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Oliver was only five when he realised that the world was about to end. By “the world” I mean ‘his life’, and by “end” I simply mean ‘completely change’. You see, he was a creative boy whose imagination took him to all sorts of special places; a child prodigy that his parents never understood. For now was the time that this little boy was to start school. Big school. Scary school. Big, scary school.

He had no siblings and he wasn’t exactly the most social child. Oliver wasn’t slow at learning, nor was he thick, but his lack of social teachings and graces didn’t give off the right impression to new faces. As a toddler, he’d been starved of affection by his parents forcing him to withdraw and find solace in his mind. If you’d asked him to make small talk with a few relatives, he’d turn his nose up at you in fear. But, if you gave him a pencil and some paper, he’d draw you a masterpiece without even taking the time to blink. By now, I’m sure you’re able to work out the sheer horror pulsating around Oliver’s brain as he tried to compute his chances of being able to stay incognito amongst hundreds, maybe thousands, of other children.

The first thing he did was lock himself away. Oliver retreated to his little hidey hole in his room – location: underneath his bed. He stayed there for a while… thinking…

When he was done, he crawled out and went into the garden with his notebook and sat on the swing. Barely pushing himself, he opened the book to a new page and started to draw a part of the same tree he’d drawn a thousand times before. But, this time he concentrated his energy on one single leaf that has fallen off its twig. It was a smallish leaf, with some parts of it that had already turned brown. It reminded him of himself and he nurtured this drawing into something so detailed and magnificent that he managed to surprise even himself. He sat there and stared at it for a while.

Upon further inspection of his own drawing he was able to see the many small parts that made up this leaf. Pulling himself closer to the item, he was able to see the many vein-like features that comprised the leaf’s form. In fact, it looked like there was a little tree upon the leaf itself. One that looked exactly like the tree the poor leaf fell from. It was at this moment that Oliver realised the circle of life really was inevitable and true. The entire world’s concepts and facets were one, big amalgamation to simply be churned out and melded into each other to form one brand new amalgamation.

And isn’t that what was happening to Oliver too? His life was simply joining another set of lives that would come together to create one big mess, called ‘School’. As the sun started to set, he was feeling a little chilly and so took his new friend, Leaf, and his new-found way of thinking indoors, to get ready for dinner. He was onto something. Something big for him.

After dinner, he found some tape and stuck Leaf next to its drawn counterpart in his notebook. That was the first time he’d drawn something tiny enough to be placed next to his own version. He would usually deliberately sketch and colour very elaborate looking buildings and test himself on the amount of detail he could put into it. Leaf was officially his first small-scale project. One that he’d just managed to learn a great deal from. He felt happier knowing he’d learnt a little more about the world and was able to sleep soundly that night.

Oliver was awoken at the crack of dawn by the noise of his mother’s racket downstairs as she yelled very loudly over the phone, dealing with business clients in another part of the world. He usually hated this part of the day and nothing was different about it today. Pushing himself out of bed, he grumpily got ready for the day ahead and grabbed some food from his mother in the kitchen. He had only a week to go now before he was shipped off to Big Scary School and the nerves were settling in again. After working himself into a bit of a sweat, he clambered under his bed. The panic set in and he found himself under there for a few hours. Upon returning to the world, he felt confused. And a little lost. He thought he’d managed to get himself past the horrible thoughts poisoning his mind. Apparently not – he was stuck and he knew it.

A few days and drawings later, Oliver’s mother asked him to pack for school. He was to be sent off on his own into the big, wide world all by himself. This is where he would grow into a Big Boy; someone who would never know his parents – except he didn’t know that yet. Had he been aware of this revelation whilst packing, he probably never would have begun the arduous task. Halfway through, he felt nauseous and opened his notebook. All the memories of being under the tree came flooding back as he stared at Leaf. Leaf stared back. He ran his fingers over its back, seeing it stuck there under the tape. Now more than anything he felt more like Leaf; trapped under this heavy burden of sticky, being told what to think and feel. He had to change his life and he knew it. If he didn’t do anything now, this feeling would last forever. He got his things together and sat gawking at his bag. Opening his notebook, he sketched his backpack. It was the roughest, most untidy drawing he’d ever pencilled. Tomorrow was the day.

