Login   Sign Up 


Running On Empty

by BorderBound 

Posted: 25 March 2005
Word Count: 5066
Summary: Finished! - Apart from some typos etc, that I will change, eventually.

Font Size

Printable Version
Print Double spaced

Content Warning
This piece and/or subsequent comments may contain strong language.

Running on Empty
By Gal Israel

I went to the funeral. I didn’t want to – Paul made me, he said that if I didn’t go I’d always regret it – and that the empty feeling inside would never go away. I tried to tell him, but he’ll never understand that sometimes that empty feeling was the only comfort I had. He’ll never understand because I never explain. It was always there, always welcoming me with sobriety in the morning after another drunken night – those half-aware adventures that always stand out and yet are just in line with the others. Another I-couldn’t-care-less-façade added to its long list of lies. Lies I lived and stood by, but Paul saw through that. I think sometimes that Paul would save me… that he could understand if I explained my friendship with emptiness. He’d been so good those last few weeks… I almost confessed. Confessed, surely a word that sinners use. Sometimes I felt like a sinner. Sometimes emptiness forgives me.
I met him eight years ago; I was one of his one night stands. He left me in a hotel room with a big bill and no way home. We met again three years ago, he had changed a lot in the last five years, he didn’t remember me… I never mentioned it. I think if I ever told him he’d laugh it off… embarrassed at his past. But aren’t we all, in some small way ashamed of something we’ve done. Something we used to be or stand for. I think everyone has an acre of regret. Even those that live by those phrases… ‘Regret nothing’ ‘things happen for a reason’ liars.
The rows of people in black moved away from the coffin. I went to look. Her hard face. White, of course. They had obviously made her up, bright red lipstick that had gone out of fashion years ago, but she refused to let it go. Thick black mascara on both her upper and lower lashes and a brown line on the bottom of her top eyelid. Just the way I remembered her.
Her eyes were closed but she made me so crazy that for a second I thought she looked at me. For a moment I grieved her, for a second I almost let the second face fall and cried.
He stood next to me and looked at the coffin. Her hard face, I half believed that she smiled at him. Well I did want to turn around and face him, look him straight in the face. Instead I gripped the coffins edges and dug my focus into her eyes. I looked at her with every inch if effort… still it seemed like all she did was look at him. So I thought maybe I should see what the fuss was about, I turned to him.
Those angel blue eyes. Dimples, he hadn’t lost them. He looked at me and I wondered if he remembered me. He didn’t, he made that clear when he turned back to face the coffin.
“She really was something” I did not turn to the coffin, I did not talk back. I held my silence and breathed in his energy. He always had so much of it, he stole mine. “Thank you for coming” He smiled and turned away to a group of middle-aged men. His friends, I gathered. Could a man like that have friends? Real friends… were those people his fans? Did they know about me? Or was I just another secret? One in a long line of secrets that that family had to keep.
It was cold and raining and I had no umbrella. Perhaps that’s why it rained. I stood at the back of the crowd as they walked towards the graveyard, hiding between the black jackets and crying faces, worn faces that perhaps if life had been different, I might have recognized, I should have remembered them. But I didn’t. I didn’t recall their faces or their nature or their smiles. In fact when I think about it, I don’t remember any smiles.
The priest spoke a few words. There was a large crowd, I wasn’t sure whether I was surprised or not. Should a woman like her have friends? Are these people her fans? Did she tell them, or was it a secret? Or maybe she herself had forgotten, perhaps it was never all that important to her. It couldn’t have been… surely. The rain poured harder, it hit the coffin and fed the weeping crowd more tears. I didn’t cry, I stood there with a black face and a full mind… time was ticking away. What was I doing there…?
That’s when he got up. The only face I did recognize, or was it his voice… his nature, his style. He got up in front of the crowd, hard tears in the corners of his eyes but he wiped them away. G-d forbid he let his ego down. He told the crowd about her. He even used the word love. Then he mentioned that man that I had never met… he used the love word for him too. He spoke calmly, slowly… compassionately. He spoke words of love about everyone. Everyone but me.
The rain stopped. The dark clouds were swept away by the strong wings. The sun peeked through the small cirrus clouds, edging out until it finally shone proudly above the fields, reflecting on the tombstones and making all the names and loving last words shine. He called out to me. “I’ll see you at The wake”
No doubt he wanted to know who I was. Talk to me and find out how I knew her, whether we were close. I looked at him, then I turned my gaze to the
Tombstone. She had love for everyone but me and I’ll never understand why.
Perhaps that was because no one had ever explained it to me, not really.
Maybe it was as simple as my relation with emptiness. So simple that everyone around me found it too complicated to deal with. They all left me.
I was just a little girl.


