September 25, 1901

Alice blinked a few times, looked at the creeping light along the floor of their bedroom, highlighting the dust notes in the air. It was time to get up, after all she had to remind Dorothy that Roy would prefer scrambled eggs, not poached.  

She brushes down her gown before opening the heavy curtains in aid to wake up her husband. Roy made an unusual sound, as if struggling to breathe, before going back to normal.

She took a moment. A moment to wonder where time went. He was getting older, after 8 years of marriage, his hair was stark grey compared to Alice's perfect head of brunette hair. It helps that she was 21 when they married; Roy was  36. They were completely in love- at the time. His lanky figure grew rounder- a protruding belly and fat rolls on his neck stole his once handsome face.

Dorothy fret over her apron and hair, making sure every strand was in its place. “Morning Mrs Lawrence, I’ve just finished cleaning the kitchen in preparation.”  

Alice smiled before taking a seat and flicking through the newspaper, “Thank you Dorothy,” she breathed.  

Roy thumped down the stairs, his feet heavy. He clumsily buttoned the first few bottom buttons before taking a break and sitting down ready for his scrambled eggs. “Did you tell her I wanted scrambled?”

Alice sipped her tea, “Yes, dear.”  It tasted odd this morning.

“Good,” he huffed before sipping his own tea and wishing he was allowed more sugar.  

Alice glanced over at him, pausing for a moment. “Dear?”  

 “What is it?” He grunted.

She tilted her head up to be on equal eye level, “You know, there’s a new café that opened in town. The Turkey Café, shall we go?” She breathed again.  

Roy took a sip of tea, a dribble escaped down into his stubble- he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “What’s wrong with our usual?” Usual was safe. He was used to it, familiar, he knew people there.  

Alice sat up straight, already accepting the answer was a firm 'no' but put on a smile anyway. “It’s nice to try new things once in a while, dear.”  

She didn't enjoy her breakfast. Dorothy was usually a heavenly cook.

But the eggs were too salty and the bacon too fatty.

Teenage Feelings - The Fall

It's not like me. To fall, into a hole so enticing, so deep, so empty with only one possible ending.
"It's so teenager of you."
But it's not like me.
I mean, yes, I know this hole. I am familiar. But I still haven't found a way to cling to the sides, to stop the fall, to "get a grip".
It's not like me.
I shouldn't fall.
I desire the roots of a tree to wrap around me, holding me in place where everything is motionless. Where time passes, yes, but I am stable. I am as confident as that tree to stay where I am and not let anyone sway me. Not unless they had a very big chainsaw, that is.
Stillness.
Instead, I fall.
Losing my grip, a quick slip of the hand when I was peacefully content with the world. The world of me. Losing my grip on the hopes of being carefree. Dropping into this known hole where hearts crumble.
The voice lulls me, a different voice than before, but nonetheless a deathly voice- so soothing and calm and deceiving. Eyes that piece through me, tearing me in two and paralysing me while I stare back, letting it take me, willing me to fall even deeper.
I must stop.
Small invisible cuts scrape away at my skin, almost covering every inch, hidden beneath a smile of optimism. I don't want to feel this- this ache, this wanting for what can never be.
I'm alone in this perpetual nightmare called lust. While I glare enviously at those that have someone to fall with- someone to hold their hand as they break like glass.
I am imperfect in every way that he is perfect.
There is no such thing as love, I tell myself. Only lust. When you fall into the pit of love, there is no recovery. So I convince myself, there is only lust- the need for something that will never be mine.
To be as stable and unwavering as a tree is a dream, to not move until forced to. To be glued to those roots, trapped in the embrace of loneliness, where my heart is protected from the inevitable.
But those piercing eyes and voice that melts the pain in my chest, it's okay to enjoy it for now though right?
When I reach the bottom with a thud or crash, laying there in the dirt and ash, another hollowness inside me.
At least I enjoyed the fall, before I reached the end.