A room. Or perhaps something else...

The room is dim and smoky and a thin layer of grime covers every surface. The only light comes from a small section of the window opposite me where the black paint, an attempt to stifle the atmosphere of the room, is flaking off. I pull the last cigarette out of my top pocket and strike a match. As I inhale the smoke it soothes me, and for a moment I forget what I’m here for, what I’m here to do.

I try to distract myself by taking in my surroundings, aware that they may be the last ones I find myself in. There is a fireplace to my left, long forgotten. Clusters of cobwebs line its blackened walls, walls that once housed a roaring fire. Broken pieces of tile cover the floor, a hazardous wasteland. Put one foot wrong and you’ll know immediately. The splinters will tear your feet to shreds. I pick my way through the sharp fragments, towards the bar on the other side of the room. I close my eyes and try to remember what this place looked like before…

Before what exactly?

What happened?

My memories come flooding back. The crackling fire provided warmth for the civilians who spent day after day within these walls, fearing the horrors outside. Men from town sat at the bar, cracking drunken jokes and trying to catch a glimpse down the barwoman’s dress. Pints of homebrew were downed in seconds by some, and appreciated slowly by others. In the backroom a gambling game was always playing, providing a distraction from the gunfire outside. Poker and blackjack were dealt until dawn, all but one of the gamblers losing every cent of their wages.

I open my eyes and stare at the bar. Its oak surface is splintered into pieces from the once-unceasing gunfire. The shelves on the wall are now just shards of glass behind the counter, and anything worth stealing has been taken by looters.

You laugh until you cry...

You were once the most beautiful woman in the room.

Laughing, gossiping, fluttering like a butterfly from person to person, your eyes captivating your audience like a flame intrigues a moth.

Until that day, that fateful day when your mask was removed, stolen away by the one person who understood you, who saw you as you were, not how you hoped, wished, dreamed you would be.

You came to realise that they were not who they said they were, that the one person you lived for was a fake, a thief, a deserter, that they were in fact you.

Crying, your salty tears soaked through your costume as you realised that your true identity had been revealed and that there was no reason to keep on living.

Dorothy

Oh, what a joy it would be to be Dorothy.

Adventures to a faraway land. A tinman, lion and scarecrow as friends. A gorgeous dog. A yellow brick road.

And the shoes.

Oh, the shoes!

What a joy to own those red sparkly shoes.

To be able to click the heels together and be home. But where is home?

Home is somewhere you belong, right? Somewhere you can relax and be yourself.

What happens if that home is no longer accepting? Family no longer understanding? Friends no longer fun?

What then?

Click three times and imagine home.

But where? How?

If one no longer has a home, where does one imagine?

A make-believe place perhaps, one where you belong, where only you can live. But wouldn’t that in itself be lonely? Surely there is somewhere where one who is essentially homeless can belong?

Maybe Oz is the right place after all. Maybe clicking your heels and imagining home isn’t necessary. Maybe Oz is where we shall find a sense of belonging…

predictability

You wake up,
get dressed,
eat breakfast,
do your hair,
every day the same routine.

You head to school,
attend class,
talk to teachers,
put off work,
every day a schedule.

You see friends,
avoid others,
fake smiles,
act interested,
every day the same people.

Where is the change we so openly fear, yet deep down ache for like a junkie craves his fix?

Where are the alterations to a life so typical even the weather is predictable?

this is me

whimsical daydreams from the mind of a girl who finds herself with her head in the clouds puzzling over a message sent in haste & hilarious nonsense that causes uncontrollable fits of laughter in the middle of an oval blooming with endless possibilities & that magical feeling when the strong arms of that one boy who has stolen her heart & run away with it across the stars wrap themselves around her waist & fill her heart with the intimate desires of teenage naivety & cause her mind to wander away to her childhood full of carefree frolicking & dancing in the rain of a thunderstorm until her face glistened with innocence & her clothes dripped like sparkling diamonds as a reminder of a perfect day untainted by the troubles & misunderstandings of a world full of complications but as she begins to think there is no way out she realises that despite the constant stream of catastrophes she is so terribly gloriously happy...