In a Different Time

Some people can wait for a life time to find “the one”. Sometimes, it occurs when you least expect it, a flash of colour unexpectedly brought into your life, the sound of their laugh catching in your head, refusing to ever leave, a shared gaze that lasts for a split second too long. Sometimes, we meet the right person at the wrong time, a year too soon, a month too late. Sometimes, we hope for a change in this incongruous pattern, crossing our fingers, praying to a believed deity, wishing on a star. For some lucky individuals, things work out and they meet their soul opposite at the right time, in the right place. For others, if it had occurred in a different time, years from now, a week from now, a day from now, things could have played out so differently.

Emily Rose was fifteen years old when she first laid eyes on Max Heather. He was, to her, a vision as he casually idled into her math class 20 minutes late, unaware of the looks he received, or the way Emily’s breath caught in her throat. She was old enough to know that Max was one of those few individuals in her school that she could classify as “good-looking”, but she was too young to know any better and so she let herself fall unmistakeably and irrevocably in love. As time went by, she realised that, although she had never uttered a word in his presence, she had somehow fallen for him, unaware of what may comes. She wasn’t quite able to pinpoint what it was about him that had attracted her in the first place. Perhaps it was the way he laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that caused his eyes to crinkle and his head to fall back, or the way he bit his lip when he was concentrating on a serious subject, or the fire in his eyes he suddenly developed when describing one of his many passions. Emily was not able to pinpoint what it was exactly, because really, it was a whole lot of little things.

It wasn’t until Emily was asked to tutor Max in maths that she was able to talk to him. Although for only a short hour every Monday afternoon, Emily cherished every moment that she spent with him, relishing in the moments when he would accidentally brush her hand or when she caught a whiff of his aftershave as he bent forward to write in the correct answer. As time progressed, the two young individuals soon became an item, delighting in their time spent together, embracing every moment. As their final year approached, the two were still joined at the hip and spent all their time together, whenever they were free. As graduation approached, Emily began to feel a slight tugging towards unease, as apprehension began to set in place as their uncertain future became more obvious. Arguments flared between the naive couple as they started moving in different directions, taking a turn for the worse and separating from what they once were. As the end of their high school year approached, it became apparent to the once playful couple that old ties were no longer present, so they parted ways.

As time progressed and years went by, Emily Rose would think back to those high school years, with a small smile playing on her lips at the memories the two inexperienced teenagers had together. If only they had met years after, she would think to herself as she pecked her husband on the cheek. If only fate had waited out a little longer, she would sigh quietly, as she picked up her children’s misplaced toys. If only it had happened in a different time, she would say, as she slowly closed her front door, making sure to put on the bolt.

Flying Rats

Ah, Tuesdays. Most people abhor Mondays, correct? (If this is incorrect, then I'm sorry to inform you, dear readers, that you are just as weird as this demented writer. Oh you poor, poor soul). On the contrary to popular critics, I dislike Tuesdays.

There is, of course, a reason for my disapproval on this particular day. First of all, the word TUESDAY is the dirtiest word in the English language. It sounds like the sort of food you put in your mouth, chew on for a bit, then secretly spit out into a napkin whilst the hostess has her back turned. Yes, when I say the word TUESDAY, my skin shudders at the thought of having to beckon this ghastly, chewy word. Then, there is the small fact that it seems karma gets a delicious kick in targeting me on a TUESDAY, my one "day off" of the week. It is on these days, dear readers, where I have a day of blissful relaxation in a day off due to my day lacking in anything of great importance at University. Normally, people would take FULL advantage of these days and embrace them with much gusto. Normally, I would do this too, HOWEVER, dear Sir Karma gets a kick out of punishing me, even on these glorious days.

The previous TUESDAY fellow bygones, was a day that started out QUITE beautifully. I woke up to the sound of the waves crashing and the sun shining (it's starting to sound like a trashy novel, oh how affreux! If I didn't throw in some foreign words then this wouldn't be a trashy novel. OH how I pity the simple minded). THIS Tuesday proceeded with a trip to a large shopping centre where I was spoilt rotten by my mother and oh so debonair step father. It turned out to be a trip that was every little spoilt girls dream. We were given the credit card and told to run rampant.

FUN FACT: My mother is a shopaholic. She buys anything and possibly everything. We will walk into a typical, run of the mill, corner store to buy pain killers and walk out with bubble gum, a nail Polish to bright to ever actually wear out in public and a key chain. Why, you may ask incredulously. I do not know myself dear readers, it is a diseases. A disease, dear readers, that it seems I too posses. You would think this would make shop owners ex\cstatic, but on the contrary they tend to run and sound the alarm when they see us approaching. Interesting...

Now as the day progressed, I had a thought to myself that this particular day was turning out to be QUITE lovely. I may have possibly jinxed myself. You silly girl. I was quite happy at the end of the day, when we ventured home wards, with our bulging packets taking residence in the boot of our vehicle. Upon our arrival home, I thought it best to take my bags to my bedroom and unpack my clothes. So , like a new mother, I proudly placed my clothes on the bed, gently smoothing them out and admiring their beauty, gushing over their "new clothes smell" and soft, unworn fabric. I left them all out and ventured towards the kitchen in search of a quick snack and a cup of tea. As the day wore on into evening, I ventured back upstairs with another cup of tea back to the familiarity and comforts of my bedroom.

As I opened the door, turning the alluring metal door knob, I paused for a moment to silently smile at my wonderful day and lack of unluckiness. I stepped into my room and was greeted with a lovely flyinr\g rat, commonly known as a rock pigeon, sitting in my underwear basket. As I screamed in surprise, shock, terror (fear of birds, awful creatures), I threw my tea cup into the air, sending tea sailing through the air and onto my new clothes. The disgusting rat flew into the air in shock, flying into the wall once, twice, three times, before reaching it's escape through my balcony door.

As I surveyed the war zone, I sadly glanced at my, now drenched and tea stained outfits before letting out a sigh of defeat. It wasn't until I examined my underwear basket and realised that the OH SO LOVELY winged demon had left a gift for me in my underwear drawer, all over every piece of materiel I owned.
So as you see, my beautiful cherubs, TUESDAY'S are never fun and always end badly for this poor little lost soul.