Gathering her skirts, Diana rushed through the front door of the Manor towards the stables. Leaning against the stable wall, a rusted contraption resembling a wagon marred the otherwise perfectly manicured countryside.

“There she is!”

Diana’s pursuers were gaining quickly, but she ran faster, not daring to look back.

She hoped the capsule clutched in her hand would work. “Portable Steam” father had called it. Wrenching open the boiler at the base of the wagon, she threw it in, then pressed the buttons and pulled levers as she had been taught.

The wagon spread its wings and she was off.

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Title: This Is
Author: Miriam Bosiljevac
Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Rating: Mature
Wordcount: 704
Author’s Note: Story written for Scott, in honour of his birthday. Section titles taken from songs by the Clash.
Summary: Once upon a time, there was an angry girl, who used to wear torn t-shirts, dyed her hair blue and green, and had 8 pairs of converse shoes.

i. London Calling

The Clash was blaring on the radio. Sue closed her eyes, her fingers tapping to the beat.

She was restless, nervous energy keeping her in front of her computer. She was angry, the rage bubbling up, but ultimately leaving her paralyzed.

Work was stressful, keeping her awake at night. Her boyfriend, Mark, was stressing her out, always questioning her shopping habits, her mood, the books she read. As she skimmed through her daily bookmarks, she wondered why she had ever thought he was perfect for her. Wondered if she’d always feel thirsty.

Getting up, the water tasted sour.

ii. The Guns of Brighton

New day, new bullshit at work.

New memos, new policies, new reprimands.

The flickering lights above her cubicle needed to be fixed, but of course there was no urgent policy that governed that.

iii. Complete Control

Inflammatory, outrageous, hastily written words.

She liked him, she even respected him, but really, how could he be that much of an idiot and actually believe those things! Fuming, she typed up a reply to his blog entry. Then deleted it. Then cursed herself for being such a coward.

She closed the browser, and re-opened it to look for porn, knowing it would drown out the mocking voice in her head. The voice crafting a perfect reply, which would make him see the light, see he was wrong, recognize that she’s brilliant that she’s worthy that she should be queen of the world.

Sue supposes he’s free to post whatever he wants on his blog, and continued reading fluffy smut.

iv. Rudie can’t fail

She hates it when people don’t go all the way to the back of the bus. It’s crowded at the front, and even though she wants to swear at the people around her, she only manages a polite ‘excuse me’ as she pushes past them.

Walking up to the kiosk, she looks through the display of candy and magazines, craving something sweet, something salty, something filling.

One of these days, she’s going to be brave enough to have a beer for breakfast.

v. This is Radio Clash

“Woman dies, surrounded by medical staff who ignored her“

“Woman beaten to death by strict father“

“Woman sexually assaulted in subway, surrounded by passengers“

“Woman shot by ex-husband“

“Woman kept in makeshift cell for 3 years“

Why won’t the world listen? she asks Mark. He doesn’t pat her on the head, but he doesn’t really care either.

vi. Lost in the Supermarket

Sue’s at a party with Mark, the kind of adult party she should be comfortable going to by now. There’s wine and cheese and pâté, and talk about mortgage rates and retirement plans and in vitro fertilization. Mark only looks at her when they’re asked how many kids they’re planning on having.

Other than the domestic, maternal, no one asks her anything else, no one assumes she’s smart, no one assumes she’s capable of anything. Not that it comes as a surprise. She’s not pretty, her mousy hair framing a plain face, and instead everyone is drawn to Mark. It’s why she’s invited out.

She’s pretty sure Mark doesn’t use a condom that night, but doesn’t say anything. She takes about a dozen vitamin C pills the next day.

vii. Train in vain

The first time he told her he loved her, Sue was caught off guard. They’d had unremarkable sex, with Mark on top, and her legs wrapped around him, trying to pull him in deeper, faster. She’d moaned, gasped, made all the right sounds, wanting to just get over it, because the position hurt her shoulder and she was hungry.

A week later, he listened to her ranting about her idiotic boss, then calmly asked why she thought she could do better. After all, she wasn’t an MBA. Like her boss. Like him.

viii. Should I stay or should I go

Once upon a time, there was an angry girl, who used to wear torn t-shirts, dyed her hair blue and green, and had 8 pairs of converse shoes. As the Clash blared out of her car stereo, Sue smiled, not really caring if Mark understood her middle finger sticking out the window was solely for him.

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Title: Lowri’s Betrayal
Author: Miriam Bosiljevac
Wordcount: 100
Summary: Aeddan had loved Lowri.

The words stung. He was expecting them, had heard the practiced logic from her before, but the venom in Lowri’s voice tore right through him. She had been his hope, his life, and Aeddan didn’t want to believe any of this was actually happening.