The curtains were opened with haste and Oliver was dragged out of bed, kicking and screaming (in his mind). His clothes were shoved onto the bed for him to wear and his breakfast was already waiting for him. His mother explained to him that he’d be gone for a while and that she and his father would visit him. He wasn’t stupid; he knew where he was going. To spite her, he wore a different shirt.

In the car on the way to Big Scary School, his mother’s phone was ringing non-stop. She huffed and puffed about not being able to answer it and as they reached the gates of the school, she slammed on the brakes and left the car to return the call. Oliver looked ahead at all of the other children being left there. Boys and girls of all different sizes, being forced to occupy these large grounds because their parents didn’t care about them. Well, that was his opinion anyway. As he gazed, he saw this little girl sitting under a tree, with a notebook. He left the car to investigate.

As he got closer to the girl, he realised she was writing in her notebook and asked her what she was writing. She looked at him puzzled and told him she was telling her notebook how scared she was of starting school all on her own. For the first time in a very long while, Oliver smiled and took out his notebook. He ripped out the page with Leaf on it and gave it to the girl, telling her she was no longer alone. She smiled a bewildered smile and they both walked towards Mildly Scary School.

His mother called out after him wishing to say goodbye, but Oliver simply turned his head and raised a hand. His goodbye was short and sharp.

Oliver finally left school at 18. He went on to draw one of the best selling comics ever written, with his new found friend, at the age of 21. He didn’t really understand fame and why people liked him, but he was happy to be doing what he loved. They eventually amassed a small fortune and bought a house far away from prying eyes.

His parents grew older and eventually withered into old, lonely souls wondering how their only boy was doing. They regretted letting him just walk off into the distance, never bothering to chase him to find out where, or how, he was after leaving him at the school gates. I know for a fact that his mother thinks about him everyday.

She regrets never showing him love and missed him more as the years went by. She really did mean to go and see him, but work just got in the way. I also know that it pained her deeply every time he refused to come and see her when she did make her way down to the school, albeit a few years too late.

I miss you, my dear boy. I miss seeing you in the morning and I regret never giving you the hugs you deserved. I’m eager to hear from you and see how well you are doing. I’ve destroyed our relationship greatly and am asking for your heart to see me another way. I’m just sorry it’s taken so many years for me to write this letter. From the bottom of my heart, I do love you.

Please forgive me.

Yours forever and always,

Mother.

This is the story of the girl who didn’t stop trying. Those around her told her she was stupid for her efforts, but she didn’t care about their uninformed words. Everyday she made more of an effort than the day before, always surpassing herself and her achievements. Her ambition was great and her drive was strong. But, no matter how hard she tried there was always something that stood in her way. Something of magnificence that took a lot out of her and forced her to withdraw. It took her a little while to recover, usually, but once she had, she came back bigger and stronger than before, ignoring the small defeat, and rising up further. And then she tried again.

There was one particular time that stood out for her. A time that will always be etched in her memory. You see, this one particular time, something so bad happened that it made her become very withdrawn and melancholy. Needless to say, she was deeply affected to the very core of her soul, which forced her to withdraw her efforts and, for once, stop trying. The unfortunate and unfolding circle of events meant that even she didn’t have control of the situation, for it seemed she was doomed from the beginning for just wanting to be a part of this person’s life.

Who was this person? And, what possible meaning could she bring to her life, or theirs, by giving so much time and energy to this one thing? The details of the unfortunate incident are inconsequential. What matters is that she was changed by it. So much so, that those around her began to notice. Her appearance started to take a turn for the frazzled and her hair’s usual flair was left to grow out. She no longer wore make up and lived only in her baggy jeans and t-shirts. Bathing become a loose option rather than mandatory and there were moments when one could swear they saw her usual glow start to fade.

As time passed, she achieved less and less per day. Nothing was a priority and nothing seemed to interest her as much as before. Things became very complicated for her and her life started to go downhill. There wasn’t anything anyone could do and they all knew she wasn’t going to survive in the modern world if she had lost interest in things.

