Task for the June 15 meet was to write a piece that others had to guess the emotion of.
I chose to set a scene and write two different emotive responses to the scene.
Grarwk.
I spat out a mouth full of gritty pap and drew in a desperate breath. A stabbing pain stopped it at a gasp.
There is a bloody and shattered hand right in front of my eye, I can’t look away. The flesh is ripped from its stark white bone and the pulsing blood is forming a pool in the dirt. Searing pains arc my back and I feel like I'm twisting out of shape. I can’t seem to move but there are now other things I’m aware of, the hand is hurting.
Its my hand.
I can’t move it. I can’t stop looking at it, I can’t blink, my eye hurts to move and now everything is blurring with a red haze.
I move my head and an agony stabs white hot tendrils through my face. My other hand comes and smears dirt and blood across my skin. The flesh on my face is shredded, my left eyelid doesn’t close and my eye is stinging madly and now goes dark.. Something soft but incredibly heavy is pinning my legs together and I want to roll away from the torture. Muscles spasm and I am in a world of woe and trouble.
A thicker blanket of agony descends as my life fills with a sound of tearing metal and a huge mass slides upwards and away. My body is lifted momentarily then flopped agonizingly supine and I can now see from my other eye. A flaccid human form hangs grotesquely suspended from a torn metal opening above me. I make a guess it was that softened lump of flesh which had cusioned me from the crushing mass. The twisted heap creaks again and settles with a shudder from it's graunching slide. The hanging body sways, ruptures, slumps momentarily then drops down towards me. I try urgently to escape but a wall of pain blanks me into unconsciousness. (so that's the scene, not the emotion)
(First Emotion , using that scene)
I am snapped back into my hellhole of agony. I am screaming and swearing . My body is getting tortuously moved. In a flash I am cognisant. I am freezing and wet but I recognise the strobe flashing of emergency lights. The air is rank with the smell of burning , I gag on the reek of charred flesh, flaming oil and smoldering plastic.
Now I am yelling again with the pain of being pulled at roughly and I cough up a putrid paste of bile and blood. I try to raise my hand but it's trapped and the effort drives a wave of indescribable agony forcing another inhuman scream from me..
An hoarse voice from somewhere near yells, “ Hold it! ... Morphine!, Vent kit!, Over Here!” and then closer and less urgent, another voice, firm, female ,
“Hi there, we need you to keep very still. You are badly hurt. We are giving you something for the pain. Please don’t try and move. Do you understand?” I can’t reply but I try to nod my head. It is trapped in a cage and I panic for a moment or two, then a sickly wave of euphoria sweeps over me. I give up all attempts to move, my body fails me and I lie, still, calmer.
Kind faces wearing hard hats are looking at me. A hand places something on my blank left eye and then other things are put on my face. The heads in hats move around as the scene moves and a voice says,
“Close your eye we are going to cover your face while we move you to safety”.
I am on a plank and I am floated to a brighter place which is quiet and smells clean.
A new voice keeps asking me to squeeze my hand if I can do things and it talks calmly to me and says many things. My plank jostles beneath me and I hear a muffled siren.
I am told it has been four weeks since the accident but my reflection in this mirror is still horrific to me. There is a slight familiarity as the swelling is going down but I still can’t recognise myself. Perhaps when the stitches come out and all the tubes are removed…..
I have had visits from the police, family, some mates have come. They all ask questions I can’t answer. Slowly, gradually, small fact at a time, I have been informed about that Friday night. I honestly still have no recollection of anything around it. I find the events as they are drip fed to me all but impossible to believe. As I look at the torn face in the mirror and I think of who he is, I can’t believe I am responsible. I wonder if there has been some mistake in the evidence, if a witness has got it wrong, if the blood tests got mixed in the lab. If half of it is true then the loss of a hand and an eye goes no way towards a just penalty for the devastation and destruction I caused to their families.
(regret)
(Second emotion, using the first scene again)
Grarwk.
I spat out a mouth full of gritty pap and drew in a desperate breath. A stabbing pain stopped it at a gasp.
There is a bloody and shattered hand right in front of my eye, I can’t look away. The flesh is ripped from its stark white bone and the pulsing blood is forming a pool in the dirt. Searing pains arc my back and I feel like I'm twisting out of shape. I can’t seem to move but there are now other things I’m aware of, the hand is hurting.
Its my hand.
I can’t move it. I can’t stop looking at it, I can’t blink, my eye hurts to move and now everything is blurring with a red haze.
I move my head and an agony stabs white hot tendrils through my face. My other hand comes and smears dirt and blood across my skin. The flesh on my face is shredded, my left eyelid doesn’t close and my eye is stinging madly and now goes dark.. Something soft but incredibly heavy is pinning my legs together and I want to roll away from the torture. Muscles spasm and I am in a world of woe and trouble.
A thicker blanket of agony descends as my life fills with a sound of tearing metal and a huge mass slides upwards and away. My body is lifted momentarily then flopped agonizingly supine and I can now see from my other eye. A flaccid human form hangs grotesquely suspended from a torn metal opening above me. I make a guess it was that softened lump of flesh which had cusioned me from the crushing mass. The twisted heap creaks again and settles with a shudder from it's graunching slide. The hanging body sways, ruptures, slumps momentarily then drops down towards me. I try urgently to escape but a wall of pain blanks me into unconsciousness.
I am brought suddenly back into a world of dust by the call of “MAN DOWN! Man Down!” The call goes back down the line and I try to repeat it. I choke on a lump of phlegm but cough up thick blood. I realise I am the man down.
I look around to see if I am alone.
Grant is lying beside me, at least half of him is.
I hear the sound of small arms fire nearby and wince as Mike dive-slides in beside me.
“Stay still mate” he yells as he drags me clear from what is left of Grant and the APC*.
“The boys are providing cover. Firing at fuckin' nothing they are.”
Then, closer he says “You caught an IED** dead centre mate.
We’ll get you clear, no worries, but keep quiet and don’t move”.
I do as he says.
I know he is risking his life but I know I’d do the same.
I also know I never want to have to.
(gratitude)
* (APC) Armoured Personnel Carrier
** (IED) Improvised Explosive Device
Monday, June 13, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
invisible cracks
June 2, 2011
Enlightenment through consciousness.
(Read this slowly, thought by thought, it's not too long and benefits from a paused pace and due gravitas, it is after all about the life-journey to enlightenment).
I found myself falling thorough my resolve more and more frequently. I had become accustomed to operating behind a shield of hardened sensitivity. Process, progress and self improvement were my key targets.
I removed myself from entrapment by minimising emotion in all I did. It was a cleaner process to condense events to their components, to logic, to reason.
I gained a comfort from categorising interactions and observing events. I saw scenery in terms of width and depth of field, its colours and contrasts. I felt climate graphed to temperature and humidity. I experienced relationships in measured terms of giving and receiving.
Not always did my categories allow me to pigeon-hole an experience but I tried not to let on to anyone that I didn’t understand how my old dog could always make me kneel down and give him a hug..
As the years went on I became the recipient of the odd random acts of kindness. I was ill-equipped to reciprocate and found that this affected my progress along social and career paths. I had set some very clear objectives I'd expected to achieve by certain dates. Quite a few of these had proved elusive.
I decided that, as in all things, there was probably a need for balance, a ying to a yang. A positive to a negative. An acid to a base. This should provide a more neutral environment in which opportunity may develop.
From this new perspective I see all around me the lack of common understanding, the enormous complexity in the simplest of questions, the tiny interactions that provide tactile reality to the most banal proposition.
A driver asks direction and I now wonder if the scenic, direct or easiest alternative would be best for that individual and I want to enquire as to the purpose of the journey to provide a more attuned reply.
A youth asks for advice and I pine for the innocence of the question and long to answer without destroying the joy of discovery.
A bride requests a favour and I ache over the appropriate intimacy of the response.
I have become a person of consideration. I revel in the joys of life’s minutiae. I amuse myself with the challenge of providing a well designed response that encourages further interaction..
But frequently now, I feel. I see. I am involved. I have no tools for this part of my life, I have repressed them in favour of logical process. Now the simplicity of a question becomes unendingly complex as I sense the feelings of others. A response must account for the sensitivity of the recipient. A reply must provide a solution but also an avenue for the enquirer to escape from should my answer not fit their comprehension.
Solutions become more complex the more simple the questions. I begin to re-live painful lessons as I deal with mundane challenges. I find answers are now too complex to craft quickly and I find myself becoming the type of over-wordy conversationalist I once despised.
In an effort to be more succinct I become much more emotive.
I often choke over words which contain portent to me but are cushioned by their brevity.
I cannot allow the strength of my understanding to fall upon the unwitting. They have not had the emotional , the structured, the cruel path of development I have endured. It is this that makes communication almost impossible. I frequently now listen mute as I fall through invisible cracks in my emotional capacity..
So mostly I stay silent. My understanding is something I am content with, my ability to disclose it is treasured,
and my days are happy enough,
should people wish to enquire.
(This practical example of enlightenment was inspired by Chris’s dark enlightenment story he read at the LeedsSavage meet, 18th May 2011.)
Enlightenment through consciousness.
(Read this slowly, thought by thought, it's not too long and benefits from a paused pace and due gravitas, it is after all about the life-journey to enlightenment).
I found myself falling thorough my resolve more and more frequently. I had become accustomed to operating behind a shield of hardened sensitivity. Process, progress and self improvement were my key targets.
I removed myself from entrapment by minimising emotion in all I did. It was a cleaner process to condense events to their components, to logic, to reason.
I gained a comfort from categorising interactions and observing events. I saw scenery in terms of width and depth of field, its colours and contrasts. I felt climate graphed to temperature and humidity. I experienced relationships in measured terms of giving and receiving.
Not always did my categories allow me to pigeon-hole an experience but I tried not to let on to anyone that I didn’t understand how my old dog could always make me kneel down and give him a hug..
