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my life would go a little something like this...
The blackness was coming again. Watching his mother traipse up the stairs for bed, leaving him down below in the lounge with the lights out, Isaac came to the decision that he was turning bad. It wasn’t something he genuinely wanted, or that he consciously willed, it was more of a natural progression from the normal kind of life he was leading now into something a lot worse, a life some people would deem to be irresponsible and downright nasty. He could see himself becoming a Right Bad Apple. The faintest twitch pulled at the corner of Isaac’s mouth.
It had been building up for some months now, like a kind of cancer where you’re not entirely sure that something’s wrong but can feel that all is not as perfect as you’d want it to be. It was so easy to ignore, to let it grow and become malignant, and now Isaac was sure of himself. There was no turning back. A year or two ago, he had thought the bad patch he was going through was only hormones, part of becoming a man, something that, if the person that Isaac was six months ago were to look at it, he would regret doing but see it necessary as part of growing up. The Isaac now knew that it wasn’t hormones. It was how he really was, and the good spell he’d had for the last year had been the fault of those chemicals. Now that Isaac is grown and steadfast, he’s back to normal. A bad egg.
The young man sitting on the sofa finished his nightly pint of water, left the empty glass on the table, and followed his mother up the stairs to bed. Settling down in the guest room (he never slept in his own room anymore) Isaac knew that he would not get any sleep tonight. Sleep is a state of mind, where the brain is peaceful and empty - A blackness that one can just slip into, like taking a walk on the moors at midnight and silently sinking into quicksand. Isaac’s mind was always full of thoughts. He’d always wondered how everyone else can just let all that they’ve been thinking about leak out of their ears and switch off. It’s not possible. When speaking to other people about sleep, they always say how they can nod off in about half an hour. If Isaac sleeps, it takes him half the night to stem the flow of activity in his brain. No. There’s no point in staying in tonight. No sleep for Isaac. He got up and went back to his own room, where his window opened out over the porch and by squeezing out between the glass panes, Isaac could jump off the roof of the porch onto the grass.
In an instant it was done. Searing pain was shooting up and down his legs and biting into his ankles, but Isaac was expecting it. It always hurt when he jumped out that window, didn’t stop him doing it though. He wondered how long he would have to lay, panting and crippled on the grass floor. The most it had been once was almost an hour when he landed sideways on his ankle and snapped something precious in his foot. He remembered lying there, in the exact same spot as he now was, whimpering to himself as the sky lightened and the birds joined him in their high trilling. He wasn’t injured tonight though. He was fine. Getting up carefully, Isaac broke out into a run and crossed his garden to emerge in the street. The night sky was a ruddy brown, with the lights from the nearby airport lighting up the low cloud cover. The tarmac was cold and biting underneath Isaac’s bare feet, and as he ran along the street under the orange halos of the streetlamps his shadow shrunk behind him, flung itself on the floor in front of Isaac and faded away. Again and again.
Although Isaac didn’t know where he was going, he could tell that his footsteps had a purpose and as he turned corners in the street, took a certain path and jumped fences, every movement felt right. It was when he turned into Millet Lane that he realised where his feet was taking him. He slowed and came to rest outside a house.
To anyone else, it would probably have looked like any ordinary house. It was simple enough – snuggled in the corner of the dead-end road, nestling nicely between two other houses in the terrace, the black, secretive windows and dull blue of the plaster in the night-sky, it looked nothing special. However Isaac knew that past the top-right window of the house with the poster of a cat on the far wall (which was a light blue) was the bedroom of Terri. The curtains were open and there was a strange light dancing on the cat poster; Terri must have the television on. A knot surfaced in Isaac’s gut as he realised that he and Terri were conscious at the same time. He tried to guess how many feet away from her he was at the moment. Guessing her bed was underneath the cat poster, and that Terri would be lying in it now watching TV, Isaac would be…what would she be wearing? Just some baggy pyjamas or maybe a nightgown? Just some underwear? Perhaps nothing at all…
Suddenly a silhouette appeared at the window and the curtains were drawn across abruptly. Isaac’s dreams were shattered and with the sweep of the curtain, the pieces of dream were swept away out onto the light midnight breeze and the little fragments of love were swirled and eddied up into the sky, passed across the moon, and rested on the clouds that were scudding across the stars. Through a crack between the curtains, Terri watched Isaac turn on his heel and traipse home. A trace of a smile was on her lips, and her wet teeth sparkled delicately under the glare of the television screen.
