Sick with the flu AND FRUSTRATED

So, since you know I’ve been sick with the flu for the last few days, I would inevitably be missing out on school. I’m not going to lie; it is really frustrating. I feel that there have been more pressure than actually going to school and doing something. I have to call a friend every night to catch up on homework and I have sent all my teachers more emails than I usually would in a month. In a way, I philosophise that it’s good for me, to be finally be dragged away from everything (even if it’s by force) but I’m not feeling it. In fact, I’m just irritable. And I hate it.

I want to feel good. I want to feel rested. I want to feel grateful for this break. But I’m just not like that. I’m the type of person who likes to work their head off then take a break after they’ve finished. But no, I have all this work piled up and when I’m well again, I have to work double as hard to get it finished and back on track. DAMN YOU IMMUNE SYSTEM! *shakes fist*

On a happier note, I’ve have been lying on my butt all day (even though I haven’t exactly requested it) and I’ve nearly finished the Lizzie Bennet Diaries! Only three more episodes to go!! And the other two nice highlights of my week were going to my cello lesson wearing a facemask (Ah, my Russian teacher made everything seem alright for that lovely half an hour) and a pleasant surprise in my mailbox the other day. Apparently, I am selected for the multicultural speaking competition, and even though I haven’t done anything like this since sixth grade, I was very happy to have been chosen. That is, before the waves of terror engulfed me. Currently, I’m trying to serenade one of my friends to give me a copy of her last year’s speech but that isn’t going so well. Oh wells. I’ll figure something out.

Another thing frustrating me is Studio Ghibli. I love Studio Ghibli, if you don’t know by now. I know and adore all of their films. I know exactly when and where their events are held. I have the premier dates of the latest movies in my calendar. I watched through the whole two hour concert on youtube. (The 25th anniversary one where you can find here). BUT I CAN’T PARTICIPATE IN ANY OF IT. I’ve rewatched the trailer for the latest film The Wind Rises (here) BUT I CAN’T WATCH THE MOVIE. I know when the movies are playing in the Prince cinemas in London (I’ve memorised the whole timetable) BUT I AM STUCK HERE IN SYDNEY. Is anyone else facing frustrations of this sort? Book signing by your fav author in another country? Favourite band playing in a slightly different from where you are? Let me know in the comments!

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The Colours Lead Me Here Part 3

Hey everyone, I’ve been sick with the flu recently and was delayed from posting the ending of my short story, which you can read Part 1 and 2 here and here. I would also like to say a short thankyou for my followers who have stuck with me all the way. Thanks guys, you’re awesome! 🙂

The Colours Lead Me Here-Part 3

For days after, I tagged Nicholas. It’s creepy, I know, even stalkerish. But I got attached. Which was weird. I never got attached. To anything.
I knew that he liked cheerios more than ultra-bran, that he liked soccer more than tennis and even though he always said he didn’t have time to play with Ellie, at least once a week he ended up on the floor of her bedroom, helping her dress her dolls. Once, I even peeked into his notebook which he always seemed to be writing in and made an amazing discovery; it wasn’t a notebook. It was a drawing pad. And all the pages were filled with colours. Not really pictures but just colours. In pencil, pen, crayon, texta. Every colour of the rainbow. You name one and it was there. It was kind of like the world I saw now. I felt that he understood me, even though he would never know me.
What amazed me even more was that he was happy. Always simply happy. His colours were bright and unmasked. You have no idea how many times I’ve seen people wear themselves, pretty pinks and exuberant purples, but with a thin layer of poisonous black underneath, oozing like a slice of mouldy cheese hidden by fresh lettuce and tomatoes. The guy was happy with his life, content and satisfied. If anyone deserved to live, it was him.
I kept on thinking that the whole week I followed him. If anyone deserved to live, it was him. Not me. Not me, who was always just there, never reaching out, never actually living. Between me and him, he deserved to live more. And he did. He did live-is living-, while I’m here dead. But that didn’t bug me, not at all. I was glad actually. He could use his life to do more good than I will ever do. Besides, how could anyone resist those soft chestnut locks, those beautiful cinnamon eyes that lit up in the glow, and that quick, easy smile?
I found myself crushing on someone for the very first time. A simply crush on a simple guy. I wish my parents could see me now, the new Cinnamon, finally feeling something for someone other than lukewarm like or dislike. I wasn’t going to stop myself. I didn’t care if I got hurt, if nothing was ever going to happen, because I had never felt more alive now, giggling at his jokes, watching him play soccer with his friends, than when I had been alive, even though I was already dead. Yeah. Very strange, I know.