As the years went on I became the recipient of the odd random acts of kindness. I was ill-equipped to reciprocate and found that this affected my progress along social and career paths. I had set some very clear objectives I'd expected to achieve by certain dates. Quite a few of these had proved elusive.
I decided that, as in all things, there was probably a need for balance, a ying to a yang. A positive to a negative. An acid to a base. This should provide a more neutral environment in which opportunity may develop.
From this new perspective I see all around me the lack of common understanding, the enormous complexity in the simplest of questions, the tiny interactions that provide tactile reality to the most banal proposition.
A driver asks direction and I now wonder if the scenic, direct or easiest alternative would be best for that individual and I want to enquire as to the purpose of the journey to provide a more attuned reply.
A youth asks for advice and I pine for the innocence of the question and long to answer without destroying the joy of discovery.
A bride requests a favour and I ache over the appropriate intimacy of the response.
I have become a person of consideration. I revel in the joys of life’s minutiae. I amuse myself with the challenge of providing a well designed response that encourages further interaction..
But frequently now, I feel. I see. I am involved. I have no tools for this part of my life, I have repressed them in favour of logical process. Now the simplicity of a question becomes unendingly complex as I sense the feelings of others. A response must account for the sensitivity of the recipient. A reply must provide a solution but also an avenue for the enquirer to escape from should my answer not fit their comprehension.
Solutions become more complex the more simple the questions. I begin to re-live painful lessons as I deal with mundane challenges. I find answers are now too complex to craft quickly and I find myself becoming the type of over-wordy conversationalist I once despised.
In an effort to be more succinct I become much more emotive.
I often choke over words which contain portent to me but are cushioned by their brevity.
I cannot allow the strength of my understanding to fall upon the unwitting. They have not had the emotional , the structured, the cruel path of development I have endured. It is this that makes communication almost impossible. I frequently now listen mute as I fall through invisible cracks in my emotional capacity..
So mostly I stay silent. My understanding is something I am content with, my ability to disclose it is treasured,
and my days are happy enough,
should people wish to enquire.
(This practical example of enlightenment was inspired by Chris’s dark enlightenment story he read at the LeedsSavage meet, 18th May 2011.)
Monday, May 16, 2011
Crabs
(An amalgam of memories and fictions)
“Before and After” task for May 18 LeedsSavages Task.
Before~
It takes a hot hour and a half of I-spy, songs and other games led by mum and dad from the front seat but it feels lots quicker than that. Despite repeated orders that we all keep still, I am crawling on the rubber floor mats playing some silly game with my sisters when I feel the car brakes come on and I hear the happy popping noise from the tyres as they push through loose gravel. As quick as I can I push up onto the seat and crank the window down as the car crunches into slow gear and whines and crawls along the sandy track towards the beach.
The morning summer heat is scattered into thousands of bright dashes blinking through the trees as we bounce over the rutted track. “ONE”!, we all cry out as the floor of the car strikes a rock higher than we can clear. It is a silly game, but one we play every time we come. The number of bumps can sometimes tell if anyone else has got to our beach before us today. From the back seat we crane out our window to catch sight of the sea or the beach through breaks in the undergrowth. The smell of the trees mixed with the sea is a dizzy promise for the fun to come. “TWO”!, we now scream as this is the minimum bump count for the times when we have arrived here first. “I hope the soldier crabs are out” gleams Julie, “Will the tide be low? Do we know? Will it?”
The reply from the front is cut short by a long scrape of the underneath and a sideways slide of the car followed by a cheer from us in the back. We are going to be here alone, its almost certain.
Around one more bend in the track we are into the open bit of space where we park up and we can see our campfire stones are all still here. We drive very slowly to our shaded parking spot and are told again and again to stay in the car until it stops. This is the hardest time ‘cos now we can see the water and can’t wait to find out what our beach has given us today. The car draws to a stop painfully slowly and we are teased as it crawls a little bit more and then a bit more until our cries of “Stop the Car!” become too shrill and mum’s instruction is given to let us out.
We throw open the back doors and flee on warm sand giving way under our weight. We dash towards the sea, the small stones and shells causing no problem to our summer-tough feet. “Go slow” yells Julie as Helen and I now race each other over the squeaking sand. We look up to see a shiny moving silver-blue sheet of a million soldier crabs chasing the waves in and out and catching the sea lice they eat. This is a treasure for Julie who loves the out-tide for this once a day show. The crabs are harmless wire legged little things about the size of a marble with tiny nippers they use to catch their food and dig themselves into the sand. The beach at the tide mark is like moon craters with all their holes, and the sand is full of millions of tiny claw marks they’ve made. The three of us sit and watch them for a while, occasionally walking into their midst to see them scatter and burrow frantically. By sitting still we find our selves surrounded by the sparkling little things all busying themselves and taking no notice of us. I soon tire of this and I dash through them into the sea to look for the schools of little fish I know will be just beneath the wavelets about four yards out. I love feeling them brush the water past my legs as they swim backwards and forwards, the salt stings my eyes but I can see them underwater if I hold my breath and stay really still.
I look up and see that Helen has headed off to her pool further down in the long outcrop of rocks. I go back to Julie and ask if she wants to go to the old ship at the other end of our beach. She agrees. Her crabs are mostly finished and have returned to their holes to wait for the next tide.
The ship traps lots of shells and washed up stuff we try to collect. Its far too soon when we hear the car horn for lunch. It blows again more urgently and we head back to sausages sizzling slowly, bread that has been baked in foil next to the fire and there’s a big fruit cake wrapped in greased paper..
After lunch we listen to a story about sailors and islands. Julie and I fall asleep and when we wake up we are covered in the picnic blanket and the fire is out and smoldering under a layer of sand. Going back to the beach we see Helen is back at her rock pool watching from above now as the waves take it back until tomorrow. We know we will all be gathered up soon and there is only a little time left for us to enjoy the surf which is only just now getting big enough to slide into shore on.
After ~
“Yeah, and like it’s not even half a DVD to get there.
I log on in the car and game with someone ‘cos, like even when we get there, it takes like forever to find a spot in the multi-level. And we have to 'stay in the car', driving around in circles looking to park it.
So that we all know where it is.
I don’t know why, like, we’re never allowed to get separated. Today they let me bring my phone though, so like, I’m not that bothered.
Anyway, we only ever go to the Crab cafe for fish and chips.
Sometimes we might go for a swim but there is too much poop in the water today so it’s just going to be lunch, and like probably we’ll be dragged to look at the crap Aquarium with the wrecked boat in it..
These days are like the biggest wank.
We only ever come here because mum was made to when she was a kid.”
“Before and After” task for May 18 LeedsSavages Task.
Before~
It takes a hot hour and a half of I-spy, songs and other games led by mum and dad from the front seat but it feels lots quicker than that. Despite repeated orders that we all keep still, I am crawling on the rubber floor mats playing some silly game with my sisters when I feel the car brakes come on and I hear the happy popping noise from the tyres as they push through loose gravel. As quick as I can I push up onto the seat and crank the window down as the car crunches into slow gear and whines and crawls along the sandy track towards the beach.
The morning summer heat is scattered into thousands of bright dashes blinking through the trees as we bounce over the rutted track. “ONE”!, we all cry out as the floor of the car strikes a rock higher than we can clear. It is a silly game, but one we play every time we come. The number of bumps can sometimes tell if anyone else has got to our beach before us today. From the back seat we crane out our window to catch sight of the sea or the beach through breaks in the undergrowth. The smell of the trees mixed with the sea is a dizzy promise for the fun to come. “TWO”!, we now scream as this is the minimum bump count for the times when we have arrived here first. “I hope the soldier crabs are out” gleams Julie, “Will the tide be low? Do we know? Will it?”
The reply from the front is cut short by a long scrape of the underneath and a sideways slide of the car followed by a cheer from us in the back. We are going to be here alone, its almost certain.
Around one more bend in the track we are into the open bit of space where we park up and we can see our campfire stones are all still here. We drive very slowly to our shaded parking spot and are told again and again to stay in the car until it stops. This is the hardest time ‘cos now we can see the water and can’t wait to find out what our beach has given us today. The car draws to a stop painfully slowly and we are teased as it crawls a little bit more and then a bit more until our cries of “Stop the Car!” become too shrill and mum’s instruction is given to let us out.
We throw open the back doors and flee on warm sand giving way under our weight. We dash towards the sea, the small stones and shells causing no problem to our summer-tough feet. “Go slow” yells Julie as Helen and I now race each other over the squeaking sand. We look up to see a shiny moving silver-blue sheet of a million soldier crabs chasing the waves in and out and catching the sea lice they eat. This is a treasure for Julie who loves the out-tide for this once a day show. The crabs are harmless wire legged little things about the size of a marble with tiny nippers they use to catch their food and dig themselves into the sand. The beach at the tide mark is like moon craters with all their holes, and the sand is full of millions of tiny claw marks they’ve made. The three of us sit and watch them for a while, occasionally walking into their midst to see them scatter and burrow frantically. By sitting still we find our selves surrounded by the sparkling little things all busying themselves and taking no notice of us. I soon tire of this and I dash through them into the sea to look for the schools of little fish I know will be just beneath the wavelets about four yards out. I love feeling them brush the water past my legs as they swim backwards and forwards, the salt stings my eyes but I can see them underwater if I hold my breath and stay really still.
I look up and see that Helen has headed off to her pool further down in the long outcrop of rocks. I go back to Julie and ask if she wants to go to the old ship at the other end of our beach. She agrees. Her crabs are mostly finished and have returned to their holes to wait for the next tide.
The ship traps lots of shells and washed up stuff we try to collect. Its far too soon when we hear the car horn for lunch. It blows again more urgently and we head back to sausages sizzling slowly, bread that has been baked in foil next to the fire and there’s a big fruit cake wrapped in greased paper..