Until one day, one of her friends decided to find this mystery person. They rallied all of her friends together and they decided, between them, to send this person a letter. Nobody informed The Girl of their plan and she was, consequently, kept in the dark the whole time. They weren’t sure of this person’s involvement with her and they couldn’t make assumptions in case they turned out to be wrong. So, how would they go about it? They held a meeting and it was decided that if they assumed they were just friends they couldn’t make too many mistakes. So, a letter was written. And, a letter was posted. They waited. And The Girl began to look much worse. She had started to slouch and chew her food with her mouth open. The glow was reducing.

A week later, they received a response. They held another meeting and the letter was read out to everyone. In it, the person claimed that they no longer wanted to be a part of her life and that there was nothing left to say. They were also told off for being so flippant and assuming that the two of them were friends; that they were much more than that and words could not express the bond they had shared. They signed off requesting to be left alone.

The concerned friends of The Girl all held their heads in their hands. They were doomed unless one of them could come up with another idea. And fast. As they ummed, ahhed and deliberated, refreshments were brought and more people were forced to take part to try to come up with a solution. They had nothing, though. Peering through the glass walls of their meeting room, they could see The Girl walking around in ripped clothes, all very filthy and mucky. She was oozing a smell so bad; she left a waft trail – all of which gave The Girl’s friends more of a reason to try even harder to get her back to her old self.

She certainly turned into The Girl that once tried, for now her glow was so low it flickered. Like it needed new batteries. She seemed like a television that wasn’t quite tuned in properly. One that was so close to having the channel, but never quite made it; where the picture just jumped up and down in dismay. Or perhaps that of the blurry image one gets when one wears spectacles. You know the one; when you wake up in the morning and all you can see are blurry edges and blocks of colour. She had turned into The Girl that nobody wished to look at any longer. A sad and sorry sight, by which everyone could relate, but no-one could do anything about.

The Leader stood up and yelled that they needed to do something, quickly! He exclaimed that they must write this person another letter and this time they would concentrate on the nature of their relationship and how important it must have been to them. A fellow member asked that if the relationship meant so much to them, then surely they’d still be together? Another member stood up and asked if assuming they were a loving couple was, in fact, the correct way to go about it – or if that was a foolish endeavour. At last! A proper debate, thought The Leader. He commended their efforts and told them they were on the right track. But, they decided to vote on matters that were afoot. It was decided that they would write another letter (a mere two people disagreed with this idea) and that they would assume that they were lovers (a hearty four out of ten people decided against this, but the majority ruled).

And so, another letter was penned with very little haste reminding the person of The Girl and how she used to make them feel. Some said it was a little foolhardy and some said it brought them to tears. But, who knew what reaction it would provoke after the intended person had read it? They read it out aloud to themselves one last time; checking for mistakes. The letter was folded, the enveloped was licked and the stamp was stamped.

All they could do was wait.

A few days later on the other side of town, a form that once resembled The Girl that they all knew that once tried so hard her nose bled, walked to the library. She was returning some library books that were over six weeks too late. Why now? Well, who knows. Perhaps the books were in the way of the fridge door, stopping her from eating more and more cheese. She was noticeably larger in size than before, as now she had stopped trying to keep trim. Her fingernails were unruly and she had developed a twitch in her eye. She unknowingly winked at everyone she encountered. The sight of their friend slowly deteriorating made them all very unhappy and they tried to offer to pay for her to get a haircut or a manicure, but all offers were politely refused. She muttered less than five words a day now, some of which simply sounded like grunts. Her feet dragged across the floor and the bounce in her step was replaced by a crook in her leg, which forced her to limp. There was only one word to describe what everyone saw, and that was that she was broken on the inside. Her glow had disappeared.

On the thirteenth day of waiting, the friends received a response. And, it wasn’t what they were expecting. They were called meddlers and they were called tyrants! They were called fabricators and made to feel as small as one could possibly feel for interfering in something that didn’t concern them. It was very clear to them at this point that they were on a losing streak. That the work and effort they were putting in was amounting to nothing. They were told not to underestimate the special bond that two people could have and what would they know about their connection anyway? The hard graft in constructing the previous letter all seemed like a bitter waste of time.

They could all do nothing but stare at the empty shell of a girl that now stood in the place of the vibrant, fun-loving beauty that once was. Her charms alone brought smiles to those she encountered. But not anymore. Today, you’d be lucky if you could catch anything but a cold from her, as the poor hygiene and terrible bathing regime she practiced was enough to make even pigs want to move away from her. They could no longer see the friend they once had.

