To Wake As If From A Dream

It’s not dawned on me yet, but I hope it does soon, and what better place to have an epic realisation than at Highbury & Islington Station, wherein so many of my memories were created. The eleven o’clock has just pulled out, and its departure has left me feeling somewhat down, this place gets awfully drab at night time and its headlights, like golden arrows, were what kept me comfortable.
Tomorrow is the start of a new day and another day that you are not here. I can’t really call it ‘new’ as it’s the sort of day I have lived over and over again, over and over again like some sort of sick record. But let’s not squabble over terminology, we know that when the sun rears its ugly head again I will be tucked up in a bed and with a pounding headache.
The rain has picked up, and with every sodden spit I remember another second I spent with you. There was that time, when we sat on the terrace, clutching onto our pens with fevered madness, and our other hands constricting our cigarettes, you first told me about Charlie and his friend.
‘So, Jonathan, I’ve got this idea for a play,’ William smiles at me, eagerly awaiting my acknowledgement. He looks awkward on the roof, he‘s sitting down on his knees, with his back arched and his thighs flat against the ground. As usual, William is wearing something ostentatious; today’s couture is reminiscent of a Etonion, but without the hat. His blazer is royal blue, with gold trim glimmering the edges and around the breast pocket. There is a mysterious emblem placed on this blazer, with what looks like a man making an offering to the Devil. The emblem is particularly unsettling, for it does not look as if it would belong anywhere but on the blazer of a madman. Underneath this blazer, William has on a very pearly white shirt, however it lacks any buttons and instead is held together with stitches. How he puts it on and off is beside me. His trousers and shoes are public school indeed, black and dignified - although the shoes are scuffled and worn in.
‘A play? Hold on a moment, shouldn’t you start with a short story… or even some prose. The most I’ve seen you write is some scribbled poetry,’ I reply, with my head turned to the side, so as not to catch William’s eye and worry him, but I can feel his eyes burning into me. William is cursed with the eyes of a demon, like poignant dead stars swimming in reservoirs. The blue is what makes them most terrifying, it’s not the usual sort of beautiful blue handsome men are blessed with, but a sort of blue you would experience in the sea when you are indeed quite lost. If you were to look deep into them I would fear you’d get lost. His eyes are perfectly spaced apart, with his straight strong nose erecting itself down from his thick burrow. William’s face is also deep and maddening, his cheek bones are chiselled finely and his chin protrudes from them so finely. His brow and hair are an extreme deep black, and though his eyebrows are kept trim and neat, the hair is wild and rough. Although it is short and shaped, his fringe is jagged and cuts across his forehead, causing the sides of his hair to push twist round his face.
‘You don’t believe I can do it, do you?’ He lifts himself up off your elbows and onto his knees, ‘because I can! I really can. I’ve been thinking about characters and a setting… I’ve got histories for these characters and very specific personalities, and I think they compliment each other fantastically.’ I take a drag of my cigarette, twirl the smoke round in my mouth, and blow it out into the sky. ‘Go on then. Tell me about it,’ I smirk. William hops off of his knees and plants his feet onto the roof excitedly, then thrusts his hand into his blazer pocket, ‘you won’t regret this Jonathan, you won’t!’
He pulls out an assortment of ragged papers, and begins to check each corner and organise them, presumably, into the correct order whilst keeping his head nuzzled into his chest. ‘What - what are those?’ I enquire. William pops his head up, and looks right through me. I don’t really know how to respond, ‘William?’ I ask curiously. A small smile breaks onto his face and he begins to snicker. ‘Alright, what’s so funny?’ I ask again. He hurries across the roof terrace and forces the ruffled collection of papers onto my chest.
‘It’s all there. That’s my play.’ He proclaims proudly. I glance down onto them, then slide my eyes across the sky to meet his. ‘All of it? That’s all of it?’ He nods triumphantly and looks at me implying I should also me nodding. There is a brief pause now, William is perfectly still, just waiting for me to look over his play. I’m a bit nervous really, if I am too harsh on it he will be broken, if I’m too nice he may be suspicious.
The city seems still. Even the cars rushing up and down appear to have muted as to make me feel even more pressured by William. Birds are scattered above across the clouds and the setting sun. Now finished, I flick my cigarette off the side, sending it hurtling onto the road below, knowing that as soon as it crashes onto the pavement I will have to turn my attention over to William. ‘Fine,’ I mutter ‘I’ll read it, but give me some time. I don’t want to miss anything,’ William smiles again and rushes through the door away from me.
To begin with, I thumb through the many sheets he has given to me. There must be around thirty or so pages… It doesn’t seem like much I know, but his handwriting his minute and pages tend to be written on a slant, so even more fits in.
Charlie… Twenty three, writer. Rebecca, twenty five, business student. Flicking through the pages these are the only characters that appear. Rebecca says nothing for huge spans of time. Charlie is described as mighty and tall, with strong arms and strong hands. His fingers are compared to constricting marble vines, and the things he says would shake the heart of any well read person. So violent and misanthropic, he’s like a time bomb. The whole play is filled with this. As Charlie descends further and further into this self-inflicted madness, Rebecca appears to drift further and further away. Until Charlie ultimately attempts to murder her… having failed he goes for the next easiest target. Himself.
A train shoots along the rails underneath the bridge, the headlights illuminate the walls on both sides of the track. With it comes a vast gust of wind that pushes discarded newspapers and tickets up into the dark canopy of night, and as they dance up in the air, flickering between the stars, I hold tighter onto the side of the bridge, leaning over the edge so I can peep my head down and look clearly on the rails.
After reading the play, a lot came clearer to me. It wasn’t the terrace that made me so nervous afterwards, it was the play itself. I wasn’t sure whether to tell you about it or not, and just to give you a well done and a gentlemanly pat on the back; but some things have to be said, no matter how difficult it is to say them.

That iron door creaks open as William slides between it and the wall, trying to catch me off guard. ‘I know you’re there,’ he stops dead in his tracks and the door crashes back with a thud. ‘What did you think? Were you impressed?’ He asks, rushing up to me almost knocking me down.
‘Well… I’m a bit worried about the content. Sure it’s dramatic and thrilling but-’ he falls onto his back cursing and shutting his eyes. ‘I knew you’d hate it! You’ve always hated comedy!’ He exclaims, making me flinch and double take in disbelief. ‘Comedy? This is comedy? William it’s horrific! I’ve never read anything so violent in my life!’ William stands there defiantly, looking shocked all over. He paces to the edge of the terrace and places his hands firmly on the bars. These bars serve just one purpose; to hinder anyone with their mind set on suicide. They constrict along the side, grasping onto the next house in a desperate attempt to save someone’s life.
‘You can have it back if you want, William, you can still change it. You’ve got the time.’ There is no answer. The wind picks up, lifting the paper bags littered around the rooftops up into the air and knocking discarded cigarette butts off onto the people below. They all seem unmoved, such is the crowd in London.