Creative Writing

Defenestration: creative writing

I thought the door was open and the window shut – a trick of the light, perhaps. I heard the former slam as you pushed me out the latter. As I fell I looked up into your face. You were pressing your forefinger into the space between your eyebrows. Your thumb was on your lip. I’ve lain for a while on this damp ground. The cold has seeped into my limbs and I am numb. I still do not remember landing. I sit and pick the harsh shards of glass from my flesh. They are a mountain beside me, and my skin itches from the scabbing wounds.

I haul myself up, dragging my broken body through the day. This is a new normality, a tiptoe where there used to be a confident tread: your footprints are everywhere and I am swaying between the cracks. Friends are tightrope artists on their lines, each slow step fusing bones. Your footprints shallow, and my bruises yellow.

By the time I crawl into bed my exterior is fresh, fixed, new. My organs are still displaced – my stomach sits too low in my torso and my heart skitters in my throat. There is an uncomfortable hole where my diaphragm should be. I hope the night will heal my pain.

The next morning I wake up falling.

 

16/09/2014

About Author

Avatar

victoriamaitland


Calendar
February 2021
M T W T F S S
1234567
891011121314
15161718192021
22232425262728
Latest Comments
About Us

The University of East Anglia’s official student newspaper. Concrete is in print and online.

If you would like to get in touch, email the Editor on Concrete.Editor@uea.ac.uk. Follow us at @ConcreteUEA.