Wait For It
Creative Writing,  My Writing

Wait For It

Hi, Hey, Hello!

So posts this weekend have been a bit off, I’ll get back on track by mid week, but it’s a working weekend  for me this week, so time has been a bit all over the place in terms of sitting down and actually writing. Anyway, I’ll get on with it.

‘We laugh and we cry and we break and we make our mistakes’

The marble counter edge is sharp and smooth at the same time. It digs into the backs of her knees and slowly scratches them a dull red. It’s a mild irritant that she is acutely aware of in the back of her head. But that is being ignored as she tries to get her breathing back under control. Her stomach hurts. The good kind of hurts. The kind that comes from uncontrollable laughter. She bangs her head on the window behind her just as she feels like she has gotten herself back under control and the sharp jolt of pain that ripples across her head sets her off again. And everyone around her. Her eyes fill with tears that break free and spill down to her cheekbones, each one caught before they can make it too far down. Her face aches as her smile refuses to drop and she takes in deep gulps of air to try and regulate her breathing again. To try and get back in to a state of calm. But with every little action of those around her she is set off again. Lost in a laughing fit that takes hold of almost all of her muscles. She rocks forward, shifts her knees away from the counter edge, and continues laughing at the world around her. It won’t be the only time that she feels like this, not even close, but you always remember the times you couldn’t help but get lost in laughter.

This is what happiness can feel like.


She’s seen the film more times than she can count. Knows the routine of it well. How the scenes roll into one another, the exact inflection of words spoken by all the characters, the lighting and the scenery and the importance of each and every one of those seemingly minute details. She knows it’s coming. Has sunk into the well worn brown leather of her seat, cushions arranged just so around her to give the illusion of a nest. The blanket that she pulled from the back of the sofa is wrapped tightly around her and she has tissues close, her hand hovering over the one that pops out of the box. She is prepared and yet is also somehow completely unprepared. The first tear to fall catches her off guard. It escapes without her knowledge  and falls across her face in a way that means it leaves a tear track parallel to her nose. She swipes it away with her left hand and then the floodgates seem to open. The scene moves along and with it the tears fall freely. She mouths along with the dialogue and periodically brushes her hand against her face to remove excess moisture. As the scene draws to a close and reaches its climax she finally clutches at the half exposed tissue and wipes at her dripping nose. She watches the seamless transition into a less emotionally draining scene and composes herself again. She pushes the residual tears off her face and takes a deep breath.

This is her main emotional outlet.


Her hands shake with a strange combination of regret and anger. Her vision blurs with tears and time seems to slow down. She starts over analysing everything that has happened over the course of the afternoon. She rests her head against the nearest wall to her and it cools her feverish forehead. But in doing that it makes the rest of her body feel like it is on fire. She removes her jacket and loops it over her arm, clutching it in one shaking hand to try and ground her beyond the wall that she is relying on to keep her upright. She can pinpoint the exact moment that it started going wrong for her and now she wishes that she could go back. Could right the wrong and avoid the situation that she was currently in. With her other trembling hand she dabs at the delicate skin underneath her eyes and removes the threat of tears. She draws her bottom lip in between her teeth and chews it nervously as her thoughts start to move through all the paths that she could now be on. She starts to stress about what each one could mean for her now. How they could make her stray from the original path that she was on when she started the day. Although she knows that the new possibilities aren’t endless, they were never part of her plan and she doesn’t know how to get back on the ‘right’ path for her.

This is the cost of her mistake.


The kitchen floor is cool to the touch. It raises gooseflesh on her thighs as they heavily drop down onto the tiles. The wood of the cupboard is smooth and rigid against her back as she presses against it to try and ground herself. The shaking in her hands still won’t stop. She clenches them into fists and squeezes her fingernails into her palms. Left indents in them, deep red welts that tingled as feeling returned to them once she stretched her fingers back out. The tears trickle down her cheeks in a steady stream and slowly drip off her jaw and onto her lap creating a dark grey patch on her shorts. The kitchen, although a startling white and bright in the noon sun, was slowly closing in on her. Encompassing her in shadows that she couldn’t escape. Keeps her rooted to the spot that she had chosen to crumple in a few moments earlier. Narrows her world down to the three tiles that were still in her blurry vision. The rush in her ears gets louder the longer the tears slip across her face and her head bursts with a rhythmic pulsing narrowing her world even further. In this moment she has never felt more alone or more scared for her future. But she also knows that there is no lower for her to fall to after this.

This is her rock bottom.

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