‘How are you, young Nick?’
‘I’m good, gramps. The real question is, how are you?’
‘Always cutting to the chase, people these days.’
Nick (I’ve rather happily taken to calling him that lately) and I were sitting in one of the mostly empty wards of the hospital. Well, he sat and I kind of floated next to him. Morning light flooded the room and there were plastic flowers on the desks, the only physical piece of colour in the room other than Nick’s eyes. His grandpa was resting in bed; face thin in his fat, white pillows with faint waves of fiery red rolling off him. I didn’t know why but I felt particularly restless in the hospital. Maybe it was because my soul remembered it or something.
‘I’m fine, fine. That kidney replacement is nothing compared to what I endured as a kid. Not a lot can shake my iron bones anymore.’
Now that I believed.
‘What we should be worrying for is that girl over there.’ He nodded to the bed next to him, where curtains where drawn around, preventing outside views. ‘Poor wisp of a thing. This is supposed to be a recovery ward but the nurses were forced to move her here since they needed the extra beds on the other levels. She’s a special case, Nick. Go ahead and open the curtains. No one minds. I sometimes do secretly, just to look at that angel face.’
Nick carefully drew open a curtain and peeked inside. I peeked inside too. I’ve done that a lot, recently, been interested at things that I would’ve never usually spared a glance at. But I wish I hadn’t this time. Because I knew that face. I knew those eyes, that slender nose and thin lips. They were mine. That face was mine. I was looking at myself.

 

My first thought was holy shit. Then But I’m dead. I have a secret twin.
‘Her name’s Cinnamon. I heard one of the nurses call her that.’
Okay then. Not a secret twin. Then what the hell? I was dead! But somehow, I was right in front of me. I drifted on top, so we-well really, me and I- were face to face. She was breathing. I was breathing. How could I be possibly alive and dead at the same time?
Nick sat back down. ‘What’s wrong with her?’
‘Coma. Has been in one since I came out of surgery. There was quite a commotion upon her arrival. You see, one of the paramedics at the scene was young and inexperienced and amongst all the other injured-it was a car crash, by the way, people have got to be more careful-the paramedic didn’t take a second glance at her and in the rush pronounced her dead! And nobody else bothered to check, so she was shipped off to the hospital, on her way to the morgue until a random doctor walked by and discovered that she was still breathing. You can imagine her family’s reaction. That poor girl, she was nearly buried alive.’
‘That’s quite the story,’ said Nick, glancing back at my body. His eyes rested for a second on my face before moving back to his grandpa. I felt a flush, and for the first time wished I was prettier so he’d keep on looking. My looks were rather average. I hadn’t really cared about them much back when I was alive, but I had liked my hazel eyes and nose. My mother told me I was beautiful but all mothers say that to their children anyways. I just wish I had said thank you.
I was alive. I felt a burst of joy once the shock faded. But there was one problem. I had no idea what to do. How could I make myself wake up? And did I really want to wake up? What if I woke up and all this was gone, these bright, sharp and new feelings, the crispness and clarity? What if I woke up and I was back in my shell, unable to break out and reduced to spending the rest of my life with everything muted and jaded? Would it just be better to stay here?
But then again, if I woke up, I would have a chance to meet Nick, wouldn’t I? But then I might stuff things up. He might hate me and then I’d never see him again. In my flurry of desperate thoughts, Nick had already stood, bid goodbye to his grandpa and was walking out. I hurried to catch up with him. On my way out, I heard the old man’s last words, directed to my sleeping body.
‘You should wake up soon, lovely girl. There are so many things waiting for you.’

