Autumn Girl

People who walk past you are breathing heavily; they’re breathing to be heard, and you wonder how many people are breathing to live.

Your friend arrives. He motions circles on your back that say: I know you, and that familiar grace gives him reason enough to be this close to you. You clasp him tightly, wanting his flesh to be bared out to you, in the cold, out from the bulk of a jacket and its weighty pockets that hold more than is definitely needed for the day ahead.

You want to touch his soft skin, to shift its shape so you might cling to it; that your fingernails might pierce into it and draw blood if you were to try hard enough. It would be proof of warm fluid life that chose you as a friend.

How absurd you feel, and you try not to let your friend catch a glimpse of your worrying face. Think on, show him a book, walk into the shops, hold a cup of coffee close to your lips and pose your hand by your eyes as you claim to have a headache. Walk right by everything as though you already know it all. Let things change as minimally as a three-hundred year old tree will in ten years from now. Allow yourself to ask for things to occur more simply, like the dots of faces viewed from afar; let the day be smooth and even, optimistic in its blankness.

A man sells flowers outside the main entrance to the church. He sells them from a cart that plumes in bright colours as it swells the romantic hearts of many who walk by. You walk by, your friend beside you; he talks to you about his troubled train journey.

You look back, looking, searching, finding that right flower that nods its flaccid head, courteously, just for you. You find it, your kind of flower; it’s the delicate orchid with its showing veins, and there you stand, inside this day, with your flower, in a temporary paper vase, as your heart swells.

Your friend, he asks you if you’d like a drink, and like the flower, your body says: ‘drink deep’.

Emily was born in 1985. She lives in Manchester with a bunch of soft toys.

Pages: 1 2 3



2 Responses to “Autumn Girl”

  1. November 23, 2010 at 8:00 am, Joanne said:

    Your story captivated me yet at the same time eased my worried mind. Thank you.

  2. November 26, 2010 at 7:57 pm, Bilbo Baggins said:

    I checked your Blog to see if you were indeed a pretty stranger. It’s safe to say you have a nice pair of cheeks, and a talent for writing short stories.


Leave a Reply




Via email: