Creating bloggable content

Hi There, My name is Steph and this is my first post on WordPress, but not my first blog piece EVER.

I started my first blog a couple of years ago when I was a mum of none and when my world didn’t include early morning routines, school runs or dedicating time to my little rascals. My posts lacked character, they had no flow and I didn’t make a lot of sense at times. I rambled for a lot of the posts that I wrote. I also never did any socialising or engagement with other bloggers so my blog was never read…or if it was then I never knew about it. I managed a few weeks before I switched my mind to my other love, photography (which I speak about in my ABOUT ME section)

10 years later, 2 kids heavier and full of life experience that I wish I hadn’t got, I have decided to give it another go. I have now got two blogs, 1 on Blogger and 1 on here. I wanted to keep both separate.

My Blogger account ( is more of a personal accounted diary with stories of my lovable tear-aways, my husband and our 11 week old pug, Harry.

Whereas my WordPress Blog will be more for my creative writing content. I will post short stories, poems and reviews of books and films. I know a lot of bloggers aim to gain money from their blogs (not that it wouldn’t be nice) but I do it more so I can get my work out there. I have enjoyed writing for as far back as I remember and I am having such a good time thinking about what content to create next.

I am not saying that I am great at writing short stories or poems for that matter and I am sure some will think that they are a bit rubbish (that is me letting my un-confidence break through a little) but I am going to put my work out there anyways. Any positive critic is very much welcomed, I am learning all the time – whether it is based on my blog or on my writing. 😀

My WordPress Blog is definitely a working progress. I will learn and tweak it as I go.

S x


Featured post

This Month…

This Month I should be preparing for you to arrive.
This Month I should be feeling you swirl and tap dance in my tummy.
This Month I should be washing and rewashing your tiny clothes eager to put you into them.
This Month I should be fed up with pregnancy; groaning daily and eager for it to be over.
This Month I should be eating my body weight in pickled onions or other foods I crave.
This Month I should be talking to you repeatedly through the skin that parts us.
This Month I should be counting down the days until you arrive.
This Month I should be too big to drive around in my car.
This Month I should be complaining of heartburn and swollen ankles.
This Month I should be on maternity leave, enjoying the thought of the months ahead.
This Month your brothers should be welcoming a new sibling, someone they would love.
This Month I should be holding you for the first time in my arms after you have been born.
This Month I should be bringing you home to add a very welcome addition to our family.



This Month I am plastering a smile on my face and trying to act like I am okay.
This Month I am crying almost daily at the days and memories I wont be able to make.
This Month I am picturing what you would have looked like and long for you painfully.
This Month I am carrying on at my work; trying to forget that I lost you.
This Month I am carrying on for my boys, and not showing them how sad I am.
This Month I am trying to push onwards and hoping April will be better.
This Month I sneak glances up at your memory box before I go to bed each night, knowing that your ashes are safely stored away in it.

This Month I miss you; I never had you, but I miss what you would have meant to us. I miss what you would have brought to our family and I miss the memories we wont now be able to make.

This Month I love you as I would have if you were here, but This Month I ache for you.

I lost you months before now, but This Month you should be Born.

Always thinking of you; always missing you, always wanting you. Never forgetting.

S x

Tainted Love

by Stephanie Geary


The steam from the boiled kettle rises and I blink myself out of my reverie and slowly go through the motions to make myself a cup of coffee. I add sugar and stir absentmindedly whilst adding a dash of milk from the milk jug. My mind and body are moving in slow motion and I gingerly take my hot cup to the kitchen breakfast bar and climb up onto a stool, my eyes moving around the room but unseeing. I knit my hands together on my lap and bite my lip, wincing at the pain. My mind is trying to figure out today’s events; I know I am in shock, but I need to figure out how my life got to here.

I hear the distinct sound of a cat’s meow and I see Tammy, our tortoise-shell feline enter the kitchen. I wonder whether she can sense that something is wrong; does she know what has happened here today? I get up slowly and go through the motions of feeding her. Tammy is rubbing herself around my legs, but I don’t pay much notice. My mind is elsewhere.