 

Nick was walking quicker than usual, glancing at his watch every thirty seconds. That was right, I noted. He had a dentist appointment. In ten minutes. His mum was asking him if he was alright to make it there himself yesterday. If I woke up, I wouldn’t know these things anymore. I would be a complete stranger to his life. I couldn’t bear to think about it.
He stepped out into the car park then crossed the road. Unbeknownst to him, a truck was making its way up.  I screamed but it was too late.

The truck driver only glimpsed Nick’s startled up-turned face before he was hit. The impact knocked him to the ground, where he lay unconscious. The truck screeched to a stop and the driver scrambled out. He started to shout and shake him but I heard none of it. My whole world was on the ground, surrounded by a small puddle of blood. I kept screamed and the golden glass cracked and all I could think was stop, stop this madness. Because this was wrong. It was so, so wrong. Nick couldn’t die. He didn’t deserve to die.

Oh my god. I started to gasp and thought I’m dying too now, but then realised I was crying. Sobbing, actually. Dry, heaved sobs, wracking and shaking. Then, at my first hysterical wail, the whole shell splintered, exploding and showering me with golden amber chips, and I could see everything clearly for the first time, all in its terrible, colourful and tragic beauty but I didn’t care, I didn’t care at all I could think was Nick, Nick, Nick, Nick. It was so utterly, alien; this feeling. I felt that I had been possessed; surely these feelings were somebody else’s, I could’ve never whirled up something up of such intensity. There was a fire in me and I was burning so bright, even I could see my own light as I blinded the astonished truck driver. I desperately tried to reach Nick but something was dragging me back. I fought against it-PLEASE BE OKAY, PLEASE BE OKAY, PLEASE BE OKAY-but the force was relentless. I finally gave in and let it suck me to gods know where, away from the scene, the dead, to a place where Nick was definitely alive, still happy, still smiling with those cinnamon eyes of his. I hid, huddled in the never-ending whirlpool of grief. Like a coward.

 

It was noon when I woke up. Actually woke up. My lids were heavy and I squinted. Everything seemed so blank and dull compared to the colours I had dreamt. I could hear the steady beating of a machine next to me. I wanted to lift my arms but something was pushing them down. It took me a moment to realise that I was being hugged.
‘Thank god, thank god,’ my mum repeated, crying as she clutched me. It was the end of the bad dream, the nightmare.  I couldn’t exactly remember what was in it but I was so relieved to be out. I weakly hugged her back, while saying, ‘I love you, mum.’
She froze. I realised it was probably the first time I’d said the words since I was a baby. The words had just slipped out so naturally, it was like I’d been waiting forever to say them. ‘I love you, mum,’ I repeated. ‘I love you.’
She started to sob again and sad,’ I love you too, baby girl. You have no idea.’
I just clutched her harder and breathed into her jumper, her scent. ‘Where’s dad, Dylan and Brent?’
Mum leant back, wiping her eyes. ‘Oh! They’re in the cafeteria, getting a bite to eat. I should get them.’ But instead of leaving, she just sat there and looked at me and looked. I felt self-conscious. ‘Dad?’ I prompted.
‘Oh, right!’ She got up and I leaned back. There was something nagging me. Everything was so clear but I felt hollow. Nurses came and checked me over. I noticed an old man on the bed next to me, smiling.
‘It’s about time, lovely girl.’
‘Um, who-’
It hit me then. Who this man was. Who his grandson was. ‘Oh my god, Nick!’
The old man’s brow furrowed. ‘Nick? You know my grandson?’
I struggled to sit up. It took several tries but eventually, I managed to scramble off my bed. The hospital gown showed flashes of skin whenever I moved but I didn’t care. I had to find Nick.
A nurse hurried over. ‘Wait a minute, miss, you’re not well enough to be up yet!’
‘Where’s Nick?’ I demanded. She looked bewildered. I waited. Waited for her pity, her sympathy and the soft words of, ‘Are you talking about the boy in the accident this morning?’
‘Nick? You mean the Nicholas down the hall? Hey! Where are you going?’
I ran as fast as I could out the door. Nick was alive. He was alive. I stumbled several times-I wasn’t used to having my body back yet and my limbs felt heavy and thick-but I kept on running. My feet made little pit pat noises as they slapped against the cold tiles. I passed my family, the faces of my still-tearful mum, shocked dad and excited brothers and yelled a quick, ‘I love you!’ before leaving them stranded behind me. I looked in windows as I went, desperate for any sign of those eyes or grin.
I saw his family first. His mum and dad at the foot of the bed, standing strong while Ellie bounced excitedly next to Nick. Nick. Nick, who looked fine save for a bandage on his head and a pale tint on his cheeks. My Nicholas Green, alive. I felt a surge of relief so great it made me sway and thanked whoever was above, whoever that was merciful and generous enough to give him a second chance, to give me a second chance.
And then I opened the door and stepped in. Just like that. Every head in the room turned to me. I knew I looked crazy, hair messy and frazzled, bright, glassy eyes, barefooted and in a paper gown that barely covered me. But I only looked at him. As on cue, he smiled at me, a great big dazzling smile before biting it back, confused.
‘Hi,’ he said.
I felt my own smile grow just as big and walked closer. Years later, I remembered this moment. My forever.
‘Hi.’

