I’m back again. We just had our first Type-in for 2025, and it feels good to be back in the writing space. One of my biggest challenges has been making the time to write. I don’t prioritise it over other things that need my attention. I want to prioritise my writing, I just don’t know what to drop to allow that. But I suspect that social media might be a good place to start looking for those blocks of time. The latest BS over F#$^&*ook has given me another reason to seriously consider dropping out of the social media space, or to at least look at what other options I have. It’s hard. All my friends and family use this platform and for many of them, it’s the only way we connect. A big part of me really wants to fight back and say, ‘No! I will not be bullied out of my social space. I am disabled, LGBTIQA+, and neuro diverse and I have as much right to be here as anyone else. So, for now, I think I’ll black out for a week to support the message that it’s not ok to treat people this way, but I won’t be silenced indefinitely.

Anyhoo…. On to the matter of writing. I have struggled to make myself put pen to paper over the last year, but I’m determined to break through that drought. Our esteemed leader offered me a couple of writing prompts this morning and this is the one I ran with. It’s a first draft and I may or may not tidy it up. But it doesn’t really matter at this point. I’m writing and that was the whole purpose of the exercise.

Chat soon,

A.L.A.S

Writing Prompt

‘Hey Jo, have you still got it?’

‘Ssh! Yes, come inside.’

I slip in quickly and she closes the door behind me, glancing up the street to make sure I haven’t been followed. I can hear her kids upstairs and turn to look as one of them appears at the top of the stairwell.

‘Who is it, mum?’

‘No one, go back to your room and play. I’ll be up in a minute.’

We both watch until he leaves. She cringes when something crashes, and a fight breaks out.

Sighing, she turns to me and asks, ‘Did you bring the coupons?’

‘Yeah, I managed to get 300. I know it’s not what we agreed on but honestly, it’s a shit show out there. No one is giving up anything anymore.’

‘Fuck! I told you I needed 400 to pay for Emma’s hospital bills! I can’t give it up for less, it’s the only thing of value I have left. I’m sorry Sam, but we had a deal.’

I turn away so she doesn’t see the rage on my face. I knew before I got here that I had little chance of getting it, but the lure was too strong. I’ve been searching for weeks for these stupid things. Begging favours, prostituting myself for one measly coupon, stealing when I could, I even knocked over an old guy one day who was on his way into the market. Managed to get 10 coupons out of that job. This craziness was turning me into a monster. I slump against the wall and start to cry.

Jo slips an arm around my shoulder and holds me close.

‘I know it’s hard Sam, but honestly, it does get easier. I barely even think of it anymore.’

‘This whole thing is just BS. You know the arseholes only made it illegal so they can keep it all for themselves? Trying to make people believe that it’s shortening our lifespans and giving us cancer. What a crock! Aaargh! I haven’t had any for 3 months! If I was going to get over it, surely it would have happened by now? Can I just, I don’t know, smell it?’

Jo laughs. ‘Sure, give me a minute.’

I pace the hallway while she is gone. I can hear the kid’s asking questions, and her deflections, promises to go to the park later, no you can’t have an ice-cream. I stop in front of a mirror, shocked when I see myself. When did that happen? My hair looks like it hasn’t been brushed in weeks and when was the last time I shaved? Dark circles under my eyes attest to the countless nights I’ve lain awake dreaming of what I can’t have. This new law is going to kill me if I don’t get a grip on myself soon.

Jo appears at my side. I hadn’t even heard her coming down the stairs. She holds a small tin in her hands. One of those old metal ones they used to have back in the last century, before all the wars. It looks like something you might cook a date loaf in. The writing is barely legible, something about the Ministry of Food, National Dried Milk? A bit hard to tell. She pries the lid off and holds it up. Oh my god! The smell is so overpowering! I breathe it in so hard that my sinuses start burning. My mouth waters and I start to laugh and cry at the same time. I want this so badly. I stand there with my hands on the tin, breathing in the aroma so deeply that I begin to feel like I’m meditating. Everything else disappears and for the first time in weeks, I feel my body starting to unwind.

I glance up to see Jo watching me, concern written on her face.

‘You really miss this, don’t you?’

I don’t know what to say. She’s right of course. But I know if I say yes, she might just give it to me, bills be dammed. Instead, I laugh.

‘Yeah, a little bit, but I’ll manage. I’ll keep looking for more coupons, see how I go hey? Can you give me another week?’

She agrees and I turn to leave, but as I reach for the door, a thought crosses my mind.

‘Could I just have one?’

She shakes her head and laughs but grabs one out of the tin and gives it to me.

‘Make it last.’ She laughs.

‘I will, I promise.’

As I sit by the river, sucking on this one tiny coffee bean, I finally accept that I have sold my soul. I’ll never get over this. I will die every day doing whatever it takes to get one more hit. A log drifts by my feet, and I watch the currents swirl. I slip off my shoes and lower myself into the river. It won’t take long. The tides are changing, and a storm is brewing.

The writing prompt was ‘Coffee is Illegal‘

© 21^st January 2025 Annie Christie-Whitehead.