The Lives of Others by Carolyn Glass

It started as a game in the pub, people watching. We would give people names and histories, we never spoke to them, and it would have ruined it if we knew anything about them. We sat in our own little bubble, interacting only when we went to the bar.

I don’t know why I started to find it unsatisfactory, I pretended to enjoy it still, but was more and more driven to find out the truth about these people and their real lives.

I started by listening in to their conversations, Sarah soon got fed up with me not listening to her so I went to the pub on my own. I still didn’t want to speak to them, just wanted to know their names, and work out their relationships to each other.

Soon that wasn’t enough, I was following people, finding out there they lived and worked, seeing them socialising in other places, seeing them with their children. Nothing creepy about it I was just interested; everyone seemed to have much more interesting lives than me. It was a bit like when you’re in the supermarket and the person in front of you has more nicer things on the conveyor, or when you’re eating out and the food delivered to the adjoining table looks better than yours.

I couldn’t get the idea out of my head that I wanted to try someone else’s life, just for a short while, just to see what it was like. I decided to keep a low profile; it wouldn’t do to draw attention to myself. It might spoil my plans.

When it came down to it, it wasn’t like I imagined at all, it would have been alright but everyone seemed so resistant to the idea, I couldn’t see why they found the idea so repellent, where was the harm? They shouldn’t have been so abusive; I was forced to subdue them, which made trying out their lives pretty difficult. Perhaps I’ll have better luck with the next selection. This one hasn’t worked out at all well, at least no-one saw me arrive at the house, and the family will never identify me, actually, it may be difficult for anyone to identify them now, since the fire.