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Story 8 Cassandra Shore Cassandra Shore grew up in Liverpool’s south end. She took her name from the Cast Iron Shore on the banks of the Mersey, where the sand is stained red from the rust of dead ships. It’s known locally as the ‘Cazzie’. So is she. She played on the red sand long ago, with a pack of pre-adolescent reprobates, and she told them stories. She is still a storyteller, a poet and a songwriter. She may also be a reincarnation of the prophetess, Cassandra, who warned the Trojans to keep away from the wooden horse. They ignored her, and it all ended in tears. An email from the Beyond? What’s next, free WiFi? Join us and Emma on a trip to the digital Twilight Zone.
Them That Trespass Against Us By Cassandra Shore
Emma’s laptop: Mailbox: New Mail: I need a big favour Emma, this is Abby. Please don’t freak out. I want you to know that I don’t blame you for killing me. I deserved it after all the grief I gave you, and I’m truly sorry. Please, please forgive me. Reply: Re: I need a big favour Who is this? You’re a sicko, whoever you are, pretending to be my dead ex-flatmate. Is it a pathetic blackmail attempt, suggesting I killed her? I didn’t. She fell downstairs and broke her neck. End of story. Crawl back under your fecking stone and leave me alone. New Mail: It’s me and I need help I know this is weird, Em, but I swear it really is me. Ask me anything you like to prove it. I just want you to forgive me. Nothing else. Reply: Re: It’s me and I need help Supposing I believe you, which I don’t, why should I forgive you for sleeping with my boyfriend? New Mail: I didn’t do it That’s the thing. I didn’t. You were so happy with Nathan. You couldn’t be bothered with me anymore. I was jealous and I wanted to annoy you. He was telling the truth when he denied it. Reply: Re: I didn’t do it Annoy me? Like not emptying the crumbs out of the toaster? Are you crazy? Well, yes, of course you are. You’re not Abby. You can’t be. New Mail: Look in my bit box I am. I can prove it. Look in the back of the airing cupboard. Under that scuzzie blanket that we never used you’ll find an old biscuit tin with a picture of the Millennium Dome on the lid. It’s my bit box, full of old photos, odd earrings, and the button I ripped off Robbie William’s shirt the night we mobbed him outside the Phones 4u Arena all those years ago, when we were stupid kids. The birthday card you sent me last year is in there too, remember? It’s the one with a vicious-looking dog on the front and the message ˜What do you do if a rottweiler makes love to your leg?” Inside it says, ˜Fake an orgasm.” And there’s my diary. I’ve written all about feeling angry with you and wanting to wreck everything between you and Nathan, and how sorry I was after I told you that awful lie. Go and have a look. Reply: Re: Look in my bit box Got it. Okay, you just might be Abby, but are you a ghost or what? And where are you? New Mail: I’m confused I’m not sure what I am, or where I am, but it’s nice here. I’m in a room with a desk and this big, old-fashioned PC, with a mouse and a clunky keyboard that you have to press hard. I like it. I don’t get stupid pop-ups and the courser whizzing all over the place. Everything does just what I want it to do. The sun’s shining through the window. Outside I can see fields, and beyond them a beach with no rubbish on it, and a perfect blue sea like you get on adverts for somewhere on the Med. There are mountains on the horizon with snow on their peaks. I’ve asked when I can go outside but they say I can’t until you forgive me. They know I’m really sorry. They’d be able to tell if I was faking it. Not like the rottweiller. (I’d insert an emoji here but the PC doesn’t have them). BTW They agree it was my fault that you pushed me downstairs and you probably didn’t mean to break my neck so they’ve wiped your slate. You won’t have any penalty to pay. Now PLEASE Em, will you forgive me? Reply: Re: I’m confused So am I, but I forgive you, Abbs. Everything’s fine with Nathan and me now, and it will be even better when I tell him that I completely trust him and I know that you were being a lying cow. New Mail: Luv ya lots Thank you, thank you, thank you. The door’s just opened. Luv ya, Babe. Reply: Re: Luv ya lots. Hang on, Abbs. Before you go, Can you tell me, about the place you’re in? Is it Heaven? Who are ˜they’? Are they angels? Come on, Babe. Spill. ERROR: Message not sent. Please insert valid email address. The End |
