Today’s words: Disgust, Testy, Dependent, Scale
Word count: 449
Completion time: 48 minutes
Summary: Sometimes we need someone else to fight our battles for us
--
I wouldn’t go as for to say that I was dependent, she just helped me out whenever I needed it. I needed her when I had to stand up for myself, to get out of embarrassing situations, to present my work to the class, to smile at strangers, to get out of bed sometimes when ‘mild distaste’ turned to ‘putrid disgust’ in reference to my hygiene, I needed her... Fuck. I needed her, didn’t I? On a scale of one to ‘drowning in the shallow end of a pool with armbands on’ how pathetic was I coming across? She was always at hand, appearing like an apparition in the mirror of a haunted mansion, ready to take my strings and control me if I got my limbs in a twist. It’s shameful to admit, but without her, I wouldn’t be able to pick myself off the ground.
A prominent fear of mine is to be faced with a testy person, someone who’s always prepared to demean me either by shooting me an ill-mannered glance or hinting heavily at my incompetence. I felt small, smaller than a mosquito and twice as irritating. What made it particularly bad was my tendency to cry at the smallest provocation, something which those types of people inspired most.
“I’ve explained it once already, what’s so hard to understand?”
This sentence was spat at me a week into my job.
“My daughter could probably get it, and she’s six,” I heard her mumble before she began to recite the command again.
“Hold on...”
She sighed. “What?”
“Do you speak to all your colleagues like this? And if so, are you expected to be met with a meek response like a child too scared to put their hand up to use the toilet? Just because you have a senior position in this company does not warrant you to be snobbish, impatient, and, quite rightly, a bit of a dickhead. Maybe if you presented yourself in a pleasant, more tolerable way, people would actually give you a bit of respect rather than bitch behind your back about the way your ass looks in those ill-fitting trousers that you insist on wearing every other day; wearing two sizes smaller won’t hide the fact that your backside could stop a locomotive in its tracks.”
It had happened again, she had come out to ‘save’ me.
The woman didn’t know what to say in response, so we both stood there nervously eyeing each other before she dashed past me, face flushed scarlet.
I knew I’d have to face her again, she worked on the same floor, but I hoped that my saviour would materialize whenever that time came.
Oh dear.
Friday, 7 February 2014
Wednesday, 5 February 2014
#83 - Not Human After All
Today’s words: Iron, Zap, Panoramic, Aggressive
Word count: 337
Completion time: 43 minutes
Summary: It’s easy to pretend to be something you’re not, but what if you genuinely feel that you’re something you’re not?
I only just discovered the term 'lycanthropy' (belief that you are or are transforming into another animal) the other day and I'm 100% sure that it isn't like this in the slightest, and it may come across as slightly patronising, but my brain wasn't doing anything for my creativity tonight.
--
My favourite game to play as a child was always ‘Cats and Dogs’, something that me and my siblings made up; two of us would act like cats, and one would act like a dog. The one acting like a dog would usually chase the other two on all fours, barking as the cats meowed and tried to fight back. It was essentially play-fighting with an animal element, and it often got pretty aggressive. I didn’t know what it was like to be the dog – I was always one of the cats. I didn’t see anything out of place about acting like an animal and I assumed that other kids felt the same, but that wasn’t the case.
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes you feel like an animal, right? I’ve seen you act like a monkey before, climbing trees and eating bananas.”
“I was pretending.”
“You don’t ever feel like a real monkey?”
“I’m a person, not a monkey.”
It felt like a sharp zap had hit my brain, like when a child sees their father dressed in a red suit, helping himself to cookies, milk, and a carrot that was supposed to be for Rudolph. I was forced to see a panoramic view of the world that had always been restricted by blinkers.
Other people acted like animals for fun, not because they genuinely felt like that animal. Others didn’t feel fur where there was none, wiggle a phantom tail, or twitch ears that were further up the head than normal.
Sometimes I would feel like a human being, but most of the time I felt like a cat, regularly getting on all fours, turning my head to lick my shoulder, and rubbing against peoples’ legs demanding to be stroked. Such behaviour is commonplace for a child, but when you proclaim your feline status as an adult, it’s not so easy for people to accept; it’s like trying to shout at people through an iron wall, they just can’t hear you...no matter how loud you meow.
