The Speech (original fiction)

Cumbie

It wasn’t about me, that was the thing. It was all about them, it was their day, so what could I say about how terrified I was. All I had to do was give the speech, and remember the rings, but I could handle the rings. I felt like my eyeballs were being sucked backwards into my head, and my tongue was fat and dry and we hadn’t even got the reception and my back was wet, and other guests kept wanting to talk to me because, I was ‘The one that had been there when they escaped.’

It was an honour to meet me and they couldn’t wait to hear it: the speech. In truth this was the most intense thing I had done since the escape.  Right now it felt harder than getting the three of us out. There was a split second of euphoria when they asked me to do it but it passed giving way to a six month long amplification of sheer terror: about the speech. The speech, the speech, the best man’s speech. They’d be close; there’d be the three of us. But it would be different. Because that time we were a team and now I was just me.

(Thank you to the BBC for unknowingly lending me this photo to go with my story. It’s from Sherlock. Apart from me liking this pic, the two are not affiliated)

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2 thoughts on “The Speech (original fiction)

  1. This is brilliant writing. The feelings leading up to the Speech are so real as they’re woven through with other threads other ideas … I feel I’m there with you. More please!

    Like

  2. “Because this time they were a team AND NOW I WAS JUST ME”. That’s fucking fantastic! [Now] I [Was]. Sorry, I can’t italicize, so none of this makes sense.

    Like

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