Billie Argyle
Bio
Letting all the writing I've kept hidden in my desk draw for decades out into the world.
Telling my own story and having opinions at last.
Stories (4)
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Bella and the Bear
Bella sat at the dinner table watching her parents eat. No one was talking and the air felt heavy and suffocating. Her mother was cutting her food into tiny pieces but not really eating any of it, just pushing it around her plate. Her father slammed his cutlery down after each bite and chewed loudly. Bella could feel her stomach twisting around the food she was forcing herself to eat too fast, hardly chewing before swallowing it down and ignoring the painful lump forming in her throat. She wanted to leave the table as quickly as possible and that meant clearing her plate. No sooner than she had put the last bite in her mouth she asked to be excused. Her mother continued to stare blankly at her plate, seemingly without hearing her so she turned instead to her father. He grunted at her in approval and she slipped from her chair and gently placed her cup and plate by the sink. She tiptoed up the stairs and as she closed the bedroom door behind her she heard a plate crash into the sink. She jumped into her bed without undressing and pulled her pillow down around her ears. Not quickly enough to block out the first angry words booming up from below. She sang softly to herself and shut her eyes tight hoping that sleep would come quickly. When sleep didn't come and the noise came up the stairs bringing with it crashes and slammed doors that shook the floor under her bed, Bella pulled her quilt about her shoulders and climbed out her window and into the ancient tree whose branches tangled up against the house and creaked in the wind. Climbing deeper into the branches she found no escape from the noise so she clambered down and ran away from the house, following the small creek that ran through their property. The moon was full and high in a clear sky and it was only when Bella could no longer see her way by its light that she realised she had wandered into the thick patch of forest that bordered her father's land. He had told her many times that if she went into the woods alone a bear would eat her for a snack. Too frightened of the noise at home to return and too frightened of bears to continue she curled up in the roots of a huge tree and, cold and alone, cried herself to sleep.
By Billie Argyle5 years ago in Horror
A Quiet Minute
She’s staring out the window and telling me about her day. I’m glad that she can’t see my face, glad that she doesn’t know how much my back hurts standing here, glad that she doesn’t see that I’m sad that she has to tell me what she did today even though we’ve not been more than a few metres apart all day, glad that she doesn’t know it’s taking so long because of the pain in my hands. All she knows is this quiet minute, searching for dinosaurs in the overgrown backyard, just her and her mumma, putting her beautiful red hair into plaits before bed.
By Billie Argyle5 years ago in Families
Wonderland
She lazily browsed the shelves of the dusty antiques store and took a deep breath. It was warm and smelled homey and, for the first time since she had come to the city, quiet enough to hear herself think. She sighed, knowing she couldn’t possibly afford anything in here. She had only fifteen dollars left in her purse. Just enough for a ticket home. Back to everything she had so desperately wanted to leave behind. But it was no good, everything in the city was so expensive and no matter how hard she had tried she now had no choice but to go back. But not just yet. She couldn’t bear it. Just five minutes more in the peace of this little shop. She trailed her hand along a row of books until her sleeve caught the corner of a small black notebook and knocked it to the ground. She picked it up and turned it over, running a thumb over the flowing gold cursive stamped into the cover; Write Me. She laughed and muttered to herself, “Ok Alice, time to come back from Wonderland now.” She flipped through the pages, delicate ivory parchment, completely blank. It felt heavy in her hands, a comforting weight. Her heart ached at the thought of putting it back on the shelf, and instead she found herself taking it over to the counter, “excuse me, how much is this book?”
By Billie Argyle5 years ago in Humans
Use Your Words
When I was a kid opinions were dangerous. Thinking for yourself could get you in trouble. Worse, not being what you were expected to be could get you left out. My favourite colours, music, movies, tastes, were always curated for the people around me at that particular moment. Constantly trying to fit myself into their view of the world. To make myself a part of what they liked. To make them like me. This could get tricky when more than one person or group was around at one time and I had to slip between characters and moods to make sure everyone stayed happy with me. I had to be smarter, more helpful and more entertaining to be seen. I was good at it. And when all else failed I could bury myself in a book and become invisible. And so writing came easily. Seriously, I won awards, and my mother kept every one in a brag book.
By Billie Argyle5 years ago in Psyche
