Young Writers Society

Chapter 19

Mr Fenton read Shakespeare’s “To be or not to be” to us in English. When he had finished, he asked us, “So, what do you think? Do you wonder at Hamlet when he thinks that death would be a blissful escape from life and reality?”

A murmur of disagreement hummed through the class. They were drowsy with the hum of the radiator warming the room and the melodious sound of snow pattering down outside. Nobody offered a suggestion and most people seemed on the verge of sleep.

Mr Fenton, enthusiastic as always, continued. “He then mentions that when you are in a “sleep of death,” you don’t know what nightmares might come. Do you agree with that? Can we ever escape from reality?”

I dug my sharpened pencil into my palm and a droplet of blood oozed out between the faint lines. It wasn’t true. Hamlet was lying.

Everything I saw was real.

I bent over my desk to crush a half-born sob.

***

I sat at the dream sill and peered out of the dusty window into the sky. Rain was hammering down like nails, hitting hard onto the ground, making small dents on the gray pavement. I wanted it to stop. I wanted it to stop but it wouldn’t.

I banged my fists on the window until the knuckles reddened and grazed, but the rain poured down, relentless. “Stop,” I pleaded with it. “Please stop.”

I was angry and I was jealous. I was so, so jealous of the rain for crying and splashing down its salty tears while I had none.

What happens to a person when the tears run out?

This was a new, terrible place. Or maybe it was old…how was I to know? I had been here before…I had been here for an eternity. Again, something inside me cried out, What is this place?

I lay on the floor and screamed aloud. “What is this place?” I cried, though still the tears refused me and my cheeks remained dry.

What is the name of this terrible, lonely place?

I could answer it…though I was afraid of the answer. I did not want it to be true.

The name of this place was Amelia’s life.

“My life,” I said softly.

I heard a click and my mother rolled her wheel-chair inside the room.

“Oh, Amelia,” she sighed. “Let me hold you, sweetheart. Let me hold you.” But it was all too late.

“MY LIFE!” I shrieked at her, twisting to face the wall, remembering a story I had once read. About a broken hearted girl who just turned her face to the wall and died. It’s as simple as that, I thought. You can just let go of everything and cease.

And then for a long, peaceful sleep, engulfed in cool, nihilistic darkness. Everything would be nothing. No burning seething, pain, just cold…cold beyond snow and ice and falling mercury.

Away. Far, far away.

But how could that happen? Everywhere was here. There was no away.

I heard the doorbell ring. It rang once, twice, thrice resounding through the lonely apartment, unanswered.

Sighing, I rose, and as I walked through the room I locked eyes with Mum. A sudden feeling of guilt overwhelming me, I touched her lightly on the shoulder and made an attempt at a smile.

I opened the door and gasped. It was Ruby, in a state I’d never seen her in before. She had no make-up on, and nothing concealing the bags under her eyes, her usually bright red hair was limp and greasy, she had on tattered jeans and an old rugby jumper, and had her arm in a cast.

“What on earth...” I started, coming out of the flat, closing the door behind me. She didn’t seem to notice what condition I was in, she was so caught up in her own.

“I was at the skate park and I fell off the board. I skidded right across the place. Everyone was looking, I nearly died – and you know me, Melia, I don’t usually give a damn about people…Oh jeez…”

She winced, her eyes crinkling up. “It hurts a bit…”

“Oh Ruby,” I said, sighing, half glad she was here and on speaking terms with me after our argument, and half angry, because now I would have to stand her and pretend everything was normal. I knew what she’d say if I told her about…about…

“That’s why you shouldn’t do all this extreme sport stuff…and in the state you’re in..."

“Nah,” she said. “I can look after myself.”

“You’re not doing a very good job of convincing me that, coming in with a broken arm,” I said sourly, putting a hand on the doorknob. Oh, go away, I thought. Just go away and let me dream.

“Oooh, not doing a very good job of convincing me…” she simpered in a plummy tone. “For God’s sake, Mels, give me a break.”

“Sorry…sorry. Should…should you come in? Oh Ruby, you should be at home, not out and about. Don’t your parents know you’ve got injured? Ruby.”

“There’s…no time for that,” she said in a graver tone. “Listen Amelia…there isn’t much time. You need to make up your mind fast. I’m getting out of this dump…with you if you’ll come. It’s getting late, Mels,

so you have to tell me, are you coming or not?”

My heart leapt in my chest. Possibilities went flashing through my head – freedom, deliverance, independence. Yes, no, yes, no, no, no!

“Yes!” I said so loudly that inside the flat, Miss Alcock heard me and made a noise. I heard her footsteps coming towards the door.

“But… I don’t have anything.”

“It’s fine…you got your coat on.”

“But…” I heard the grate of Miss Alcock’s key turning in the lock. I was in a cold sweat and my heart was beating frantically. I had to make a choice.

“Come on!” I said, scarpering down the stairs. And then, as a second thought, yelled, “Be back soon, Miss Alcock! Don’t wait out!”

I skidded round the turning at each banister, even though we weren’t being chased, feeling like if we didn’t hurry my rational mind would wake up and make me come back. I wouldn’t be rational for once.

I was doing what I wanted,and no-one could stop me.