Saturday, August 08, 2020

Too Late: Day 6

 Word Count: 36,043


Summary of Events:

Waking up late because she had neither school nor work to go to, Amarina discovered the post featuring the second set of lyrics; quite upset that they'd been found by the same Mitchell Abernethey character who'd found the first set, she replied hotly that he wasn't supposed to have found them. Callan saw this reply and, surprised, apologised and asked her whom she'd meant to give them to. Amarina, not wanting this Mitchell Abernethey to know she'd wanted Callan Reid to find them, told him that they were just rubbish. Callan wasn't inclined to believe her, but decided to send her a message telling her about his struggles in the past in hopes of proving to her that he understood her suffering . . .


Excerpt of the Day:

The content of the message also surprised her, as he confessed to her that he’d been bullied and denigrated in the past, and had turned to self-harm as an alternative before even it proved insufficient help and he tried to kill himself.

Some people had intervened, however, thus he was alive today — and she wondered whether intervenor was actually a word — and wanted to help her because he knew what it was like to suffer to the point of engaging in self-harm and not merely contemplating, but also attempting to take his own life; although he admitted that he was only presuming that she was doing those things because of his suspicion that she was putting herself in the place of the little ant in the song.

She was rather surprised that Mitchell Abernethey would’ve been bullied, as she had to admit that she’d always viewed Mitchell as being the name of a tall, athletic type, the sort who would never get bullied not necessarily because he could hurt the bullies in retaliation, but because nobody would see anything physically wrong with him.

In fact, Mitchell Abernethey sounded rather prestigious, like someone who had a lot of money — but then again, she did know that there were celebrities who engaged in self-harm, and there was multiple celebrities who had killed themselves or were rumoured to have done so — but also the sort who would be reasonably self-assured.

Obviously he wasn’t as self-assured as he seemed, but even still, Amarina was annoyed that he was intent on pestering her like this, after all, she wasn’t really all that confident that he could give her any sort of help, whether from himself or anyone else; after all, he’d merely been bullied and denigrated, she’d been exposed, was still being hounded, and could well even be murdered if she wasn’t careful.

She tapped the window to compose a response, which she rewrote several times, as, again, the more she thought about him the angrier she became. He had only the smallest of ideas what was going on in her life, he couldn’t offer her any help, and even if he could, she didn’t want it. She was fine stumbling along on her own, and would find things a lot better if he could just leave her alone already.

Once she’d finally settled on the official content of her reply she sent it and set her mobile aside to return to her homework, which was now proving to be the welcome reprieve from all the frustration she felt at this Mitchell Abernethey and his continued expressions of desire to help her when he really couldn’t.

After all, he was a man. There was no way he couldn’t be, she’d never heard of a girl being named Mitchell. Michelle, sure, but not Mitchell. Mitchell was the boys’ form of Michelle.

She was suffering largely because of a man on social media — even if he never would’ve gotten on social media without her inadvertent help — the last thing she was going to expect was that another man on social media would be able to help her escape the other one, who knew her in person too, and surely was plotting how he was going to torture her before murdering her if she didn’t escape him by death or some other means first.

Friday, August 07, 2020

Too Late: Day 5

 Word Count: 30,005


Summary of Events:

Beleaguered by a rough day at school, Amarina laid down on her bed and cried for awhile before going to get ready for work, only to discover that Iliana was using the only bathroom in the house to have a shower, which made her late for her shift as well. Callan was distressed by the fact that he hadn't heard anything in response to his post from the 'little ant', but managed to put those thoughts aside to focus on the upcoming match versus Tottenham. Amarina, having bought tickets to the match, watched delightedly as, with just three seconds of injury time left, Callan scored the goal that gave Arsenal the win, but her delight was short-lived, as on her way out she discovered a vicious message had been sent to her by the monster. On leaving the match Callan saw a paper blowing around that looked an awful lot like the paper on which the first set of lyrics had been written, so he picked it up, but he didn't let himself look at it until he got back to his flat . . .


