Peter and the Others.

“Shut up!!all of you!I want to speak to my son you hear me. I want to speak to Peter!” Screamed his mother with a shrill voice. Wiping the sweat from her forehead and clenching her jaw, margaret took a deep breath before calming herself and speaking in a solemn voice “please, i just want to hear his voice”. Her voice almost pleading. Suddenly her son’s posture began to change, His tall manly frame began to hunch over, his hands placed delicately on top of each other, his feet turned inwards. He then began twirling what seemed to be imaginary long hair round his short, stubby fingers. He looked up.
“Im afraid Peter’s not here right now” spoke a gentle, girly voice. “But i am” she spoke again. “I see, and who might you be?” Margaret asked hesitantly, shocked at hearing this female voice from within her son. “I am georgina ma’am. Georgina Chessington. My Daddy told me he was going to come back and pick me up, but i’ve been here a long time now. Waiting. Can you help me find my Daddy?” Margaret’s face was puzzled, She had not heard this self before. Peter had been suffering from multiple personality disorder for most of his life, and yet it was always still a shock everytime she heard a new voice from within him. “I know,” Margaret spoke softly, “Maybe if i could speak to Peter, we could help find your Daddy for you together, doesnt that sound like a nice idea?” There was a long pause where her son began looking uncomfortable. “Dont you love me?” she spoke, innocently. “But georgina, this is the first time i have spoke to you, im sure there are lots of people who love you.” Margaret replied gently. Georgina began to shake her head with an angry expression on her face. “What’s wrong sweetheart? You can tell me.”
“Just fuc*in’ leave us alone alright darlin’” spoke a voice Margaret knew all too well. “Hello Steven, it’s been a while hasn’t it?” Steven was one of the more aggressive selves and always seemed to take control of Peter during confrontations or difficult situations. “Look lady, i ain’t got no fuc*in’ time for ya today. I got my own problems ya know! I ain’t gonna be always havin’ to sort you out too!” he barked back, his face filled with anger. “Please just listen Steven, i will not take up much of your time” she spoke trying to calm Steven down, his body now tense and uptight. “All i am trying to do is speak to Peter. You know it has been a while since i have spoken to my son, dont you?” her voice was now stern and more forceful. "I ain’t lettin’ you anywhere near im’ alright, your the last bloody thing that fella needs! That’s why im ere luv’! He screamed back. “He’ll talk to you when he’s good and fu*in ready!” He suddenly bolted up and threw his chair across the room, now pacing it himself, sweating.
Margaret began thinking about the past 10 years and how Peter’s illness had took its toll on all of those who surround him. She wondered if all those years before she knew Peter had MDP whether she had been speaking to her son, or whether it was actually one of the other 7 selves. There were many times were she noticed a change in attitude,never thinking anything of it. Now she realised she may have been seeing either billy, the teenager who liked to play with fire, Alfred, the grandfather who always spoke of his non existant granddaughters, Steven, the angry 32 year old who lost his parents in a fire when he was young, Andrew, the family man who was always so kind and honest, nicky, the toddler who always craves affection, tommy, the 18 year old who suffers from depression and suicidal tendancies or even the new self Georgina who Margaret was yet to find out more about.
A single tear rolled down her nose as she thought of the idea that she would never get to know her son. She stood, clenching her fists and staring to the ceiling to stop the tears from welling up. Steven was now calm and still, his head burrowed in his hands. “Right, i guess you better be going then…I’ve got some things to be doing and i thought i might take a walk over the cemetary to visit your father” Her voice was breaking as the words left her. She lifted her head to look at her son who stood and slowly walked over to the chair he had earlier thrown in an angry burst of emotion. He picked it up and placed it neatly under the table, before walking over towards his mother. “Do you really want me to go?” Margarets heart skipped a beat, her eyes straight to his. A deep breath. “Peter, is that you?”

Peter and the Others.

claire jones

Birmingham, United Kingdom

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Artist's Description

A short story about a man called Peter and his struggle to find his true self.

Artwork Comments

  • blueclover
  • claire jones
  • Damian
  • claire jones
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