Word count: 337
Completion time: 43 minutes
Summary: It’s easy to pretend to be something you’re not, but what if you genuinely feel that you’re something you’re not?
I only just discovered the term 'lycanthropy' (belief that you are or are transforming into another animal) the other day and I'm 100% sure that it isn't like this in the slightest, and it may come across as slightly patronising, but my brain wasn't doing anything for my creativity tonight.
--
My favourite game to play as a child was always ‘Cats and Dogs’, something that me and my siblings made up; two of us would act like cats, and one would act like a dog. The one acting like a dog would usually chase the other two on all fours, barking as the cats meowed and tried to fight back. It was essentially play-fighting with an animal element, and it often got pretty aggressive. I didn’t know what it was like to be the dog – I was always one of the cats. I didn’t see anything out of place about acting like an animal and I assumed that other kids felt the same, but that wasn’t the case.
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes you feel like an animal, right? I’ve seen you act like a monkey before, climbing trees and eating bananas.”
“I was pretending.”
“You don’t ever feel like a real monkey?”
“I’m a person, not a monkey.”
It felt like a sharp zap had hit my brain, like when a child sees their father dressed in a red suit, helping himself to cookies, milk, and a carrot that was supposed to be for Rudolph. I was forced to see a panoramic view of the world that had always been restricted by blinkers.
Other people acted like animals for fun, not because they genuinely felt like that animal. Others didn’t feel fur where there was none, wiggle a phantom tail, or twitch ears that were further up the head than normal.
Sometimes I would feel like a human being, but most of the time I felt like a cat, regularly getting on all fours, turning my head to lick my shoulder, and rubbing against peoples’ legs demanding to be stroked. Such behaviour is commonplace for a child, but when you proclaim your feline status as an adult, it’s not so easy for people to accept; it’s like trying to shout at people through an iron wall, they just can’t hear you...no matter how loud you meow.
Monday, 3 February 2014
#82 - Fraternal Psychopath
Today’s words: Waste, Division, Budget, Adjust
Word count: 477
Completion time: 56 minutes
Summary: What makes a psychopath?
Read more about what traits psychopaths usually have and what a psychopath actually is here, it's a lot more detailed!
--
He makes more money than should be allowed, could get out of any situation by turning on his charm, and he knows what a ‘budget cut’ entails. He helped with the division of labour in his workplace, saved the same company from bankruptcy, and he lived in a house that looked like it had been built by a zealous architect on The Sims 3.
He's 25-years-old.
I used to be jealous of teenagers who had been published, children who could draw better than most adults, actors and actresses who had starred in ten movies before the age of eighteen. Randall was on another level. What makes it worse was this – he’s my twin brother (he even came out of the womb first); I used to joke that he stole all of the good genes from me in utero, but that line soon turned accusatory, especially when I was annoyed with him.
He didn’t understand why I’d get annoyed because he doesn’t understand jealousy, he says that it’s ‘an excuse weaker people use to get sympathy.’ I get called things like ‘cretin’, ‘waste of space’, and am regularly told that I’ll ‘never amount to anything’. What makes these insults cut deeper is the fact that he doesn’t show any signs of remorse when I get upset and he never apologises unless I or someone else tells, no, demands it. He understands when he’s done something wrong, he just doesn’t think that he should have to apologise for it.
“It’s her fault that she got offended by it, I shouldn’t have to say anything.”
I used to think that he was just rude for the sake of it, but turns out he’s a psychopath.
He hasn’t hacked a prostitute to pieces or beaten someone to death with a smile, but he has several traits that justify the term ‘psychopath’: he doesn’t feel much guilt, he finds it hard to empathise, he’s selfish, and manipulative on such a large scale that I find it hard to tell when he’s being sincere. A few years ago, I discovered he told a lie so damaging that it could have ruined someone’s life and he didn’t flinch once; he grinned as if I was the guilty one.