THE END

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Latest Haul

Hey guys, just got all of these beauties for eight bucks. Eight bucks, can you believe that?

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My preciousss (es)

So what’s up? Read or bought any good books lately? Seen any killer films? Hope the week is going well 🙂

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[Book Review] Clockwork Princess by Cassandra Clare

Tessa Gray should be happy-aren’t all brides happy? Yet as she prepares for her wedding, a net of shadows begins to tighten around the Shadowhunters of the London Institute. A new demon appears, one linked by blood and secrecy to Mortmain, the man who plans to use his army of pitiless automatons, the Infernal Devices, to destroy the Shadowhunters. Mortmain needs only one last item to complete his plan. He needs Tessa. And Jem and Will, the boys who lay equal claim to Tessa’s heart, will do anything to save her.

Rating: One out of five stars

I skipped doing a review for Clockwork Prince, as it was practically the same as my review for Clockwork Angel, which you can read here.

To start off with, I cannot say how many times I wanted to slam this book down over and over again. It infuriated me. I was repulsed. It was horrifying.

I don’t give many books one out of five stars but I’m so angry that I’m doing it right now. You don’t know how much I want to grab Tessa Gray and slap her while shaking her viciously back and forth. Is she stupid? No, apparently she’s not meant to be. Is she supposed to have a conscience? Yes, she is supposed to. Yet why, why, do I utterly hate her so much in this book?

One of the great dramas in the whole Infernal Devices series is the love triangle between Tessa, Will and Jem. In the Clockwork Prince, after much consideration [SPOILER] Tessa somehow manages to pick Jem and they are engaged, which continues onto the third book.  I was pleasantly surprised and pleased by this, I was glad it was over with and that Tessa managed it. BUT after reading the Clockwork Princess, my short lived good impression of her was shattered.

[SPOILER] Jem dies. Or at least, Tessa thinks he does. And while she is trapped in a room with Will, thinking Jem’s dead and realising she’ll die tomorrow, she requests Will for a kiss. Which leads to sex. Which lead to me jumping up and yelling,’ WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOUR FIANCE JUST DIED AND YOU’RE HAVING SEX WITH HIS PARABATAI?!’ I was furious. And it was made worse by what happened after. Okay, so then Tessa realises Jem isn’t dead, but she stays with Will anyways when Jem says it’s okay, and then after she’s married Will, they’ve had children and he’s died, she goes back to Jem and they kiss.

HDBJHDBJHDHNCVVGAYGVTALYGVAYRGALRGAYL.

DOES SHE HAVE NO CONSCIENCE?

Putting that ridiculous matter aside, the rest of the book was a bit disappointing as well. I felt that the ending, the finale was rather a little bit weak and that most of the book was just composed of talking and long speeches and letters. I enjoyed reading about the other pairings though, and the plot itself was pretty good, if only we could extract Tessa’s romantic actions and personal thoughts.

So yeah, really disappointed at this book. I was going to start City of Bones but on a friend’s advice that Clary is even worse than Tessa Gray, have decided not to. Hope you guys find the book better than I did.