The kitchen table used to be so far away. Now I can reach the top. I love the kitchen because it’s where the fridge is. And the fridge is my bestest friend! Well, my second bestest friend… my first and most real bestest friend is Mr Bear because he is fluffy and has big black eyes and a small nose and no mouth (so I don’t need to worry about him stealing my food) After Mr Bear and the fridge comes Wormy. I found Wormy yesterday in the garden. He was in the mud. I didn’t want to get him but Mr Bear told me that I should. So I did. I love Mr Bear.
My brother is a pooh-pooh, he burnt Mr Bear’s legs when he put him in the oven. I cried but mummy said if I stop crying she’ll fix him. I stopped crying but he is still burnt. My mummy told my brother to stop being horrible. My mummy is tall and pretty with blue eyes. I asked her if she
thinks that I’m pretty and she said that maybe when I was all growned up I would look better.
Today Mr Bear and I are going to see Wormy again. I called him Wormy cause he a worm, not a long worm though, just a little one I think he is a baby. First were going to the fridge to get food for Wormy. I don’t know what food Wormy eats, but I thinks he likes chicken because everyone likes chicken. Mummy bought a big chicken from food shop and brought home for us to eats.
So I will give it to Wormy. He needs lots cause he is just little.
I got on my tummy so that I was flat so I could see him better. I don’t think he has eyes though so he can’t see me but I hope he can smell so he can smell chicken!
“Hi Wormy”
Wormy wiggled but didn’t move to the chicken so I picked him up and put him on it and when mummy came outside she wasn’t very happy with me.
“SOPHIE!” you can tell when she’s angry at me cause that’s when she uses her outside voice. If she wasn’t mad at me she says it in her head. Like when I say I love you, she says it back in her inside voice. “DARREN! Come sort your sister out!!” mummy picked up Wormy and held him in my face, “what the hell is this!”
Mummy dropped Wormy next to my head “DARREN!”
Darren is my pooh-pooh brother. He is a big boy, he is 12 and I am three.
Three is not big but not as little as two or one.
“Your bloody sister…” mummy pointed at the chicken and told him that I put
Wormy on it and he laughed. I looked up at them and then whispered to Wormy who was still wiggling.
“I don’t think you’re going to get you’re chicken Wormy”


Hate is not a feeling that I rely on. I never have. If I relied on hate then I would have never forgiven Paul and we would never be together now. I think people need hate; it helps them get over things. Sometimes it’s too easy to hate. Well instead of hate I spend every waking minute, every second born into my world to choose my disagreements with it and all the people it gives alleged meaning to. I disagree with everything.
Silence filled the space. And that space was everywhere that I went. It followed me like a dark cloud. I hated that life led you to those dark places. I hated that life chased you until you learnt. Fate. I believe in fate because I don’t want to accept that the things that I want to do, the things that I know that eventually I will do, the idea’s that I plan in my head as adventures that I could never chase… are my fault. Fate lets me blame G-d.
I didn’t want to go to the wake. I called Paul but he insisted that I went. He kept telling me how I needed this, how I needed to seem them all again, to learn about my past. He didn’t get it. I knew my past. It didn’t matter how young I was, I remember every detail, every stench of morning breakfasts, every taste that I snuck of her morning tea. The details never decay, they get bolder and stay right at the front of my mind. I don’t remember faces. I barely remember names. But every now and again when history repeats itself my heart cries and calls for a loitering memory. A memory that has been hidden for many years. Maybe I pushed it back. Maybe it was too long ago now. Hate is not a feeling that I rely on. Neither is sadness. I don’t cry. Crying doesn’t achieve anything; it totally belittles you. And there’s nothing worse then being small. Still, I believe that I will eventually remember every tear that fell and that very second that they stopped falling.


I sat there with a bottle of whisky. Whisky I’ve found – does achieve something, and it is something I welcome into my nights, days, mornings. I rely on whisky to keep me sane. He still had his curly hair too… I wondered if he looked like me, in any way at all. We had the same eyes, so I guess it was a lie that eyes are the mirror to the soul. Either that or a very hard-to-accept truth that I’m anything like him. G-d forbid. The photos were hung on the left side of the room only. I searched and searched, but there were no pictures of me.


