Janelle never turned the radio off in her bedroom.
The tv stayed on in the lounge, as did every light in the house.
She would run to her car, and turn on the stereo, then drive to work, where she listened to the in-house dance compilations.
Janelle was constantly surrounded by noise.
Most of it came from her mouth.
She was impossible to talk to, instead, you could only listen.
Every time you tried to get a word in, or make an excuse to leave, it would trigger off
another avalanche of words.
There was always a very good chance you'd heard them all one hundred times before.
"You know, that reminds me of the time my sister went to hospital..." she would start.
"Yeah, I remember you telling me". you would say, followed by Janelle's automatic reply:
"Well, you know when she went in...blah blah blah."
You could probably die, right there on the sofa, and she would never know.
But she would think you were the best person in the world to talk to.
The silver lining.
She had convinced herself that the one night stand she'd had with a visiting rock star
was a relationship. That one day, he would come for her.
This 'god of rock' has a wife and children, and a string of mistresses all over the world.
But still she waited, because she was "the one".
And the tv stayed on, as did the radio, and her mouth.
Her life was a lie, and she made absoluteley sure her brain never got a moments silence in
which to figure that out.
I pray for a power cut.
Maybe I'm cruel.