by Natascha Graham
They’re loud tonight. These voices that clamour. Gillian’s here. Standing by the kitchen window with the sky behind her – as sullen and moody as she is, shot through with the deepest blue of the darkest night. She’s been standing there for a while now, and she hasn’t said a word. She’s running the tip of a finger over a burn on the side of her hand. Just at the base of her thumb. She’s done it getting a cake out of the oven. A week ago. One she’d made. Which isn’t something you’d imagine she’d do. But she did. She does. And it tasted good, but the scars still there, and in this cold winter, in this kitchen that’s stayed dark for too long, the scar turns purple, milky, and she worries at it, Because she doesn’t want to look up.
Raised simultaneously by David Bowie and Virginia Woolf, Natascha Graham is a writer of stage, screen, fiction and poetry. She lives with her wife in a house full of sunshine on the east coast of England. Her short films have been selected by Pinewood Studios & Lift-Off Sessions, Cannes Film Festival, Raindance Film Festival and the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Her plays and other stage work have been performed at The Mercury Theatre, Colchester, Thornhill Theatre, London and Fifth Avenue Theatre, New York where her monologue, Confessions: The Hours won the award for Best Monologue. Her poetry, fiction and non-fiction essays have been previously published by Acumen, Rattle, Litro, Every Day Fiction, The Sheepshead Review, Yahoo News and The Mighty among others, as well as being aired on BBC Radio and various podcasts. Natascha also writes the continuing BBC Radio Drama, Everland, and has an upcoming theatre show at The Lion & Unicorn Theatre, London.