Mr Bear and me have been looking for mummy all day long! Darren, pooh pooh head, has friends over and he is in his room listening to music. Darren’s friends are also pooh. I took wormy inside house today so that mummy wouldn’t be mad. Me and Mr Bear and Wormy and Fridge sat on floor and talked about stuff.
“Ew! Darren, you’re stupid sister’s playing with a worm”
“Sophie! You can’t bring the worm into kitchen! Mum will kill you”
I looked at pooh pooh brother; he was so silly sometimes, “no! Mummy doesn’t want me to take chicken outside!”
“No you idiot!” Darren picked up Wormy by his tummy and threw him outside
“NO!” I got up fast as I could and ran to wormy. Darren stopped me and closed the door. He turned to his pooh pooh friends.
“Hold her still”
Darren is horrible. Darren killed wormy. I cried and cried and cried but mummy never came home.


“Thank you for coming”
I turned to look at him, and then turned back to the photographs, “there are some great photos here”
He picked one up, “she had a thing about keeping photographs” He put it back down gently and turned to me, “How did you know her?”
“Oh – I haven’t seen her for… a long time”
“Must have been a shock”
“It was… are you her only child?”
“Na, I have a sister” Suddenly my heart started racing. He did remember. I looked at him as he continued, “she’s just over there, I’ll introduce you”
He moved away from me, left me with all the smiling photographs. Portraits of a happy family. He disappeared into the crowd only to reappear with another woman. A much younger woman.
I smiled and started acting so that I wouldn’t fall apart. “Why, you two can’t be siblings, there must be at least ten years between you”
The young woman smiled, “there’s 12 years between us” and he hugged her.
Confusion starts as little seed thoughts, virgin thoughts that are born into my mind, totally inexperienced in how to deal with the real world. I have to get away from here.
“Darling… you have to stay, you’ll regret it if you don’t”
“No…” my words were half broken, I cried down the line to Paul, hiding in the toilets. “You don’t understand… I can’t stay here”
“You knew it would be bad, just stay for a little longer”


Wormy was smooched. Darren laughed.
“She can’t hear you you idiot, she’s not home”
“MUMMY!!” I shrieked
“She doesn’t care about your stupid worm!”
I sat next to fridge and hugged Mr Bear. Mummy was probably using her inside voice.


I left about three seconds after I hang up with Paul. There was no way that I could stay. He kissed my cheek before I left, and shook my hand.
“Thank you again”
I smiled, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond, I lowered my head and headed for the door. Just as I had closed it behind me, just before I dropt the act, the door opened again. He walked out,
“Listen… if you ever want to, well- hang, let me know”
“Yeah, well – I know that this is a funeral, but life goes on you know”
“Excuse me?”
He smiled, showing off his dimples once more, “I’m asking you out”
“At a funeral?”
“Not very conventional, I know”
“You don’t even know my name”
“Tell me”
I quickly came up with a lie, “Claire” I stared at him blankly for a few seconds. Bastard. “I’m not single”
“Neither am I”
“I don’t cheat”
He took out a black marker from his pocket and grabbed hold of my hand. As he scribbled down his number on my wrist he said to me, “sex is like a secret, everyone wants to know, no one can keep it to themselves, and its more fun when no one knows”


Been 3 days now I think. I’ve slept 2 times. Darren’s friends are here all the time and they are horrible too. Mr Bear and I aren’t allowed to leave my room. I’m hungry.
“Sophie…” the door creaked open, Darren stuck his head in and smiled “You hungry…”
I got up fast! “YES!”
“You want some food?”
“YES!” I looked up at him smiling widely. “I want to see Fridge!”
“NO!” he yelled and pushed me,
“But Darren! I’m hungry!”
He picked me up and put me on the bed, “Guys! Come in!” He looked at me and smiled again, Darren’s three pooh pooh friends came in.
“Darren man, leave it”
“Shut up you coward” Darren got off my bed and took down his trousers.
“You’re still in your PJ’s Sophie…”


