McCorkell's Stories

Goodbye, I love you.

2008-07-21T13:46:16Z

And just like that it was finished. A sentence, a tear and a small, nervous smile waft over the wall that had been erected between us, silently isolating our hearts once more.

5 months floated between us as she returned my now still heart, cold and unfamiliar – I tossed hers back to her in mock gallantry, as if I wasn’t phased; happy to be friends once more – only to find myself curling down inside myself, huddling against my ego for warmth.

Our lips meet, for one last time my heart struggles a beat as it settles back into my chest. I look into her eyes, glistening and scared. My face is a monotone smile, without the colours of expression drained from it as I make an attempt to stay strong. I scream for my lip not to tremble but it will only obey for so long.

She picks up her bag and the socks she left once before, and leaves without a word, retreating to the glare of the day and escape of her car. Standing on my porch I watch her car pull away. She wipes a tear from her face and for the last time, I wave.

Heat

2007-11-19T04:52:30Z

The heat is like honey – sticky and difficult to get rid of. Thoughts yearn to the future winter as a feel like I’m melting in my chair. My fringe is wet and sticking to my forehead – it’s unbearable. My lethargy is such that I can’t even bring my self to move, so here I lay in the path of the fan’s relieving breeze.

I can’t move, I can’t think, I can barely breathe through this thick heat haze. The air is difficult to suck into my lungs – almost as if I need to chew it due to this god forsaken humidity. I’m certain now that the gates of hell have indeed opened up under my house and I’m burning alive – but with this humidity and heat – I’m so tired – so useless.

No relief just never ending waves of hot hell envelope me, beads of sweat rising above my skin and dripping down my cheeks like tears. The air is still except for the occasional sweep of the fan.

Finally I drift off to sleep and the heat leaves me. I’m in a bobsled team, naked and covered in snow – I’m shivering and I’m loving it! I love the cold.

Opposing Views | Same Scene

2007-11-17T03:15:56Z

Face down in the mud. Not just any mud though, I swear this could have supported a new life form in its dingy grey/green womb of horrible-ness. As I wiped the muck from my eyes I could see their piercing laughter, as I wiped it from my ears I could hear it too, and there – there he stood with his hands on his hips wearing a furious glare – I ran at him

I dodged the loser’s leap at me – he was asking for it the little worm. Reckons he can talk shit about my sister? Well, I didn’t actually hear him say anything, but Jack – the friend of my girlfriend’s cousin said he was – and that good enough for me! Another punch to my chin – I’m a bit dazzled but I can’t show it, I spin around to face him again, arms out to wrestle – I step foward

The ring of us around the two fighters screamed and yelled – one of these guys was in for a beating but I didn’t know which, not that it mattered, they were both arseholes anyway, let them fight, let them bleed. A body is pushed in my direction and I fall – Face down in the mud.

Procrastination

2007-11-16T13:37:42Z

flick flick flick
The cursor flicks a menacing laughter at me – taunting me about my lack of words on the page.

Time to check out my fridge. Procrastination, a writers best friend, come to visit me in fridge form – and as I open the magnet-covered door its like being lifted from one world to the next – a plethora of life and the odd horror dwelling in the musk of 30 day-old cheese and milk.

Battling against fungus like an alien life form I’m sucked into another dimension, parrying and dodging my away against the giant Cheddar Beasts and the 6 Month Old Leftover Overlord, the landscape molds and changes as I travel each shelf, thrusting and destroying my enemies from this world.

The glass is cold as I reach the vegetable drawer, filled to the brim with half eaten cans of sardines and beer – one can only battle so much and away I must retreat!

Open my eyes and I’m back at my desk. The cursor flicks its condescending laughter at me and my page is still empty.

But the clock consoles me, it’s been an hour.

Bottle Bound

2007-11-12T19:22:08Z

It always happened like this. He would get home and collapse in a sprawl on the couch, drained and broken, not a thought to grace his mind – the couch supporting him the way he so sorely needed to be.

Rain pitter-pattered and tapped a cold dance on the dark windows of his old house, the roof leaked, the wiring was shot, the term ‘crap shack’ barely defined his fortress. It was the only place he felt completely safe in, alone and warm – sinking into the folds of his under-stuffed sofa

But being alone grants one only so much comfort. His rain-soaked hair covered his red-raw eyes. She had left him a month ago now and yet the peaceful serene of drunken stupor appealed to him, freed him, loved him in the absence of real feeling.

Tears seared his eyes still – love had broiled his heart and he sometimes wandered if he would (or could) ever use it again.

Brown liquid crossed his lips and his head flopped back – he faced the ceiling and nothing entered his mind. Nothing but her face.

And he wept.