggly blonde hair falling all around her. She takes a long drag from her rollie cigarette. A few moments later, she sighs.
She opens her eyes. She looks up; up, up and away, she stares at the dark starry night sky.
She opens her mouth, she looks as if she is about to speak. She closes her eyes again, but her mouth remains slightly ajar.  
She takes a drag.
Noone answers her for there is noone around her to answer. She didn't say it for anyone to hear, she doesn't expect anyone to. The party is at it's height and from where she is she can hear noise; music so loud that it blocks out all attempts that anyone may have at conversation. A scream claws it's ways through the sound every once in a while, but all other sound is drained out. 
She takes a drag.
The noise from inside becomes suddenly louder, clearer; she sits up, puts her hands behind her to support her and looks over. A boy stumbles out of the house and surveys the garden. He spots her and closes the door, the noise level goes back to normal.
He walks over to her and sits down.
He removes a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. Marlboro red. He removes one, puts it in his mouth and offers one to her-she deftly removes one.
He lights her cigarette before lighting his own.
They sit for a few moments in comfortable silence, the only sound comes from their inhaling and the party.
"Dodge," he says with his hand outstretched. 
She looks at him a few moments before answering.
She smiles, turns away, takes a drag.
He looks at his hand and slowly lowers it.
"You know Clare?"he asks.
"Clare. She owns this place."
She looks over at him and takes a drag.
"Clare.....Clare...." she looks as if she is searching her brain, "Oh. Clare! Yeah, Clare's lovely."
"Yeah, she's alright"
A few more minutes in silence.
She stubs her cigarette. He looks down at his,
it's almost finished and he's barely gotten 
two drags out of it. He takes a drag before 
stubbing it.
He takes out his pack again and offers her one, she delicately puts it between her bright red lips and waits for him to take one out before he lights her cigarette. 
"How do you know her?" he asks.
She waits a few more moments before answering. "She's friends with Karl."
"Karl? Who's he"
"Oh... Karl? Karl's. Well, Karl's... just... Karl's just Karl.." she gets this sentence out with obvious difficulty.
Her head is turned away.
She takes several quick drags in succession.
"You and Clare don't have a lot in common do you?"
She takes another drag.
"What makes you say that?"
"Well," he sighs, "Clare talks a lot, she don't say much though. You don't talk a lot"
"I've nothing to say."
"But see, I don't think that's true. I think you've a lot to say."
"Thought you said I don't talk much."
"No. No, you don't talk much, you do say a lot though."
"Oh.. Okay," She turns away.
"So, who's Karl."
A few moments silence.
She doesn't turn back around.
"I told you," she pauses. "He's just Karl," another pause. "He went out with Sarah. He's... just... Karl."
"See, now that's what I means", she looks at him, "Now, who's this Karl guy."
He smiles at her. She doesn't return the favour. He gives her a playful nudge.
"He's just Karl, okay? I have to go now," She stands up to go inside, "Bye, Dodge."
"No. No, don't go. I didn't mean anything. Just stay,"she continues to walk away. 
He gets to his feet and runs to her. He puts his hand on her shoulder and she turns around. They're face to face.
She can smell the alcohol off his breath. 
"Just stay, Sam. Please stay."
She looks at him.
"I'm not Samantha. I'm Sarah."
She turns back around and walks inside.
He sighs and watches her walk back inside. He watches her open the door and go inside. He watches her close it and look at him before disappearing.
He continues to look at the closed door.
After a few minutes, he sighs again and lies flat on his back and closes his eyes.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Description of a certain, unnamed place that I once did but no longer do associate myself with.

There's a magical land where people go to smoke magic sticks and drink magic poison and everyone has so much fun fun fun all the time 'cause they drink and smoke the magic that makes them forget. It makes them forget everything. It makes them forget what's happening, makes them forget the pain and sorrow and it makes them forget all their faults and everyone else's. But, its still poison. It makes them forget who they are. It turns their flesh to plastic, makes their bodies crack and, eventually, they break. 
And there's nothing magic about it.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Story: beginning.

Paul had always liked his small town: he was afraid of the city and he was never interested in the big dreams some of his classmates had of going to New York, Paris, London or even Dublin. He had always loved here and he never strayed more then a mile from his house, except for school; which was three miles from his home. His parents had never brought him anywhere besides the local grocery store and he had never expressed a wish to go there. He was a quiet and simple boy, but he was arrogant; he thought he knew how he wanted to live his life.

His daily routine was very much set in stone: he got up every morning at seven, so as he would have time to brush his teeth, wash his face and have a cup of tea and a slice of toast before grabbing his bag and ambling at his own leisure to the point at which the school bus collected him, every morning except on weekends, it arrived at 7:45 precisely, and every morning Paul arrived at 7:40, just in case the bus should come early. Every morning, the bus would reach Paul's school at 8:30, having stopped several times to pick up students after Paul. Paul always sat in the second row from the front, by the window, and his friend, Clyde would sit beside him. I guess you could say Clyde and Paul were best friends, but it was more because they had been assigned seats beside each other on the first day than anything else. On Monday mornings, Clyde would over-excitedly describe in great detail the happenings of his weekend and Paul would attempt to look interested. In truth, Paul didn't really like Clyde all that much, he found him tedious, but he wasn't bothered enough to do anything about it. On every morning but Monday, Paul and Clyde would discuss homework, or rather, Clyde would discuss his homework and Paul would make an effort to look like he was listening. Some mornings Clyde would talk about the weather as well, but the subject matter never strayed from mundane things. 

Paul was an average student. He always had his homework in on time, which, at first, his teachers had been impressed by; but he was neither diligent nor did he ever show any initiative, he did only the bare minimal and so they soon lost interest.

Paul was humble, content; he had no expectations nor did he have any goals. He wanted nothing from anyone and so; he gave nothing and recieved nothing in return. 

Saturday, January 10, 2009


I'm a little eccentric and a big art freak.
I live in Dublin and love London.
I love museums and writing.
I love photography, books and unicorns.
I drink a lot of coffee and I hoard things.
One day, I'll know who I am and who I want to be, but for now; I remain utterly perplexed:
I have too many interests and not enough experience,
I'm sick quite often and I love to draw.
I love vintage clothes and nostalgia.
I'm a perfectionist, but I'm really messy.
I'm in love with the past and I'm so excited for the future.
I don't drink and I'm a Bahai.
I love acting and the theatre.
I'm learning Japanese and I'm still in secondary school.

I'm pleased to meet you.