5 minute read

Don't Worry Darling

CREATIVE WRITING Fresh as a Daisy Stubborn Snowflake

by Eleanor Pritchard

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There are few feelings that suck more than waking up and being immediately aware that you are in for a very, very bad day. What makes it worse, is knowing that the only person who put you in this situation is yourself. It was, however, a very familiar feeling for her. What was unfamiliar, however, was the scent that met her nose as she blearily rolled over, not quite awake and very potentially still a tad drunk. The scent was crisp, acidic, maybe citrus-y. She breathed in deeply – a little too deeply. Her stomach somersaulted and she bit her lip hard, squeezing her eyes shut as the nausea rolled through her. That scent actually was familiar. The wine she’d been drinking last night. She curled up with a hand around her stomach, then withdrew her hand quickly. Her shirt was slightly damp. Spilled wine? She’d slept in the shirt over which she’d spilt wine? Horrendous. Without even sitting up properly, she peeled it off, along with the jeans she was still wearing. Passing out in her clothes, covered in wine? Gross. It was also embarrassing. She was old enough to handle herself better than this, surely. She forced herself to sit up, very slowly. Eyes still shut, arm curved around her stomach, as she hunched over in bed. She blindly reached out her other arm, hoping desperately that her drunk self had left a glass of water on the bedside table, and that she’d find it without having to expose her eyes to the light she knew would be leaking in through the thin drapes. Find a glass she did, but not very effectively – she poked it directly off the bedside table and onto the floor. She would have liked to swear very much, but was nervous about exerting any more energy than she needed to, for fear of reinvigorating the nausea. She slowly opened an eye. Win some, lose some. The floor was dry. Either she’d drained the cup in the night – morning? – without remembering, or her drunk self had never filled it in the first place, and had carried an empty cup upstairs. Either way. Ever so slowly, she heaved a leg over the side of the bed. Pause. Wait for the nausea to pass. Other leg. Pause. Slowly, slowly, ease weight onto legs. That’s it. Standing like Quasimodo, one arm still wrapped tight around her stomach as if she needed to be held together, she straightened up. Pause. Now, one step at a time. Dressing gown, arms into sleeves and wrap. Open the door. Wait. Fuck. She’d left the cup. One step at a time back again. Bend, retrieve cup, straighten. Long pause. Back to the door. Out. Down the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister rail. Was this worth it? Yes, screamed her dry mouth and aching head. The kind of aching that feels like your eyes are trying to force their way out of your skull to relieve the pressure. Down the hallway. Whole body weight through the heavy kitchen door. Stumble, bang into the wall. Ouch. “Morning sunshine!” Sarcastic housemate. She grunted in response, soldiering on towards the sink. Sarcastic housemate continues. “Fun night? I enjoyed hearing you trip up the stairs.” So that was why her knees hurt. “Fun? I’ll tell you when I remember,” she managed to squeeze out. Hand on the cold tap. Water glass full. Sip. Better. Ish. Something about a hungover brain always convinces you that water will completely save you, but it never does. Her sarcastic housemate looked gleeful. He’d gone home at midnight, said he needed an ‘early one’. She wished she’d gone with him. “Are you feeling as fantastic as you look?” She smiled thinly. “Fresh as a daisy, thanks.” A stubborn snowflake falls from the heavens, Individual, unique, separate, Disappearing for a second behind the cloud of breath, Eventually finding a cool resting place on my cheek. I felt that chill, that burst of Shocking Natural Electric Cold, cold snowflake just born from the clouds.

Soon, it is pollen that surrounds me Irritatingly. My eyes, my mouth, my nose, Nowhere is safe. But the bees buzzing give me comfort Knowing there is life around me. My ears tell that truth April showers do bring May flowers With the smell of rosy sweetness.

I feel ready to collapse again Heat beating down on me I feel all of it. The cicadas The sweat dripping down my back The sense of impending exhaustionBut it is comforting. An idea of a new season with new possibilities and excitement, Ice cream and sunshine, Swimming and drinking, Shown on my smiling face.

Of course I go to Starbies and get my pumpkin spice latte, Iced of course (I’m not a fiend). This is jumper weather. Jumpers and headphones almost ready for Mariah Ahhhh the excellence of pumpkin, ice, and caffeineI’m like the leaves, Multicoloured and falling free and falling

And falling And falling And falling And falling And Falling And I feel so

Fresh. The loss of you was fresh. All the snowflakes on my cheeks, All the flowers in my nose, All the sunshine on my face, All the pumpkin spice on my tongue, I feel it, But I feel you more. And this life feels new. It feels fresh. But why does it feel fresh and not like the snowflake? (Its chilling touch is exciting) Why does it feel fresh and not like the flowers? (Its scent makes me swoon) Like the sunshine? (Its rays bring joy and happiness) The pumpkin spice? (Its taste feels exhilarating)

It feels fresh like the smell of mould or headaches that cloud your mind and you can’t think of anything or vomit or panic attacks when the world suddenly goes into high focus or having a fever dream or being hurt or when you have blood drawn or stubbing your toe or getting cologne in your eye or a paper cut or getting electrocuted or a bad trip or having a family member die or arriving late and everyone looking at you or rotten food in the fridge or crying or like shit shit shit shit shi-

The snowflake comes and rests on my cheek once more.

by Nelson Kalberer

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