After lunch we listen to a story about sailors and islands. Julie and I fall asleep and when we wake up we are covered in the picnic blanket and the fire is out and smoldering under a layer of sand. Going back to the beach we see Helen is back at her rock pool watching from above now as the waves take it back until tomorrow. We know we will all be gathered up soon and there is only a little time left for us to enjoy the surf which is only just now getting big enough to slide into shore on.
After ~
“Yeah, and like it’s not even half a DVD to get there.
I log on in the car and game with someone ‘cos, like even when we get there, it takes like forever to find a spot in the multi-level. And we have to 'stay in the car', driving around in circles looking to park it.
So that we all know where it is.
I don’t know why, like, we’re never allowed to get separated. Today they let me bring my phone though, so like, I’m not that bothered.
Anyway, we only ever go to the Crab cafe for fish and chips.
Sometimes we might go for a swim but there is too much poop in the water today so it’s just going to be lunch, and like probably we’ll be dragged to look at the crap Aquarium with the wrecked boat in it..
These days are like the biggest wank.
We only ever come here because mum was made to when she was a kid.”
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Necessary Evil
The task this time was a bit using either, old photos or necessary evil,or both, or neither,
Necessary evil
– for the 4th of May meeting.
I have planned it for over a year now but even as I dropped the first one I could feel the ground shudder a little and from my vantage point above them I could sense the inhabitants startle. This devastation of their community was an unavoidable byproduct of my new resolve to clear the way for better things. Sure, thousands would die and hundreds be made homeless but my will is supreme and my intent now resolute. I had not decreed they establish their lives within my range of endeavour and as I continued to make my marks into the landscape the unease of the ground dwellers became more apparent. I see some of the less brave make good an escape which upsets me a little but I reasoned there had to be some that escape, I could not expect total decimation. With luck they will return overnight as my actions cease and they will be back in residence in time for the annihilation.
Besides this was fair warning, I will be pounding the earth with many blows and in many places for quite a while. I need to clearly establish and in fact limit the range of the future destruction. If, despite the relentless pounding I am delivering today, the stubborn residents within these boundaries choose to remain out of bravery, misguided resistance or languor, then I can grant them no mercy. I will not stand to have them resident within my new plan for the area. After all, I am anticipating a carnage, I have assembled my forces, the trades of my destructive vision are scheduled and arriving, and I can almost see the total devastation I have planned to ensure the eradication of these meager occupants. I am the lord of their world and my will shall be done.
I look back now at the results of my efforts and the clearly defined route of demarcation. All the destruction to follow will fall between the markers driven in to the lands. There can be no confusion. The first clouds of the apocalypse shall descend at daybreak, those endeavouring to elude the noxious destruction shall be trapped and slain by my lieutenants of eradication. At noon the second holocaust of needle toothed warriors will be unleashed to devour survivors and the following day the lands will be laid waste by explosion and excavations of the like never before seen in these parts, by close of actions all their dwellings will be demolished and the genocide complete. Guaranteed.
My mission will have commenced. I can’t wait to feel the vibrations as the lands are compressed, the wasted haunts of the slain masses smote level and filled with the detritus of my industry. The vision of flame-hot viscous ooze spreading black over the scene actually excites me and I admit that I am reveling so much in this imagining that a grin has spread across my countenance. The memory of my efforts of past years, slowly traversing these places in howling gales, and my recollections of the annual battle with the occupants of the lands will be sweet memories now that I know I will be free of their endless trials and the frustrations. My previous and ineffective attempts to subdue the insidious occupants are laughable, as if I were negotiating with intelligent beings and finally expecting that by killing the majority the minority would depart. Beyond my understanding the invaders not only remained but grew in number year on year. Their activities have destroyed my lands, corrupted my produce and made negotiating my landscape a daily disenchantment.
As I cast my gaze further I am looking now at the roadway outside the gate to my property, smooth tarmac and smart guttered edge. I am so excited that in just a week, no more, I will have cleared the rabbit plague from the way to my house, filled their burrows and laid that same smooth all weather tarmac surface to my front door. The feeling of triumph and victory over lands and nature goes a long way to dull any feeling of remorse over the slaughter of a local wild lapin population . The decimation is a minor but necessary evil.
Necessary evil
– for the 4th of May meeting.
I have planned it for over a year now but even as I dropped the first one I could feel the ground shudder a little and from my vantage point above them I could sense the inhabitants startle. This devastation of their community was an unavoidable byproduct of my new resolve to clear the way for better things. Sure, thousands would die and hundreds be made homeless but my will is supreme and my intent now resolute. I had not decreed they establish their lives within my range of endeavour and as I continued to make my marks into the landscape the unease of the ground dwellers became more apparent. I see some of the less brave make good an escape which upsets me a little but I reasoned there had to be some that escape, I could not expect total decimation. With luck they will return overnight as my actions cease and they will be back in residence in time for the annihilation.
Besides this was fair warning, I will be pounding the earth with many blows and in many places for quite a while. I need to clearly establish and in fact limit the range of the future destruction. If, despite the relentless pounding I am delivering today, the stubborn residents within these boundaries choose to remain out of bravery, misguided resistance or languor, then I can grant them no mercy. I will not stand to have them resident within my new plan for the area. After all, I am anticipating a carnage, I have assembled my forces, the trades of my destructive vision are scheduled and arriving, and I can almost see the total devastation I have planned to ensure the eradication of these meager occupants. I am the lord of their world and my will shall be done.
I look back now at the results of my efforts and the clearly defined route of demarcation. All the destruction to follow will fall between the markers driven in to the lands. There can be no confusion. The first clouds of the apocalypse shall descend at daybreak, those endeavouring to elude the noxious destruction shall be trapped and slain by my lieutenants of eradication. At noon the second holocaust of needle toothed warriors will be unleashed to devour survivors and the following day the lands will be laid waste by explosion and excavations of the like never before seen in these parts, by close of actions all their dwellings will be demolished and the genocide complete. Guaranteed.
My mission will have commenced. I can’t wait to feel the vibrations as the lands are compressed, the wasted haunts of the slain masses smote level and filled with the detritus of my industry. The vision of flame-hot viscous ooze spreading black over the scene actually excites me and I admit that I am reveling so much in this imagining that a grin has spread across my countenance. The memory of my efforts of past years, slowly traversing these places in howling gales, and my recollections of the annual battle with the occupants of the lands will be sweet memories now that I know I will be free of their endless trials and the frustrations. My previous and ineffective attempts to subdue the insidious occupants are laughable, as if I were negotiating with intelligent beings and finally expecting that by killing the majority the minority would depart. Beyond my understanding the invaders not only remained but grew in number year on year. Their activities have destroyed my lands, corrupted my produce and made negotiating my landscape a daily disenchantment.
As I cast my gaze further I am looking now at the roadway outside the gate to my property, smooth tarmac and smart guttered edge. I am so excited that in just a week, no more, I will have cleared the rabbit plague from the way to my house, filled their burrows and laid that same smooth all weather tarmac surface to my front door. The feeling of triumph and victory over lands and nature goes a long way to dull any feeling of remorse over the slaughter of a local wild lapin population . The decimation is a minor but necessary evil.
Wedding Words
Together
Before Together, there was a world,
wide, large and unknown
demanding your explore, your bravery your touch.
Before Together, your hearts frail, scarred, well guarded,
Still questing discovery, adventure, fresh wounds.
Before Together, your love, vague, simple and slippery,
seeking challenge, defining and form.
Before Together, half Together.
Half Together, alone.
Two alones, two hearts, two worlds, two apart
are now soft memories, cleansed by your Together.
And here we are,
all called to witness,
Together two hearts, two worlds
We smile, we delight
At distance conquered by desire,
At desire conjoined by events and
At events coalesced by affection.
We smile, we reflect
At the meeting, the juncture,
At the union defined.
In a future imagined, a pledge forever.
Together before us.
Together in time.
Love challenging, defining, discovering.
Together embarking on separate paths,
So we gift you strength and delight.
Together in one world,
wide, large and unknown.
Before Together, there was a world,
wide, large and unknown
demanding your explore, your bravery your touch.
Before Together, your hearts frail, scarred, well guarded,
Still questing discovery, adventure, fresh wounds.
Before Together, your love, vague, simple and slippery,
seeking challenge, defining and form.
Before Together, half Together.
Half Together, alone.
Two alones, two hearts, two worlds, two apart
are now soft memories, cleansed by your Together.
And here we are,
all called to witness,
Together two hearts, two worlds
We smile, we delight
At distance conquered by desire,
At desire conjoined by events and
At events coalesced by affection.
We smile, we reflect
At the meeting, the juncture,
At the union defined.
In a future imagined, a pledge forever.
Together before us.
Together in time.
Love challenging, defining, discovering.
Together embarking on separate paths,
So we gift you strength and delight.
Together in one world,
wide, large and unknown.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Phantom
Create a piece using the word or theme PHANTOM for the April 20th meet.
Carruther’s phantom.
Sally lay on her back, nestled by her mattress as she stared through the semi-darkness to her ceiling. The plaster reliefs formed vague shapes from which she imagined specters or goblins sometimes emerging. She smiled at how some childhood things stay with you. Sleep tonight was proving elusive. The light she had bought from that artisan in Venice hung heavily from its gilt chain reflecting what little light there was off its finely tooled links. Sally could just see the exquisite gold swirls captured forever as the melted glass was blown for her in that crusty old workshop. But no mater the distraction she employed, sleep remained thwarted.
