‘ Jumping it . That ’ s what you were thinking , weren ’ t it ? Dive on the tracks , go on .’
Actually , you were going for a drink with your drug dealer and were pissed off to be running late . It hadn ’ t crossed your mind until he said it , at least you don ’ t think it had . You ’ d turned over a new leaf . Just some light self-harm . You were cutting down . ‘ That ’ s a bit bold of you .’ When you looked at him , he was grinning , a toothy grin that didn ’ t suit his face . You knew immediately in the Cheshire-cat shine to his eyes . You had stumbled onto the crossroads of myth . This thing knew you , and knew you well . It knew what you had always really wanted . ‘ I ’ ll cut you a deal ,’ it purred . You took it .
*** You went off to sixth form to soothe parental concerns . After being sent to what was known as ‘ special school ’ – a description which probably wouldn ’ t go down well now , but that was , frankly , the only name for it back then – your prospects seemed limited . CAMHS could only do so much : you could only take so many hot baths , practice so much mindfulness , piss in so many jars . It didn ’ t help that the majority of your cohort had real problems , were recovering from childhood cancer , were missing limbs , had been raised by parents on stints in Strangeways or , even worse , Broadmoor . And then there was you . The one who couldn ’ t stop trying to die .
At sixteen you were world-weary , but not as weary as your mum , who had an aneurysm every time she caught you with a pencil sharpener in your bag or a lighter in your room . She didn ’ t know the extent of things , of course , and couldn ’ t understand . It was always when you weren ’ t attempting that she was on high alert ; none of your actual attempts were thwarted by her watchfulness , only by sheer bad luck . You were becoming bored of chasing something that had been taken from you – the taking of life itself . You ached to try it all , to know how it happens , how it feels , how those gory true crime stories would have truly gone down . Through everything , your blood pumped stubbornly on .
You went ahead with the photography course because it seemed alright . It was recommended to me by considerate adults who remarked on its therapeutic benefits . To their dismay , in actuality it was a kind of artistic cop-out that in the early 2010s and at that college , meant a Flickr portfolio of sun-kissed skyscrapers and a black and white shot of someone ’ s muddied converse or laddered black tights , expertly edited on Picnik and passed off as Photoshop . It was the era of junkie chic , so it was actually a pretty good time for you aesthetically . You fit in with the kids who wanted to claim your backstory , who wanted to wear your scars themselves , who watched Skins and had dramatic fringes and strange relationships with older men in bands .
Danse Macabre 22