The Inkling Volume 2

pter two: White
een glow casts unnerving shadows over every inch of the dated swirls of cracking paint,
t me everywhere I go; all it takes is ten minutes of looking up at the plastic constellations
that week chase away dreamtime stories until sleep is just a distant memory. Today, the
rab my phone. The blaring brightness of the screen hits my eyes with what I imagine the
r.
ed corner of the table, pulling off tiny shards of oak that scatter to the floor like pine neeto
my laptop screen as the faces of the model-like twenty-somethings blur before my tired
. Only hearing snippets of the show, I begin to forget what it is I’m watching. I fight not to
agine what it must be like to film shows like this. My two years of experience left me with
old - this jumper was the only thing that stopped me from literally freezing...well, not literw
replace an incessant beeping that strikes fear into my heart to this very day.
in the front door and get up to let my housemate in, only to be greeted by six girls in skirts
, mousy hair teased up into a huge bun on the top of her head.
round her the girls cackle like a coven of witches.
to know the nightlife?”
by two members of the coven. This could be interesting.
ers pulses beneath the cobbled pavement on which my pale ankles wobble in their heels.
girls. The faint stars above me are struggling for dominance with the neon signs that flog
sts under the shawl - I promised myself tonight there would be now scratching; no bleed-
To my left I see a man of about thirty wearing antler horns, hand in hand with man in a
ress, complete with fake eyelashes that stretch a mile out from her face. Every corner of
rinks in tiny plastic glasses. Nervously, I step onto the club floor. Around me it feels like I
ing desk. Eva pulls me into the centre, throwing her hands up and letting out an off-pitch
elling the lyrics of whatever the DJ is blasting out. It’s only as we reach the exit that I hear
ong enough for me to catch a glimpse.
ut of the club, fighting against my hoarse throat to shout their names (most of which I can
nawing away at my bare legs as I frantically wrap the shawl over as much of me as possithe
sound down the quiet street, taking care not to trip on the cobbles, until I catch sight
wn a narrow lane and squeeze through a tiny door.The room inside is completely empty.