Non-fiction runner-up
Days: Thinking of you
By Zoe Wu
The quiet buzz of my alarm nudges me awake. I blearily lift my head, expecting to see warm sun rays weaving around the curtains to tickle my face. Instead, the cold darkness of winter mornings sends a chill down my spine. Groaning, I lay back down, the vastness of my bed swallowing me whole. It feels empty and cold. I dreamt of you. But the bright colour of dreams and hopes drained away as soon as it hit 6am. I wonder if you're awake this early.
Tired and cranky, I clank my way through the house like a robot. A doll. Someone is playing with me, moving my arms and legs into position. I sure am not the one doing it. I have no thoughts. But somehow I still remember to send you a good morning message. I smile as I read last night's laughs, and the sun peeks out from behind the kitchen window. Perhaps this day will be good. Even though I'm about to be late, I stop in front of the hallway mirror, grinning softly as I send you a picture. Remember that time we accidentally wore the same thing?
The walk is long but less dull when the sky is a marble of blue and white. Ducks quack their good mornings as I speed past, their cacophony of honks drowning out my music. But I'm not mad at them, envisioning instead the tail wag of your pet duck. How cute! Adjusting my headphones like musical ear muffs, I listen to our favourite artist. It envelops me like a warm hug, like your hug, chasing away the biting winter air. A spring in my step propels me forward, and I eagerly anticipate that one house. The house with the funny poster that I couldn't resist telling you about. It always makes me giggle.
My day is tedious but in the blink of an eye, I'm on the same path home. A whirlwind of tasks and teaching blurs my mind. All I remember vividly is laughing at my own joke, knowing you would've loved it too. I wish you were here to hear it.
Colour drains away from the sky, like my energy leaking away with every footstep. It takes so much effort to get through every day. When I flop back on the couch, the first thing I do is reply to you. A small smile. And for a while, everything is alright. To end the night, I scrunch myself up against my pillows, eagerly awaiting the opening of this new movie. I wish you could watch it with me. The snacks always taste better when I'm not eating alone.
And when I finally close my eyes, I hope to dream of warmth and joy and you.
I miss you.
Do you think of me often? Tell me when you do. I am probably thinking of you too.
Fiction runner-up
I Can’t Speak
By Samantha Dutton
I can’t speak. Time is stationary. To me at least. I have been bound to this infernal place for so long that I have forgotten what it means to speak. To even try to interact with the gibberish my fevered mind releases. I cannot overcome the hurdle that speaking brings. The mountains I would move even to create a simple noise! It’s impossible, useless, exhausting. If only I could call out. Call for help, for relief from this suffering. However, there is a presence perched over me, peering right into my soul. It is the one that has kept me bound to my chair and has stolen my voice. It is the being, trapping my body in place examining my every flaw. I have to stop it. I should stop it. I would stop it. But I can’t speak.
I can’t move. These restraints move past the boundaries of physicality, onwards on a journey to the depths of my mind. They move even further past the simple reality of a cord binding my hands together in a forbidden embrace. It is a pool that glistens in the fluorescent light, my mind shimmering liquid, but still and vacant. Mental, physical, intertwined. I can hear it slowly dripping, each echo driving me closer to insanity. I can imagine the sound coming from my physical left. Always the left. But why am I not alright? If only I could get up. If only I could break these barriers holding me in place. All it would take is a ripple in the pool of stillness, the bare necessity needed to set it in a whirlpool of motion. What if the current becomes too great? What if the calm waters, now besieged by the torrent of left and right choices pull me under? My heart is like the ocean, drumming its frigid fingers upon the rocks in a frightening cadence to match the tempo the wind has set. Can there ever be an escape from this prison cell? It's impossible, useless, exhausting. I feel like I'm drowning in my thoughts. The tide is rising. I should stop it. I would stop it. But I can't move.
I can't see. These blinding lights cause my vision to tunnel and narrow. It is only made bearable by the shrouded haze that covers my vision. Through it, I can make out the individual bulbs spearing their incandescent light to what seems to be the darkest corners of my being. I am vulnerable to anyone, everyone, everything and there is nothing hidden. The slightest noise, the slightest touch causes me to flinch and cringe away. To wring my hands in a pleading motion expressing words I cannot bring my parched lips to form. To clear the comforting haze would be subjecting myself to battalions of pain marching their way slowly onwards. So I don’t. I don’t move, I don’t speak, I don’t even try to see. I just sit, breathing, barely existing. This is impossible, useless, exhausting. I have to find my way out. I could try. I should try. I would try. But I can't see.
I can't speak. I can't move. I can't see.
I can't speak. I can't move, I can't see a way out of this.
A voice snaps me out of my spiral faster than I can blink away the remnants of my stream of consciousness. My sunglasses are ripped off and the world around me comes into focus. I can see the dentist washing her hands in the sink. I can hear the water dripping out of the pipes to my left and pooling in the basin. She’s saying something about me being a little quiet this time. Swinging my legs over the side of the chair I exhale. I can now speak, I can move and I can see. I thank her, making a mental note to remember to floss more often.