The more they read through the second response, the worse they all felt. They were berated for making assumptions and vilified by this person for their inaccuracies. But, how far off were they? They first assumed that the two of them were friends and they were wrong. They then took on the notion that they were lovers. And, yet again, they were demonised for their selfish opinions. What were they doing wrong? What could possibly have happened between these two – out of the conventional norms of two people being able to find solace in one another? As they read through the letter, though, something very clear did stand out to The Leader. Whatever happened between the two of them was shared by those two people only; that they could never even come close to an explanation. Understanding is what they needed. And, maybe a different perspective.

It was decided between them that they had caused more harm than good. They were all to leave well alone and not meddle in The Girl’s business any further. Besides, she had not even given them her consent for all the trouble they had caused – and the person they wrote to had no idea they were acting without permission. A few more months went by and things were at an all time low. Morale was lacking and the simple fact that the group could not save their friend made them all very miserable. It seemed as though they had started to stop trying too. The Leader, in his mind, was adamant not to give in and decided to go to the library for inspiration. Not to mention peace of mind. A quiet place for solitude, for all this hassle with The Girl had brought him a tremendous amount of pain. More than he cared to share. She was hurting and he could do nothing to help his young friend.

As he walked up the steps and through the large door, his nose picked up a scent he recognised. It wasn’t a pleasant smell and he allowed his nose to guide him ahead, stepping into the building. As he walked, he came across something astounding. There she was, in all her naked glory, standing in the library trying to return something. The irony being that she wasn’t wearing any clothes and so had no cash to pay for the late fees she had incurred on the one book that she was clutching. Under her other arm, it seemed as if she was holding a bright red pillow. The Leader walked closer towards her and saw the library attendants all walking swiftly towards her also. She was about to be kicked out, and/or arrested for indecent exposure in the public library!

She grumbled at the librarian and slammed the book down on the counter. The librarian, holding her nose, kindly asked The Girl to pay the late fees and leave. The Leader saw the ruckus unfolding and reached into his pocket, placing some money onto the counter. He told the librarian he would be paying for the late book and escorting his friend home. At the same time, he removed his coat and placed it around The Girl. Taking The Girl, he exited the library just in time for her not to be caught.

She didn’t hang around for long and was soon darting off down the street. He yelled at her to wear clothes from tomorrow and simply hoped that she heard his message. He looked down in front of him and saw the very same pillow that The Girl was holding; she had dropped it. He picked it up to see that it was in the shape of a heart. A big, fluffy ironic heart. Kneeling down, he sat on the steps and started to think. What was he going to do about his little friend? He thought for nearly an hour and then it hit him. The one thing that The Girl was missing in order to possibly restore her to her old self and stop this madness. He ran himself home and picked up a pen.

The Leader spent the rest of the entire evening penning a letter to The Girl’s old associate. In it, he went into great detail about her activities over the past few months and how her behaviour had changed. He thought of including pictures, but had decided that she was best seen in her prime – not in her current state. This encouraged The Leader to write in such great detail and so vividly, so as not leave anything out.

In the morning, and without delay, he arranged a meeting with the old team that helped him write the previous two letters. He explained to them that, although he wasn’t going to tell them everything in detail, they should trust him and be patient for a little while longer. With the letter he sent a small package and mailed it off as soon as possible.

A few days went by, and nothing. The Girl had deteriorated into something her friends could no longer bear to see… or smell. They turned their backs on her as she was barely trying to be human these days. There was nothing left of her that anyone could remember. Another week went by and The Leader was starting to wonder whether what he had done was the right thing. He didn’t want to give up on her, but it seemed that this was their only hope. A few more days passed. And, a couple more. The Leader had given up hope. There was nothing more he, or anyone else, could do.

On the fifteenth day of the following month, something extraordinary happened. As The Girl slumped over her desk, a package was dropped off at her desk. Everyone around her was very curious. The last time The Girl had received a package was the year before, for her birthday. Her eyes lit up so much – and her glow was ever so luminous – that her friends knew it was from someone special. She didn’t tell anyone who it was from, but they didn’t care. She was as jolly as could be – and tried even harder at everything she did after that, for at least a month! Her friends reminisced between themselves, but knew that the chances of that repeating were very slim. For she was merely a shadow of her former self now.