Her fiery hair seemed to burn in the sunlight as she raised the broadsword above her head. Lowri wore the colours of her father on the battlefield, signifying her choice over her lover and supposed shelter.

Aeddan stood still as the blade swung towards him, her betrayal destroying his soul faster than any weapon ever could.

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Title: Changing Shape
Author: Miriam Bosiljevac
Wordcount: 820
Rating: Mature for some sexual content
Summary: It’s been a decade since you’ve been together, and he’s not the same person. Neither are you. And that’s ok.

EXCERPT: You might not burn for one another the same way you used to, when you couldn’t wait to strip him of his clothes, or would pull him into alleyways or public restrooms. You may not be obsessed with him the way you used to be. But you miss him when you travel. When you haven’t had time for more than a quick hello and goodbye kiss, and things are busy, and you want to tell him about your day, but he isn’t there.

The thing about living with someone for so long, is that you forget what it means to take things for granted. You cherish him. You tell him you love him every day. But you don’t think anything of it when you snap at him for not getting the laundry done, even though for the past decade he’s finished the laundry every single Sunday and this is the first time he didn’t get it done in time.

You forget that he feels desired, not with your words, but with your mouth.

The dinner you slaved over for hours is quickly devoured, but it doesn’t mean that he didn’t enjoy it in his own way.

Sometimes you need to step back and remember that you were the one who saw him differently, all those years ago, and that he’s not just your lover, your husband, or your saviour. You’ve always wanted his attention, and for the most part, you have it.

You’ve seen the clichés about worn slippers and the seven-year itch, and you think it’s ridiculous, yet you wonder if your flab is unattractive, and you’re jealous when his eyes linger on an eighteen year olds toned body. You’re prone to fits of hysterics and depression, and you think about how he would be better off with someone more stable, more social, more sane.

***

“Explain to me why we have tickets to the symphony this Saturday?”

“Do I really need to justify myself every single time I want to do something?”

“You don’t! I was just wondering if there was anything special about the performance I needed to know about.”

“We don’t have to go. I just wanted to go to the symphony, and this looked interesting. That’s all. Look, it’s ok. I can return the tickets…”

“It’s fine. We’ll go.”

“Fine.”

***

There are a lot of moments you wish you could take back. Words said and left unsaid, because they seemed vitally important at the time. Words and actions that were meant to be hurtful, because he infuriates you more than anyone you’ve ever known.

***

His biceps. His legs wrapped around you. His hands digging into your hips and your waist, holding you up while you’re on your knees in front of him. Hearing him moan every time he sinks deep into you, knowing that no one has heard him like that in over a decade.

The look of bliss on his face as you suck his cock, knowing he can see your smile even as you gag.

Feeling him wrapped around you as you fall asleep, gently rocking against you, tangled together in a sweaty mess that’s the most comforting feeling you can ever think of.

***

Go to work. Come home. Make dinner. Read. Think about work. Go to sleep.

You occasionally remember to notice he’s there too.

Go to work again.

***

You fight in the car. You fight while standing in line. You fight over breakfast. You fight and yet you can’t quite figure out why you’re fighting, why you’re so angry.

You try to talk about your problems and issues and heartache and disappointments, the way you used to when you first started talking.

Really talking. Which would usually lead to sex. And comfort.

But, it doesn’t seem to be working. You’re tired of the negativity, of the circular arguments, of thinking of ways that things can be fixed.

***

You admit you’re in a slump, and begin thinking of ways you should move out so as to hurt everyone less, pointedly ignoring the fact that you would likely be hurt the most. You’re used to pain. Used to suffering. His happiness is what matters, you tell yourself, and you begin to think that the most honourable thing to do is to let him go.

That night he comes home in a great mood, and you feel like ass.

***

“Are we ok again?” he asks, so quietly you almost miss it.

You’re both lying in bed, getting ready to go to sleep, and you could tell that something was on his mind. You were expecting bad news, a break-up, disaster, so his question takes you by surprise.

Are you ok?

You love him. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but he is inextricably enmeshed into your life and your personality and your thoughts. His smile and his excitement makes you happy. He’s your friend and your confidante. Your family.

You might not burn for one another the same way you used to, when you couldn’t wait to strip him of his clothes, or would pull him into alleyways or public restrooms. You may not be obsessed with him the way you used to be. But you miss him when you travel. When you haven’t had time for more than a quick hello and goodbye kiss, and things are busy, and you want to tell him about your day, but he isn’t there.

Only, he is, and he loves you.

“Yeah, we are,” you reply, hoping he can feel the sincerity behind it.

You lie down next to him, turning off the light, and go to sleep.

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