The second issue of A History of Lost Things is finally available for download or to view online. Please have a look and tell us what you think!
from my diary, 12 March 2013
Have been tracking the movements of Orion in the sky. Sat in the car park last night, sprawled back on my forearms and just staring at the sky. There is something comforting in knowing that he is always there, looking over us. (Like some sort of secret sentry.) I trudged up the steps to my flat and wished my bedroom ceiling could be conservatory glass. Imagined seeing constellations always, tracing stories into the sky.
Last night, I dreamt that I was in the British Museum and I found a copy of J.M. Barrie’s diary. I spent hours pouring over it, memorising it line by line (like it was some sort of spell) until suddenly I was in the common room in my athénée and classes had just been dismissed for the day. Students were rushing through the halls like water trapped in the underground and I was clutching the diary to my chest and squeezing my eyes shut. I was worried I was going to be late because I was supposed to meet my mum in the park. But I was trapped because it was raining outside and the great blue whale was blocking the doorway.
Couldn’t leave my flat today. Sat in front of the door and stared at the impenetrable whiteness of it, whispering magic words at it to see if it would open. (It never did.) Parents have been mentioning inpatient treatment again, but I can’t get the fear of being locked away out of my head. (Why do they have to make everything so devastatingly
cruel true?) Even when everything seems to be going well, it all just falls to pieces. I just fall to pieces and take cover from the Blitz outside my door. Lock myself away and swallow the key so it grows and grows and becomes an organ inside me, sitting just beside my heart.
P.S. I’m turning a year older in four days and no one will let me forget.