Excerpt of the Day:

It didn’t take him long to reach his flat, where he took up the paper and carried it all the way inside before he finally unfolded it and found the same familiar handwriting spelling out what were, for a large part, the exact same words:

The ants go marching two by two,

Hurrah, hurrah,

The ants go marching two by two,

Hurrah, hurrah,

The ants go marching two by two

The little one contemplates a noose

And they all go marching down, to the ground, to get out of the rain.

Instead of chilling Callan, the second-last line jolted him with shock. This was serious.

Immediately he snapped a photo of the lyrics and went on to his secondary social media account, where he immediately composed a response.

Little ant, I’m serious. I want to help. Talk to me. Don’t do this. People can help you, and we want to. Even if you don’t want to talk to me, please talk to somebody. Don’t try and do this alone, and certainly don’t keep up with these contemplations.

Adding the photo to the post, he tagged all the people he’d tagged before and immediately posted the photo, but his heart continued to pound even afterwards. 

His hands trembled as he took up the paper and looked over the words. Surely she wouldn’t act on this, would she?

Casting the paper aside, he paced his flat, his mind imagining a body hanging from a noose outside the stadium. Surely she couldn’t be hanging there.

The lyrics suggested she was merely thinking about it; that she was having ideations, thoughts, but it suggested nothing about acting on them.

Still, he could find no rest. He couldn’t sit still, His heart pounded and he nearly went through the ceiling when his mobile sounded.

Taking it up, he found that it was just a notification that one of the people he’d tagged in the post had reposted it, and they’d added a comment as well.

Callan tried to take several deep breaths to calm himself, even to think about the sweet little girl who’d been so delighted to see him, but nothing would help.

Finally he took up his keys and headed back to the stadium, where he desperately searched around the perimeter for any signs of a body hanging from a noose.

Only once he’d searched around the whole of the massive stadium and found nothing did his heart finally decelerate and allow him to take more relaxed breaths.

“Did you lose something sir?”

Callan startled violently and turned to see a security guard in a fluorescent yellow jacket behind him.

“I’m sorry to startle you Mr. Reid, sir,” the security guard replied.

“I didn’t lose anything,” Callan replied. “Other than maybe a bit of my mind, but…but it’s alright.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” the security guard asked.

“Yes,” Callan replied. “I’m alright now.”

“Were you looking for something?” the security guard asked.

“Yes,” Callan replied. “And the fact that I didn’t find it is a good one.”

Thursday, August 06, 2020

Too Late: Day 4

Word Count: 24,012

Summary of Events:
Waiting for his teammates to pick him up for a dinner out, Callan noticed a sad young woman sitting on the former football pitch, but was unable to talk to her before his teammates arrived. Amarina, feeling particularly low owing to her tormentor's increased torment and the lack of outside support, harmed herself in search of relief. The following morning Callan saw what he thought was a piece of rubbish blowing about outside, only to discover it was a handwritten set of dark lyrics to a common children's song; he couldn't get them out of his head and his sleep even suffered, as he feared they were the clue to a murder, but then he wondered if they weren't the clue to a murder, but a commentary about self-harm . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Unfolding the paper, he read over the pencilled words again. It made more sense that the little ant was watching her own blood run than the blood of some brutally murdered person.

But who was the little ant? Was she that sad-looking young woman? Was she someone else who’d sat there later? Why was she suffering? Could he really offer any help?

He took up his mobile and took a picture of the lyrics. He then trimmed the photo’s height so that it was showing just the lyrics, nothing else.

Reading over the digital rendering of the lyrics, he left the photo app and went to his preferred social media platform, which was the only one on which he maintained two accounts: the official, verified, superstar footballer who had it all together account, and the unofficial, unverified, struggling, weak, imperfect football fan who struggled to have a positive outlook on life account.

On one he was known as Callan Reid, on the other as Mitchell Abernethey, and if he was honest, he preferred being Mitchell Abernethey more than Callan Reid a lot of times when it came to social media; on the football pitch he was fine with being Callan Reid, but everywhere else he would’ve preferred to be Mitchell Abernethey.