I lingered home on a three-bus journey. I never leant to drive, that would make it too easy to run away. I stood at the front door for a few long seconds before getting out my keys. Sometimes it was just a house and not a home at all. It had rained all the way home. It was dark now. I walked in, took off my coat and put it on the radiator.
“Paul?” tired, I walked straight to bed. I opened the door, “Paul?” I turned on the lights.
And there they were. In bed, together. My eyes wild and my tears justified,
“Sophie…” I smiled another fake sign of bravery. I looked at her, some woman, never seen her before, didn’t make it any worse or any better. I smiled her out of embarrassment, closed the lights again, closed the door. I reached for my jacket that hung, still drenched, on the radiator. I heard the bedroom door swing open almost violently. “Sophie-” I turned to face him. I put so much effort into not crying that my face hurt. I stood there and waited for him to say something. Anything that could have made his actions any less painful. I only went to that funeral because he said I should. “Its just sex Sophie”


“Leave Mr Bear alone!”
“Aw, come on Sophie… its just a game”
“Sophie…” he teased, “come out from under the bed and get Mr Bear”
“Well then… I guess were going to have to hurt him”
“Darren! No!” I peaked from under the bed to where they were standing, but I couldn’t see Mr Bear, I crawled nearer to the edge so that I could see what they were doing, “Mr Bear?” I whispered, “I’m going to save you”


Love is overrated and over-thought about. Although a large majority of the world are for love and either have it or long for it, there is a small, perhaps more grounded percentage that deny its existence. Those are the people who state that love is a society-forced feeling and that people around you make you feel like love is just another one of those natural occurrences and that you must have it, and lots of it. Those people usually have a lot of sex and break a lot of hearts. Paul was like that. Correction. Paul is like that. And I must learn that people don’t change.
In that small percentage of people, there is an even smaller percentage that believes that there is no such thing is unconditional love, such as love for a family member. And in that there is a smaller group who don’t believe in lust. I mean really don’t believe in it, not just the ones who’ve never scored with anyone and therefore blame it on lust not existing, and not on their relatively unattractive looks personality or financial situation. The three things that can turn a person on or off instantly. Somewhere in that small group, is where I belong.


I didn’t want to go back to the flat. Its always distressing when you realise you have nowhere to go to. And it’s always shocking that it’s still surprising. Some things you just don’t get used to. Why would you want to get used to something bad?
He sat at the kitchen table. I hadn’t realised how empty and plain the flat was. White walls, stained that had never been cleaned. Light blue curtains with an ash-grey tinge. The air was nicotine stained, the furniture was cheap and falling apart. He looked at me as I entered the room, soaked to the skin; my clothes looked black and stuck to me. My hair fell across my face but I was too afraid to move the free strands from my eyes. Sometimes I think my hair is the only part of my body that knows how to celebrate its existence. Single lines of brown hair, wet, over my face and in my eyes. I walked straight past him. Angela stood in the doorway blocking my path. I couldn’t look at her. She had Darren’s dimples, Darren’s blue eyes. I turned back to Paul. He looked at me without any emotion.
“We need to talk Sophie”


The black writing on my arm had almost faded. But I only had to look once at those numbers to remember them. The mind can do amazing thing when in distress. Paul used Angela to try and keep me. No one ever keeps me. It wasn’t going to change now. Even Angela, who had done nothing wrong, would not be able to keep me. She stood in the doorway, adamant not to let me through. She looked at me with her angelic eyes.
“Don’t go muma”
I turned around to see Paul as he smiled at her, “she’s not going anywhere hunny, go to bed”
Angela smiled, “kiss me” I couldn’t. I looked at her, yearning for love. There was none in me to give me and no fight to project any hope to one day have any. “Kiss me” she repeated in her pre 4-year old voice. The age where you really do think that your parents can do anything.
“Kiss her Sophie”
“At least kiss my bear muma” she held him high. Holding him by his paw. I didn’t look in her direction. I spoke directly to Paul.
“I’m going out”
“You’ve just been out”
“I’m going out again”
“Oh please, Sophie, be serious – you have no where to go”


It had been nearly 2hours since I had spoken to him. His drunken distorted voice. His words were like small rocks eroding against a soft surface. I didn’t have to see him to know he was smiling. And then I felt his smile just before her tapped on my shoulder.
“You made it”
I turned to him, raised one eyebrow, “I don’t disappoint”
“A woman who aims to please, I like that…”
“Mmm… so, where are you taking me?”
“Maverick, it’s a local club – you’ll love it”
“Will I?”
“Yeah… I know you’re type”
“My type…?”


