Megan.jpg

mEGAN

By Harriet Gillian

Her nose hurt. She knew she probably shouldn’t have gone speed walking at this time of night, but dammit when you gotta go, you gotta go. Plus, her therapist had said that acting on seemingly small impulses might be a good way to kick start the more daunting ones?  Oh, but fine. Yes. Maybe at 3.20am she had taken it too literally in this instance.

Megan sucked the night air through her teeth and winced. The cold tickled her sensitive pearly whites and she tasted blood. That’ll be the nose, she thought. Or was it those new ‘eco-friendly’ toothpaste pills she’d bought? She wasn’t convinced they alone would save the world, but as she’d told her therapist, we do only have one planet and the war on plastic is real. Her therapist had quipped that ‘the struggle was too,’ but Megan had ignored it. Plastic was enough for now.

She brushed the soft playground landing bark off her pyjama bottoms and stood up, only half way this time - Megan was hapless, not stupid. She patted the cold steel bar, congratulating the climbing frame like a worthy adversary, and gave it a wide berth on her way to the swings. 

Just a quick go, she thought, while I’m here.