Friday 4 November 2011

The Friday Column - A Fictional Tale

All About Me - A Tale of Fiction

Today I am due at the swimming pool but instead of ringing the bell, I just stay firmly seated on the bus. As the bus passes the swimming pool, I feel the tiniest pang of guilt. Right about now the children would be in the changing room excitedly getting ready for their lesson. The mums would be chattering away with each other and eagerly awaiting their free time when they could decamp to the cafeteria for their overpriced watery coffee that would require 3 sugars to make it drinkable. The pang of guilt vanished as quickly as it came and the corners of my mouth turn up and a smile breaks across my face.

Today it would be all about me, the children’s happy faces would turn to sad but I like to think that at least one child would have felt an ounce of relief, just like me when I would find out that swimming lessons were cancelled for the day. I would put back on my clothes as fast as I could and skip out of the doors singing at the top of my voice. My mum would have that look on her face, the one that said she could really have done with an hour of relaxation. I didn’t care though, I was free.

As the rain lashes against the bus windows my mind wanders to what I could do instead. I could stay on this bus all the way to London. The lights in Oxford Street have been put up but it would be ages before they are turned on, I could fit in some Christmas shopping but that would be for someone else. Today would be all about me. I know this is selfish but every day I wake up and I do the same thing. Monotony and drudgery, how did my life end up like this? I married a nice man, but he is content to do the same thing day in day out. My daughter has grown up the same way. I want my life to be different. I get bored of repetition; I do it only because it is expected of me but am watching it slowly and determinedly sucking the life out of me.

The bell rings, this is my stop. I head down Oxford Street and make my way into Selfridges, past the designer bags and through to the beauty hall. As I walk past each counter the women turn and smile at me, are these smiles of pity? I find myself stopping at a beauty counter whispering 'I want a new look, a new me'.

An original work of fiction - all rights reserved


  1. Goodness I don't know whether to laugh or cry - I feel a bit as if still waters are running deep here, maybe to be continued?


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