Padding across the wooden floor I went and threw open the door of the beachhut I'd hired for my escape. A wash of waves on the shingle greeted me and the sea overcame me again, I stood watching the gulls sway on their invisible strings and sunlight glitter momentarily on the rolltop of each swell of the ocean.
A cat, tail erect, strolled confidently along the edge of the sea stopping occasionally to check clumps of seaweed for trapped shrimp or sprat. It belonged here where I did not, that was obvious. I made to sit down on the step but noticed a shatter of bright blue glass at my feet and then saw a star shaped dent in the door where something had hit with great force. I needed a coffee and leaving the door open to the lulling sound of the sea went inside to the 'kitchen' a shelf upon which was a kettle and camping burner.
There was a postcard pinned to the shelf with a blue map pin. A tourist favourite with panels of various views and the red splash of 'York' on an angle across the top. On the reverse in an unfamiliar hand was written 'I know.' Just those two words. I know. The unease of mounting confusion rose and I felt for the tub of pills in my pocket, just to check they were there.
As I held the postcard I noticed the filth under my nails, lines of black, unusual that, I ran an index nail to clean a thumb nail and realised it was sand caked there, gritty sand. The 'bathroom' was a mug with a toothbrush next to a bowl of water and I scrubbed my nails vigourously and then brushed my teeth and set myself ready for the day.
Suddenly there was an ecstatic rapping appearing to come from one of the windows. I poked my head out the door. 'Hello?' there was no-one there but a gull perched on the apex of the roof.
'Yarrk.' It said and twitched its head to eye me closer as though as surprised to see me as I was to see it. Too many mysteries. I tried to retrace my steps, to remember why the blue glass, the sharp stones, the sand and the postcard where here.
I have a memory problem. That's what the pills are for to help me remember what I'm doing - not just do things and find out about it later - when sometimes whatever I've done isn't recoverable or repairable. I haven't taken them for a while because I've been so well, the doctor is very pleased with my progress.
I have a new system. If I'm doing something I think I might need to remember I write it down. I have a book it's green with a little picture of a bear and a butterfly. Sometimes it looks like the bear is trying to catch the butterfly and other times like the butterfly is attacking the bear.
I open it but some pages have been torn out. Yesterdays events I guess, the ragged edges torn carelessly. Best check the bin for evidence and sure enough there is a collection of paper squares, the remains of the day.
Picking out the bits I sit crossed legged on the wooden floor and try to piece them together, some gaps are there, like my memory but I can make out sections of the events.
A post card arived 2day so I no Lyndsey is coming - I need to get ready - GAP - from behind the hut and hit Lyndsey in the back of his hed with a bottle his face smashed into the door. I will not go back. dug a hole in the shingl and sand with a plate and coffee mug and Lyndsey fitted it nicely - GAP - Lyndseys bag had his archiology stuff inside a little box with some arrowheads I will keep them threw the bag and one of Lyndseys shoes into the sea
So I killed Lyndsey yesterday.
Strange reading your own writing and not remembering any of it happening.I sellotaped the note together and pushed it back into the right place in the diary flicking back through the months. It certainly has been a busy year and after Lyndsey it looks like I need to move on again. It'll be a shame to burn the hut but needs must.
Loving the sway of seagulls on strings. Great writing. Really feel the disconnected mind of the character...no emotional reaction to her physical actions. More please x
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