I return to the breakfast bar and take a few sips of my coffee, the bitter-sweet taste hitting my senses and allowing me a moment of clarity. Once I finish my drink I instinctively carry it straight to the sink and wash it up before drying it vigorously and placing it neatly into the cupboard dedicated to mugs. There is never any time to breathe in this house, never any time to relax. Everything must be done as he demands it, whether it be cleaning, talking or even how we dress. My husband is not one to be disobeyed. He makes the rules and we obey them. So I wash this cup up quickly and without delay, any mess of any kind would only bring on a torrid of abuse so I do anything I can to avoid it.

My mind wanders back to the day I met him, and I wish I could go back and tell myself to walk away. I wish I could yell, plead or even beg that stupid naïve girl to run as fast and as far as her legs could carry her. But then I remember, without him there wouldn’t be HER and she is the one shining beacon in the whole of my bleak, ugly world. Our daughter Gabby is coming 8 years old and she is a beautiful, intelligent little girl. She has her fathers looks but her mothers heart and I am very glad of that. I know she sees how her father is; she sees his anger and his violent out spurts. Gabby sees and hears my terror of the man she calls Daddy, but she has never spoken of it. Of all his faults, he has never placed a hand on her. He has shouted at her and spoke viciously about me in front of her, but he has never physically hurt her. Trevor keeps all that special treatment just for me.

When I first met Trevor, he was the most wanted man in the town, every girl wanted to date him. But not me. I had just got out of a relationship with my long-term boyfriend and I was ready to enjoy my single life for a while. Trevor saw me and wanted me. He chased me for weeks before I finally agreed to go on a date with him. He knew how to hook me, knew how to get me to fall in love with him and it didn’t take long. After only a month of dates I was well and truly besotted. He was charming and made me feel special. I would have followed him everywhere. And I did; within a few months I had moved out of my parent’s house and had moved in with him. Within the year we were married. Up until that point he was the perfect partner, he was always bringing me gifts and telling me how much he loved me. It was too much at times, but I liked it.

It was the little things that changed at first; he started coming in later from work and the gifts became less and less. There were less declarations of love and more naggings. He complained that his shirt wasn’t ironed properly or that his dinner was undercooked. The complaining was meant to confuse me, to make me pander to him. I promised to do better. I had got used to the feeling of being special and started to feel useless as a wife. I felt like a failure and told myself and Trevor that I would try better. Each day I was told something else was wrong, until eventually he took a disliking to the clothes I wore. He said it was because he didn’t like other guys being attracted to me and suggested I wore less revealing shirts and I did as he said. I stopped wearing tops with low cuts and wore trousers all the time. Whatever I could do to make him happy I did. The shower of love he gave me came intermittently and it made me eager to get those feelings back. I grasped for any attention he gave me and eagerly lapped it up when he was in a ‘good mood’. In the beginning he never physically hurt me, it was mental abuse I endured at first, but I wasn’t to know that I was being abused until much later. There were good days back then, days when I was made to feel special again, days when I didn’t feel lacking as a wife. I welcomed those days and reminded myself that Trevor loved me and that is why he reminded me when I got things wrong. He was simply looking out for me, or so I thought.

Bit by bit I retreated into our home and stopped seeing other people in my life. My parents, my friends; they all stayed away as they always felt unwelcome and I spent so much time cleaning the house and making sure it was perfect that I never had time to visit them. Trevor preferred that, he liked that I depended on him for company, that I had nobody else to look after me. The more time that went in between seeing other people, the less I missed them. When I found out I was pregnant, Trevor convinced me that I was better off staying in the house to keep me safe and I believed him. I busied myself with online shopping and brought nursery items and decorated our babies room. The days of my pregnancy ticked by slowly, but Trevor’s mental torture went on despite the growing baby in my belly. He bellowed at me when dinner was late on the table, ridiculed my weight as my body grew to accommodate the baby and complained at me when the housekeeping wasn’t done to his standard. From early morning until late into the night I was hoovering, cleaning, dusting, washing, mopping, wiping, scrubbing and drying. Every part of our home was spotless, but he always found fault with something; always found a spot I had missed or faltered over a cushion being out of place. There was no let up. He made me feel so low, I was tired, suffered terrible morning sickness, and my ankles were badly swollen, but I couldn’t rest. If I sat down to catch my breath he would make sarcastic remarks and ‘joke’ that I was lazy.