The blackness was coming again. Watching his mother traipse up the stairs for bed, leaving him down below in the lounge with the lights out, Isaac came to the decision that he was turning bad. It wasn’t something he genuinely wanted, or that he consciously willed, it was more of a natural progression from the normal kind of life he was leading now into something a lot worse, a life some people would deem to be irresponsible and downright nasty. He could see himself becoming a Right Bad Apple. The faintest twitch pulled at the corner of Isaac’s mouth.
It had been building up for some months now, like a kind of cancer where you’re not entirely sure that something’s wrong but can feel that all is not as perfect as you’d want it to be. It was so easy to ignore, to let it grow and become malignant, and now Isaac was sure of himself. There was no turning back. A year or two ago, he had thought the bad patch he was going through was only hormones, part of becoming a man, something that, if the person that Isaac was six months ago were to look at it, he would regret doing but see it necessary as part of growing up. The Isaac now knew that it wasn’t hormones. It was how he really was, and the good spell he’d had for the last year had been the fault of those chemicals. Now that Isaac is grown and steadfast, he’s back to normal. A bad egg.
The young man sitting on the sofa finished his nightly pint of water, left the empty glass on the table, and followed his mother up the stairs to bed. Settling down in the guest room (he never slept in his own room anymore) Isaac knew that he would not get any sleep tonight. Sleep is a state of mind, where the brain is peaceful and empty - A blackness that one can just slip into, like taking a walk on the moors at midnight and silently sinking into quicksand. Isaac’s mind was always full of thoughts. He’d always wondered how everyone else can just let all that they’ve been thinking about leak out of their ears and switch off. It’s not possible. When speaking to other people about sleep, they always say how they can nod off in about half an hour. If Isaac sleeps, it takes him half the night to stem the flow of activity in his brain. No. There’s no point in staying in tonight. No sleep for Isaac. He got up and went back to his own room, where his window opened out over the porch and by squeezing out between the glass panes, Isaac could jump off the roof of the porch onto the grass.
In an instant it was done. Searing pain was shooting up and down his legs and biting into his ankles, but Isaac was expecting it. It always hurt when he jumped out that window, didn’t stop him doing it though. He wondered how long he would have to lay, panting and crippled on the grass floor. The most it had been once was almost an hour when he landed sideways on his ankle and snapped something precious in his foot. He remembered lying there, in the exact same spot as he now was, whimpering to himself as the sky lightened and the birds joined him in their high trilling. He wasn’t injured tonight though. He was fine. Getting up carefully, Isaac broke out into a run and crossed his garden to emerge in the street. The night sky was a ruddy brown, with the lights from the nearby airport lighting up the low cloud cover. The tarmac was cold and biting underneath Isaac’s bare feet, and as he ran along the street under the orange halos of the streetlamps his shadow shrunk behind him, flung itself on the floor in front of Isaac and faded away. Again and again.
Although Isaac didn’t know where he was going, he could tell that his footsteps had a purpose and as he turned corners in the street, took a certain path and jumped fences, every movement felt right. It was when he turned into Millet Lane that he realised where his feet was taking him. He slowed and came to rest outside a house.
To anyone else, it would probably have looked like any ordinary house. It was simple enough – snuggled in the corner of the dead-end road, nestling nicely between two other houses in the terrace, the black, secretive windows and dull blue of the plaster in the night-sky, it looked nothing special. However Isaac knew that past the top-right window of the house with the poster of a cat on the far wall (which was a light blue) was the bedroom of Terri. The curtains were open and there was a strange light dancing on the cat poster; Terri must have the television on. A knot surfaced in Isaac’s gut as he realised that he and Terri were conscious at the same time. He tried to guess how many feet away from her he was at the moment. Guessing her bed was underneath the cat poster, and that Terri would be lying in it now watching TV, Isaac would be…what would she be wearing? Just some baggy pyjamas or maybe a nightgown? Just some underwear? Perhaps nothing at all…
Suddenly a silhouette appeared at the window and the curtains were drawn across abruptly. Isaac’s dreams were shattered and with the sweep of the curtain, the pieces of dream were swept away out onto the light midnight breeze and the little fragments of love were swirled and eddied up into the sky, passed across the moon, and rested on the clouds that were scudding across the stars. Through a crack between the curtains, Terri watched Isaac turn on his heel and traipse home. A trace of a smile was on her lips, and her wet teeth sparkled delicately under the glare of the television screen.
