Young Writers Society

A lone girl, small, young and tired looking, tread down a stretching hall. She turned, her bare feet cold on the glass floor, towards a door. Porcelain fingers curled around the doorknob and she pushed the door open.

She stared inside for a moment before entering the room and locking the door, blinking back tears as she gazed at the boy in front of her. His short black hair contrasted with her long blonde, brushing her ankles. Her eyes counted his freckles, familiarity with his features set her more at ease than not. She went tiptoe, leaning towards his slightly parted lips, his eyes closed to her actions, she closed hers as well.

She pulled away from the kiss, her lips letting out a slow breath that he inhaled with a gasp. His arms and chest tightened, his eyes blinked open, and his feet desperately searched for ground.

His lips moved, trying to speak, but no sound escaped. Her eyes smiled as she reached upwards, placing a single, thin finger on his lips.

“Sixty,” she said.

He took a few deep breaths, blinking and looking around the room, his neck sore and taught. His eyes locked with hers and he begged her, without words, to free him.

She reached up and placed her thumb on a panel above him, and a whirr preceded his short drop to the floor.

He realized how cold the room was when his feet and knees hit the smooth floor, his feet bare and calloused. He ran his fingers through his hair, freeing several tangles, and then gazed at the girl with wrinkled brow. The light from the front of the room illuminating her from the back, her appearance angelic.

A gulp alerted him to the dryness of his throat, and when he reached for it, he winced at the soreness of his wrists where they had been tethered up. He stood shakily, his whole body sore and stiff, and looked past her, to the darkened hallway, and then behind him, where a wall stretched directly behind where he’d been suspended.

The warmth from the girls body enveloped his own as she gave him a surprise hug, her hair flying up and back down with the swiftness of the motion. She slipped away, her hand gripping his own, opened the door, and led him through it, her padded feet sending soft echoes down the hallway. His hand rubbed roughly against the softness of hers, and he felt certain that when she let go her hand would no longer shine porcelain as his own was covered with dirt and grime.

She slowed to a stop at the end of the hallway, in front of the only door he’d seen besides his own. She looked at him with spring green eyes, aglow in a way that pained him, and then led him through the door.

Layla is – erm – out of action at this moment in time. Sorry to disappoint.
I realise you’ve called, and now someone else has picked up the phone, but really, what do you want me to do about it? Layla hates to be seen in a state (mental hospital? Tee hee! Get it?) Oh-kay, moving on…
It felt like I was writing a letter, unsure as to what should go next. I didn’t know where to start – how to explain the events of the day – as I leaned against the padded cell’s wall, brushing gritty, saline crescents from under my eyes. I, or Layla (probably both) had been crying.
After taking them away from my sore eyelids, I balled my hands into fists so tightly they shook. It was one of those times where I could’ve easily thrown something. As per usual, there was nothing to take it out on, so I breathed deeply, trying to swallow my anger.
As usual, attempting this was pointless. Stuffing down my feelings was more like choking on a jagged shrapnel piece for all the good it did. What can I say? I would never call myself a therapy success story.
Those of us who had the nerve called the (quote, unquote) sanatorium Breakdown Motel, as a kind of in-joke. If you weren’t here because of some breakdown, then being here would probably lead to one.
I reached out to Layla, who’d kept up a stony silence to rival the one I sat stewing in. For no reason, I started tapping my fingers together while I waited for an answer.
‘M’okay,’ she mumbled.
‘You’re slipping,’ I remarked, ‘I don’t believe that one bit. You sound the exact opposite of okay.’
‘That’s all I’ve got right now, isn’t it? Sound. Noise. The disembodied voice…. Convey my sentiments to the outside world,’ she snapped bitterly.
‘Aw, come on! We both know you can do that off your own steam,’ I goaded. ‘A voice I could defy as easily as blinking, but you’re so much more…’
‘Not enough to keep you from pushing me aside like a toy in your way on the floor. And you have completely ignored me when you thought it was for the best, Mercy, so don’t give me that.’
It took a minute to come up with a response, what she’d said being true and all. Neither of us could play the Happy One particularly well, so boosting morale was far easier said than done. This was gonna take more than a non-existent magic formula…
Something had to click eventually, though. ‘Am I just a voice in your head?’
‘You have to ask?’ Layla seemed almost offended, or perhaps she was wondering whether she’d been asked a trick question.
‘No!’ I was more than a mere figment of her imagination, and of course I didn’t bloody have to ask! ‘I wouldn’t think of you as any less than me – you’re the sensible one with all the talent,’ I remarked, hoping to remind her of, well, something good. ‘If anyone don’t belong here, it’s me, ‘cause I have no place except with you.’
Layla laughed half-heartedly. ‘I thought I wasn’t any better than you, Merce…’

Once there was a little girl,

she was very wild, and free.

She was very active, and very nice,

as little girls ought to be.

~

One day she went, out in her yard,

she climbed up in her tree.

She thought that she could touch the sky,

Maybe, just maybe...

~

Then once the little girl told her mom,

of how she would touch the sky.

But her mom just laughed, and said-

"You are a girl, honey, you can't fly."

~

That night the little girl thought about this,

and decided that her mother was right.

She figured that since she was human,

there was no chance that she woud take flight.



This little girl, now 22, dreamed for other things.

Of finding a job, and paying the rent,

she no longer wished she had wings.

~

She didn't have a dream to tell,

no, not even a wish.

The girl was only an empty shell,

like food without a dish.

~

The girl would push on in her life,

thinking that she was strong.

But the world wold tell her different,

it would tell her she was wrong.

~

So the girl believed the world.

She would shake her head and cry.

She knew she wasn't the girl she was-

she did not want to touch the sky.



This girl, now very old,

was lying on her bed.

She was very frail, and very sick,

and a young girl knelt at her head.

~

"Can I get you anything?" The girl asked,

and a tear escaped her eye.

The old lady shook her head, and said-

"No, please don't cry.

~
'll be fine young one," She said-

"-and dear, so will you."

She then shook her head sadly,

knowing none of this was true.

~

Then suddenly, the old lady smiled.

She knew there was something to do.

She opened her mouth, and began to speak

of the one thing she wanted to pursue.

~

"But there is one more thing I would like to do-to do before I die..."

"What?" The girl asked, and squeezed her hand.

"I would like to touch the sky."

~

The girl squeezed her hand a little tighter,

and asked- "Are you sure?

The doctors said to stay in bed,

rest is the only cure."

~

But the frail old woman just shook her head,

and looked up at the sky.

"I need to go touch it!" She said, pointing up.

"To know that I can fly."

~

So the girl nodded, and helped her up.

Outside, she set her down.

The old woman looked up and smiled

in her long, old night gown.

~

It was dark outside, with twinkling stars,

they all lit up the sky.

They lit up the sky, like shining young girls-

girls that wanted to fly.

~

The young girl let out a sniffle,

and said- "Please don't leave."

But the old lady shook her head, smiled and said-

"Young one, please don't grieve.

~

I have lived a long life,

and a good one at that.

I am ready to go..." She said,

and gave the girl a pat.

~

The young girl smiled a little, and said.

"But how do you know?"

The old lady shook her head, and smiled-

"I just am. I'm ready to go."

~

The young girl nodded, and tilted her head.

She looked up at the sky.

"But how, gramma, how?

How will you go and fly?"

~

The old lady smiled and looked upward.

She let out a raspy sigh.

"Don't worry..." She said, and smiled.

"I will touch the sky."

~

So the little girl laid her head on the old lady's shoulder,

she opened her mouth and yawned.

The old lady closed her eyes, and her breathing stopped...

But she had touched the sky and beyond.