When, on social media, he was Mitchell Abernethey, he was himself. He was the real Callan Reid — albeit under the guise of his middle names, which the public thankfully didn’t know — the one who had self-harmed in the past, who struggled to have anything sorted at all, forget all of it sorted at any time.

He was the person who took prescription antidepressants and struggled with feelings of loneliness despite the friendly and sympathetic teammates and staff he had about him, the one who well knew that money didn’t buy happiness because he had a good deal of the former, but had yet to encounter a lasting quantity of the latter.

Most importantly, as Mitchell Abernethey, he followed several different groups that offered mental health support and advocacy, seeking to help those with mental health struggles, and also seeking to raise awareness to the need for increased mental health support.

Selecting to compose a post, he attached the photo immediately and tagged as many of the groups as he could in it.

He then selected the part where he could add text and watched the cursor blink several times before he decided on what he was going to say.

Went on a walk through #Highbury yesterday and found these. Who are you Little Ant? What kind of help do you need? I’m here to listen, just give me the word. I want to help, however I can.

After rereading the post he decided to edit it.

Went on a walk through #Highbury yesterday and found your paper, little ant. Let me know if you need any help. I would be willing to listen, and if there’s anything more I can do I would gladly do that too.

Wednesday, August 05, 2020

Too Late: Day 3

Word Count: 18,017

Summary of Events:
Amarina went to watch Arsenal host Manchester United with her elderly neighbour and fellow Arsenal fan Mr. Charters; after the match — an Arsenal win — she returned home to find her tormentor had a deal for her, which she rejected, telling him she'd rather die than acquiesce. In the ensuing days her tormentor began asking her why she wasn't dead yet and otherwise tormenting her to an extreme level while also leaving her terrified that he might come by the house at any time to kill her; it also didn't help that her efforts to contact Callan were going nowhere . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

The doorbell broke into her thoughts and she set her mobile aside to go downstairs and see who it was; only being seized by fear that it might be the monster as she was partway down the stairs.

As a result, she hesitated. She didn’t think the monster would really want to announce his presence by ringing the bell — unless he wanted to allay Mum’s suspicions, but Mum wasn’t home yet, even though she would probably be coming soon, which the monster might not know — but she couldn’t help worrying.

A second time the doorbell rang, so she continued down the stairs; she could check who it was through the peephole and make a decision from there.

When she reached the door she found that Mum, with her arms loaded down with groceries, was on the other side of the door.

Quickly she unlocked the door and opened it, allowing Mum to step through.

“Well you certainly took your time,” Mum said wearily. “What’s the benefit of having a child around home if they won’t help?”

Amarina felt a stab of pain. Mum didn’t often say things like that, but every time she did Amarina’s mind brought the old footage out of the archives from back when she and Iliana had shared a room in the house in Brent where they’d lived before Mum and Dad’s divorce.

They’d been packing up their things to move out with Mum, she’d been in tears — after all, she still didn’t understand why they’d divorced — and had asked Iliana why they were having to leave.

Although prior to that moment Iliana had never been friendly toward her like other sisters were to one another, it was at that moment, she felt, that the torment had all begun as Iliana had turned to her with that annoyed look she still got whenever she had to answer a question from her younger sister’s lips.

“Because of you,” Iliana had replied. “You ruined everything. Mum and Dad didn’t want you. But by accident you showed up and they couldn’t get rid of you.”

The proofs had been more abundant then than now, but Mum’s comment just now was one of those moments when, once again, a proof presented itself to her that she was, in fact, unwanted, and that Mum and Dad would’ve been happier if they could’ve just had Farrell and Iliana, and not had the balance upset by having a third child.

There was also the fact that both Mum and Dad had jobs that kept them busy, they rarely had time to talk to her; about all she got most times was when Mum asked her about her day at supper, otherwise she got nothing from either of them; they hardly texted her, in fact, she hadn’t heard from Dad since June, which was now three months ago.