My naivety stopped me from questioning how he was treating me. I figured it was just his way of showing he loved me. I believed him when he showered me with love on the days he was happy. And I excused how he spoke to me, putting it down to him being stressed by his tiring job.

When Gabby was born I was expecting the whole situation to do a U turn. I thought it would show him what was important, but the birth of our daughter which should have been one the best moments of his life only helped to make him worse. It was evident days after we had come home from hospital that he wasn’t happy and when he was woken up during the night, he swore at me to get her out the room and I spent most of my nights sitting downstairs to avoid disturbing him and igniting his anger. Trevor didn’t spend much time with our daughter and he hated to see me with her, I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time and I wasn’t sure why he seemed so distant with her. Now, looking back I see that it was jealousy. For so long in our relationship he had me at his beck and call and then he had to share my attention with a defenceless crying baby. Those nights when I sat up alone with our baby were some of the loneliest yet beautiful of my life. They were bitter-sweet. I hated not sharing those moments with my husband, but I loved spending those same moments with Gabby. Her small hands wrapped around my finger and held on tight as I held her against my breast to feed. Remembering those dark, quiet nights bring tears to my eyes. I was still adamant that things would get better, that she would win her Daddy’s heart as she had done mine. I was stupid to think that he would come around, stupid to think that I could change him. If anything, he got worse. Gabby has witnessed so much heartache and if I could wish just one thing it would be that I had gotten out when I had had the chance. I should have taken our things and escaped before things went too far. But what is the point of wishing to change the past when it is not possible?

When Gabby was six months old, I was attacked by my husband. This would be the first of many times that he struck me. That first night I had been feeding Gabby when he had insisted that I come to bed, he made comments that I had been a prude since our daughter had been born and he had a right as a husband to feel loved. I laughed timidly thinking that he was joking, but he wasn’t. I could see in his eyes that he wasn’t in the mood to argue. I told him that Gabby hadn’t finished feeding and he approached me, fire burning in his eyes as he lifted her from me and placed her in her crib. The screams that rose from her tore through me, she was hungry and was venting her frustration the only way she knew how. Trevor shouted for her to shut up and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me roughly up the stairs. My heart was racing, the cries from our daughter ringing in my ears, my stomach churning as I longed to hold her to me, to comfort her. The emotions raging through me were too much and I still thought I could say no. Trevor had never gone this far before, he would stop if I said so. I pushed him away from me, releasing my arm from his grip and told him that I needed to go back to Gabby. Before I had a chance to turn away from him, he grabbed me by the throat and pushed me roughly against the wall. With this free hand he slapped me hard across the face, and his angry eyes bore into me, he told me to never try to push him away again. My head bumped roughly against the wall as his hands tore at my clothes, ripping the material. Our daughter’s cries had faded slightly, could she sense that something bad was happening?
My hands hung loosely at my sides, I knew I should fight but I was in shock. With his grip still around my throat he pulled me roughly into our bedroom and threw me onto the bed. I looked at him pleadingly and tears sprung to my eyes. Raising my hands in defence I told him that I didn’t want this. To my astonishment, Trevor laughed. He laughed at me. Trevor poked fun at my post baby body and told me I was a rubbish wife. The shame I felt washed over me. I looked at this man, the man who I loved, and I didn’t recognise him. All at once I saw the man he was, the bully that had always been hidden from me. I trembled in fear as he covered my body with his, he pulled my underwear aside roughly and raped me on our bed. My mind tried to go elsewhere but the pain was too much, he was so rough with me and I couldn’t breathe. The pain and fear I felt were unmeasurable. Once he had finished he rolled off me and he pushed me off the bed. Trying to keep as much dignity in tact as possible I gathered the bits of material that were my clothes around me and left the room silently. I managed to make my way downstairs, the pain between my legs burning with every step and when I reached the crib I looked down at my sleeping baby. Once I saw that she was okay I let the tears fall. I wanted to scream and shout, but I didn’t want to give Trevor more fuel to come back for more. A part of me died that night, but still I stayed with him.