The Girl lifted her head and stared at the package, rather perplexed. She remained this way for at least another five minutes before using one of her fingers to poke the box. Nothing happened. She stared. Everyone else waited. After a couple more minutes, The Leader placed a pair of scissors on the desk right in front of The Girl, between her and the box. She looked at them intently. He motioned to her to use them to open the box. After much coaxing, the box was finally open and the contents revealed to her.

She lifted out of the box a small, corked, glass jar. On the label it said, ‘My Soul’. Inside the jar, was a stamp. She felt a little frightened, but continued on with the contents of the box. She pulled out the letter from underneath the jar and began to read. The letter was from the same person her friends had written to before. In it, he explained that he was really very sorry for the way things had turned out. He hadn’t meant to cause so much destruction, with so few words, and hoped she could forgive him. Tears began to fall down her cheeks, cleaning the dirt that had collected over the past weeks. As she read on, two pure streams of fluid ran down from her eyes, making her clear, radiant skin visible once again.

The emptiness she felt was represented by the bottle he was sent by The Leader. In his letter, he explained that she was merely an empty vessel now, waiting to feel complete once again. The Leader had apologised to him for all the things they had previously written to him and had hoped that they could one day meet and put the past behind them.

As she continued to read her letter, he told her that he, too, had been feeling rather vacant, but had needed some time apart to collect his thoughts. But, when The Leader wrote to him to tell him about her, he realised that his want and need to be alone was surpassed by this greater need to restore things as they once were. That two soul mates should never have to be apart in such a fashion where one can’t live without the other. He told her that he had thought long and hard about his decision to separate themselves and that he no longer wanted this to be the case. Whenever she was ready, his soul would return to hers.

The collection of friends watching The Girl read the letter had no idea about the content, but were simply happy to see a small glow reappear to her. They each smiled contently and hoped that this was the end of all the misery she had harboured inside her over the past few months. The Leader was happy to see that some life had been restored to The Girl.

The following day, there was a marked improvement on The Girl’s appearance and general disposition. She was walking a little straighter, had clean clothes and no longer smelt like an armpit. She smiled a couple of times during the day, but still wasn’t quite there yet. Over the course of the next week or two, there were drastic improvements. The Girl started to smile all the time, got her hair cut and made tea for everyone in the office. She cleaned her desk and helped other people maintain theirs. She was, once again, a complete joy to be around.

No-one had ever worked out if she had written back to her soul mate. But, it didn’t really matter. Their friend had returned – back to her old self. That evening, The Leader made his way back to his home. He stared at the pillow long and hard, and smiled. The next day, he mailed the pillow to The Girl’s companion and decided he would try to do something to make somebody smile that day. Unknowing to him, he had already been the cause of a number of happy faces the minute The Girl started trying again. All because he tried to save his friend.

A few days later, The Man walked up to her desk and placed the pillow on the table in front of her. She turned around, to feel her soul no longer alone. There he stood; ready to give her a warm embrace. They held each other close and you knew that was all they needed. The Leader smiled and shook The Man’s hand. And that was the story of The Girl Who Tried.

She remembers the day he told her that he would do whatever it took to make himself better suited to her. It was raining. And he didn’t lie.

As time passes them by, she wonders what would have been had she listened. He described her as ‘resilient’ and she knows deep down that she would live ‘til she was 100, much to her dismay.

Every time she opens her mouth it seems she wedges her foot further inside it. But, she is safe knowing that everything is consequential. And, for what it was worth, she was always sorry to have done that.

Just like the eight-ball says, “Try again later”. She cherished each forgiving moment with him knowing they would end up right back where they started.

Memories are all they have. He changed and she stayed the same. But, there was always something that drew them back together; it was like they couldn’t escape it.

Babies are born, people get sick and hearts will be broken. The only other constant in her life was him.

She will see him at the other end.

I sit down and there I see you. Starting from your feet to your head, you are dressed in a way that only my brain recognises as good taste. Smart, comfy shoes, waist length jacket, scarf neatly tucked around your neck and hair styled to perfection. I see you and you see me. We look at each other and look away. I cannot believe what I see. There you are, right there, waiting for me.