Pronunciation:

Iliana: ihleeahnah

Tuesday, August 04, 2020

Too Late: Day 2

Word Count: 12,012

Summary of Events:
After practise Callan got talking with one of his teammates about the autograph signing and learned that his teammate had signed autographs for a number of children who'd wanted his because the amount of autographs he'd given had been limited owing to his popularity — this disappointed him, as he would've preferred signing autographs for children. Amarina eventually decided to create an anonymous social media account from which to communicate with Callan so that Callan wouldn't get harassed by the monster, and finally came up with something to say to him; unfortunately she got no reply from him and despaired as she moved between classes at school, not even being distracted when she was shoved to the floor by a couple of bullies . . .


Excerpt of the Day:

Silently she picked up her books and carried on, not even caring what they were saying to or about her. This was her last year of school, and then she would never have to come to this place again, or even have anything to do with these people. If only there was some way she could finish the school year in a month, then she wouldn’t ever have to come back to this place.

But unfortunately she’d still have to go to work, and she might even have to work more hours, but if she got an earlier shift she might not have the coworkers she presently had and so wouldn’t have to be picked on by them either.

She sighed and blinked away the tears as she quickly ducked into the room for her next class. If only she could find a way out of all of this.

Well, she did know a way, but it wasn’t the preferred way out; she wanted a way out that would allow her to do and know and feel all the things that she wanted to. The only way out she knew of would end all the suffering, but would also destroy her chances of having all the good things too.

Nonetheless, if Callan Reid wasn’t going to reply to her post and give her the help that she yearned for, she might have to look into that alternative more seriously.

After all, even though she was going to be graduating soon, that wouldn’t get the monster out of her life. She didn’t know how or if she could ever get rid of him, outside of by the only way out she knew of, but if there was another way out that would allow her to be free of him, that would be the best thing.

To really, truly, be completely free for all time from all of her tormentors was the ultimate hope, but she didn’t exactly expect it to come to pass, considering how she’d been let down and failed so many times before.

In fact, even her favourite footballer was failing her now, even he wasn’t giving her an answer. She wanted help, and she had a rather small measure of hope that she could get help from him, but it seemed that she was foolish to even have that much.

Still, her mind brought to her that image of the white scars. She could not have been imagining things. She couldn’t. She had to have seen them, and if she had then she hoped that he would eventually be moved to help her and she wouldn’t have to consider the all-destroying alternative way out.

Monday, August 03, 2020

Too Late: Day 1

Word Count: 6,082

Summary of Events:
Amarina waited her turn in line eagerly as a part of a team autograph signing put on by Arsenal, where she received a special photo hand-signed before her by Callan Reid. Following the autograph signing Callan went home to unwind, having found the autograph signing to be rather stressful because of how many of the autograph-seekers had been young women swooning over his looks. When Callan had handed Amarina her picture she'd noticed white scars on his wrist, and so when she got home she searched madly for photo evidence of them elsewhere, but found that in every photo of him he was wearing long sleeves all the way to his wrists, which made her wonder if she'd just been seeing things . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Amarina was grateful that she didn’t have to worry about such after-supper chores, especially on the heels of Mum’s comment about her always wearing sleeves.

She wasn’t insulted by it, but it had caused her to realise something: what if the fact that Callan Reid always wore sleeves wasn’t a mark against his having the scars she was sure she’d seen, but was actually a mark for it, if not even proof of it being true?

After all, she wore sleeves all the time — and was quite used to doing so, thus the warmth of this particular day was no bother to her — to hide her cuts, why wouldn’t he do the same thing?

In fact, he ought to be more likely to hide his cuts because of the fact that he was a celebrity, and celebrities weren’t supposed to have the same sorts of struggles as the common people who adored them.

But he did, and the more she thought about it, the more she felt heartened and felt that it was no wonder she liked him, they had that common bond.

There was, however, one major difference: the precise, straight lines she’d seen on his wrist were white, not the varying shades of red and even brown that hers were, that suggested that his were long-healed, meaning that he’d been able to find help, or even a way out.

If that was true, then maybe he would be able to help her too. She wondered if she shouldn’t message him on social media and see.

Quickly she took up her mobile and opened it, going straight to her social media app, where she hit the icon that brought up a blank area with the keypad and a blinking line waiting to make text appear on the screen.

