My Own Character - Blog Posts

Ghost Oc

Your jumper

So I know I haven't posted anything for a while, I've been a bit busy with Uni work to write anything new. However, I have had some creative writing assignments and created some OC's. I was quite proud of this assignment I did and I'm currently working on another one. TW: talks of suicide, suicide of a family member and self harm scars.

I’m wearing your jumper. The one you left on my doorknob that morning. The creak of floorboards woke me up, but I turned over and dove back into a dream. It’s weird knowing that the last time I saw you it was a shadow slinking down the stairs and not you jumping on my bed to tell me about the book you’ve been reading or smiling after you beat me at cards. Your jumper stills smells of lavender and sea salt and the sand won’t leave the crevice’s of your pocket, like you won’t leave the crevices of my brain. I want to scrub you out, get a scourer on all the grooves and maybe it’ll hurt less. Scrubbing every memory of you every thought you gave me, every lesson. Losing my brain rather than losing you. I want to forget all the stories you told me to get me to sleep, I want to forget the nights we stayed up star gazing, I want to forget that you never lived outside of this hoodie, but you left it that night.

The sun rose again, the birds sang once more, and the waves continued to crash against the rocks. The sky was painted with pink and orange hues that night, tonight the sky was stained purple as it gave way to bright glistening stars. The hunter, Orion waves his club, the Pegasus spreads its wings proudly, Cassiopeia clutches to the north pole in an effort not to fall off her throne. I hope one day you find your way to the stars; I can look up at you and tell your story like you used to tell me theirs.  The world kept spinning and the stars still shone in the sky everything kept moving. I had to keep moving too. I’m getting up, I’m listening to the birds singing, I’m watching the sun rise and set with each new day. I’m watching the moon go through her cycle her silver face turned to me and her amber smile comforting me the way you used to. She is reflected in the water that you greeted as an old friend; you threw open your arms as the waves did too.

The scars you left on your arms, your thighs, your face. I wonder if they stung when you hit the sea spray. The white lines dig in and create grooves in your skin like a record player going round, playing the same song over and over. Your life plays out in my head and the record goes round on the turn table. It’s your favourite, the one you barely let me touch for fear of breaking it. Funny that a song meant more to you than your own life. Although lots of things meant more to you than yourself. Your skin and blood a sacrifice, it drips, drips, drips. You didn’t care about yourself, your life, your blood, your soul. You cared about me though. That why you left me your jumper, right?