This is the opening of a short story I’m working on for journal or competition submission, let me know what you think…
Constructed Personalities
(c) Angela Meyer, 2007
It’s 4:57 and Monday Mum is preparing a recipe she’s seen on Jamie at Home. Balsamic steam collects in the corners, one of these occupied by Dad, immersed in the electronic underworld, hurtling through black virtuality, wishing his eyes were wider to take in the whole screen. Stephen is silent, mouldy, in his room, probably also engaging in virtual worlds, being blasted with the colours of constructed personalities on MySpace, or watching heads fly eons from suburbia.
I just want to take a bath.
‘That’s okay, dinner will be another hour,’ says Monday Mum, puzzling over the chicken (skin on) like a codex.
I walk into the bathroom, light a few candles, and turn off the light. I need water and darkness – to cleanse and purge. The quiet. But outside the paper door there is clang and murmur and oh so much monotonous normality. I submerge my ears. Then the ghost appears.