Her bedroom had retained much of the day’s heat and Sally was sweating. That could be the anxiety though. She pulled gently at her silk nightdress to dislodge a minute crease in the small of her back, it was not uncomfortable, merely noticeable. The movement of her arm gave a pleasant sense as it glided over the 1200 percale bed sheet. Not for the first time did she marvel how luxury had come her way. It was not through lack of effort or commitment, but it did in some dark ways have at its source the immoral acts she had initiated, repeated and justified. But that is the way of derivatives trading. How the hell she ever got involved in this murky world of deceit from a passing interest in mathematics defied her logic even now. But without doubt it was why she could lie here in these comforts,, but, still not sleep at night. And now, as if to crown the years of immorality, a phantom had slid into her life.
When she accepted the offer to work at Carruther’s she had done so being well aware of the whispered rumors and stories that there were phantoms lurking in the bowels of the establishment. She had heard at conferences, over drinks around the bar, that senior Carruther’s executives had experiences of them. The phantom story went right back to the years following the crash of the 1920’s after staff had flung themselves down the stairwell to die in mashed despair on the basement floor. Sally never thought she would experience a Carruther phantom, but she had no doubts now. The sweat and anxiety she felt as she lay here was real, a phantom had come home to roost with her. It seemed a bit unfair that the moment she had won the CFO role she had also got a Carruther phantom. It had nothing to do with the skullduggery she had performed to get the job and it wasn’t something she really had ever believed would happen to her but now she couldn’t refute it, the phantom was unquestionably resident in her basement and it was the trepidation , and the anxiety of the inevitable return she would have to make to her basement the next day that was causing the sleeplessness.
Sally was a mature adult, intelligent and not ashamed of the moral choices she had made to gain her position in life. She knew the stench of past deeds hung around her like a fetid carcass but the rewards she sought were astronomical and the rumours of a Carruther phantom had done nothing to discourage her. Now she wasn’t so sure. Now she would have to live with a phantom. She would not be able to hide its presence.
As daylight slowly grew she knew she would have to confront the phantom boldly and move on into her career choice. Sally guessed the Carruther phantom would define her amongst her peers as it had done for others and the essence of it would both identify her and plague her efforts for a private life. The phantom curse had been bourn by every Carruther CFO since the 1920’s and there was no way she was going to be immune. It was in her basement for shit sake. She could hardly believe it. She had seen it there when she had come home last night. Lurking in all its dark grey malevolence, silent and still in the shadowy corner of the basement. Its di-optic eyes glinted menacingly from the gloom and she knew, she just knew, its ethereal spirit was waiting to emerge should she be bold enough to release it. This was not a morning she had been wanting but it was inevitable and she would, she knew, have to meet the phantom and she knew, like all other Carruther’s CFOs, she would be engulfed by its presence, enraptured by its enticements and ultimately corrupted by its opulent demands and expectations.
The morning’s shower and breakfast routines performed, it was almost a surprise as she stood at the mirror putting on her lipstick and adjusting her hair that she did actually look the epitome of a Chief Financial Officer. Funny, she thought, looking at herself, now she knew she could face the phantom, deal with the rumours, attack the deriders and progress to even greater heights.
The phantom had already begun to wreak its way into her psyche.
Confront your fears straight on she thought.
Rather than walking down the stairs as she may usually have done into the dark basement, today she strode purposefully to the large main door; hit the remote and watched the panels open, flooding the basement with daylight.
The Phantom of course did not retreat with this onslaught, she hadn’t expected it to. If anything it confronted her more boldly. Rather than slunk in the rear corner like she remembered from last night it proudly disported itself in the full morning sunshine. Sally boldly approached it as its eyes followed her, reflecting and magnifying her anxiety. The bloody thing knows me she thought. Undeterred she accepted it’s invitation and quickly succumb to it’s opulent entreaty. Despite her conviction that she would not, Sally had been easily captured and captivated by the Caruthers Phantom.
For a moment she enjoyed its form, felt the textures of its temptation. There was an exquisite sense of excess and pretention, with an added promise of ultimate power. From her new perspective Sally cast around and became aware of an almost organic invitation to proceed.
She pressed the start button, the driver’s door sealed closed, and down the front, the Spirit of Ecstasy rose from its chromium den to greet the minions.
Sally drove off to her new job in the city in her new company car, a Rolls Royce Phantom for shit sake!
She could still hardly believe it.
Carruther’s phantom.
Sally lay on her back, nestled by her mattress as she stared through the semi-darkness to her ceiling. The plaster reliefs formed vague shapes from which she imagined specters or goblins sometimes emerging. She smiled at how some childhood things stay with you. Sleep tonight was proving elusive. The light she had bought from that artisan in Venice hung heavily from its gilt chain reflecting what little light there was off its finely tooled links. Sally could just see the exquisite gold swirls captured forever as the melted glass was blown for her in that crusty old workshop. But no mater the distraction she employed, sleep remained thwarted.
Her bedroom had retained much of the day’s heat and Sally was sweating. That could be the anxiety though. She pulled gently at her silk nightdress to dislodge a minute crease in the small of her back, it was not uncomfortable, merely noticeable. The movement of her arm gave a pleasant sense as it glided over the 1200 percale bed sheet. Not for the first time did she marvel how luxury had come her way. It was not through lack of effort or commitment, but it did in some dark ways have at its source the immoral acts she had initiated, repeated and justified. But that is the way of derivatives trading. How the hell she ever got involved in this murky world of deceit from a passing interest in mathematics defied her logic even now. But without doubt it was why she could lie here in these comforts,, but, still not sleep at night. And now, as if to crown the years of immorality, a phantom had slid into her life.
When she accepted the offer to work at Carruther’s she had done so being well aware of the whispered rumors and stories that there were phantoms lurking in the bowels of the establishment. She had heard at conferences, over drinks around the bar, that senior Carruther’s executives had experiences of them. The phantom story went right back to the years following the crash of the 1920’s after staff had flung themselves down the stairwell to die in mashed despair on the basement floor. Sally never thought she would experience a Carruther phantom, but she had no doubts now. The sweat and anxiety she felt as she lay here was real, a phantom had come home to roost with her. It seemed a bit unfair that the moment she had won the CFO role she had also got a Carruther phantom. It had nothing to do with the skullduggery she had performed to get the job and it wasn’t something she really had ever believed would happen to her but now she couldn’t refute it, the phantom was unquestionably resident in her basement and it was the trepidation , and the anxiety of the inevitable return she would have to make to her basement the next day that was causing the sleeplessness.
Sally was a mature adult, intelligent and not ashamed of the moral choices she had made to gain her position in life. She knew the stench of past deeds hung around her like a fetid carcass but the rewards she sought were astronomical and the rumours of a Carruther phantom had done nothing to discourage her. Now she wasn’t so sure. Now she would have to live with a phantom. She would not be able to hide its presence.
As daylight slowly grew she knew she would have to confront the phantom boldly and move on into her career choice. Sally guessed the Carruther phantom would define her amongst her peers as it had done for others and the essence of it would both identify her and plague her efforts for a private life. The phantom curse had been bourn by every Carruther CFO since the 1920’s and there was no way she was going to be immune. It was in her basement for shit sake. She could hardly believe it. She had seen it there when she had come home last night. Lurking in all its dark grey malevolence, silent and still in the shadowy corner of the basement. Its di-optic eyes glinted menacingly from the gloom and she knew, she just knew, its ethereal spirit was waiting to emerge should she be bold enough to release it. This was not a morning she had been wanting but it was inevitable and she would, she knew, have to meet the phantom and she knew, like all other Carruther’s CFOs, she would be engulfed by its presence, enraptured by its enticements and ultimately corrupted by its opulent demands and expectations.
The morning’s shower and breakfast routines performed, it was almost a surprise as she stood at the mirror putting on her lipstick and adjusting her hair that she did actually look the epitome of a Chief Financial Officer. Funny, she thought, looking at herself, now she knew she could face the phantom, deal with the rumours, attack the deriders and progress to even greater heights.
The phantom had already begun to wreak its way into her psyche.
Confront your fears straight on she thought.
Rather than walking down the stairs as she may usually have done into the dark basement, today she strode purposefully to the large main door; hit the remote and watched the panels open, flooding the basement with daylight.
The Phantom of course did not retreat with this onslaught, she hadn’t expected it to. If anything it confronted her more boldly. Rather than slunk in the rear corner like she remembered from last night it proudly disported itself in the full morning sunshine. Sally boldly approached it as its eyes followed her, reflecting and magnifying her anxiety. The bloody thing knows me she thought. Undeterred she accepted it’s invitation and quickly succumb to it’s opulent entreaty. Despite her conviction that she would not, Sally had been easily captured and captivated by the Caruthers Phantom.
For a moment she enjoyed its form, felt the textures of its temptation. There was an exquisite sense of excess and pretention, with an added promise of ultimate power. From her new perspective Sally cast around and became aware of an almost organic invitation to proceed.
She pressed the start button, the driver’s door sealed closed, and down the front, the Spirit of Ecstasy rose from its chromium den to greet the minions.
Sally drove off to her new job in the city in her new company car, a Rolls Royce Phantom for shit sake!
She could still hardly believe it.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
the bloody tyke
Leeds Savage challenge for April 6 2011.
To put Transparent, Bastard and Verisimilitude into a short story.
The bloody tyke.
From where I stood now I could see the yellow flashes explode after each impact as the shells hit. After this latest attack the availability of shells would be less, it was going to take time to recover from the blow we had just been delivered.
I am so pissed off about it I could throttle the bugger again right here and now. The way the smirking bastard is wearing his verisimilitude of innocence sickens me. A transparent haze of fear and a stench of death had hung over the scene. The prick was gormlessly expecting me to believe he had arrived to find himself in this gore-fest. I mean, he was spattered and smeared with their blood for shit’s sake and he had the raw gall to be looking at me, claiming no involvement.
I am in awe of the stupidity of the dolt I now have in front of me.
If I could know for sure she wouldn’t see from behind the glass I‘d kick his balls in to wipe the daft grin off his face.