I look in the glass pane ahead of me and I see you staring at me in the reflection. I smile knowing you’re looking at me and watch you teeter on a smile in the reflection. You make me blush – it’s been so long since I’ve felt this way; I’m half excited by it. My cheeks go red, but I refuse to take my eyes off you.

You continue to stare until I make you go a funny shade of red, too. Well, your skin is a little paler than mine, so it’s more obvious. I bite my lip and try to hide my smile, but to no avail. You see me do it, return the cheeky smile and immediately look away. I see I’ve captured you and the best part is that you don’t mind. You are enthralled by something on my face and the second best part is that you have captured me too.

So, here we are; I sit… and you stand. A couple of minutes of not-looking go by. We’re adults, we can get through this. I suddenly realise I’m on the wrong train and have to get out to change in a minute or two. I panic. I look at you and you quickly look at me in the commotion of sudden head-turning. You’re not smiling. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Are you going to get off too? Oh, please say yes and somehow telepathically send it to my lonesome brain.

I notice you shuffle forward a little and hope you are leaving the train to stand on the platform and stare at me some more in your ever-so light and playful manner. I grab my handbag and make a point to stand. You don’t move. We come into the station and the train stops. I stand and the doors open. I see you make a beeline for the door and I merrily walk on behind you as if I’m just about to pass the finish line having left everyone a hundred yards behind. I can take my time now because I know you’ll be there when I finally cross the gap between the train and the platform.

You make your way to the other side of the platform as I potter on out. I edge forwards slowly and something clicks inside me. I’m now out of my zone. A sudden wave of insecurity rushes over me and I am terrified of you looking at me again. I turn my back to you and hope the train never comes. No, wait. I want it to come now. No, never. Ever again. I want to stand here on the platform with you and smile my way to my death knowing I died smiling real smiles that were unplanned and blush-worthy. With you.

Damn. Have I gone mad? My train will be here any second now and I haven’t even gone to talk to you. I haven’t even looked at you since we hit the platform. What is wrong with me? My brain says no. No talking. My mouth is in dismay at the sheer thought of not being used. But, my brain somehow wins. I’m going to play it cool – like Jessica Rabbit. She was cool, right? I meander on over away from you and then turn to face you like it was all meant to happen naturally and I didn’t think anything of it.

Of course, you’ve been staring at me the whole time. You look at me with your soft, blue eyes and give me that look – “You’re so cute.” Yeah, I’m so cute and very damn stupid letting my brain take over if you ask me, but of course you don’t need to know all of that. Just keep looking at me with those eyes. I muster a tiny, embarrassed smile and falter. You smile at me not being able to smile. This is starting to backfire. You own me, standing there on that platform at 1am in need of a hug so badly. And I think you know it.

You look away and so do I. I turn away from you once more and wait for my train. I now feel your warm breath against my neck asking me for my name. I turn to face you but you’re back where you were before. Standing there, guarding those blue eyes from the eye gremlins because you know as well as I do that they are precious. Precious for my attention. But, it was the gremlins that breathed on my neck just then.

My train peers its ugly head around the corner of the platform and I drop my head in sorrow. I daren’t turn around in case you’re no longer looking out for me and I begrudgingly take a couple of baby steps forward. Oddly enough, I step back into the zone and a rush comes over me. I’m not afraid anymore. I’ve now decided to go out gallantly and not like a beggar. My hair finds itself flowing and making its way off of my face to show the world who I am and I stand tall.

My train is my own and it’s going to gallop on home – and take me with it. As the train pulls in and comes to a stop I ready myself for the walk inside, handbag at the ready. I stride onto the carriage; confidently placing myself in a seat in the centre of the row of seats and, of course, I face you.

I get to see you again. My heart starts to race again. I knew I was smart for waiting to see you again. I knew it would make me melt again. I’m just glad I sat down, because you are… you are there, standing fully facing the train as if you are about to see off your husband to war. You lean forward gracefully, only the slightest movement, to make sure I can definitely see you. You raise your hand to wave me goodbye. My arm automatically lifts itself to return your most gracious favour.

This is our moment and it’ll be saved forever. I’ll never forget you. Goodbye my secret, staring friend. The train doors beep, beep, beep and close. I see you see me and I smile for us – this time with teeth. I want to show them off. And I want to show them to you.

