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Literature Text
Secrets and Lies
by Edward Dyer
Day 23/28
JOSEPH.
Her name’s Amber.
I was working all night on my essay – the Late Heavy Bombardment. I’m doing geology. By the way. I’d been working on my essay, just over there, for a couple of hours, when she came by. Her beauty was worthy of spotted. You do know what spotted is, right? If anything happens in the library that’s so amazing, or so outragous, you can post it annonomously on there. I’ve not been one of those guys before. You know – to the hottie on floor 2 with the green jacket and blonde hair. But Amber, she definitely would have deserved a place on spotted.
We kept making eyes at each other. We both knew that we were going to be in the library til the early hours of the morning. We were the only two people left on this floor. I don’t know what she was working on. I wonder if she does science as well.
I’ve often wondered about the books too. I don’t know any librarians, but if I did, I’d probably have a secret stash of all the bookmarks that people have left inside. Scraps of paper, rulers, receipts – I bet you’d find them all.
I took a chance. I was going to head over to the shop for a late night snack. You know, some chocolate or something. 4am energy boost. I asked her if she wanted anything. Casual like. I think she’d been waiting for me to talk to her. I hadn’t really made much progress on my essay since she arrived.
But then there are the hidden things.
There was an online movement, if that’s the right word for it. Project Beautiful or something. You would go around sticking postit notes around the Library saying, “You are beautiful”, or “Smile!” because it would brighten someone’s day. It would be your secret if you left one. You’d be the only one who knew where it was.
Secrets. I bet these books are full of secrets. Good and bad.
We started talking properly when I came back from the shop with a bundle of sweets, crisps and energy drinks. She took the flake. We talked for another hour or so before she told me to follow her. She stood up and led me through into the stairwell. And then, when we were out of sight, she kissed me.
If I had a secret, I’d hide it in a book. Something I couldn’t tell anyone else, but I’d want to share. Some day someone might find it, and I wouldn’t be alone any more.
Amber told me to wait there, in the stairwell. I did, for a couple of minutes. I went back to see where she’d gone. She had just finished packing up her bag, her laptop, a few papers. She whispered to me, ‘I’ve left my number in one of the books, if you really want to see me again, you’ll find it.’
He finds a piece of paper inside the one the books. Before he opens it, he goes to a nearby desk and sits down. He takes a breath and opens it.
Or, maybe, she lied.
He takes a pen from his pocket, writes on the paper, folds it back up and places it back inside a book.
He exits.
Literature
OCD
I count the cracks in between the blocks of cement beneath me as I walk. Two. Two. Four. Four. Always four sets of that. Always two, two, four, four. Four times each. Look up. Blink 8 times. Two sets of four. Then back down. Two, two, four, four.
Safe. Those numbers are safe. Even, not odd. Odd is bad. 'Odd' is what people call you when you're different. Bad. Wrong.
Two, two, four, four. I try to focus on something else, not on how many steps I'm taking, because there are people behind me. Person. One set of footsteps. Bad. Half of two. I think of it as two feet, and that's better. I feel better.
I round a corner, looking for my goal. Alwa
Literature
damn that woman
"You don't get it, do you? I'm dating your goddamn production, apparently!" She is a whirlwind of impeccably dressed, green-eyed fury. She is Juliet Smith, one of the most prominent artists of the twenty-first century, and she is tearing up their apartment and his emotional stability all at once.
She looks good, she always does. But standing in the doorway of their apartment in her trench coat God damn, she's never been so gorgeous. Anger does something to her, and he hates himself for loving it so much.
She watches him for a moment, looks him up and down clinically, likely trying to decide why he isn't begging.
"Where are you g
Literature
the 'd' word
when i was seven years old, my mother, tear-streaks
drying on her cheeks, fingered her wedding band
and told me, “love hurts, sweetie,
that’s how you know it’s a good love.”
two days later, my father came back home.
he was missing his wedding ring
and when he left again,
he left a handprint on my mother’s cheek
that she carried with her even after the bruise was gone.
i grew up without a father influence in my mother’s world
and without a mother influence in my dad’s.
neither of them got remarried.
they had found each other and that was enough.
they had found each other and that was too much.
i gre
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Day 23/28 - secrets and lies
Uploaded as part of the 28 Plays Later challenge.
space.org.uk/2015/01/05/28-pla…
Uploaded as part of the 28 Plays Later challenge.
space.org.uk/2015/01/05/28-pla…
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