 

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Snowy Mountains Great Escape and the unreasonable pressure on first time experiences

During my stay at Jindabyne (the village closest to the Snowy Mountains), my family and I were ushered into our motel by a middle aged man, with the most electric blue eyes I’ve ever seen and a killer italian accent. It turned he also owned the neighboring Italian restaurant, which we spent most of the night in, praising the pepperoni pizza and creamy carbonara. We spent the afternoon wandering the lake and visiting the warm bookshop. The cold wasn’t bad at first, but then it started to settle into your bones and slowly freeze you until it felt like it was a sin to leave your hands outside of your pockets (unless you had gloves, which unfortunately I forgot to pack). So far, I was kinda enjoying myself.

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The beautiful view from the lake

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The weird but wonderful sculptures by the lake

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The next day was Judgement day. The decider. The day when I was finally going to see snow. I had a perfect vision of my first experience. I would be standing in an empty clearing, laden with beautiful, clean and powdery snow. Light wisps would fall down. I would gently reach down and cup a handful. Bring it to my mouth and taste the sweetness. It would be perfect and amazing.
The pressure we put on first experiences.

Anyway, it didn’t go exactly as planned. As soon as we got there, my family and I bundled inside to get skiing lessons. I only had time to gaze around in wonder and I remembered thinking, ‘This is just like something out of Google Images.’ Which I didn’t know was bad or good. Turned out there weren’t any half day lessons available at where we were so then we got on a bus after hiring some (heavy) skiing equipment and off we went to another mountain. Still hadn’t having touched snow yet.

I got off with my brother and went to my lesson. I had gloves on and a helmet, so no chance of skin to skin contact with the stuff underneath my feet. The skiing instructor was pleased to hear that I’d ice skated before and told me that I should be able to pick up skiing quite quickly. (FYI I am terribly at ice skating. Really. Man, I suck.) Needless to say, I did not pick it up quickly. I had some falls, but eventually I got the hang of it.

I was sweating like crazy afterwards so I took off my glove. And reached down. For the snow. And got an icy scrape of this icy stuff which iced my fingers (bear with me). Which was not powdery. Or soft. Or magical.
It was frankly; disappointing.

It occurred to me then, how much pressure we put on first hand experiences. As if the rest doesn’t matter. Our first impression, first experience means everything. There is no room for repentance. Everything depended on that moment.

Which was not true. I cannot tell you how great and amazing it was when I got to the top of the mountain, where the snow was beautiful and soft and deep, and how clean and sparkly it was and how my brother and I had the best snowball fight ever and when I tasted it, it was incredibly sweet. The first thing was nothing. This was the real moment. And although we think that the first moment is the most important; it’s not. We only try to make it be. There are so many great things after, that the first moment is crushed, is forgotten. There should be no pressure on the first moment. Because there is more than the first moment. And we should look for the other things too.

And on a completely different note, you had no idea how many times I embarrassed myself. I jammed the elevator thingo when I tripped over. Twice. I went to fast down the mountain and crashed into a tree. The snow sled team rescued me. But it was fun. So incredibly fun. Can’t wait to go there again next year. 😀

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The Colours Lead Me Here-Part 2

Hey guys, I’ve been so looking forward to this weekend (practically gunning for it the whole week) when I’m escaping to the Snowy Mountains! I have never actually seen snow and have borrowed skiing equipment from a family friend-several sizes too big but no matter-and I’m ready to fly! Super excited and will write a post about it when I get back.

Below is part two of The Colours Lead Me Here, continuing on from the first part, which you can read here. Hope you enjoy it!

The Colours Lead Me Here-Part 2

So now I am here. I know, I hate it in books when people have this vague type of description of where they are, and I’m just like, ‘Get a grip and look around you, what do you see you idiot’, so I’m going to try my best to describe where I am. I am here. I’m not sure if this if heaven or whatever, I actually think I might be stuck in between. I mean, this isn’t the end, I feel that there’s something more, but I’m not sure what. I want to go there but I can’t. So now I wander, I guess. I’m not in a body, I think, but more of a colour. Is that crazy? Yeah, that sounds pretty crazy. But it’s the best I can do.