‘You will become a different person’.

I read the same line over and over again. ‘You will become…’ As if I’ve already started my poignant modification. I wonder what’s going to happen to change it. How many other people will I become before I get to the one this is talking about? A different person. Hmm. It suggests I’m no longer going to be me. But, I’ve been me for my whole life! How can that possibly change? It doesn’t even say a facet of me will change – just says I’m going to be different. How does it know? Where are the books that it’s been reading that I haven’t discovered yet? I mean, I’ve spent a long time making me, me. I don’t really want to change now. Hours and hours of endless pondering and pontificating to create the perfect me. And now it’s all going to end? Fat chance. I’m going to fight you – show you exactly who’s boss! I’m in charge of me. I am. Not you, you slanderer!

And what kind of time-frame do I have? Huh? When is this fabled change supposed to occur? Today? Next week? And if I do change I’m assuming it’ll be in my usual untimely fashion, so will that make me ‘so last Tuesday’? I’m not having it, sorry. You can take your judgemental attitude and stick it where none of that light-stuff happens. I took lots of time and hard work to create this thing you see before you and I honestly don’t think you have the authority to will it to change.

Yeah, that’s a point. How are you going to change me anyway? Magic? Know the son of god’s dad, do you? Or perhaps you’re just of the extra, super-charged variety where you can telepathise (too right I made that word up) exactly what’s going to happen to me before that twinkle in my eye does? What gives you the right to bear this kind of news to me, anyway? Let’s turn the tables for a second. I envisage you becoming very stupid and falling over. You’ll then just keep hitting your head every time you tell someone what you think is going to happen to them. Hah, see how you like it! Stupid fortune cookie.

I need to go out for a while, I’ve lost something.

I seem to remember having it last week, but I think I lost it somewhere, although I don’t remember where. Nor do I remember exactly when I lost it. What it looks like I don’t know, and what it feels like is also a mystery. Sometimes I wonder if I ever had it to begin with, but apparently I did, because we are all supposed to have it. When I find it, I promise to return, but please let me go for now.

I do know this much; it sounds like a small child. A small child crying for help. I lose it quite often, and when I search for it, I have to look long and hard to find it. I wish I could have some help finding it, because I barely know where to look sometimes. The person that is ‘supposed’ to look after it also has troubles, as it runs away very easily without him knowing. Ironically, it doesn’t like being alone, but isolates itself quite easily, which makes me panic because I’d rather not lose it.

When I hear it cry for help I wonder why it runs away in the first place, but how do you teach a child to be responsible? It reminds me of when I was a child. I cannot scald her because I know she won’t learn that way. But then again, I don’t think she could ever be controlled… she’s like a free spirit. People think I’m mad when I tell them I’ve lost her. They just don’t realise how free she can be…

She doesn’t make friends easy, which might explain why she’s so scared and alone. But when she does make a friend, she smiles. When she has company she smiles uncontrollably. And so do I. Because it never happens often and I know she is truly happy. Her mere happiness makes me cry with joy.

But she’s a handful. Ask anyone she knows well. They’ll be able to tell you that when she goes missing, she not only runs further than you could possibly imagine, but also hurts herself. She owns a scar for every time she has run away; she’s stopped counting. I never could understand why she would do this to herself, and she remains silent when I ask her about it. I remember one particular time she ran away. She went missing for days… all I could hear as I looked for her was the sound of her voice. She was singing to herself as if nothing was wrong. I remember getting really angry with her when I found her, and she began to cry… and so did I. I’ve never forgiven myself for that one thing I did to her… because I gave her the scar that day.

And now she has gone again. She’s too far for me to hear her singing, that is, if she is singing. And I cannot call out her name… because she does not own one. She dislikes being labelled and it also appears as if she dislikes being found.
I sometimes fool myself into thinking she can fly. I wonder how she can get so far, in such little time. I never used to worry about her as much as I do now, but I’m so scared of losing her, that I’d do anything to find out if she’s safe. I guess I need her to live… because she makes me what I am. She gives me the freedom of speech I so rightly own. She gives me the courage to love. She gives me the strength to live. That’s why I need her. She needs me as much as I need her.

I hear crying…