Whispers and Wanderings

This short story was my latest piece of “homework” for The Chorley Creative Writing Collective. I didn’t make it to the meeting to share it with the group, so I thought I’d share it with you instead. The brief given was to "write a story about your first experience of an illicit substance.” Mine began as a memory of my first puff on a cigarette, but as the words came, it grew into something else - a small coming-of-age tale, full of awkwardness, rebellion, and bad hair. As clichéd as the following narative may be, I hope that it makes you smile. Researching 1981 (the backdrop for this story) took me back to the days of MTV, my first CD player, the epic Texan soap opera that was Dallas and also, who can forget the wonder of shoulder pads and stone-washed jeans! I hope you enjoy my little story. Perhaps, you'll recognise something of yourself in it, or that it will raise a wry smile? If not, please feel free to join me in rolling your eyes at my 11-year-old self! BACKCOMBED HAIR...

Barefoot in the cool August grass, my nightshirt brushing softly across the tops of my knees, I stand beneath the waxing moon, waiting for the annual Perseids display. The hands on the clock have passed the witching hour. The day is in its infancy but, other than a few ghostly grey patches where wispy clouds sit, the sky is black. Nothing happens. My neck stiffens as I crane to peer into the darkness, so I make my way to the garden swing, sit down, and recline against the metal frame. Staring at the sky, I am sure that I see flickering flashes of light behind the clouds above my head - is that the meteor shower, or just my imagination? I can’t be sure. The swing creaks as I shift, metal digging into my shoulder blades. I stand, cross to the centre of the lawn and flop down. I lie on my back, arms spread wide like I am making a snow angel. A small laugh slips out, as I imagine my neighbour looking out of the window, the glow of their room behind them, and me, the madwoman in nightclothe...