Laurel had a hectic urban energy about her—always on the move, always juggling projects. She wrote zines and worked on films her friends were making. She designed t-shirts to sell at markets. In between she managed enough time for Kale to form something with her that felt special. He was just a farm boy—wide-eyed when he got to the city. She took him under her wing. He was different, raw. A little bit exciting against the knowing cool of the crowd she moved in.
Kale loved the buzz around her. When she started her blog it was supposed to help her writing. She had an idea for a novel down the track. So she created a fictional life for herself with daily entries. He loved reading it. Seeing her imagination on the screen in all its intensity.
But after a few months the posts started to seem less fantastic. He noticed bits of real scattered through. More and more.
He’d been at the library when he read the post about her leaving her boyfriend. He raced home not knowing what to expect. There she was in her usual spot on the kitchen table, laptop open. Kale sighed with relief and went upstairs. The wardrobe door was open. Her clothes were gone. Downstairs the back door clicked shut.
small stories about love 