From that point onwards, my life with Trevor became a nightmare. I no longer saw him as the man I loved, but rather the man I lived with who terrified me more than anyone or anything else. The physical and sexual abuse were daily occurrences; with every strike and every forced sex act I felt another chunk of me fall away. I considered telling my parents, confiding in them but it had been so long since I had seen them I didn’t want to have to tell them what he was doing to their daughter. I should have left but I couldn’t make myself do it. I was too frightened of what he would do to me if he caught up with me. My only concern was my daughter, making sure he didn’t hurt her. Trevor didn’t pay much attention to her as she was growing, didn’t care too much about the milestones she reached or when she started calling him Daddy, but he never put a finger on her. Not that I ever trusted him around her. She was never out of my sight, I made sure she was safe from him every waking day. Not only with what he could or might do to her, but what she witnessed him do to me. There were times when he got a bit physical with me that she met my eye. I would say sweetly for her to go to her room and shut her door and she would obey, looking back occasionally as though she knew what I was going to have to endure. And again, I should have taken her away from it all, but I feared him coming after us and taking her from me for good. She was all that mattered in my dark, relentless torturous days. Gabby was the reason why I got up of a morning, the reason why I could carry on.

The years had been hard for me, but if I kept her safe then that was all that mattered. He could do whatever he wanted to me, but not to her.

Today started like any other, I made breakfast for Gabby and got her ready for school. As we were going out of the door she dropped my mobile phone which cracked the screen. We were rushing out, so I left it on the kitchen counter and left hurriedly, not thinking of what Trevor might say if he saw it. When I let myself in this morning he was sat at the counter, holding my phone. The fear in my stomach, the feeling that is always there revved and churned, causing me to feel sick. The look in his face was both anger and satisfaction. Trevor loved belittling me, loved seeing the power he had over me, loved making me terrified of him.
He threw my phone at me and asked me what had happened, and I started apologising in reflex. Trevor saw the fear in my eyes and jumped up out of his seat and punched me hard in the face. I cried tears of frustration and touched the spot on my mouth that had connected with his fist. I could feel it swelling and could taste the metallic taste of blood. That wasn’t enough for him; grabbing my hair he pulled me to face him and spit into my face. I wiped it away, but this angered him more. Shoving me roughly away from him he asked again what had happened. Crying and shaking I explained that Gabby had dropped it as she had exited for school that morning. The shame creeped over me as I tried to shield myself from him by using my daughter as a reason for him to not beat me. He looked at me, twisting his hands deeper into my hair calling me and our daughter bitches, Trevor’s face showed disgust as he mentioned our names telling me that our daughter needs to learn how to behave and that he should have a harder approach with her…

My thoughts are broken by the sound of the telephone in the hallway ringing. I get up and wipe the tears from my eyes. The caller ID indicates that the number is withheld, and I chose to ignore it knowing that it is almost time for me to leave to collect Gabby from school. I don’t have time to take surveys or sign up for new windows; my daughter needs picking up. It is almost 3pm and I need to get a move on. Walking steadily to the coat-rack I glimpse myself in the mirror and run my tongue over my broken top lip which looks red and sore; a deep cut running up to just underneath my nose. I wonder if I have time to cover it up but realise it would need a lot of work to hide it. If I get asked by one of the moms how it happened, then I can make something up. I have got good at that over the years. I button my coat up and pull my long hair out of the collar, wincing from the pain on my scalp.

Then I head back to the kitchen to collect my car-keys. Tammy eyes me suspiciously from her spot on the floor before turning her head, nestling down and resting herself against Trevor who is lying motionless on the floor. I am sure I should feel guilty for leaving him lying there in his own blood, but at this moment I feel nothing.

I am not sure if he meant what he said to come out so sinisterly, but I pictured him with his hands on our daughter and I saw red. After all the years of torment I saw him for what he was finally and without thinking I grabbed the nearest kitchen knife off the counter behind me and jammed it into his neck. The look of shock in his eyes will live with me forever. He was as shocked as I was. Stumbling weakly, he grabbed at his neck, blood spurting out and onto the kitchen floor. He slumped down and stared blankly upwards, the life draining from him.
I watched as he took his last breath, hardly realising that I was holding mine. The relief I felt when he died was so tremendous I started to laugh. I laughed and laughed until I started crying. Then I waited. I waited until the guilt and panic took over, but I felt nothing. I was glad he was dead.

