English Language AS Level Coursework: Creative Writing Piece

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Victoria Holdsworth-Swan                Final Draft

You had no idea until it was too late. You tell yourself it’s not your fault, desperate for relief from the guilt, but the words ring hollow; even unspoken they are fake. You know you could have changed things, you had a chance but you ignored it, afraid, and turned your back. It’s too late now, and the desolation and deathly stillness in the wake of the storm is your punishment, filling you with memories and relentless guilt. Every second brings another fond memory: the way he breathed when he slept, eyes half open, lips curved in half a smile; the way his hand would creep into yours and you knew he needed you; the way he cried when he hurt you and you always forgave him, knowing he would always forgive you… The way he told you he loved you. There’ll be no kissing to make up, not now. With each little realisation of each little loss, another little thing you’ll never have again, you heart breaks a bit more, until you’re sure there can be nothing left to break.

  You passed his mother in the street the other day, and her eyes were blank, lifeless. You imagine yours are the same, pools of frozen grief. The guilt bites down a little harder; how many more people have you hurt with your careless handling of his heart?

  Sometimes you forget – almost – that it is real, and you’re happy for a while, but when you remember it hits you like a bullet in the chest and you feel like screaming, sobbing until you can no longer breathe, no longer feel. You have no right to be happy, when he is gone because of you. What right do you even have to grieve him, self-pitying as it is? Remembering that day and knowing you could have changed things, that with a moment’s thought, a word, a single action you could have changed everything… your mind in its turmoil, the storm of bitter emotions a constant torment, can barely take in the extent of your guilt. All the regret in the world can’t change the past, but that doesn’t stop the pain. That ache in your heart that reminds you, every day, every minute, of what you are seems there to stay; you can see no end to the pain.

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  The relief you feel, the release from your emotional torment as you draw the blade across your skin, the way you feel so calm, like nothing else can make you feel – that’s why you do it. Because you don’t know another way to stop the pain, other than to create your own.

  They tell you that time is the best healer, just wait and see, it’ll be alright. But what do they know? You’re sure that no one could understand the pain you feel, knowing that you are to blame for the world turning upside down, your ...

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