She stared for a long moment at the blankness, trying to think of what to say; eventually she typed in his social media name, which she liked for its uniqueness, as he’d managed to blend his first and last name together into what looked like a random word.

But after that she couldn’t think of anything else to say, and after a long time staring at the screen she was also faced with a realisation: because she’d been foolish enough to very clearly attach her name to her second social media account after she’d thrown her old mobile away in fright, the monster — for she could think of him as nothing else since then — whom she’d thrown her mobile at had been able to find her new account, and he followed her, despite her efforts to get him to stop.

If she posted anything to Callan Reid the monster would see it, and surely — she felt as if she should rush to the bathroom and vomit at the thought — he would send the pictures to Callan Reid.

Immediately she cancelled the composition, deleted the draft, and fled the app before tossing her mobile to the other end of her bed.

She would be destroyed if Callan Reid saw those pictures. It was bad enough they’d been seen by other people. But if Callan Reid saw them it would be the end of her. No. She couldn’t send him anything over social media.

Saturday, August 01, 2020

August Novel Essential Information

Novel Title: Too Late

Time Setting: 2020

Genre: Life

Minimum Word Goal: 90,000

Timespan: September–November

Location: Islington, London, England

Main Characters: Callan Reid, Amarina Todd

Background Information: 

Born the only child of an artist and his waitress wife from Keith, Scotland, Callan was something of a miracle child, as his parents had suffered several failed pregnancies before his birth; thus he was particularly beloved by his father — who was the one who had wanted children more.

Desperate for riches her husband couldn’t provide, Callan’s mum was able to get him into some advertising as a baby and a toddler, which led to severe arguments between his parents, as his mum wanted the money for herself, while his father wanted the money entered into a trust for Callan when he got older.

When Callan got a bit older his father introduced him to football*, which Callan quickly took an interest in, leading to his being enrolled in competitive play, in which he distinguished himself rather quickly.

Although initially displeased by his interest and enrolment into football, when his mum found out that professional footballers could make millions, she decided that she needed to ensure that her son got the biggest share of it he possibly could.

Thus she did extensive research to see where the best programme for developing professional footballers was located, and learned that Arsenal of the Premier League had one of the best development programmes in existence.

Promptly — and without notifying her husband — she packed Callan up and moved him to Harrow, near to London, where Callan was enrolled in both academic school and football school.

When his education didn’t occupy his time Callan and his mum returned to Scotland, staying with his dad in Keith until he turned twelve; at that time his parents agreed to a divorce and thereafter Callan and his mum lived in Harrow year round, only venturing into Scotland when he was invited to participate in training and tournaments for the Scottish National Team.

Throughout his childhood and teenage years he continued to be a football standout and was lauded by everyone who worked with him or watched him as a future football star, however, at home things were a struggle.

Despite knowing little about football, Callan’s mum constantly criticised his performances, always finding some sort of a fault, no matter how lauded he was by even his coaches and teammates, and would often punish him by withholding food or other privileges for his failures in her eyes.

The abuse caused Callan severe anxiety to the point that he engaged in self harm and even made an attempt on his life that was thwarted by the quick action of the Arsenal Women, who found him at the Arsenal training facility in London Colney.

His coaches were listening, sympathetic, and helpful, getting him counselling and offering all kinds of support while his mum maintained her unsympathetic and abusive treatment of him until he decided to run away from home and move in with his coach in his mid teens.

For the remainder of his years as a minor Callan lived with the coach, even as he moved up to higher levels of the training programme and came under the tutelage of different coaches.

At the age of eighteen Callan made his début with Arsenal proper and became something of a sensation, remaining with Arsenal for the whole season, which finally granted his mum the riches she desired, although Callan was able to get enough of a share to get himself a flat in the converted East Stand of Arsenal’s old stadium of Highbury, as well as most anything else he really wanted.

He also reestablished his relationship with his dad, who’d been barred from seeing him or having custody of him following his parents’ divorce, and has made it a point to spend all the major holidays with his dad, as well as spending far more time in Scotland than he had while in his mum’s care.

