There isn’t anything I can tell you about Abigail that you don’t already know. I mean she was you, me and everyone else who felt let down by life. There is always something, ain’t there? There’s always that fact about life where it won’t let a body breathe without asking for payment of one kind or another.
So this is the place where we run into Abigail. She had emotional bombs dropped on her so often, that she took to hiding in own fallout shelter – her own home with social network always on tap.
Now you might say to me, ‘hey, that’s a good place to hide’ – but it wasn’t. It never is.
You see, Abigail, would sit all day and all night on Face-this or Twit-that watching the world going by in huge bright colours, and all she had to compare was a sad life in little bedroom with a kitchen. Abigail couldn’t understand why the world had passed her by, and yet had stopped and coloured in everyone else’s lives.
The more she read of other lives, the more she grew dark and down. Then one morning she decided to fight back, instead of telling the truth she made up her life to be more exotic, more exciting, more colourful than it really was. Well anything was more exciting than sitting in a room and a life lit by the hue of an electronic screen.
She started to attract friends and even people she didn’t really know, and they all applauded Abigail for her wonderful and exciting life. The places (the faked places) she had been, the lovers she had seen, the dreams she had lived. Abigail had never been so popular in all her life.
And here dear folks is the problem, if you could have stood on top of the highest of all high mountains and looked down on the world, you would have seen streets, and towns, and cities all full of lonely people sitting in little rooms and lying to the world about their lives.
bobby stevenson 2017