Tears stung my eyes now but only because I wasn’t sure what my future held. What I did know is that this man in front of me would never ever make me feel worthless again. From this point forward, I would never let a man rule me, never live in fear. Turning my back on him I return to the hall and collect the packed bags for me and Gabby. I really wasn’t sure where I was going but at least I know we would be safe.

The Tormenter

Short Story
By Stephanie Geary

Sitting outside the school gates, I wait nervously for Stan Foster to come out of class. My mind whirls at the prospect of seeing him, knowing what I must do. Nerves and fear play a part in making my decisions. I can see a crowd forming, they have heard about what will be happening shortly. Hands in pockets, I glance at the growing audience, knowing that I am about to be put on display and that I must perform. My hands are clammy, and I wipe them roughly down my school trousers. I pull a handful of change from my pocket and count the coins.

Not enough, I need more.

What will he say about that?

I see him making his way out of the school, a group of friends surrounding him, offering him encouragement. They all look this way, none of them wanting to admit that they play a part in this scenario. As they get closer, I feel my heart racing, adrenaline kicks in and I feel ready. My eyes never steel away from his, I stare him down and gulp down on the salty saliva building up in the back of mouth and throat. I feel nauseous, but I know that is due to the fire burning in my gut.

Racing towards Stan, I see the fear in his eyes as he sees me, his secondary school bully approaching him. He looks at me, tears ready to spill from his eyes and I feel the raw fear that comes from his every pore.

And I love it.

I wish that I didn’t! I feel the hold that I have over him and the feeling of being powerful is like a drug I can’t get enough of. I clench my fists eagerly.

My audience waits as I approach my prey; all eyes are on me. I cannot let them down.


20 things about me

So, I saw this on another blog post and figured I would try it myself. Not only will I be able to show you guys some other things about me, but it is good for me to write as often as I can. And seeing as I have no current blog posts to write about, I figured I would give this a go.

So here it is:-

1 – I am a Sagittarius, born in November.

2 – I am the mother of two gorgeous boys, Ethan 6 and Oliver 3. I love them more than anything else.

3 – I have been with my husband for 19 years this year and married for 12.

4 – I have a fear of canals at nighttime. I have this uncontrollable feeling that I am going to fall in and it freaks me out.

5 – I have successfully run a small photography business the past 10 years. I shot weddings, birthdays, events etc and I have a large portfolio which I will share one day in another post.

6 – I am currently signed up with slimming world. I am trying to live a healthier lifestyle and have started exercising too.

7 – I love lying on the bed in the dark and listening to songs via Spotify. It really helps to relax me.

8 – I love chick flick films; Pretty Woman, Dirty Dancing, Footloose, Never Been Kissed….I love seeing a good girly film!

9 – I have two webbed toes on each foot (the two closest to the big toe) I inherited them from my nan who had them. And my eldest son Ethan also has them.

10 – I don’t like hot drinks; tea, coffee etc.

11 – I drive a red Toyota Yaris Hybrid. It is automatic and I love it. It was my first car after passing my test in Jan 2017.

12 – I love reading books. I have not one favourite genre or author as I love so many. But it can range from Stephen King to Jodie Picoult.

13 – I love chocolate spread.

14 – I am a little kooky at times….I’m chatty and quite bubbly when you get to know me but can come across as quiet at first.

15 – I am not the most confident of people; after ridicule at School, previous jobs etc then I always feel that I’m not good enough. I am working on thinking better of myself.

16 – I lost my baby in November, 3rd child. Despite the trauma of it all, I would still like another one.

17 – I have a pet pug called Harry – We call him Harry Pugger.

18 – I love perfume; my favourite being Paco Rabbane Millions at the moment!

19 – I love watching boxsets; Gotham, Smallville, Flash, Buffy, Friends, Greys Anatomy and many more.

20 – I am currently lying in bed in just my underwear listening to my husband and boys downstairs finishing breakfast. My husband let me have a lie in and I’ve used the time to write this post 😀

And that’s it; there is more to me than this post obviously but this is just a small glimpse of me as a person 🙂

Betrayal by Martina Cole

I remember the very first Martina Cole book I read almost 12 years go. It was the thrilling, dramatic ‘Lady Killer’. After a few pages I was hooked and I read the entire book in one day. From that moment on I became a big fan of Cole’s work. I loved the diverse characters and dark themes in each and every one of her books. Not only is Martina good at creating dramatic reads; she also has a great writing style which makes reading her work effortless.

