Silence

Your Silence was a hurtful sound,

My head filled with white noise,

An endless static rebound

Drowning out life’s joys.

 

The only break from Silence

Was the screaming in my heart,

And the tears that smeared mascara

Like a ghastly work of art.

 

Your Silence was a shock to me,

As though you flipped a switch,

Decided I was boring you,

And couldn’t scratch your itch.

 

Your Silence came from nowhere,

One day talking, next day dumb,

You ghosted out of my life,

To leave me cold and numb.

 

Your Silence birthed confusion,

A stunned mind asking “‘why?”,

There was no relief from closure,

My heart was left to die.

 

So if the Silence comes again,

I don’t think I could bear

The excruciating agony,

That deafening nightmare.

Emma H, age 26, 28/02/2017

Supporters – A Haiku

supportes

Athletes feel the vibes,

Riding a wave of support:

Mental crowdsurfing.

Emma H, age 26, 17/07/2017


I had the good fortune of attending recently both the World Para Athletics and World Athletics Championships at the London Stadium – at both events the atmosphere was electric, inspiring me to write the haiku above.

The Trees Have Eyes – #writephoto

watchers.png

Joss tears through the bramble and bracken, ignoring the prickling thorns and nettle stings plaguing her bare legs and feet. The stony walls of the gorge bear down on her, intimidating, threatening, her only escape route carved out between them. She could attempt to scale them, but her time is too short. Her chocolate hair is plastered to her forehead with sweat, legs screaming, throat burning. She pauses a second to gulp down air for her parched lungs, leaning on the cliff beside her, leaving a sanguine handprint on the rockface. But then she hears the faint clamour behind her, the collective rage of The Cult swelling to a distant roar. She forces her aching limbs and bloodied feet to keep running.

Before long, Joss becomes aware of another sound, the sound of running water. The valley widens, revealing a small, fast-flowing river on her left. She races against it, trying to outpace the current, pushing her body onwards. She tries not to dwell on the chaos left in her wake, the crimson stains on her skin. As the river grows, Joss sees a sharp drop before her; undaunted, she flings herself from the waterfall’s edge, crashing into the plunge pool below. For a moment she struggles against the fierce undercurrent before allowing it to sweep her downstream. Eventually, her head bursts through the water, spluttering, gasping, choking. She is dizzy, starved of oxygen, her surroundings a blur. But she lets the river carry her, dragging her ever further from her pursuers.

A couple of minutes later, the rushing waters begin to ease, allowing Joss to take stock of the scenery. All around her is dense woodland, lined by mossy banks. Dredging up some energy, she swims ashore, heaving herself onto the slimy rocks and collapsing onto her back, panting and staring wide-eyed at the periwinkle-blue sky. A group of startled jackdaws flit from the trees with a loud cry. Joss longs for their wings, their flight, their freedom. But she daren’t dally to dream; she clambers to her sore feet, and hurries into the labyrinthine forest, searching for an exit.

Everywhere she looks the view is the same; tall, towering, tightly-packed trees casting gloomy shadows over the undergrowth. Birds cawing, bushes rustling. Despite the weight of her waterlogged uniform, Joss never slows beyond a jog, heading in as straight a line as she can manage. What feels like hours later, the woods begin to thin and sunlight glitters through the canopy, painting dappled puddles on the ground. And then, to Joss’ overwhelming relief, the end of a pebbled track emerges before her. There is a sign here, crudely carved in a piece of bark ripped from the nearest tree. “STOP!!!” it reads. She has been here before. It is somehow familiar, a hazy memory dragged from the deepest pits of her intoxicated brain. If only she had heeded the warning back then. She wonders where its creator is now. Whether they are home, alive… whether they are dead. All she knows for sure is that this path will lead her to her real family, to safety, to a life she can barely remember. Towards freedom.

She doesn’t hear the quiet, mechanical whirring and clicking in the trees nearby. She doesn’t notice the camouflaged lens watching her every movement.

She doesn’t see them.

But they see her.

Emma H, age 26, 08/08/2017


Written for Sue Vincent’s Watchers #writephoto challenge! To read other entries you can click on the link here:

https://scvincent.com/2017/08/03/thursday-photo-prompt-watchers-writephoto/

I struggled when I first saw the photo but I’m happy with my eventual story. I decided to try something different than fantasy for once – I hope you enjoy 🙂

Sleepwalking – A Tanka

We stumble through life,

Eyes closed to injustices,

Mired in apathy,

Society sleepwalking

Into shameful selfishness.

 

We must awaken:

Weaponise our awareness

To fight for fairness,

Stand up against prejudice

And cease self-centred slumber.

 

Emma H, age 26, 04/08/2017


Double Tanka written for Kiwinana’s Weekly Tanka Prompt Challenge – week 56 – “Awake” & “Sleep”. Click on the link below to see how the challenge works and to submit your own!:

https://ramblingsofawriter2016.com/2017/08/02/weekly-tanka-prompt-challenge-week-56-awake-sleep/

Demons

In my quest

For a heavenly love

I discovered the devil

In me.

His pitchfork stabbed my mind

Oozing toxic blackness

That tainted my thoughts

And poisoned me against me.

His hellish heat

Scorched my fragile heart

And though the ashes have blown

It remains fire-damaged.

His forked tongue

Hissed hatred into my ear

A venomous diatribe

That made me beg for silence.

I have clawed my way

Out of the abyss

But the demon still lurks within

Waiting for me to slip

And fall.

 

Emma H, age 26, 19/03/2017