An Interesting Story – A Monologue by Daniel Postlethwaite

I want to have an interesting story to tell my children, and to tell their children. I want to look back on my life with minimal regret, with no sorrow, just happiness. To do that requires drawing a line in the sand. I need a fresh start, I need to get away from all this. Who am I really kidding? I have no friends here. No family. No ties, no commitments. Nothing. I have nothing.

So then why is it so scary?

Why is the idea of packing up and leaving, such a terrifying idea? There has been numerous times now where I have been stood at my door, suitcase packed and in my hand, but I’ve just come over in a cold sweat and dropped the suitcase and begun to sob.

It’s almost pathetic.

I had a reason to stay once you know? Have I ever told you that? There was this girl, it’s always a girl isn’t it. She had big gorgeous almond eyes and curly mousey brown hair. Her lips were always slightly apart in a natural pout, making me want to kiss her every time I saw her. Alison she was called. Alison Reed.

We dated for about a year until her family decided to do what I’m trying to do now. They moved away. From Chesire, England to Sydney, Australia. I’m not sure how many miles it is but it’s one hell of a plane journey.

Maybe I could track her down? One way ticket to Sydney and hunt down a phone book, but this was twenty years ago now and I doubt she will even remember me. Back then we had none of this electronic communication and eventually the letters just stopped coming.

Sometimes you know, in my dreams of escape, in my need to escape, to be free, I’ve considered other options too. If it is a story I want to tell, why should I do a rewrite, why don’t I just end this story and start on the sequel?

But then my mind snaps back to the reality of my situation, if I’m too scared to pick up a suitcase and walk through a door and never look back, I’ll most certainly never be able to pick up a blade and look down.

Yes, my life is quite the conundrum at the moment.

I take a long drink of my wine and look through the little frost covered window, the winter snow has come much earlier this year, a shock to the system after the heat of the summer just past.

What to do, what to do.

I sit like this for a long while until the distinct crunch of boots on untouched snow snaps me to my senses. I place down my glass on the coaster and try to catch a glance through the window but they’re already out of sight.

I walk across my ample sized living room and go the front door reaching up for the security chain and starting to undo it as my eye goes to the peephole. It takes me a few seconds for what I am seeing to register but once it does my hands stop what they are doing and I freeze. Taking a deep breath my hands begin to shake as I resume undoing the security chain.

I throw open the door, snowflakes rushing inside the house obviously seeking the warmth. I am silent for a few seconds until I say:

“Is it really you?”


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