Betrayal is no different to her other books in that it is written fantastically.

The story revolves around Reeva O Hara and her colourful, charismatic family. She herself is feisty and wild, but her entire world revolves around her family; that is until she’s on one of her famous ‘benders’.

We are introduced to her children, each born to a different father but each being of a strong character. They fight one another but fight FOR one another above all else. As with most of Cole’s books we delve deep into the criminal underworld and read with wide eyed at the sinister parts and shocking descriptions. We are introduced to many great characters.

I love Reeva! She is a bit of rogue at times but she is an amazing example of a powerful woman. She would do anything for her kids.

I disliked Aiden, but I think most people would. That just shows how well a book is written when you can identify which character ‘gets your back up’. At times I wanted to hug him; other’s I wanted someone to punch him hard.

I want to write about everything that happened but I don’t want to spoil it for you guys.

All I will say is that this is a fantastic read; it is edgy, gripping and exciting. If you haven’t read Martina Cole’s stories before then look her up and give this book a go; you won’t be disappointed 🙂

I give this 5/5 🌟

Review: The Couple Next Door by Shari Lapena

(Spoiler free)

By Stephanie Geary

Anna and Marco from the outside appear to be the perfect couple, with a lavish house, plenty of money and a beautiful baby girl. But that is far from accurate as we read further into the story.

We start at their next door neighbours house, where a party has been organised. Almost guilt-tripped into leaving her daughter Cora at home, Anna is forced to place a fake smile as she has a rubbish time watching her husband flirt with their brash, attractive hostess and feeling like a poor mother for leaving her daughter alone at home. Although they take turns checking on her, she still feels uneasy about the entire situation. When the time comes to return home, Anna almost runs the distance back despite the copious amount of alcohol consumed as she starts to feel distaste at herself for ‘abandoning’ her child. But all her fears are realised when she discovers that her daughter has been taken from her crib.

This book is a brilliant twist and turn story which leaves you wanting more with each page. There were times that I couldn’t put the book down (which isn’t easy with two little boys constantly wanting my attention) and it drew me in from the start. There were characters who I liked and then there were the characters who I didn’t. I was a fan of poor tortured Marco, the outsider of the family who had married for love into a wealthy, judgemental unit. And I was not a fan of Anna’s ‘father’ who is what can only be described as a ‘spoilt brat’.

On finishing this book I was very happy with how it ended; the story takes you through many twists and turns and each page leaves us asking, ‘what has happened to baby Cora?’

This was an amazing book by the very talented author Shari Lapena; I look forward to reading more from her.

I would give this 4/5 ⭐️

Death of a Loved One

Silently it entered like a cold touch

Feelings awakened were too much

It hunted, it sought, it found

Dragging its prey down to the ground

We prayed for it to leave us alone

And begged it to not take what we own

In it crept and touched all of our lives

Brothers, sons, daughters and wives

The ache we feel

Is all too real

It took our loved one too quickly

The journey handled too cruelly

We didn’t have time to reminisce

We picture all the times that we will miss

We wish we could have more time

But the absence is felt with every chime

The days ahead will be rough

The pain and tears will be tough

Cruelly it entered and cruelly it left

Leaving us to wallow in feelings of bereft

Dream Wishing

Short Story
by Stephanie Geary

I smooth down the blankets which are covering me and bury my head deeper into my pillow. My body is weary, and I ache in all the places I can feel; the familiar pull of sleep is dragging me down and I consider where I want to go tonight. I wonder what I will see and who I will choose to become.

You see, I have what some would call a party trick or a gift of sorts.

I can choose what dreams I have before I go to sleep. It’s not a killer special power like invisibility or being able to fly but it is kind of cool being able to decide what I dream of whist I am in the land of nod. Some days I choose to be a famous actress and walk onto a glitzy stage to collect an award or I model the latest fashion on the catwalk. A few weeks ago, I rode a camel across the Sahara Desert before sunbathing under the hot scorching sun.

