Just Some Things #7 : Emma Petfield.
This
is the latest instalment in my feature Just Some Things!
In
case you don't know, here's how it works...
I
send a writer an individual email with a series of prompts from the
'642 Things to Write About' book – chosen entirely at random most
of the time – and then when I
get the responses, I dedicate a post to them and their piece. It
could be short, long, backwards, in another language, I don't mind.
It'll be an adventure whatever happens! And they can use or ignore
however many of the prompts they wish.
When
published on the blog, their piece will be put in first and then I'll
add in a little piece beneath it, my response to the same prompt. I
will always ensure mine is shorter and less prominent, obviously.
It's all about featuring my fave writers.
Today
my guest writer is Emma Petfield of Howling Reviews – the place
to go online for succinct, fair and generally lovely book reviews. Emma recently became Comms Exec for John Murray Ltd, which obvs means I can now visit her in the gorgeous Carmelite House for lunch dates...
She and I actually have a writing date set up this very evening, and I cannot wait.
Their
prompt was: Write
the first line of your memoir. Then the second.
The
change was never something I anticipated. It just happened one night.
It
was kind of like an out of body experience. One moment I was sitting
on my bed flipping through a bio-analytics textbook, the next my skin
began to bubble, my bones shifted and my muscles burned
spasmodically. There’s nothing quite like the sound of your own
bone cracking. I’ve come to decipher between a clean break, an
egregious snap, and the crunch of the irreversible. And
yet, my body always bounced right back.
The
nights were the worst. Not knowing if I was going to get my regular
hours or if I’d spend the time writhing in pure agony and wake up
with gaps in my memory. But then those breaks disappeared; I wished
they hadn’t.
Vivid
flashes of pounding against the ground; waking up to find leaves in
my hair. None of it made sense, until it did. Then the shedding
began. At that point, I really couldn’t deny it anymore. I still
didn’t want to believe it.
It
was getting more frequent and I didn’t know how to control it. I
watched as my skin flecked with fur, a periwinkle grey. If it wasn’t
for the fact that the entire experience was terrifying, I’d be
mesmerised by the sublime beauty of my other form. The only bonus was
that my legs had never looked so athletic.
I
took up running, became pretty good at it, actually. One day I was
jogging home, about a mile away. It was still light outside despite
the rain, so I thought it was safe. It had never happened in the day
before. So when the ache ran from the tip of my spine to my feet, I
knew I wasn’t going to make it home. The cracking began, my heart
thudded in my ears. I dropped to the pavement, thrashing against wet
curb. Bones re-aligned. Skin morphed. I emerged on my feet – all
four of them. A pair of yellow eyes staring back at me. My own eyes.
And
here is my
response
to the same prompt...
The
cheeky Ms Fate once said to her unusual suitor, Sir Coincidence: 'I
feel we were meant to be.'
The entranced man held his tongue, when
really he knew deep in his soul that it was just a lucky break, that
their paths had happened to cross, nothing more to it than that.
As
he watched her victoriously sip her drink, smirking to herself, he
knew he couldn't ruin this perfect moment, this happenstance, by
shining a light on the truth. So he kept quiet, and let her have this
one. And they were happily together from then on, until forever.
*
If you'd like to be involved in one of these Just Some Things posts, email me at [email protected].
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