It was her bloody fault anyway, I’d told her we’d never be able to trust him from the moment she introduced us. I just knew his type, dealt with them all my life in pubs, in town parks and down city back streets. Bloody Yorkshire bastards, you can’t trust them. I’ve seen them crack a fit of fury for no reason whatsoever. Given any situation you never know which way they're going to jump. I can’t stand to be near them.. I told her that. And here is the proof. This time it’s a massacre, as I approached the field I'd seen at least four bodies on the ground before I managed to collar the tyke and drag him protesting away from the scene. Granted, I had surprised him, but the arsehole had nearly tried to have a go at me. I'd slipped him one to the kidney before he got the chance. Probably uncalled for, but it made me feel good. She never saw that though, so it won’t go on the record.
I have made it my mission to keep track of the bugger's movements ever since he joined us and while I have never been able to pin anything specific on him, a lot more fatalities have been logged since he’s arrived. She kept saying “There’s always been and there will always be unplanned deaths in this sort of work” and sure, she was right. There would always be unintended casualties along with the targeted executions but the death rate had risen sharply since his arrival and I for one had very strong convictions who was responsible.
He was uncanny at knowing when I was watching him though, and I couldn’t watch him all the time. I can’t recall how many times I’d notice his absence and I’d see him cautiously heading off, looking sly. No sooner would I move to follow him and he’d stop, turn around and either come back as if he’d forgotten something or change direction and head off with an entirely different stride. The shit had been starting to do my head in. But now I had him, evidence was on him everywhere, the scene of the last slaughter was preserved and there was no bloody way in the world she could dispute it. I had him dead to rights. He was out of here this time. No excuses, no favoritism, it was a done deal.
I hammered on the Kitchen widow and she stopped making her egg custard. She looked up with horror at the dripping blood all over Timmy’s face and coat.
I shouted through the double glazing,
“Your fucking dog has killed another four of my chickens! I tell you Sarah this is it .
Its over.
I am going to the pound and I’m taking your bloody Terrier today!
To put Transparent, Bastard and Verisimilitude into a short story.
The bloody tyke.
From where I stood now I could see the yellow flashes explode after each impact as the shells hit. After this latest attack the availability of shells would be less, it was going to take time to recover from the blow we had just been delivered.
I am so pissed off about it I could throttle the bugger again right here and now. The way the smirking bastard is wearing his verisimilitude of innocence sickens me. A transparent haze of fear and a stench of death had hung over the scene. The prick was gormlessly expecting me to believe he had arrived to find himself in this gore-fest. I mean, he was spattered and smeared with their blood for shit’s sake and he had the raw gall to be looking at me, claiming no involvement.
I am in awe of the stupidity of the dolt I now have in front of me.
If I could know for sure she wouldn’t see from behind the glass I‘d kick his balls in to wipe the daft grin off his face.
It was her bloody fault anyway, I’d told her we’d never be able to trust him from the moment she introduced us. I just knew his type, dealt with them all my life in pubs, in town parks and down city back streets. Bloody Yorkshire bastards, you can’t trust them. I’ve seen them crack a fit of fury for no reason whatsoever. Given any situation you never know which way they're going to jump. I can’t stand to be near them.. I told her that. And here is the proof. This time it’s a massacre, as I approached the field I'd seen at least four bodies on the ground before I managed to collar the tyke and drag him protesting away from the scene. Granted, I had surprised him, but the arsehole had nearly tried to have a go at me. I'd slipped him one to the kidney before he got the chance. Probably uncalled for, but it made me feel good. She never saw that though, so it won’t go on the record.
I have made it my mission to keep track of the bugger's movements ever since he joined us and while I have never been able to pin anything specific on him, a lot more fatalities have been logged since he’s arrived. She kept saying “There’s always been and there will always be unplanned deaths in this sort of work” and sure, she was right. There would always be unintended casualties along with the targeted executions but the death rate had risen sharply since his arrival and I for one had very strong convictions who was responsible.
He was uncanny at knowing when I was watching him though, and I couldn’t watch him all the time. I can’t recall how many times I’d notice his absence and I’d see him cautiously heading off, looking sly. No sooner would I move to follow him and he’d stop, turn around and either come back as if he’d forgotten something or change direction and head off with an entirely different stride. The shit had been starting to do my head in. But now I had him, evidence was on him everywhere, the scene of the last slaughter was preserved and there was no bloody way in the world she could dispute it. I had him dead to rights. He was out of here this time. No excuses, no favoritism, it was a done deal.
I hammered on the Kitchen widow and she stopped making her egg custard. She looked up with horror at the dripping blood all over Timmy’s face and coat.
I shouted through the double glazing,
“Your fucking dog has killed another four of my chickens! I tell you Sarah this is it .
Its over.
I am going to the pound and I’m taking your bloody Terrier today!
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Would it fit
Write a story which includes the phrase And then she wondered if it would ever fit………
Leeds Savage task for March 23, 2011.
The lounge room was disheveled with a briefcase and handbag discarded oddly in the hallway, their shoes muddled at the end of the sofa, Paul’s shirt and mobile were thrown on the coffee table and Clair’s blouse was half caught up on the magazine rack. The door to the bedroom stood ajar, trousers slung on the handle. The scent of stale booze and sweaty bodies hung comfortably in the air over a quiet conversation.
Paul is laying on his side, one leg still entwined, his head propped on an elbow, hand resting still on her chest.
“So?”
“Oh god, Paul, sorry, yes, of course we can, but then, I don’t know….when? Like this year?
“Well I was sort of thinking, you know, like sometime soon......”
“Its a heck of a …… I suppose, …..I .. um…. Well yes , I guess…., but…..why now?
He looked down and tracing his finger round her breast said simply, “Why not now?”
“Um, I’m thinking.” And she was. Thinking hard. But nothing came. Married?,,,, Shit!
She’d always known that they would probably end up married but she had not given the timing serious thought.
Alright, that’s not true, she had thought about it. But not seriously, not really and not about when. Like now, now? It couldn’t be now. Could it? There had to be too much to talk about, there must be, like….oh, what are all those things to think about? There must be heaps..
Then she saw Paul was looking at her, he was looking worried.
She leaned up, kissed him, smiled and gave him a hug.
The embrace developed, as it does, the play was gentle this time, caring, lingering, exhausting and finally satisfying. They lay quietly, Paul still beside her, just touching. She had started to think again. Her whole time-line and schedule is going to have to be worked out, yes, timing,,, timing was something that really did need to be thought about……
First, her masters, there was really no way she could defer that again, She just knew that she had to be head down bum up to get that done or waste fifteen years of commitment, well a commitment of sorts, but all that work, the bloody tears and frustrations. No, the masters had to get done before marriage. So that’s sorted. Six months. At least, shit. Then she’d need to plan an engagement party, finish decorating the flat, sell the flat, buy a family type home. Have to go to Canada and spend time with Paul’s folks sometime…. Have to allow ages to organise a wedding, AND, what about a honeymoon, would we even have a honeymoon? Then there is all the crap you need to do to move in to the new home, and what about work? Would they consider part time? Maybe she should think about a baby. Oh, baby. A cloying goo flowed into her brain for a second. Yes, perhaps a baby. The sweetness vanished as she had a worry about if she could actually get pregnant, oh for shit sake this isn’t the time to worry about that, there must still be more stuff to think about being married.
And then she wondered if it would ever fit in the time she had actually left herself. She remembered she was 39,,,, and five months, and what, twelve days? How the fuck did she know that? Was she that pre-occupied? She had been noticing she’d get angry really quickly lately, felt paranoid sometimes, and had once or twice thought her hormones might be going weird. That worried her. Kids, shit. Now she lay there worrying like an expert, worrying about if she’d buggered up her eggs with all the shit she’d taken, what if her body wasn’t going to make a kid? If it did how could she change and be a mother? This gender draw is a crock. Old Rod fucking Stewart and Rupert bloody Murdock are squirting progeny into every passing womb without a second’s thought. Fatherhood, no problem anytime, motherhood, a huge fuckin’ use-by date… Crap. And Paul’d be the same, she bet he’d never thought about not being able to be a father either. Bastard.
The gentle mood was gone, forgotten completely as she lay there, worrying, getting sadder, growing angry, then remorseful, helpless. She rolled over, curled her face into her pillow and got washed over by some unwanted sobs.
Paul, moving over, held her “Hey, what’s the matter honey?”
“Oh fuck off, leave me alone, and don’t touch me, you, you,,,,, ahrgh, ” she stuttered, pulled away and fled into the bathroom.
“And get out of my place” she heard herself shriek as she slammed the door. Dissolving into confusion she sat, head in hands.
There were footsteps, Paul tried the handle and then softly knocked on the locked door, “Claire?, What’s the matter honey, what did I do?”
As if he didn’t know.
Leeds Savage task for March 23, 2011.
The lounge room was disheveled with a briefcase and handbag discarded oddly in the hallway, their shoes muddled at the end of the sofa, Paul’s shirt and mobile were thrown on the coffee table and Clair’s blouse was half caught up on the magazine rack. The door to the bedroom stood ajar, trousers slung on the handle. The scent of stale booze and sweaty bodies hung comfortably in the air over a quiet conversation.
Paul is laying on his side, one leg still entwined, his head propped on an elbow, hand resting still on her chest.
“So?”
“Oh god, Paul, sorry, yes, of course we can, but then, I don’t know….when? Like this year?
“Well I was sort of thinking, you know, like sometime soon......”
“Its a heck of a …… I suppose, …..I .. um…. Well yes , I guess…., but…..why now?
He looked down and tracing his finger round her breast said simply, “Why not now?”
“Um, I’m thinking.” And she was. Thinking hard. But nothing came. Married?,,,, Shit!
She’d always known that they would probably end up married but she had not given the timing serious thought.