Another example is his ability to adjust himself to different situations when he wants something out of it. Say that he and another person are considered for a pay rise, he will do or say anything to take the other person down, regardless of how ‘wrong’ or ‘immoral’. Nothing too sketchy, I mean charming the boss or threatening to blackmail the competition in secret.
Many people assume that psychopaths go crazy without much provocation or turn in serial killers, but that isn’t always true.
It’s likely that at least one person you know is a psychopath, mine just happens to be a lot closer than most.
Word count: 477
Completion time: 56 minutes
Summary: What makes a psychopath?
Read more about what traits psychopaths usually have and what a psychopath actually is here, it's a lot more detailed!
--
He makes more money than should be allowed, could get out of any situation by turning on his charm, and he knows what a ‘budget cut’ entails. He helped with the division of labour in his workplace, saved the same company from bankruptcy, and he lived in a house that looked like it had been built by a zealous architect on The Sims 3.
He's 25-years-old.
I used to be jealous of teenagers who had been published, children who could draw better than most adults, actors and actresses who had starred in ten movies before the age of eighteen. Randall was on another level. What makes it worse was this – he’s my twin brother (he even came out of the womb first); I used to joke that he stole all of the good genes from me in utero, but that line soon turned accusatory, especially when I was annoyed with him.
He didn’t understand why I’d get annoyed because he doesn’t understand jealousy, he says that it’s ‘an excuse weaker people use to get sympathy.’ I get called things like ‘cretin’, ‘waste of space’, and am regularly told that I’ll ‘never amount to anything’. What makes these insults cut deeper is the fact that he doesn’t show any signs of remorse when I get upset and he never apologises unless I or someone else tells, no, demands it. He understands when he’s done something wrong, he just doesn’t think that he should have to apologise for it.
“It’s her fault that she got offended by it, I shouldn’t have to say anything.”
I used to think that he was just rude for the sake of it, but turns out he’s a psychopath.
He hasn’t hacked a prostitute to pieces or beaten someone to death with a smile, but he has several traits that justify the term ‘psychopath’: he doesn’t feel much guilt, he finds it hard to empathise, he’s selfish, and manipulative on such a large scale that I find it hard to tell when he’s being sincere. A few years ago, I discovered he told a lie so damaging that it could have ruined someone’s life and he didn’t flinch once; he grinned as if I was the guilty one.
Another example is his ability to adjust himself to different situations when he wants something out of it. Say that he and another person are considered for a pay rise, he will do or say anything to take the other person down, regardless of how ‘wrong’ or ‘immoral’. Nothing too sketchy, I mean charming the boss or threatening to blackmail the competition in secret.
Many people assume that psychopaths go crazy without much provocation or turn in serial killers, but that isn’t always true.
It’s likely that at least one person you know is a psychopath, mine just happens to be a lot closer than most.
Saturday, 1 February 2014
#81 - "I'm Depressed"
Today’s words: Farm, Crisps, Garden, Noun
Word count: 373
Completion time: 1 hour 1 minute
Summary: a lot of people trivialize mental
illness, especially ‘popular’ ones like depression and social anxiety, so this
goes out to people who are sick of people claiming to be sick when they’re clearly
just having normal reactions to everyday situations
--
“I have depression,” you say, finishing your crisps as you look me in the eye
It’s no surprise, right? You’ve not smiled once since
sunrise.
“Why do you think that?”
“I’m really sad.”
Okay, that’s a fact...
I won’t deny that you’re sad, that much is true
But that’s because Drew broke up with you...
Your last date was at a farm, a small place
outside of town
And when the day was done, the relationship was
too
You cried
Of course you did
You cried like you’d forgotten how to laugh and
Fell onto the path, asking him ‘why’
He said your name like a common noun and stated
“We’re just too different, we never should have
dated.”
And just like that, you guys were separated
“I might go to the doctor; I think I’m a hazard to
myself.”
It’s nice that you’re looking out for your health
But being sad after a traumatic experience
Is nothing that serious
“Give it a few days, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I have it: I’ve read about
it.”
You know when people sneeze and think they have
the flu?