The club was purple and red and orange. A designers nightmare, or muse… sometimes it’s the ugly people that encourage others to look their best. The music was noise and it leaked through the walls and ceilings so that there was no hiding from it. I could have got away with it. And I would have done… it would have all gone so well. But she was there and I wanted to know her.
“Are you close?”
“You and Darren… there’s a big age gap between the two of you… are you close?”
“Oh, yeah! He’s my rock!”
Lights flashed, noise soared, the people pushed me until I felt caved in by my surroundings. The air was tainted with alcohol. The floor with muddy footprints. Empty bodies loomed on the dance floor, bags under their eyes, I wondered if their souls were still somewhere inside them.
Her rock? I had always hidden behind the flame. I had always told myself that he was to blame. That that family had ruined me. That they were evil and sick. But he treated her like an angel. Maybe it was me. The crowd clapped as an obviously fashionable song came on. The noise suddenly turned into whisper. It was happening again. First at my fingertips, then my toes… my knee’s shook and my head swung. I was shaking. I couldn’t stop. I closed my eyes embarrassed. Darren yelled at me… “Go Claire!” The crowd pushed me onto the middle platform. I opened my eyes for a few half seconds to see a cheering audience. They thought I was dancing.


“Tell me what happened?”
“He killed him!”
She looked up to the person next to her, “we need an exact age”
“Says here she’s three”
She got on her knees and smiled. “Its Sophie right?”
“I want my mummy!”
“Do you know where she’s gone?”
“He was my bestest friend”
“Who was?”
“Mr Bear, he killed him” water went down my cheeks. The woman wiped them away. The man picked me up, put me in the car and took me away from home. I looked out of the window of the police car. Darren was talking to other woman. I waved to him. “Bye bye Darren. Bye bye Mr Bear”


The house seemed colder, if possible, then during the wake. He brought me a drink. He smiled, showing off his features; well he didn’t have to work for me. I was going to give him what he wanted. Because I figured that he didn’t want it anymore. It wasn’t me, it wasn’t him. The reasons for the past happening were lost in the timeline. Puberty, maturity, responsibility, that had taken that evil away from him. He was just a horny bastard. Well just because someone changes doesn’t mean I have to forget. It doesn’t mean I have to forgive them. It doesn’t mean I can’t put all my energy into destroying him.
He kissed me. He took my top off. He had a bit of trouble with my bra but he managed it eventually. Fucked me against the wall.
“Have I changed at all?”
“Since when?”
“Since before we lost touch”
He smiled, sat on the couch naked and put his feet up. “When did we loose touch?” he thought I was playing a game. He thought I was flirting.
“When they took me away”
He raised one eyebrow and sipped his wine, “who?”
“The police, you hadn’t been going to school because she didn’t make you. She didn’t make you because she disappeared. The police came to see why you weren’t in school” I kept a straight face. A few stranded tears fell down my face but my eyes were fixed and I was determined to have this conversation. “But when they came they found that I was left too… and you hadn’t been looking after me. They took me away”
He sat there, naked, looking at me.
“So I’m just wondering… have I changed? Am I a better fuck now?”
“Get out” he stood and walked away, came back dressed. I hadn’t moved. I didn’t want his anger or his guilt or the disgust that he had for himself to be projected as hate towards me. I didn’t even want an apology… I just wanted his unconditional innocent love. I wanted him to want to protect me.
He grabbed me by my hair, I was still half undressed, he dragged me towards the door,
“Darren, please just listen”
“You stupid slut, get out of here”
“Darren stop!” he pushed me against the door and lifted my face making sure that we made eye contact. “Darren! You’re hurting me!!”
He unlocked the door and swung it open quickly so that I fell on the floor. He slammed it shut. But I felt his presence on the other side of the door. I felt its heat. I got back on my feet and pushed my fists into the door.
“You don’t fancy me anymore! You don’t want to fuck me!! ITS JUST SEX!!”


I walked home with madness stirring. I only ever wanted two things out of life. I wanted to drift in and out of life like everyone else did. Hover through life carelessly as if nothing would affect permanently. And I wanted to free myself from the hate. I would have killed myself if it wasn’t for Angela. My mother was a headcase. I never knew my father. I’m a mess. Paul’s got nothing stopping him from walking out. No morals or emotion. Angela would turn out just like me. Darren’s words echoed through my head. It wasn’t that he couldn’t face up to what he used to be or how he affected me, it was that he didn’t care. Madness stirred deeper. I just wanted to float, just like everyone else.