Every day I lay in my bed and focus on what I want to dream about, and I simply let myself fall asleep and welcome the new experience. I have walked amongst dinosaurs, visited historical places and drove a fast car around a figure of eight track. Each night I live out an exciting new adventure. Obviously, dreams are still tricky to keep on track and they can still get a bit random but I can at least choose the theme for my dream, even if it does lose its thread a little as it goes along.

Tonight, I have thought of something new I would like to do. Something which I would like to do more than anything else in the world.
So, I close my eyes and focus with all my might whilst my body and mind slowly slip into sleep. The darkness washes over me and I feel lighter, almost as though I am floating off the bed.

And then I see bright white light, blue sky and a long delicately placed wedding aisle set outside in a beautiful field of lavender; the aisle is decorated with strewn white roses and pretty tealights. Either side of the aisle are white wicker seats with dusty pink bows decorated on the back of each one. In the seats are guests, all talking and waiting.
They wait for me. I look down at myself and see that I am wearing a long white wedding gown, decorated with diamantes and lace. It hangs from me, leaving a trail behind. To my left is my Father; he looks at me proudly, speaking words to me, words that I can’t quite hear. It is almost like he is talking underwater. I look back towards the aisle and I see familiar people amongst the guest, the chairs have changed from wicker chairs to pews. My mother sits at the front, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. A few seats behind her is my best friend, April. She is dressed in black as though she is attending a funeral, she too is dabbing at her eyes. I take another look down at my dress and see that it has changed slightly, the cut is different, and the sleeves are now long in length and not short. I try to see my legs but it is as though I am floating.

I look back up towards the front of the aisle and then I see him. Robert. The one and only guy I have ever loved. He is looking back at me, smiling. His dimple in his right cheek is evident now and I feel myself smiling back. His hand reaches out and he beckons me forward. I look to my left for my Dad, but he is no longer with me. I search for him amongst the people in the congregation and see him sitting beside my mother, his head down in his hands as though is grieving. Robert still has his hand outstretched, so I walk forward towards him, taking each step slowly and memorising each second. As I walk, Robert creeps ever further away without taking a step. Its as though I am walking on a travellator going in the wrong direction. I start to run as I am eager to get to Robert before I wake up. I know this is a dream and I know that this moment cannot last forever. I jump forward, launching myself at him, and Robert catches me in his arms. He looks down at me and he stares deeply into my eyes and mouths words at me, which again I cannot hear. But I know by the look in his eyes that he is saying he loves me. Suddenly I look around and we are at our reception, we are dancing to our favourite song and he holds me to him. Robert kisses me on the top of the head and I hold him to me, praying that I won’t wake up soon. We spin around the room, everything and everyone becoming non-existent. He whispers, ‘Goodbye’ into my ear and then I notice that I am dancing on my own. The room is in darkness and I am suddenly sitting in a wheelchair, my legs numb. I scream but no words come out…

…I wake suddenly and see that the sun is starting to stream in though the window. I can hear whispered words outside my door and I let the silent tears course down my cheeks. I lie waiting for someone to come in. As though she has read my mind, my mother walks in and smiles sadly when she sees that I am awake. She crosses the room and touches my hand lightly. My mother, the strong person in our family unit is struggling to speak. Her mouth moves but she appears to be finding it difficult to put a sentence together.
‘I have sad news, sweetheart. I am so sorry that I have to tell you this, but Robert’s Dad spoke to me in the corridor…they are talking about turning off his machine tomorrow…’

I close my eyes, I hear her words, but they don’t penetrate. All at once I see the events of yesterday play in rapid succession through my mind. Me and Robert in his car on the way to a concert. The other car as it collided with us. The vision of Robert half thrown out of the front screen window, staring blankly but twitching violently as his body struggles to deal with the impact. I remember the pain in my legs and the fear as I watch Robert dying in front of me. The fire crew cutting me free. The blue flashing lights. The doctors talking to my parents about my damaged spine and legs.

Everything comes back to me and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to fall back asleep so I can dream of us together again. I don’t want to live in a world where Robert isn’t here. All I have now is my pointless ability which will allow me to see him whenever I want….

…but what good is a dream if it isn’t real?

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