That’s what this is. It’s a normal reaction, I’m
telling you!
I’d be concerned if you weren’t feeling blue!
“Look, I know you’re a mess, and I get that, I do
“But claiming it’s a mental illness? That’s really
not cool.”
“I didn’t eat for half a day yesterday, what does
that tell you?”
“That you lost your appetite (you fool)!”
Throw me the tastiest line, I still won’t bite
It’s been two
nights since he dumped you
Don’t trivialize a mental issue whenever it suits
you
Like the latest fashion trend that you’ll spend
Hundreds on just to look cool in front of friends
I have this and
I have that
You say it like you want to be depressed
Like you want to spend days in bed, missing work
Realising that life has lots its perks
Like you want to feel a relentless darkness
That lasts for days and days
Like a permanent eclipse
Why would you want that?
Who would ever wish for that?
Why can’t you see that your ‘depression’
Is a just normal kind of ‘sad’?
Wednesday, 29 January 2014
#80 - Sex Sells
Today’s words: Porter, Affront, Careerism, Comparison
Word count: 606
Completion time: 1 hour 9 minutes
Summary: The horrors of being forced into prostitution as a child.
At first, I felt uncomfortable writing this from a first-person point of view because I don’t like writing in the shoes of someone who’s experienced something awful that I never have...but it was difficult to imagine this in another POV.
Here is one real-life instance of a girl - Chong Kim - used as a sex slave that I learned a lot from. She was 19 at the time, but many are used from as young as 11-years-old.
Her story has been turned into a film called 'Eden', should anyone wish to find and watch it.
It was 2003; the slave trade had been abolished in 1833, so why, at that time, did I feel chained to my ancestors’ pain? A valid comparison. Never in my life did I think that something like that would happen, it was something that I’d heard about in other countries, not in England; something that I’d read about online with my hands to my mouth, praying to whatever entity there was that their pain would be soothed and their torturers tortured.
Some people indulged in careerism – advancing in their field at the expense of their own morals, usually for profit. That was a kids’ game compared to the people I met; men who stole pre-teens from the street, bathing impressionable girls with smooth talk in bars...that wasn’t something you recovered from easily. Ten years on, I still see my tormentors’ faces in my sleep.
Like a porter wheeling bags of luggage across a station, they casually grabbed me and stuffed me into a van on my way home from school. My mouth was gagged, hands and feet tied, and finally, my eyes were hidden with a musty-smelling cloth.
My initial thought was that it wasn’t real, that I’d be able to open my eyes and be at my front door, father yelling at me for being late home; my second thought was that it was a prank that some bullies from school were playing; and third, I thought that I was going to be killed on the spot.
Oh, If only that were the case.
After travelling for God knows how long, I was offloaded with unbound feet from the van and led somewhere that I still couldn’t see. After several steps, my sight was restored.
The room I stood in resembled an office space, not too large, with an old poster of Guinness framed in one corner opposite a picture of a pin-up girl.
The first person my eyes locked onto was a slim guy in a red cloth shirt, slightly matted blonde hair, and a cap that shadowed his eyes. “Hey, you got a good one! We don’t get many black girls this pretty. What do you think she’s worth?”
“She could make us £1,500 in a night, easily.” That was another guy, leaning on a table.
“Where am I?” I asked. “What’s going on?”
The guy that led me out was still holding onto my arm. “You’ll see, baby girl.”
Soon I learned that my only worth was my body.
I was forced onto the streets, constantly monitored, and made to sleep with up to forty guys a day. If I caused an affront, it would be greeted with a fist, a belt, or worse.
I always had a horrible view of prostitutes: sluts who sold their body for cash without any regard for their self-worth as long as they got paid. No-one stops to think that some people don’t get a choice – sell yourself or get tortured until you wish you were dead.There were two options: shut up and take it, or get beaten to the ground if I tried to protest.
Every day I wished that I could hear my dad’s angry voice whenever I came back after curfew.
Any time that I wished that he would leave me alone, I wished even harder that I could see his face again.
All of the instances that I was forced into a stranger’s car, I remembered my silly tantrums when dad would force me to do my chores.
