short short story

First m[over]

After that, she could never see herself as making the first move.

After a life of misspent love, of foolish decisions, of crossroads badly judged and dangerously driven through, as if against red light time and time again, she simply gave up on moving first.

First movers committed, it’s true – but you never knew if, equally, they could be sent down for having taken the first step.  “In what?” you might ask.  “Anything!” I would answer.  “White coats who ‘committed one’ were never much fun … never much fun at all.”

And she’d done her time in hospital, that’s true.  And she really did not wish to go back to that.  And so the only choice she now really had was never to be first mover again in her life.  First moving meant a contractual tying up, a containing in web-like control: a real-life equivalent of the networks which now moved everything – in digital world, if nowhere else.

So this was how she finally understood death.  Don’t anticipate: don’t hurry along: just sit and wait and – instead of pursue love – survive as best she could the pain of losing her right to live again.


* Featured photo taken at the Brown & Son “Scouse Roots” exhibition, currently on at FACT Liverpool, UK.


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