The gallimaufry approach to life

Far from me to want to deceive anyone into thinking this is based on my life. This is fiction. This little girl exists in my head but represents all those children abused and hurt by adults. I wanted to speak out about it from the child's perspective. Twisting a tuft of hair around my finger, I notice the harsh neon lights are making the burns on my forearm shine. 'Can you tell me more about Jimmy?' Another question. I don't want to answer, but have to, I know. I look down at my feet dangling, shifting my weight. The plastic chair is hard and uncomfortable. 'I remember the day he came to live with us. The doorbell rang. I thought it was the postman. I was wearing my sparkly hairband, the one Jimmy broke into a thousand pieces when I wouldn't put my shoes on. I opened the door. Mummy came running up behind me smiling. He looked friendly. He was holding a bunch of flowers for Mummy and Mr. Nibbles for me.' I pause, tightening my grip on the cuddly toy ...

My mother was a burlesque dancer. I say this with pride. After all, she brought me up in a swirl of sparkly nipple tassels, fringes, music, dancing, instilling in me a sense of whorled wonderment. 'Play Dream a Little Dream' she would say, and my father would literally sweep her off her sequined-slipper clad feet, spinning her round and round. Only my father could make her this dizzy. She would throw her head back, the sequins a blur of starry colour. Sometimes she would fall on the floor melodramatically. 'Again' she would insist. She would stand in front of me, looking down, batting those dark fake eyelashes. 'Dance with me.' she would say. Grabbing my wrists, she would pulled me towards her, my book clasped in my fingertips at arms length. There was never any point resisting her magnetic pull. I would be allowed to place my book open at the page I had reached on the seat of the pink velvet armchair. I would turn towards her and offer a gentlemanly bow. In my...

Tristen pulled out his hip flask and took a swig. Shaking the almost empty canteen, he downed the rest, his Adam's apple rising. The audible gulp rang out in the silence as the liquid gave rise to the familiar warmth. He checked the time yet again on his smart phone, the glow lighting his face. From a carefully chosen position at the end of the darkest part of the alley, a black clad figure stood waiting, watching the spectral head. She was dying for a fag, but that would have to wait. It is time, the walrus said. Pulling her hood lower over her face, determined soundless steps drew her nearer to the meeting point. 'Have you got it?' A whisper so mere that the disembodied voice floated in from the depths of darkness. 'Jeez, you scared the shit out of me.' His voice rang out in the obscurity, filling the air. 'Shh. Here's how we'll proceed...' A buzzing sound and the Star Wars imperial death march drowned out the voice. Tristen fumbled i...

'What do you mean they've cancelled Christmas? They can't do that. What about all the preparations I've made?' 'My mother says it's not her fault if you plan 6 months ahead for something they don't even celebrate.' 'But they said they were coming and then tell you to tell me they're not. On the 24th. That's not fair.' 'It's just that in the Netherlands we don't really celbrate Christmas if there aren't any kids.' I could tell he was running out of patience by the way his nostrils started to flare. 'Well that's sad.' 'It's not sad! It's just that my mother doesn't feel like celebrating twice that's all. After the 5th there's not much point really.' 'Ok I get it. Your mother doesn't like me.' 'I can't believe we're having this conversation again.' Then he stormed off, slamming the door behind him. I took another sip of sherry and got back to forcing...

I wrote this as part of a Futurelearn course to improve my skill. We had to imagine we were starting with, I remember. His brush strokes were powerful, his scrutiny intense. My naked body writhing twisted there on that dais. My nose was itching, the smell of oil paint tickling my nostrils, my nipples erect and puckering in the cold. He had forbidden me from moving. He had assured me that the ordeal would be over quickly. He had lied. He was engrossed in his own pleasure and I found myself at the mercy of his engorged ego.

'I love you.' he said looking at her hands folded over the crumpled white sheet, stars of light dancing off the red varnish on her perfectly manicured nails. She didn't take her eyes off the ceiling. 'OK' she said. OK? OK? Is that how she responds to the opening his heart to her, leaving him raw, exposed. It was her fault, she made him love her and he was sure she loved him too. She had to. There had been the gentle caresses, the way she way she ran her fingers over his balding head, the things she had told him that she'd never told anyone like her dream of becoming a nurse, and the love making, she couldn't have been faking it, could she? Could she? He stared at her tousled mane all aflame and pronounced the words once more. 'I. love. you.' he uttered each word one after the other because that was it, she hadn't understood what he'd said before. 'OK' same tone, eyes still on the ceiling. Then, she pulled her legs to her chest...

Cologne, Germany. Modern day reflecting on past events  Hans gripped his 27 year old granddaughter's  arm, her warmth and youth comforting him. She was so lucky she had not had to endure war, that she could enjoy being young. How it should be, he thought. They had reached their destination and stood at the foot of the steps leading up to an imposing building darkened by pollution and age. Most of Cologne had been destroyed during the war but not this monstrosity.  'Are you sure you want to go in, Opa? We could just go and eat cake.' He grunted and leaning on her arm, climbed up the steps.  As they passed the threshold, Lina watched her grandfather's expression. He was scowling his mouth set in a resolute grimace. She bought the tickets and was informed of the different exhibitions. 'I don't want to see the exhibitions. Just room 202 and the cells.'  The young man behind the desk explained 'The rooms were transformed in the 1980s when the old Gesta...