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my life would go a little something like this...
The blackness was coming again. Watching his mother traipse up the stairs for bed, leaving him down below in the lounge with the lights out, Isaac came to the decision that he was turning bad. It wasn’t something he genuinely wanted, or that he consciously willed, it was more of a natural progression from the normal kind of life he was leading now into something a lot worse, a life some people would deem to be irresponsible and downright nasty. He could see himself becoming a Right Bad Apple. The faintest twitch pulled at the corner of Isaac’s mouth.
It had been building up for some months now, like a kind of cancer where you’re not entirely sure that something’s wrong but can feel that all is not as perfect as you’d want it to be. It was so easy to ignore, to let it grow and become malignant, and now Isaac was sure of himself. There was no turning back. A year or two ago, he had thought the bad patch he was going through was only hormones, part of becoming a man, something that, if the person that Isaac was six months ago were to look at it, he would regret doing but see it necessary as part of growing up. The Isaac now knew that it wasn’t hormones. It was how he really was, and the good spell he’d had for the last year had been the fault of those chemicals. Now that Isaac is grown and steadfast, he’s back to normal. A bad egg.
The young man sitting on the sofa finished his nightly pint of water, left the empty glass on the table, and followed his mother up the stairs to bed. Settling down in the guest room (he never slept in his own room anymore) Isaac knew that he would not get any sleep tonight. Sleep is a state of mind, where the brain is peaceful and empty - A blackness that one can just slip into, like taking a walk on the moors at midnight and silently sinking into quicksand. Isaac’s mind was always full of thoughts. He’d always wondered how everyone else can just let all that they’ve been thinking about leak out of their ears and switch off. It’s not possible. When speaking to other people about sleep, they always say how they can nod off in about half an hour. If Isaac sleeps, it takes him half the night to stem the flow of activity in his brain. No. There’s no point in staying in tonight. No sleep for Isaac. He got up and went back to his own room, where his window opened out over the porch and by squeezing out between the glass panes, Isaac could jump off the roof of the porch onto the grass.
In an instant it was done. Searing pain was shooting up and down his legs and biting into his ankles, but Isaac was expecting it. It always hurt when he jumped out that window, didn’t stop him doing it though. He wondered how long he would have to lay, panting and crippled on the grass floor. The most it had been once was almost an hour when he landed sideways on his ankle and snapped something precious in his foot. He remembered lying there, in the exact same spot as he now was, whimpering to himself as the sky lightened and the birds joined him in their high trilling. He wasn’t injured tonight though. He was fine. Getting up carefully, Isaac broke out into a run and crossed his garden to emerge in the street. The night sky was a ruddy brown, with the lights from the nearby airport lighting up the low cloud cover. The tarmac was cold and biting underneath Isaac’s bare feet, and as he ran along the street under the orange halos of the streetlamps his shadow shrunk behind him, flung itself on the floor in front of Isaac and faded away. Again and again.
Although Isaac didn’t know where he was going, he could tell that his footsteps had a purpose and as he turned corners in the street, took a certain path and jumped fences, every movement felt right. It was when he turned into Millet Lane that he realised where his feet was taking him. He slowed and came to rest outside a house.
To anyone else, it would probably have looked like any ordinary house. It was simple enough – snuggled in the corner of the dead-end road, nestling nicely between two other houses in the terrace, the black, secretive windows and dull blue of the plaster in the night-sky, it looked nothing special. However Isaac knew that past the top-right window of the house with the poster of a cat on the far wall (which was a light blue) was the bedroom of Terri. The curtains were open and there was a strange light dancing on the cat poster; Terri must have the television on. A knot surfaced in Isaac’s gut as he realised that he and Terri were conscious at the same time. He tried to guess how many feet away from her he was at the moment. Guessing her bed was underneath the cat poster, and that Terri would be lying in it now watching TV, Isaac would be…what would she be wearing? Just some baggy pyjamas or maybe a nightgown? Just some underwear? Perhaps nothing at all…
Suddenly a silhouette appeared at the window and the curtains were drawn across abruptly. Isaac’s dreams were shattered and with the sweep of the curtain, the pieces of dream were swept away out onto the light midnight breeze and the little fragments of love were swirled and eddied up into the sky, passed across the moon, and rested on the clouds that were scudding across the stars. Through a crack between the curtains, Terri watched Isaac turn on his heel and traipse home. A trace of a smile was on her lips, and her wet teeth sparkled delicately under the glare of the television screen.