Alright, that’s not true, she had thought about it. But not seriously, not really and not about when. Like now, now? It couldn’t be now. Could it? There had to be too much to talk about, there must be, like….oh, what are all those things to think about? There must be heaps..
Then she saw Paul was looking at her, he was looking worried.
She leaned up, kissed him, smiled and gave him a hug.
The embrace developed, as it does, the play was gentle this time, caring, lingering, exhausting and finally satisfying. They lay quietly, Paul still beside her, just touching. She had started to think again. Her whole time-line and schedule is going to have to be worked out, yes, timing,,, timing was something that really did need to be thought about……
First, her masters, there was really no way she could defer that again, She just knew that she had to be head down bum up to get that done or waste fifteen years of commitment, well a commitment of sorts, but all that work, the bloody tears and frustrations. No, the masters had to get done before marriage. So that’s sorted. Six months. At least, shit. Then she’d need to plan an engagement party, finish decorating the flat, sell the flat, buy a family type home. Have to go to Canada and spend time with Paul’s folks sometime…. Have to allow ages to organise a wedding, AND, what about a honeymoon, would we even have a honeymoon? Then there is all the crap you need to do to move in to the new home, and what about work? Would they consider part time? Maybe she should think about a baby. Oh, baby. A cloying goo flowed into her brain for a second. Yes, perhaps a baby. The sweetness vanished as she had a worry about if she could actually get pregnant, oh for shit sake this isn’t the time to worry about that, there must still be more stuff to think about being married.
And then she wondered if it would ever fit in the time she had actually left herself. She remembered she was 39,,,, and five months, and what, twelve days? How the fuck did she know that? Was she that pre-occupied? She had been noticing she’d get angry really quickly lately, felt paranoid sometimes, and had once or twice thought her hormones might be going weird. That worried her. Kids, shit. Now she lay there worrying like an expert, worrying about if she’d buggered up her eggs with all the shit she’d taken, what if her body wasn’t going to make a kid? If it did how could she change and be a mother? This gender draw is a crock. Old Rod fucking Stewart and Rupert bloody Murdock are squirting progeny into every passing womb without a second’s thought. Fatherhood, no problem anytime, motherhood, a huge fuckin’ use-by date… Crap. And Paul’d be the same, she bet he’d never thought about not being able to be a father either. Bastard.
The gentle mood was gone, forgotten completely as she lay there, worrying, getting sadder, growing angry, then remorseful, helpless. She rolled over, curled her face into her pillow and got washed over by some unwanted sobs.
Paul, moving over, held her “Hey, what’s the matter honey?”
“Oh fuck off, leave me alone, and don’t touch me, you, you,,,,, ahrgh, ” she stuttered, pulled away and fled into the bathroom.
“And get out of my place” she heard herself shriek as she slammed the door. Dissolving into confusion she sat, head in hands.
There were footsteps, Paul tried the handle and then softly knocked on the locked door, “Claire?, What’s the matter honey, what did I do?”
As if he didn’t know.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
January 11 , Leeds
January 11th, Leeds, Platform 4. 10am.
That’s what was agreed, couldn’t have been clearer. Why hadn’t she been brave enough to go back to his flat, or why at least didn’t she get his phone number? She pulled at her coat and sat there wondering what to do now.
¬
January 6th, 11:45am Leeds.
Anyway from memory, no way was it a phone number. He poured out his coffee and sat there wondering what to do now.
~
January 6th,11:17am Leeds
By the way the light was shining into the window, the noises filtering in through the glazing, its daytime.
Clyde pressed down the edge of his pillow to squint at the clock.
‘Shit’
It was eleven seventeen. He rolled over, eyes closed again and felt around to find that warm soft skin. Just cold sheet. He opened his eyes to an empty bed and felt immediately disappointed. Laying still he tried to hear noises she might be making in the bathroom or kitchen. All quiet, her scent lingering up from the folds of the duvet. Propping himself up he tried to hear any movement in the flat at all.
‘Kay?, you up?’
Nothing.
Bugger, she must have snuck off without waking him.
Swinging his feet to the carpet he bent to reach his shorts and was fastening his trousers as he walked into the living room. No one there. She had clearly scampered.
There was half a jug of coffee she’d made still in the machine and Clyde poured it into the mug she’d used. Her lipstick stain said she was a leftie. Another thing he hadn’t known about her.
What a night.
He looked around the flat, it was a shambles and headily redolent of their urgent fumbling and boundary testing of a few hours ago. Clyde walked to open the balcony door, throwing the lounge cushions back into place on his way. He glanced down into the car park, her Alfa was gone. Naturally. So she was away then. He dropped into the armchair and sucked up a mouthful of coffee. Urgh, no milk. Up again, on the way to the fridge collecting some used items to throw into the bin.
A smile bent its way across his face as he remembered that he’d only gone out to get a bottle of milk. He poured milk from the bottle, took another sip of coffee, lent against the bench and allowed himself a wallow in the memories of last night.
He had been in no hurry at the co-op, had got his milk and then idled a while in front of the magazine stand, first flicking through this month’s CAR then got distracted by FHM and a picture spread of their claimed top-ten sex positions. Pretty innocuous stuff really, but worth a look.
That was when he caught her perfume and glanced up.
There was something immediately special about her. Like you get sometimes when you meet someone and there is that thing, like irrational recognition, something that squirts a jolt in your chest.
“Picking up some tips?” She had quipped.
Clyde looked at his bottle of milk not immediately understanding. She giggled at his reaction as he realised she could see the pages of the magazine.
“Always learning” embarrassed, but glancing an appraisal. Nice, and he saw that she had just unhooked a multi-pack of AA batteries.
“Your girl’s best friend run out of spark has it?” he retaliated, instantly thinking ‘shit, too strong.’
Embarrassment was his again as she stared blankly at him for a second before realising what he had implied. To his relief she snorted a laugh and said “Neat come-back.”
“Yeah. Um, sorry about that”
“No worries, I guess I asked for it” she blushed and walked away.
Clyde stood thinking, should he chase her down…nah, too new puppy, should he pretend a lack of interest…, how to reconnect? Why were things always so bloody awkward? Anyway the moment had passed. He put the magazine back, decided to dawdle past the wine counter pretending to trawl for a select bottle of red and eventually he headed to the counter to pay, all the time looking around just a bit to see if he could spot her again.
Outside in the car park the warning lights of a little Alfa flashed as he started to walk home and he saw her fumble with her bags and keys, dropping something in the process. Not thinking this time he’d darted over, picked up the packet of batteries and reached over to open the car’s door.
Smooth he thought. But then blew it by saying “You wouldn’t want to get home without these would you?” Gawd, I’m such a prat he thought. This close her smell was delicious and as she reached to take the batteries her hand brushed his. There was that squirt in the chest again and now he was staring at her, really close up. She just looked back at him. Wide eyes. If it wasn’t her moving in, then for no reason he could fathom he leaned and gave her a kiss. In a heady surge he felt her respond a little and he let go the car door to put his arm around her waist.
Things sort of took on a different slant then, she leaned into him and he felt her body and a hunger hinted at by parting lips and a flick of her tongue before an equally sudden steeliness and a steady pressure pushing him back. He relaxed his hold a bit, stood looking at her unreadable expression and blurted,
“Christ, I don’t know what happened then, I don’t pounce on women, usually, I don’t.”
There was a short pause while they both realised their bodies had not actually stopped touching. The next embrace was mutual and passionate until Clyde broke off gasping for air
“This is not the place, would you like a wine back at my place?”
“Nmmm hmm. I’ll drive, you direct”
The short trip was surreal, her name was Kate, she preferred Kay, must remember that, lived near to the co-op and worked in the city.
He said his name and some other stupid stuff about work and travel and they didn’t look at each other again until Clyde had opened the front door to his flat.
There in the entry hallway, one leg still in his trousers, her bra and pants pulled aside they hungrily satisfied an animal urge. It was frantic, and urgent, gentle and persistent, lingering, shuddering and ultimately rewarding until they lay crumpled and panting gripping each other together combined and spent on the floor.
“So this is my hallway”. He chuckled, burying his face in her hair.
“I don’t know if I’m up for the full house tour” she breathed back.
He kissed her neck and, slowly removing himself, helped her to stand up. “Would you like that glass of wine?” and they headed into the living room. The night then rotated between drinks, embrace, chat, hungry sex , more drinks and eventually a sensuous and delightful couple of hours in his bedroom. Clyde had never experienced anything like it. It was as if he had known her for ages, going from chat to play and back again. To be honest he was fascinated by her, her voice and expressions, her gestures, but given the ongoing distraction of her glorious naked body he had not paid that much attention to what she had been saying. Something repeated about her favourite places and was it train trips and, god she had such a beautiful girl bits he kept wanting to be there, wrapped in her legs and arms and lips. She would be chatting on about taking a trip somewhere but he was rather distracted by the, well, by her everything really.
Gees, finished my coffee. That snapped him out of his reverie and he turned round, re-started the coffee machine and looked about the flat a bit more. He collected the wine bottle, chocolate and honey jars and threw them in the bin. While the coffee was brewing away he noticed the lipstick on the coffee table, it was a message. He stared at it, puzzled.
Clyde presumed she’d used his phone and had made some note while she was talking or , maybe a password or pin number. The text made no sense to him,
CU10,11/1,.plt4 k. and a smiley face. ... cuten eleven, one? P one t four..? peewont fork? … Nope, no sense at all. He wiped it with a dropped face wipe . As soon as he did, it suddenly dawned on him that he had no way of contacting her, no address, no phone. Was the memo her contact details? He peered at the smear to check but had erased it too much.
Anyway from memory, no way was it a phone number. He poured out his coffee and sat there wondering what to do now.
~
“Carol?
Hiya, only me.
Okay I guess. I um , I think I just raped a guy.
