Creative writing submission
By Megan Macdonald
I find myself transfixed on the way that the blu tack from posters past creeps up my bedroom wall. Each piece is looking back at me. Smugly. I urge myself to remove it, and fast. I didn’t notice five seconds ago but now it perverts my peace. It clings to the wall like a desperate sleaze, it knows it doesn’t belong there. Entitled fucking blu tak. It’s practically parasitic.
Are you even listening, he said loud enough for me to take notice. A half nod seem to convince him because his low steady drone resumes. My eyes don't leave the blu tack, even for a second. I focus on it so hard, I hope that it might fall off the wall and I won’t have to touch it. More than anything, though, I want and will the wall to know that I’m here. It’s been seen now, and the blu tack won’t get away with this.
I see you, wall.
The blu tack clinging so desperately suddenly seems pathetic, and I wonder if it’s aware of my loathing and for a second, just a second, I feel bad.
That's all it takes.
It’s okay, I say, not sounding okay. Though I’m not sure what he’s been saying. I guess it was something like sorry. By the relief in his eyes as I turn to look, I know that it was.
So, like the blu tack, I let him stay a while.