She got in the car as requested, sat there smiling at me as I leant in and put her seatbelt on.
“Muma, I love you” I smiled and started to close the door. “Muma?” she smiled as I closed it. I walked over to the other side and got in the car.
The driver missed the hints that I wanted little conversation and instead insisted on harassing me with mindless banter.
“You see that documentary last night?”
“About butterflies?”
“Amazing creatures them, short lived, but worth it huh”
I didn’t answer. And he didn’t try and enrol me in conversation again. The rain hit the car. It always rained on me. I turned to face my offspring. My darling Angela, another product of an arsehole and a head case. The cycle goes on.


Love is overrated and over-thought about. There’s no such thing as unconditional love. Parts of me didn’t totally agree with that bold statement anymore. This was going to be an act of love. Murder. I’m killing her so that the cycle will stop.
I carried her through the oceans tide. The waves came in and out, in and out. Promising me that they’d allow me to float, hitting my feet, then my knees, then my stomach. She clung to me but she wasn’t scared. She trusted me.
“I love you mummy”
I carried on walking, my eyes wild and tears justified. The wind carried the water over her hair, over my shoulders. I was almost floating… I felt her body get cold. She clung to me. She wasn’t scared. She trusted me. She was just a little girl.

Favourite this work Favourite This Author

Comments by other Members

Jumbo at 18:28 on 26 March 2005  Report this post

First, can I say welcome to WW!

This is a great piece of writing, with some real emotion bound into it. It had me hooked from the start and then carried me through to the final paragraph.

If I can make a couple of comments: I did feel that the piece settled down more after that initial introduction of Mr Bear, the fridge and Wormy (brilliant).

In the first section, I found the writing quite edgy, sometimes hard to follow and full of repetitions, some of which I took to be on purpose; others I wasn’t quite so sure about.

For example he didn’t remember me and then later I wonder if he remembered me.

There are also a couple of questions re the funeral. It seems to be set at the church? Is that right? Do they have open coffins at churches? I thought that by that time the casket was sealed.

And don’t people in coffins have their eyes closed?‘still it seemed like all she did was look at him.’

You might also want to consider whether or not all of our dialogue should start with a capital letter. eg Excuse me?[i/] rather than excuse me?

As I said, this is really powerful writing, and worth tightening up. Do you have plans for it?

I look forward to reading more.

All the best



sorry about the italics

BorderBound at 20:32 on 26 March 2005  Report this post
cheers, - a HUGE problem I have is consistency, - in terms of research, if that means much to you,

and sometimes - i just don't care if somethings 'real' as long as it 'works'

- yeah, I have the whole thing in my head, its just writting it down...

ah, I will get there eventually.

I'll post the second half and revise the first!


Joel at 17:05 on 27 March 2005  Report this post
Hi Border bound,

I thought this was really powerful. From the very first paragraph I was gripped. Lots of questions are raised at the beginning to make me want to carry on reading and the internal dialogue going gives a real insight into the traumatized mind of Sophie.
I thought the scenes where we get a glimpse into her childhood are brilliant. I have never attempted to create a child character, but I imagine to get it right is a real challenge. You manage it and as I reader I was completely convinced. Not only did this help me understand what happened but it made me really like Sophie.
By the end I felt so sorry for Sophie my stomach was in knots. At first I thought she might have been abused as a child, then I came to the conclusion she was adopted. This in itself was enough reason to sympathy with her, but you pile on the misery. First of all she is introduced to another sister born after she was adopted, then her brother asks her out, then it is implied her brother abused her and finally we discover her boyfriend only wanted her to go to the funeral so he could get it on with another girl. I don’t think I can handle her suffering anymore!

The only thing I might consider changing is the length. I thought the opening scene at the funeral was a bit too long and tended to repeat itself.

Presumably the second half will be the same length and I think it might be more difficult to get it published if it’s seven thousand words.

I really look forward to the next half. I hope that things turn around for Sophie, I think she deserves a bit of good luck, don’t you?

Thanks for putting this up. It’s the best thing I have read on here for ages. I wish I had written it!



BorderBound at 09:03 on 29 March 2005  Report this post

Thank you so much,

Its weird, I don't see myself as a good writer in any way whatsoever so its always nice to get good feedback!

I hope the end will be about 5,000words. The second half isn't going to be as long - its not really another half as such.

Hopefully it will be on by tomorrow,

Cheers again,

Borderline Borderbound

Jumbo at 23:23 on 11 April 2005  Report this post

As i suspected from reading the first section of this - a wonderful piece of writing - with some strong, hard-hitting emotional content.

And the final scene when she takes her daughter out into the ocean. Very powerful.

All the best


To post comments you need to become a member. If you are already a member, please log in .