Georgia Hamblett & Alex Tyndall
We opened this year in September with a creative showcase titled ‘Beginnings’. Since then, we have seen our writers produce some very incredible pieces, from heartbreaking narratives to beautiful descriptives and masterful poems. To bookend everything our contributors have achieved this year, we bring you ‘Endings’: our final creative showcase.
Endings
She knew this was the end. She knew the months and months of moronic aching would climax at some point. And it would appear that day was today. Ever since she had first felt the swelling, almost a year ago now, she had known she was not only the predator of pleasure but also the prey of pain. It blew her mind that something which began as a single cell yielded the power to turn someone’s life on its head. She longed for a fairytale ending- she wanted her family to be there and to be surrounded by loved ones. Yet she knew that wouldn’t be the case. Caring had only been fashionable in the early stages and no doubt would become, briefly, popular again. But once the crying stopped and the cards had been taken down, she knew the rest of the world would sail by smoothly, evermore able to avoid the choppy waters in which she had drowned.
A wave of pain engulfed her as she tried to move from the bed. She knew she must ring the ambulance, no matter how much she wanted to let the discomfort wash her away. The doctor had told her to ring for help when she felt things changing. Maybe now wouldn’t be a bad time to start listening to the advice of others. She crawled to her mobile like a baby yet there was no crib or pram in sight. Her hand chased the numbers on the keypad as she rang for help. Her hands, once pure and clean, now stained with blood and dripping with fear. Deep breaths, she told herself. Help is coming, the end is nearly here.
Everything blurred when the paramedics arrived. She was thrust onto gas and air which made her thoughts wavy and the pain less profound. She knew she was crying, not because of the pain, but because of the lack thereof. Despite the daggers in her stomach, she felt the touch of a paramedic’s hand on her arm and remedy of their reassurance in her ear. That, for her, helped balm the deepest wound.
‘You can do it, lovely,’ said the female paramedic firmly, ‘deep breaths now – 1, 2, 3.’ The paramedic made it sound so easy, breathing, living. She followed, puffing up her cheeks like a toddler and blowing out the fetid air which lurked inside her. She tried to keep her breathe steady and her body relaxed as she closed her eyes and the limp head lay in the hands of the midwife.
When she held her baby in her arms, she was carried away by an unexpected wave. It was one of unrelenting love and urge to nurture. How could it not be, looking at the honest eyes which hung on her? She stroked the blank canvas of her baby’s skin, held his gracious little head.
She had been sure this would be the end. Yet could this be the beginning?
Georgia Hamblett
Take something with you
I feel the end approaching,
the rumble in the ground,
as we perch upon the hilltop,
a panoramic view around
of the houses we grew up in,
of the small back streets we know,
of a town no longer recognised
as a place to call our home.
The whispering grows louder
in the darkness of the wings –
a final light crosses the stage
as the curtain call begins.
The actors take their places
in poised perfected lines;
the band strikes up its last hurrah,
a swan song for end times.
We drive down roads familiar
with the sunset gold behind;
it catches in the rear-view mirror
and sparkles in your eyes.
From one life to another –
together we face a new day;
this chapter’s ending has been written:
the next part is on the way.
This is no time for tears,
for lamenting or regret;
we’ve made our bed, we lie in it,
we say goodbye – and yet
this time won’t be forgotten,
we take something along:
our friendships, loves, and memories
to remember what was – and what’s gone.
Alex Tyndall
Featured image courtesy of Dakota Roos via Unsplash. Image license can be found here. Article images courtesy of Sarah MacAllan.
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