Since achieving adulthood and a permanent place on Arsenal’s roster, Callan has settled into life as a footballer, although he’s not wholly comfortable with his stardom, as he fears rejection, should people find out about his emotional struggles in the past.


Born the youngest of three children to parents who both worked office jobs in London, Amarina was actually unexpected, as her parents had not been actively seeking a child, but had instead been grappling with a strain in their marriage that nearly pushed them to divorce.

Because of the impending child, however, they elected to give their marriage another try, although it did eventually collapse by the time Amarina was six years old; not knowing the cause of the breakdown, Amarina was distraught by it.

Her older sister, being resentful of Amarina’s existence as a fellow female, told Amarina that the divorce was her fault, claiming that their parents hadn’t wanted Amarina, which quite devastated her.

Following the divorce Amarina’s mum moved back to the borough of Islington, where she’d grown up; during the work week Amarina and her siblings were sent to stay with their maternal grandparents, who lived just a little ways down the street.

Also living in her grandparents’ home was a half uncle, whom her grandmother had given birth to by another man before she’d gotten married, and who was rather a deadbeat; he frightened Amarina and her siblings with his skulking about and constantly staring at them, and thus they avoided the basement wherein he dwelt.

When Amarina began school she quickly became ostracised because of her older sister’s having been there for some time before her; her sister still resented her and started picking on her, which her sister’s friends joined in, as did others who either wanted to be a part of the crowd her sister was in or just took some sadistic pleasure in picking on others.

No one had the boldness to come to Amarina’s defence, which left her alone and quite ostracised; thus, even as she got into her teens she would still spend time after school with her grandparents while her sister and brother hung out with friends.

She had befriended her elderly next-door neighbour, a retired baker and widower who kept at least a half-dozen cats and invited her over whenever she liked to share biscuits* with him and watch Arsenal, his favourite football team.

His fandom passed on to her and gave her a sense of belonging she’d never felt before, to the point that she got her dad to take her to an Arsenal game, although her fandom of Arsenal didn’t actually reduce the amount of bullying she suffered at school, as everyone thought it strange for a girly girl like her to be a fan of Arsenal like she was.

The bullying she suffered at school, however, became the least of her concerns when, at the age of twelve, she arrived at her grandparents’ house to find her grandparents weren’t home, leaving only her uncle.

Frightened by him and convinced he was going to harm her, which she suspected he’d done to her grandparents, Amarina threw her mobile at him and ran away to her home; she later learned her grandmum had fallen and hurt herself, necessitating a hospital visit, and her mum had tried to get a hold of her, but because her mobile had died and she’d left school too quickly she hadn’t known.

Not wanting to confess her fear of harm at the hands of her uncle — even though she knew no one really liked him — Amarina lied to her mum that she’d lost her mobile and got a new one, on which she started a new social media account, among other things.

Soon — and to her horror — she was contacted by her old social media account and discovered that her uncle had charged her mobile and gotten into it. Even if it was unable to function as a mobile, it was still capable of connecting to wifi and using all the other noncellular features, enabling him to contact her.

Amarina attempted to get him to discard her mobile by threats, but he wouldn’t unless she sent him very undesirable pictures, which she resisted doing for some time before finally she decided to capitulate so that he would leave her alone.

Unfortunately, her uncle didn’t stick to his word, but, instead, used the images she sent him to masquerade as her and solicit men, to whom he gave her new mobile number, leading to her getting unwelcome calls and texts from strange men seeking to romance her, which has made her life an unbearable existence.

Her only solace or escape is spending time with her neighbour and watching Arsenal — as even the job she got so as to make money for the purchase of Arsenal tickets and merchandise involves her being bullied by coworkers — or to engage in self harm, which she typically hides as much as possible.

As of late her favourite player on Arsenal has become Callan Reid, the Scottish phenom, and sometimes she lets herself dream that he’ll come swooping in like some knight in shining armour to spirit her away from all the abuses and torments she suffers for all time.


*these words are all being used according to their British definition.