Remember your souvenir from Pride by Jenna Burns

It’ll burn on your skin. The problem is that you won’t put a whisper of sun cream on underneath; you’ll just slap the hard stick of face paint on under your eyes, faintly sweet like crayons, one long stripe, and you’ll think of the school fair, six years old at your favourite stand, begging to be made a tiger.

You’ll go over it twice just to be sure it stands out. Really dig in.

And you’ll wash it off at night. Your skin will ache from the sun, the soft residual pain that comes from smiling so much, and you’ll laugh when you see your mistake. Your tan broken up by the blocks of red skin, your faded tiger stripes. It’s just the imprint of what once was, but you know all the colours were there. Still feel them underneath.

You look ridiculous. You look beautiful.

And you’re going to go to bed, and you’ll think that this is it, like you’re a character in a story, the Turning Point. But you won’t always be this brave.

The memory will rise up as you fiddle with your denim jacket. Dust streaks your mirror like a grubby hand has clawed right down the length of it. You’ll put your badges on and off and on, and then off again. Leave them cupped in your sweat damp palm, the treasures a younger you collected for Now. Set them gently down on the window sill. Rub the little pinprick holes left on your jacket, a paltry souvenir for what could have been. Feel like you failed her.

But you’re not in a story, and there are no rules to this. There never were.

Remember that summer, your aching cheeks. When it lived so boldly on your skin, there for all to see.

Jenna Burns’ writing inspirations include Pat Barker, Sarah Waters and Mary Renault. She is currently working on her debut novel.