shelley writes stuff.

My jaw was rattling. All these strange eyes on me, I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I leant my elbow on the windowsill and popped my head on my hands, like I was un-bothered and deep in thought. The engine rumbled and my head started bobbing up and down. I knew they saw it. I pretended they didn’t and that I totally meant it and leant my head against the window instead, where the vibrations hit my brain and shuddered down. I could still feel it now. These busses were once an hour and the fucking worst.  Suddenly I realised just how gross this entire place was and panicked. My make up! I fumbled around in my handbag, a black hole of a place, trying to feel for my mirror. I’d smudged some of my foundation and eyeshadow leaning against the window. Fuck. I felt around for a q-tip and my bottle of micellar water and tried to clean the edges. “A cotton-bud isnae gonnae fix the state of that!” Some ned sitting across from me piped up. His deadbeat friends and desperate clingers ...

This story takes place a few months after grey. In that time, our protagonist  has come across information that the powerful didn't want anyone to know. She has been on the run since.   --------------------------------------------- “You're going to have to listen to my instructions” She looked up at the woman talking to her. The last thing she remembered was jumping out the side of a freight train when the inspectors discovered her hiding spot. It wasn't moving fast when she had leapt, but the ground below was not welcoming. She knew she must have came to eventually and started walking... but this wasn't where she had landed. She'd been found by someone. The woman was still talking. “The only reason we are helping you is because Meer can vouch for you. Because he knows you were the one to get the intel about the nurses... and that's pretty much the only way this thing can operate. But. Do not take advantage of us. If it were me, you...

We got in another fucking fight again. And now here I am at 1am in the morning wandering the streets. It's pissing down with rain and this leather jacket + hoodie combo isn't doing much to stop me from ending up soaking. My combat boots are taking in more water and making a squelch noise every third step. My sports bag keeps knocking into the same little part of my hip but in all honesty I don't give a shit. I've got my booze and my basic possessions and I'm away from him for now. That'll keep me warm. That'll keep me going. That'll make me forget about the lovely bruise that'll form on my side if I just. keep. walking. I say 'my booze' but in reality I swiped it from his apartment before I left. It's his favourite, and I'm petty, and he's an asshole. As soon as I left I went to the little bodega on the corner and picked up the cheapest, most off-brand bottle of coke I could find. Y'know, that kinda shit that's called Ko...

Social media is a weird thing. I got really down on Monday because something I wanted to happen, didn't. It made me feel like I wasn't good enough, that I should just give up, that I'm a failure. One of those days. When you combine this feeling of not being good enough with scrolling through your social media, seeing all the perfect lives and job promotions; the flat stomach and the flashy lifestyles... it's a recipe for disaster. It's weird how social media makes you envy things you don't want because it's all become so competitive. It's like points are assigned to certain milestones, and you scroll away, tallying them up against your own total. Had a baby? 100 points. Bought a house with a garden? 90 points. Got a new car? 75 points. How do I compare? In my ideal fantasy life, all I really want is a penthouse flat, a cute pet tortoise, and the freedom to do whatever the fuck I want. So why am I feeling so far behind everyone else, like my tally of poi...

You go about your everyday life, stuck in routine. You leave the house at the same time, take the same amount of steps each morning, do the same menial tasks in work, head home to indulge in the same evening activities. At least, that was my life. Hell, I was so set in my ways I’d even sit on the same seat on the train every day. Sometimes I would even eat the same things – breakfast, lunch and dinner – for weeks in a row. Routine can be a safety blanket or it can be used to suffocate you. It just depends who you are. It can protect you from the real world if you don't want to face it. Or it can weigh you down, making you desperate for freedom, forcing you to throw it off so you can breathe.  It just depends how you use it. When this is disrupted it wakes you up a little. Usually for me, and awakening would be triggered by someone sitting in my usual seat on the train. Or the shop not having the lunch I ate every day. But this time, it was the large grey shipping container tha...