With each night that passed, I wished that it would all be over by morning.
I didn’t get my wish for a long time.
Word count: 606
Completion time: 1 hour 9 minutes
Summary: The horrors of being forced into prostitution as a child.
At first, I felt uncomfortable writing this from a first-person point of view because I don’t like writing in the shoes of someone who’s experienced something awful that I never have...but it was difficult to imagine this in another POV.
Here is one real-life instance of a girl - Chong Kim - used as a sex slave that I learned a lot from. She was 19 at the time, but many are used from as young as 11-years-old.
Her story has been turned into a film called 'Eden', should anyone wish to find and watch it.
It was 2003; the slave trade had been abolished in 1833, so why, at that time, did I feel chained to my ancestors’ pain? A valid comparison. Never in my life did I think that something like that would happen, it was something that I’d heard about in other countries, not in England; something that I’d read about online with my hands to my mouth, praying to whatever entity there was that their pain would be soothed and their torturers tortured.
Some people indulged in careerism – advancing in their field at the expense of their own morals, usually for profit. That was a kids’ game compared to the people I met; men who stole pre-teens from the street, bathing impressionable girls with smooth talk in bars...that wasn’t something you recovered from easily. Ten years on, I still see my tormentors’ faces in my sleep.
Like a porter wheeling bags of luggage across a station, they casually grabbed me and stuffed me into a van on my way home from school. My mouth was gagged, hands and feet tied, and finally, my eyes were hidden with a musty-smelling cloth.
My initial thought was that it wasn’t real, that I’d be able to open my eyes and be at my front door, father yelling at me for being late home; my second thought was that it was a prank that some bullies from school were playing; and third, I thought that I was going to be killed on the spot.
Oh, If only that were the case.
After travelling for God knows how long, I was offloaded with unbound feet from the van and led somewhere that I still couldn’t see. After several steps, my sight was restored.
The room I stood in resembled an office space, not too large, with an old poster of Guinness framed in one corner opposite a picture of a pin-up girl.
The first person my eyes locked onto was a slim guy in a red cloth shirt, slightly matted blonde hair, and a cap that shadowed his eyes. “Hey, you got a good one! We don’t get many black girls this pretty. What do you think she’s worth?”
“She could make us £1,500 in a night, easily.” That was another guy, leaning on a table.
“Where am I?” I asked. “What’s going on?”
The guy that led me out was still holding onto my arm. “You’ll see, baby girl.”
Soon I learned that my only worth was my body.
I was forced onto the streets, constantly monitored, and made to sleep with up to forty guys a day. If I caused an affront, it would be greeted with a fist, a belt, or worse.
I always had a horrible view of prostitutes: sluts who sold their body for cash without any regard for their self-worth as long as they got paid. No-one stops to think that some people don’t get a choice – sell yourself or get tortured until you wish you were dead.There were two options: shut up and take it, or get beaten to the ground if I tried to protest.
Every day I wished that I could hear my dad’s angry voice whenever I came back after curfew.
Any time that I wished that he would leave me alone, I wished even harder that I could see his face again.
All of the instances that I was forced into a stranger’s car, I remembered my silly tantrums when dad would force me to do my chores.
With each night that passed, I wished that it would all be over by morning.
I didn’t get my wish for a long time.
Monday, 27 January 2014
#79 - Light Conquers Dark
Today’s words: Minute, Install, Pilot, Shocking
Word count: 392
Completion time: 36 minutes
Summary: If you misunderstand something, it’s easy to spread rumours or lash out..but it really isn’t helping anyone
--
“Maybe it’s just easier for them to deal with.”
“Really? Easier for them to deal with?” the sarcasm in Tessa’s voice couldn’t have been overlooked. “It isn’t ‘shocking’ enough for them that I’m not white, vegan, and open about my sexuality? What else do they want to pin on me? You know,” she opened her windows that overlooked the children’s park, “if they took a minute to listen to what I had to say, maybe they could remove some of the shit that society chose to install into their heads.”
“They’re just kids.”
