Rue Ronan
Rue was winner of Steven Camden's masterclass 'Me? What have I got to write about?', with ‘A Chapter On Grief’. Rue was also a runner-up for Derek Owusu’s masterclass ‘Starting Your Own Novel’, with ‘of all the beauty in the world’
"As an autistic writer, I'm inspired by the introspective dissection of emotions and trying to present characters who perceive the world as I do. I particularly love the work of Elena Ferrante, Andre Aciman and Sally Rooney, who I feel take a similar tone in their works as me. Currently I am working to finish the novel manuscript I entered to the competition, as well as some books for children."
-----
A Chapter On Grief
© Rue Ronan, 2021
-----
of all the beauty in the world (excerpt)
“Mathilde,” you murmured, barely coherent, so that the first syllable was the only one that fully formed itself in your mouth.
I hummed in acknowledgment, halfway through buttoning up my shirt.
You sighed, somewhere between content and tired, then repeated yourself, no more audibly than the last time. “Mathilde.”
“Yes?” I replied, turning to face you.
You were asleep.
It became you, in a strange way, as if you and peace were synonymous. The curved edges of your face melted into your hair as you pursed your lips with each quiet breath, and the tangle of limbs and pale green sheets were frozen in place by hungover exhaustion. You were beautiful even when you were sleeping, when no conscious effort could be in use, and it was perhaps that vulnerability that deepened the impact of your unusual glamour. Mentally, I thanked God that there were no mirrors in the room - I had no desire to see the state of myself. The stinging pierce of envy stabbed through me again, settling like morning mist over the room.
Everything was silent, aside from three offbeat pairs of lungs breathing at differing intervals. Slowly, as if I was afraid of the movement, I lifted my hand towards you, inching it closer and closer until it hovered just beneath your lips. Your hot breath swept over my fingers as you exhaled, the heat spreading up my arm to my shoulder, then collapsing through my ribs and into my chest.
Immediately, I withdrew my hand, shoving it into the pocket of my shorts and clenching it around Mama’s car keys until I could feel the metal cutting into my fingertip. I felt wrong, like I was violating you with the warmth that was still circulating in my body, wrapping like rope around my lungs until they squeezed almost shut. I took my hand out of my pocket. Blood was pooling on the end of my ring finger, and it stung as I placed it inside my mouth, sucking it hard.
Without another glance at you, I left your room, descended the stairs, and walked out of the unlocked front door onto a winding street I didn’t know.
© Rue Ronan, 2021