I’m a colour and the world is an explosion. I’m like a gnat, blurred and smeared in the middle of it. The set world below, where I used to exist, has faded and become a hazy mist. I can see everything, if I wanted to, and if I had one word to describe it all, it would be overwhelming. Completely overwhelming.

Let me paint a picture for you. Imagine a normal family. The household is a canvas and the family paints on it. They are colours; they each draw, they each sketch, blend, change and merge on it. There are so many colours, overlapping and colouring over each other, angry streaks of crimson and scarlet, soft watercolour-like hues of lilac and creamy pinks, little whirlpools of angry, brooding greys and dull blues. Of course, it’s different for every family. That’s one of the reasons why it’s so thick and complicated. Everyone and everything is different. Of course there are bad places too. There are corners on the canvas map that are so grey, so black and murky; the colours too fused, too disorientated and drowned for me to even dare to venture there with my golden protected shell.

I accept my fate now. I will wander here, alone, unless I meet someone else. The gold will protect me, this barrier that mutes all the colours so that they become bearable. I accept, I stay and I’m not curious. I know where I am.
The world is an explosion and I am in the middle of it.

The first time I was drawn to Nicholas Green wasn’t because he was striking or noticeable. In fact, it was the opposite. His paint palette consisted of a beautiful, beautiful orange. It wasn’t an aggressive orange, like the ones that some volunteers from charities and support groups wore and pushed out, while inside they were swimming in a languid pool of yucky brown. No, it was higher, like the sky before it bloomed or the slow, drunken colour of ale. Kind of like the colour of burning cinnamon, like my name. That felt somehow strangely intimate. Lots of people were born with beautiful colours but they so often chose to stain them. It made me sad.

What surprised me though, was how untainted and stable his was. Curiosity made me stroll down. There weren’t many other things to do. On the way, I entertained myself with guesses. Sleeping? No, the colours of sleepers changed too, but subtly and slowly, like shifts of light. Was he drunk? A drug user? Emotionally stoned? That earned a chuckle.

I delicately picked out him between all the other hues, like one would pick a strand out of their hair, and focused on it, until the colours separated and an image formed, blurry then sharper and sharper and then I could finally see him, a normal browned haired boy, sitting at his desk. For a second, as though he knew I was there, his head tilted up towards the golden window and the sun shone into his brown eyes, flashing them so they resembled the same burning cinnamon as his colour.

I was kind of disappointed. He was just a normal boy. About sixteen, my age. Lean, but not too lean, tall, but not too tall. An average face except for those eyes. I liked his eyes.
A motherly voice sounded from the hall behind him.
‘Nicholas, it’s time to eat!’
It startled me; I hadn’t heard a human voice in so long. ‘Nicholas’ spun around while yelling, ‘Coming!’
He slammed his notebook shut on whatever he had been working on and walked out of the room.

I don’t know why I followed him. Boredom, I guess. Mixed with just a bit of loneliness.
Nicholas lived in a nice house with a nice family. I could tell that much as I entered the dining room. His family were already at the table and he hurriedly sat down. His father led the prayers, a good strong mix of earthly brown and soft reds laden around his broad shoulders.