She turned around and looked into her friend’s eyes, focusing on the brown that tried to interfere with the light blue of her irises. “That’s not an excuse. You think my mum would have let me get away with calling people a witch? Or saying that they worshipped the devil?”
A pause.
“Cassie, they set one of my notepads on fire once because they were convinced that it was full of curses posing as notes for biology. You can’t excuse things like that, kids of not.”
“Maybe they just don’t understa--”
“And sixteen year olds are far from kids.” Tessa twisted her lips and walked past the windows to lean on the balcony. “Also, why are you defending them? Did the plane switch the pilot? Is this Evil Cassie I’m speaking to?” she turned her head. “I’m kidding, obviously.”
“Hey, I’m not defending them. I’m just trying to see it from both sides.”
After she turned back, Tessa’s finger and thumb rubbed the slow-climbing ivy that had wrapped itself around the pillars of the stone balcony. “The irony is that Pagans don’t believe in an absolute evil because the divine is present in everything. These leaves, the ground I’m stood on...” her voice lowered in volume. “Even the ass that calls me Sabrina the Teenage Witch every single day...which is funny because Sabrina was amazing. If I were a witch, I wouldn’t mind being her.” She frowned, knotting her eyebrows. “Why do people think it’s okay to treat others like crap to feel better about themselves?”
“Humans are selfish.”
Tessa turned to face Cassie again and leant herself on the balcony. “Yeah, a lot are.” She stroked the small silver pentagon that hung from her neck. “But even though there’s darkness in everything, light is never far behind.”
Word count: 392
Completion time: 36 minutes
Summary: If you misunderstand something, it’s easy to spread rumours or lash out..but it really isn’t helping anyone
--
“Maybe it’s just easier for them to deal with.”
“Really? Easier for them to deal with?” the sarcasm in Tessa’s voice couldn’t have been overlooked. “It isn’t ‘shocking’ enough for them that I’m not white, vegan, and open about my sexuality? What else do they want to pin on me? You know,” she opened her windows that overlooked the children’s park, “if they took a minute to listen to what I had to say, maybe they could remove some of the shit that society chose to install into their heads.”
“They’re just kids.”
She turned around and looked into her friend’s eyes, focusing on the brown that tried to interfere with the light blue of her irises. “That’s not an excuse. You think my mum would have let me get away with calling people a witch? Or saying that they worshipped the devil?”
A pause.
“Cassie, they set one of my notepads on fire once because they were convinced that it was full of curses posing as notes for biology. You can’t excuse things like that, kids of not.”
“Maybe they just don’t understa--”
“And sixteen year olds are far from kids.” Tessa twisted her lips and walked past the windows to lean on the balcony. “Also, why are you defending them? Did the plane switch the pilot? Is this Evil Cassie I’m speaking to?” she turned her head. “I’m kidding, obviously.”
“Hey, I’m not defending them. I’m just trying to see it from both sides.”
After she turned back, Tessa’s finger and thumb rubbed the slow-climbing ivy that had wrapped itself around the pillars of the stone balcony. “The irony is that Pagans don’t believe in an absolute evil because the divine is present in everything. These leaves, the ground I’m stood on...” her voice lowered in volume. “Even the ass that calls me Sabrina the Teenage Witch every single day...which is funny because Sabrina was amazing. If I were a witch, I wouldn’t mind being her.” She frowned, knotting her eyebrows. “Why do people think it’s okay to treat others like crap to feel better about themselves?”
“Humans are selfish.”
Tessa turned to face Cassie again and leant herself on the balcony. “Yeah, a lot are.” She stroked the small silver pentagon that hung from her neck. “But even though there’s darkness in everything, light is never far behind.”
Friday, 24 January 2014
I'll start writing again on Monday
So if anyone has any themes for me to write about, that would be amazing.
I’ve done pieces covering trans* people, asexuality, gay/lesbian, Tourette’s…so something along those lines would be cool, something that doesn’t get a lot of air time, you know?
I’ve done pieces covering trans* people, asexuality, gay/lesbian, Tourette’s…so something along those lines would be cool, something that doesn’t get a lot of air time, you know?
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