Me: I want to write a story, something horrible which will churn tummies and ignites trigger warnings… Something nasty…
Me: Because I’m in a nasty mood and generally pissed off with this week, the state of the country, the world and life in general.
Brain: OK, since you put it like that, lets forget reality and try to think of a nasty tale.
Me: So… Haunted house?
Brain: Done to DEATH… Comeon, do you want me to list every example?
Me: Humph… Haunted Asylum? School? Castle? Forest? Fucking Ice Rink!!!
Brain: Nope, nope nope nope and nope… What are you thinking?
Me: Thought you were the one supposed to be thinking!
Me: So… possessed child?
Brain: *screams internally*
Me: Possessed Item!!!
Me: OHH… I know… Demonic Car!
Brain: I’m not even going to bother to reply to that!!
Me: Comeon brain, we need to work together, we can get through this writers block and think of something remotely original…
Brain: How about this for a horror story – A middle aged woman, who has had a rocky past decides that maybe it’s not to late to do something to improve her life, put all those grotty years behind her and look ahead with new promise, a fresh shine and a healthy outlook on life. Full of promise and wonder, venturing forth with her trusty cat companion!
Me: How is that a horror story?
Brain: Well you see everything is fine at first, then things start to slip and slide… Goals are neglected, ambitions ignored and naughty habits start creeping back into life, too much chocolate and puddings, all that lovely hard work trashed!! Until doubt and lack of confidence become all consuming… Waking up every morning at 5am with good intentions only to lay in bed for another hour mentally fighting with herself to move and always, always, always, ending up with the same hallow promise that tomorrow will be different, tomorrow she can start again and really do it this time. Meanwhile she surfs for inspiring images, quotes and hints and tips for making all the improvements she desires. The media enhances her insecurities, she is haunted by images of perfection that are totally unreachable as she is not an 18 year old model, but a middle aged woman with years of neglect clinging to her thunder thighs. Every morning, every day, every week 5am… the same hallow promise… Like an evil version of Groundhog Day… Where all good intentions always diminish in the face of cake and a new DVD series… More wasted days, wasted evenings, internally fighting with her own mind until…
Me: Until What???
Brain: Well you see the story doesn’t end there…
Me: … What shall we call this little tale?
Brain: … ‘The Story of My Life’ …
Anne Harrison 01.07.16