Yeah him,
I have not been stalking him.
I so haven’t! It’s your fault anyway, you pointed him out. I just keep seeing him around.
I haven’t Carol, stop it. Anyway his name is Clyde and he’s ..
Clyde, what’s so funny about that?
Do you want to hear or not?
Well I’ve got to tell someone.
Last night at the Co-op,
Yeah well. I thought this time I’d brave-up and say something to him. He was staring at a car mag and I sort of just stood there for a while, well, sort of hoping he’d notice me.
Yeah, anyway, so then I thought if I reached for something he might look. I lent across to grab the nearest thing after he had pulled another magazine out.
Don’t know, it was some lads mag and I made a stupid comment.
Oh, I don’t remember something about needing a sex guide.
Yeah I know. Any-way. He joked about the batteries I’d grabbed and it all went pear-shaped and I ran away.
I couldn’t Carol. I sort of snuck to the checkout while he was off shopping for something else. And then, this bloody new car with its stupid card lock thing. I dropped my shopping trying to get in and he saw me, came over to help and, well, I sort of jumped him I suppose.
I am not.
Yeah, been a while.
No. It wasn’t like that, it was like, mutual, but shit, I got scared and sort of pushed him away …Then he kind of looked at me and, oh I don’t know, I think I was still holding onto him and well, we started again…
Yeah I know. …. I know,
Anyway he asked me back for a drink and things just went sort of crazy.
No I wasn’t … but … listen will you?…
Yeah okay but do you want to listen for a minute?
Whatever. Anyway, we got back to his place and we just sort of went for it.
Yeah, really. Oh Carol, it was fantastic.
No, just inside the front door.
I know. I know. Mad.
Yeah, a bit.
Okay, a lot.
No, we went inside.
To the lounge in front of the fireplace.
Sort of, ended up in his bedroom.
Oh yeah…. Really, really...
Well, different….But he’s a really nice guy.
Yeah, he works out a bit I’d guess , but he listens Carol, he really listens. We talked all the time on and off.
No, alright,
Well,,, we were naked,
Yes, like that, and there was some foodstuff involved
No! Shit Carol. Don’t be revolting.
He was lovely, we just had fun that’s all.
He wants to go on the Leeds to Carlisle trip with me.
Because we talked about it, and anyway you didn’t want to go.
Of course. Anyway I left a lipstick note on his coffee table reminding him.
See you at ten, Jan. 11 , platform 4.
Yeah, next weekend , can’t wait.
No I won’t.
I won’t, I’ll see how it works out after a day with our clothes on!
Ha! Yeah. Yeah, okay.
OKAY! Gees!, yeah, later,
Yeah, Thanks Carol, See you.”
~
That’s what was agreed, couldn’t have been clearer. Why hadn’t she been brave enough to go back to his flat or why at least didn’t she get his phone number? She pulled at the collar of her coat and sat there wondering what to do now.
That’s what was agreed, couldn’t have been clearer. Why hadn’t she been brave enough to go back to his flat, or why at least didn’t she get his phone number? She pulled at her coat and sat there wondering what to do now.
¬
January 6th, 11:45am Leeds.
Anyway from memory, no way was it a phone number. He poured out his coffee and sat there wondering what to do now.
~
January 6th,11:17am Leeds
By the way the light was shining into the window, the noises filtering in through the glazing, its daytime.
Clyde pressed down the edge of his pillow to squint at the clock.
‘Shit’
It was eleven seventeen. He rolled over, eyes closed again and felt around to find that warm soft skin. Just cold sheet. He opened his eyes to an empty bed and felt immediately disappointed. Laying still he tried to hear noises she might be making in the bathroom or kitchen. All quiet, her scent lingering up from the folds of the duvet. Propping himself up he tried to hear any movement in the flat at all.
‘Kay?, you up?’
Nothing.
Bugger, she must have snuck off without waking him.
Swinging his feet to the carpet he bent to reach his shorts and was fastening his trousers as he walked into the living room. No one there. She had clearly scampered.
There was half a jug of coffee she’d made still in the machine and Clyde poured it into the mug she’d used. Her lipstick stain said she was a leftie. Another thing he hadn’t known about her.
What a night.
He looked around the flat, it was a shambles and headily redolent of their urgent fumbling and boundary testing of a few hours ago. Clyde walked to open the balcony door, throwing the lounge cushions back into place on his way. He glanced down into the car park, her Alfa was gone. Naturally. So she was away then. He dropped into the armchair and sucked up a mouthful of coffee. Urgh, no milk. Up again, on the way to the fridge collecting some used items to throw into the bin.
A smile bent its way across his face as he remembered that he’d only gone out to get a bottle of milk. He poured milk from the bottle, took another sip of coffee, lent against the bench and allowed himself a wallow in the memories of last night.
He had been in no hurry at the co-op, had got his milk and then idled a while in front of the magazine stand, first flicking through this month’s CAR then got distracted by FHM and a picture spread of their claimed top-ten sex positions. Pretty innocuous stuff really, but worth a look.
That was when he caught her perfume and glanced up.
There was something immediately special about her. Like you get sometimes when you meet someone and there is that thing, like irrational recognition, something that squirts a jolt in your chest.
“Picking up some tips?” She had quipped.
Clyde looked at his bottle of milk not immediately understanding. She giggled at his reaction as he realised she could see the pages of the magazine.
“Always learning” embarrassed, but glancing an appraisal. Nice, and he saw that she had just unhooked a multi-pack of AA batteries.
“Your girl’s best friend run out of spark has it?” he retaliated, instantly thinking ‘shit, too strong.’
Embarrassment was his again as she stared blankly at him for a second before realising what he had implied. To his relief she snorted a laugh and said “Neat come-back.”
“Yeah. Um, sorry about that”
“No worries, I guess I asked for it” she blushed and walked away.
Clyde stood thinking, should he chase her down…nah, too new puppy, should he pretend a lack of interest…, how to reconnect? Why were things always so bloody awkward? Anyway the moment had passed. He put the magazine back, decided to dawdle past the wine counter pretending to trawl for a select bottle of red and eventually he headed to the counter to pay, all the time looking around just a bit to see if he could spot her again.
Outside in the car park the warning lights of a little Alfa flashed as he started to walk home and he saw her fumble with her bags and keys, dropping something in the process. Not thinking this time he’d darted over, picked up the packet of batteries and reached over to open the car’s door.
Smooth he thought. But then blew it by saying “You wouldn’t want to get home without these would you?” Gawd, I’m such a prat he thought. This close her smell was delicious and as she reached to take the batteries her hand brushed his. There was that squirt in the chest again and now he was staring at her, really close up. She just looked back at him. Wide eyes. If it wasn’t her moving in, then for no reason he could fathom he leaned and gave her a kiss. In a heady surge he felt her respond a little and he let go the car door to put his arm around her waist.
Things sort of took on a different slant then, she leaned into him and he felt her body and a hunger hinted at by parting lips and a flick of her tongue before an equally sudden steeliness and a steady pressure pushing him back. He relaxed his hold a bit, stood looking at her unreadable expression and blurted,
“Christ, I don’t know what happened then, I don’t pounce on women, usually, I don’t.”
There was a short pause while they both realised their bodies had not actually stopped touching. The next embrace was mutual and passionate until Clyde broke off gasping for air
“This is not the place, would you like a wine back at my place?”
“Nmmm hmm. I’ll drive, you direct”
The short trip was surreal, her name was Kate, she preferred Kay, must remember that, lived near to the co-op and worked in the city.
He said his name and some other stupid stuff about work and travel and they didn’t look at each other again until Clyde had opened the front door to his flat.
There in the entry hallway, one leg still in his trousers, her bra and pants pulled aside they hungrily satisfied an animal urge. It was frantic, and urgent, gentle and persistent, lingering, shuddering and ultimately rewarding until they lay crumpled and panting gripping each other together combined and spent on the floor.
“So this is my hallway”. He chuckled, burying his face in her hair.
“I don’t know if I’m up for the full house tour” she breathed back.
He kissed her neck and, slowly removing himself, helped her to stand up. “Would you like that glass of wine?” and they headed into the living room. The night then rotated between drinks, embrace, chat, hungry sex , more drinks and eventually a sensuous and delightful couple of hours in his bedroom. Clyde had never experienced anything like it. It was as if he had known her for ages, going from chat to play and back again. To be honest he was fascinated by her, her voice and expressions, her gestures, but given the ongoing distraction of her glorious naked body he had not paid that much attention to what she had been saying. Something repeated about her favourite places and was it train trips and, god she had such a beautiful girl bits he kept wanting to be there, wrapped in her legs and arms and lips. She would be chatting on about taking a trip somewhere but he was rather distracted by the, well, by her everything really.
Gees, finished my coffee. That snapped him out of his reverie and he turned round, re-started the coffee machine and looked about the flat a bit more. He collected the wine bottle, chocolate and honey jars and threw them in the bin. While the coffee was brewing away he noticed the lipstick on the coffee table, it was a message. He stared at it, puzzled.
Clyde presumed she’d used his phone and had made some note while she was talking or , maybe a password or pin number. The text made no sense to him,
CU10,11/1,.plt4 k. and a smiley face. ... cuten eleven, one? P one t four..? peewont fork? … Nope, no sense at all. He wiped it with a dropped face wipe . As soon as he did, it suddenly dawned on him that he had no way of contacting her, no address, no phone. Was the memo her contact details? He peered at the smear to check but had erased it too much.
Anyway from memory, no way was it a phone number. He poured out his coffee and sat there wondering what to do now.
~
“Carol?
Hiya, only me.
Okay I guess. I um , I think I just raped a guy.
Yeah him,
I have not been stalking him.
I so haven’t! It’s your fault anyway, you pointed him out. I just keep seeing him around.
I haven’t Carol, stop it. Anyway his name is Clyde and he’s ..
