Darkness | a little bird tweets

What made me become a writer?

The writing seed was planted inside me one rainy Sunday in 2004, while I was relaxing and reading in my ridiculously-small-rented-room in South-East London. I had been browsing the book section of a Croydon charity shop the day before, and had been instantly grabbed by a beautifully dreary front cover, and a sinister title. The book was called ‘Beneath the Skin’ by Nicci French. I had read the premise, test-read a random page (as I always do after plucking a book from the shelf), and had carried it straight to the till.

That Sunday afternoon I had downed numerous cups of tea – the heat of the liquid had fused with the irresistible chill that the pages were breathing into me. I turned page, after page, after page, until I reached the end. My instant thought upon closing the cover was ‘I wish I had written this book.’ Actually, I might have even whispered it aloud into those four walls.

I had fallen asleep that night with the book, the characters whirling around in my mind. The fear, darkness, reality, and loneliness that the book had aroused in me, had had even more effect in the darkness of the night, under the glow of the moon. I knew I would never forget this book. It had created an itch in my heart.

The following day I had been at work. I had clicked Google in my lunch hour. And in the search bar I clicked ‘How to write a novel’.

My obsession had begun.

– – – –

An excerpt from Goodreads;

“When she laughs, she makes a pealing sound, like a doorbell. If I told her I loved her, she would laugh at me like that. She would think I was not serious. That is what women do. They turn what is serious and big into a small thing, a joke. Love is not a joke. It is a matter of life and death. One day, soon, she will understand that.”

The Oasis

With time, she longs to wither away; like a flower that has succumbed to frost, in the onset of autumn. She seeks solace in quiet corners, in solitude, where four walls assist to extract the misery from her mind, the tears from her heart. She shifts her head to a dry, soothing part of the pillow and stares at the ceiling; her watery eyes flick to a spider that meanders purposefully, and she wonders where it is headed, she longs to follow it.

‘Please find me a new magical world, far from this coldness, this darkness.’ She whispers.

Her pleading words reverberate repeatedly off the walls, and lull her eyes to close, her thoughts to float aimlessly; and then her monochrome world begins to disintegrate.

‘Welcome to the enchanted land of Bali.’ A voice speaks.

She smiles at the hospitable words of the guru. The creases in his forehead express much wisdom; his aged hands would no doubt dramatize many a virtuous story from his past, she thought.

‘You are invited to absorb this beautiful paradise, where people come to heal. Take warmth from the dazzling sun; let it infiltrate your body and renew you. Let the wondrous tropical fish overwhelm you with their beauty, colour and movement. Fix your senses on the nearby orange gerberas and let their fragrance calm your spirit, awaken you. May all of the nature here hypnotize; fill you with joy and wonder. Remember, you can visit this Oasis at anytime. It’s your retreat.’

She absorbs every word the guru offers, and explores the lands in delight. She smiles at his hospitable words once more; before the Oasis slowly disappears from her.

She awakes. She is content. She is transformed. She looks up to the ceiling; the spider has gone. She thanks it for its inspiration. She thanks the guru for her journey. She thanks the world for offering its warmth, its gift. She thanks the world for her life.