The blackness was coming again. Watching his mother traipse up the stairs for bed, leaving him down below in the lounge with the lights out, Isaac came to the decision that he was turning bad. It wasn’t something he genuinely wanted, or that he consciously willed, it was more of a natural progression from the normal kind of life he was leading now into something a lot worse, a life some people would deem to be irresponsible and downright nasty. He could see himself becoming a Right Bad Apple. The faintest twitch pulled at the corner of Isaac’s mouth.
It had been building up for some months now, like a kind of cancer where you’re not entirely sure that something’s wrong but can feel that all is not as perfect as you’d want it to be. It was so easy to ignore, to let it grow and become malignant, and now Isaac was sure of himself. There was no turning back. A year or two ago, he had thought the bad patch he was going through was only hormones, part of becoming a man, something that, if the person that Isaac was six months ago were to look at it, he would regret doing but see it necessary as part of growing up. The Isaac now knew that it wasn’t hormones. It was how he really was, and the good spell he’d had for the last year had been the fault of those chemicals. Now that Isaac is grown and steadfast, he’s back to normal. A bad egg.
The young man sitting on the sofa finished his nightly pint of water, left the empty glass on the table, and followed his mother up the stairs to bed. Settling down in the guest room (he never slept in his own room anymore) Isaac knew that he would not get any sleep tonight. Sleep is a state of mind, where the brain is peaceful and empty - A blackness that one can just slip into, like taking a walk on the moors at midnight and silently sinking into quicksand. Isaac’s mind was always full of thoughts. He’d always wondered how everyone else can just let all that they’ve been thinking about leak out of their ears and switch off. It’s not possible. When speaking to other people about sleep, they always say how they can nod off in about half an hour. If Isaac sleeps, it takes him half the night to stem the flow of activity in his brain. No. There’s no point in staying in tonight. No sleep for Isaac. He got up and went back to his own room, where his window opened out over the porch and by squeezing out between the glass panes, Isaac could jump off the roof of the porch onto the grass.
In an instant it was done. Searing pain was shooting up and down his legs and biting into his ankles, but Isaac was expecting it. It always hurt when he jumped out that window, didn’t stop him doing it though. He wondered how long he would have to lay, panting and crippled on the grass floor. The most it had been once was almost an hour when he landed sideways on his ankle and snapped something precious in his foot. He remembered lying there, in the exact same spot as he now was, whimpering to himself as the sky lightened and the birds joined him in their high trilling. He wasn’t injured tonight though. He was fine. Getting up carefully, Isaac broke out into a run and crossed his garden to emerge in the street. The night sky was a ruddy brown, with the lights from the nearby airport lighting up the low cloud cover. The tarmac was cold and biting underneath Isaac’s bare feet, and as he ran along the street under the orange halos of the streetlamps his shadow shrunk behind him, flung itself on the floor in front of Isaac and faded away. Again and again.
Although Isaac didn’t know where he was going, he could tell that his footsteps had a purpose and as he turned corners in the street, took a certain path and jumped fences, every movement felt right. It was when he turned into Millet Lane that he realised where his feet was taking him. He slowed and came to rest outside a house.
To anyone else, it would probably have looked like any ordinary house. It was simple enough – snuggled in the corner of the dead-end road, nestling nicely between two other houses in the terrace, the black, secretive windows and dull blue of the plaster in the night-sky, it looked nothing special. However Isaac knew that past the top-right window of the house with the poster of a cat on the far wall (which was a light blue) was the bedroom of Terri. The curtains were open and there was a strange light dancing on the cat poster; Terri must have the television on. A knot surfaced in Isaac’s gut as he realised that he and Terri were conscious at the same time. He tried to guess how many feet away from her he was at the moment. Guessing her bed was underneath the cat poster, and that Terri would be lying in it now watching TV, Isaac would be…what would she be wearing? Just some baggy pyjamas or maybe a nightgown? Just some underwear? Perhaps nothing at all…
Suddenly a silhouette appeared at the window and the curtains were drawn across abruptly. Isaac’s dreams were shattered and with the sweep of the curtain, the pieces of dream were swept away out onto the light midnight breeze and the little fragments of love were swirled and eddied up into the sky, passed across the moon, and rested on the clouds that were scudding across the stars. Through a crack between the curtains, Terri watched Isaac turn on his heel and traipse home. A trace of a smile was on her lips, and her wet teeth sparkled delicately under the glare of the television screen.