‘Dear our beloved father in heaven, we thank you today for our meal and blessings and are humbled by your generosity. Please guide us as we try to do your will. We pray in Jesus’ name, Amen.’
‘Amen.’
‘Amen.’
‘Amen!’
The family good naturedly dug in, Nicholas’ mother, a nice woman with a sweet round face and a welcoming circle of orange, taking over the conversation.  I hovered over the table, feeling intrusive.
‘I hear that Harry’s kidney surgery will be finished next week. How about we go visit him in hospital?’
‘Grandpa Harry?’ A little girl asked.
‘Yes, Ellie. You remember Grandpa Harry, right? I’m sure we’ve taken you to visit a few times.’
Ellie screwed up her face and then announced, ‘Yes, I remember him. He gave me lots of sticky Minties. They were so sticky they nearly glued my teeth together. That’s how sticky they were!’
Nicholas paused enough from his spaghetti to say, ‘Too bad they didn’t.’
‘Hey!’
‘I’m kidding,’ he grinned. ‘If they really had glued your teeth together, we wouldn’t be able to see your princess smile, would we now?’
Even though she had her nose up in the air and head turned away, Ellie couldn’t resist smiling at him. Happy strands of pink wrapped themselves like ribbons around her pigtails.
‘There it is! We finally see the light to the end of the apocalypse!’
‘Eat your dinner, Nick,’ his mum chided, although it was with a fond smile. A knowing smile. A smile that meant she loved him and him her as he grinned back. Suddenly, I was struck by loneliness. I was by myself. My mother, wherever she was now couldn’t smile at me like that. For the first time since my death, I thought of my family. Of their good traits, bad traits, hobbies, habits, colours. I wondered how they were. Did they miss me? I missed them. The realisation shocked me, not because it took so long but of its intensity. I really, really missed them. I wanted my mum to smile at me. I wanted my little brothers to annoy me. I wanted my dad to tell me to stop gazing into space when other people talked to me.

A tiny crack appeared in my shell.

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The Colours Lead Me Here

Hey guys, I’ve been working on a short story in my free time just for fun (and to get those ravaging plot bunnies out of my head) and decided to post bits up as they come along, kind of like a serial. Hope you guys enjoy reading it 🙂

The Colours Lead Me Here

My name is Cinnamon. And I see the world through a layer of gold.

Well, that’s not true technically. I mean, I don’t think it’s physically possible for anyone to actually see the world in gold, unless scientists invent some sort of weird contact that’ll coat everything in it, kind of like looking through a piece of coloured cellophane. No, what I mean is that I see the world through a type of of golden glassy haze. Metaphorically, of course. I see the world simply, through the beauty of straightforwardness, honesty and satisfaction. I do what I need to do. I don’t do what I don’t need to do. I don’t reach forward, I let things come to me and I never ask, just accept. I’m candid, I’m satisfied and everyone’s happy.

It’s a good way to see the world.
But all that changed when I met Nicholas Green.

The day of my death wasn’t significant. In fact, I don’t even see it as a significant day now. It was simply the time where I dropped off the world, stopped breathing, stopped living. My death probably meant more to my family and friends than it did to me. I didn’t even care too much. A side to seeing the world through gold is not really worrying. If you have no control over what’s happening or what’s going to happen, drop it. Let it happen. Don’t think. It’s a waste of time. What are you gonna do about it anyway?

My family and I were on the highway. We were going on a holiday. It was long overdue; Dad had been promising Dylan we could go to Jervis Bay since last year. He was driving in the front, mum was looking at her large plastic map; the type that can be folded into a tiny square and tucked into a purse, Brent was sleeping in his little baby chair and Dylan was playing with a small wooden aeroplane, violently swinging it around while going ‘BRRWHIRRR’ the way little kids do.

Either he was swinging it too hard or the aeroplane was a piece of crap, a wing flew off and hit dad in the eye. For a second, he went off course and swerved. For a second, our car went in the opposite lane. Just a second. But in that exact moment, a car happened to be driving on the other lane and we collided. A second earlier, dad could’ve swerved back on course. A second earlier, that car would’ve passed us and we would’ve hit nothing. And the funny part was the other lane at that time was almost empty. What was the chance of a collision?

I know that my death was instant. I’ve heard the paramedics say it, I’ve seen the nurses write it, I’ve listened to my parents sob it. Yet, there was this moment-this terrifying, single moment-where I could feel everything. I could see and hear everything in blinding bright clarity, the squeal of the tires, the scrape of metal on metal, my mother’s scream. Most of all, I could feel this sucking on my chest, this awful sucking-not really a pain but almost like someone was pulling something out-that was so great and powerful, I felt myself being lifted up, up and away and my body slump back, eyes fluttering closed.

So that was it. That was my death; that moment when my body died and I was torn from it. It was not horrifying. I was not scared. I had no time to do anything other than observe and take it when it came. They called it instant, but it was not instant; it was not long, it was not short, it was not forever. Some people might call it their forever, since it was their last conscious moment and all, but it was not my forever. It ended. I died. My forever came after that.

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