Clyde, what’s so funny about that?
Do you want to hear or not?
Well I’ve got to tell someone.
Last night at the Co-op,
Yeah well. I thought this time I’d brave-up and say something to him. He was staring at a car mag and I sort of just stood there for a while, well, sort of hoping he’d notice me.
Yeah, anyway, so then I thought if I reached for something he might look. I lent across to grab the nearest thing after he had pulled another magazine out.
Don’t know, it was some lads mag and I made a stupid comment.
Oh, I don’t remember something about needing a sex guide.
Yeah I know. Any-way. He joked about the batteries I’d grabbed and it all went pear-shaped and I ran away.
I couldn’t Carol. I sort of snuck to the checkout while he was off shopping for something else. And then, this bloody new car with its stupid card lock thing. I dropped my shopping trying to get in and he saw me, came over to help and, well, I sort of jumped him I suppose.
I am not.
Yeah, been a while.
No. It wasn’t like that, it was like, mutual, but shit, I got scared and sort of pushed him away …Then he kind of looked at me and, oh I don’t know, I think I was still holding onto him and well, we started again…
Yeah I know. …. I know,
Anyway he asked me back for a drink and things just went sort of crazy.
No I wasn’t … but … listen will you?…
Yeah okay but do you want to listen for a minute?
Whatever. Anyway, we got back to his place and we just sort of went for it.
Yeah, really. Oh Carol, it was fantastic.
No, just inside the front door.
I know. I know. Mad.
Yeah, a bit.
Okay, a lot.
No, we went inside.
To the lounge in front of the fireplace.
Sort of, ended up in his bedroom.
Oh yeah…. Really, really...
Well, different….But he’s a really nice guy.
Yeah, he works out a bit I’d guess , but he listens Carol, he really listens. We talked all the time on and off.
No, alright,
Well,,, we were naked,
Yes, like that, and there was some foodstuff involved
No! Shit Carol. Don’t be revolting.
He was lovely, we just had fun that’s all.
He wants to go on the Leeds to Carlisle trip with me.
Because we talked about it, and anyway you didn’t want to go.
Of course. Anyway I left a lipstick note on his coffee table reminding him.
See you at ten, Jan. 11 , platform 4.
Yeah, next weekend , can’t wait.
No I won’t.
I won’t, I’ll see how it works out after a day with our clothes on!
Ha! Yeah. Yeah, okay.
OKAY! Gees!, yeah, later,
Yeah, Thanks Carol, See you.”
~
That’s what was agreed, couldn’t have been clearer. Why hadn’t she been brave enough to go back to his flat or why at least didn’t she get his phone number? She pulled at the collar of her coat and sat there wondering what to do now.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Artificial
The task was to write a story based on this one word/theme for the February 9 meeting.
The track thumped its way down, stopping sharply where a ledge made a vantage point overlooking a gentle escarpment. Bill ratcheted on the brake, turned off the engine and slid from behind the wheel to drink in the familiar view. Below, a little river cut a dotted glint between the trees and there, just to the left was his retreat. A little sliver of cream sand caught the eye and highlighted a gentle bend. Bill’s smile, if anyone was around, would have made his dentist proud. He gathered his camping kit from the car and as quick as he could he headed off on the 3 mile downhill hike to set up his home of the next few weeks.
Steve banked off the X9 flyway, landed and un-docked his propulsion unit. The geosite was as he had left it. The g-tag indicated there had been no activity here since his discovery. Not surprising really, there was no reason for anyone to divert to this eroded old cliff face. His trained eye could spot immediately the faint traces of the ancient transport relic. It was evidenced by a dim metal stain to the rocks and some decayed thermoplastic fragments. His mission today was to fully report the site, determine the history and wrap it to record. Unhooking and aiming his sonic trowel it immediately detected platinum trace. Fantastic. That should put this find smack into the 30 year time line of his thesis.
The three miles had seemed much longer to Bill this time but to be fair his fitness was not what it was. Smashing a hip always was going to be the risk in motocross racing. The hip replacement had stopped most of his action-man pursuits and even this annual escape had had to wait. It had also meant the trip had now slipped into late summer with the added risk of flooding and, this late in the season, the wildlife would be protecting territories and looking to feed their young.
Late summer, always a time for added caution.
Such thoughts were not top of his consciousness by the end of this first day as he fell back onto his bedding. He looked out past the campfire and watched the sun fade to a red glimmer on the surface of the river. The meal of fresh fish and forest greens had been a great reward for little effort. It was no wonder to Bill why he returned here every year, the absolute solitude, complete peace, no phone network, plenty of food, water and birdsong. Paradise.
Archeology tools had improved a lot but Steve was still required to set out, document and excavate with the same tedium his predecessors had perfected. He scanned a laser grid of the entire site, imaged and morphed the terrain and then began the gradual removal of stratum, cataloging every find. It was only a small site but Steve had allowed himself three days to resolve the mystery. One lone transport relic, in total isolation. It was a wonder to Steve why anyone would choose to come here. The cliff face was the edge of a barren landscape overlooking a desolate sea. He did realise that at the time of the event the geology may well have been a bit different but even back then it would have been very remote, unpopulated and many days travel from the nearest infrastructure.
As the peaceful days glided past Bill reverted slowly to the nature he was living in. There were times he thought of never returning to civilization and just staying here subsisting on natures’ bounty.
The temptation is strong, he humored himself.
Reality however is the great leveler and he knew he was always going to be dependent on his blasted medications. They would be the only reason he would have to plan his return up that 3 mile track and back into community. But that trip was a month and three days away by his pill count. He let out a sigh for the inevitable but all in all he would much rather be feeling well and able to be out here than to be clutching his chest and gasping for breath. Coronary medicine was a modern wonder he was happy to be a beneficiary of.
Steve’s excavations proceeded as planned. It was clear this was a vehicle which was intact and not looted or deformed as so many of these sites turned out to be. The symmetry indicated the relic was most likely abandoned rather than smashed. The thermoplastic load, the interior trim, was contained wholly within the perimeter of corrosion. This was about as much as Steve could glean from the central part of the site as time and technology were not good partners. The platinum had tested as the catalyst component Steve had hoped it was. Organic fuel catalysts were only used for a period of about 40 years so the time line was almost minute perfect. Steve decided that tomorrow he would extend his survey grid and excavate to one meter around the vehicle. See if there were any associated artifacts and then call it a wrap. He had today also determined the vehicle was of an agricultural type, concentrated metal trace at both ends indicated that solid mechanicals probably provided propulsion from each corner of the relic.
Morning was glorious. A light rain had passed over the campsite without waking Bill and his rain trap had harvested an abundant supply of drinking water. Great. Nothing like a big cuppa first thing. Bill cast around looking to see if there was any dry tinder nearby that would accept a flame. The rain had been more intense than Bill had hoped and he had to wander into the scrub a little further than normal in search of dry twigs.
The bite was immediately painful and deep into the middle of his index finger. Two clear puncture marks indicated an unseen snake of a decent size. Bill knew this was not good news, he spat on the wound, wiped off the venom around it, grabbed his wrist and held it aloft to limit circulation. Panic was not what he needed but he could not stop himself imagining the toxins seeping into his system. Stay calm. Three miles. Uphill. The 2 way radio is in the Land Rover. Calm. Keep calm. He got back to camp, washed the wound and bound his arm tightly from the bicep down to the bite. The pain around the bite now was intense.
Water. He’d need the water.
Keys where were the fucking keys?
Right. Calm, walk swiftly.
The pulse was now pounding in Steve’s head. He was getting delirious with excitement. It had to be a human jaw bone. Found almost in the first area he had extended his grid into. It was immediately next to the corrosion perimeter, right where that curious angled line of corrosion was. Steve thought that it was an opening, probably the main entry portal to the vehicle. His call went out immediately. It was a matter of minutes and Steve’s colleagues were on site and all working feverishly at unearthing and recording the remaining grid one meter around the corrosion perimeter. But just one humanoid found.
The jawbone had fallen to dust immediately it was disturbed but the morphing program had recorded and reported its structure. A thirty five year-old male, Caucasian/Mongoloid mix with homo-sapien and neandertal genetic links. So just a common male type of the era. With the identity solved as good as it could be, Steve collated the three indestructible pieces of evidence, the dental caps, the artery stent, the titanium hip joint.
As his professor had drummed into him, find the artifice, find the date. Steve had no doubts now, the report he addend-ed to his thesis stated, "The presumption of events prior to demise of this 34 year old male have been derived from the evidence that the individual had suffered from a chronic decaying physiology, there was evidence of long term poor health and it was further presumed the individual had most likely traveled as far from his civilization that his agricultural vehicle could reach. At the point of the vehicles failure he exited the conveyance to end his pain filled days. Evidentiary substance sampling and chemical analysis of remains would indicate cause of death as being self administered organic poison."
Steve snapped shut his pad, re-docked and programmed his re-entry onto the X9 flyway and home.
The pulse was now pounding in Bill’s head. He was getting delirious from the toxins. He had made it back to the vehicle, he was conscious, not clear-headed but happy to be here. The world had worked for him again, it was far too wonderful a place to leave and he never had any intention of doing so. Bill used the key to unlock the door, reach across to the radio. The battery was dead. Calm. There is an EPIRB in the center console.
Another wave of nausea and searing chest pain made him coil and fall to the ground again. Stay Calm. He lay there in the shadow of the car door, waiting for the agonies and the spasms to ease off again, just this one more time.
They didn’t.
(epirb: Emergency Position-Indicating Radio Beacons)
The track thumped its way down, stopping sharply where a ledge made a vantage point overlooking a gentle escarpment. Bill ratcheted on the brake, turned off the engine and slid from behind the wheel to drink in the familiar view. Below, a little river cut a dotted glint between the trees and there, just to the left was his retreat. A little sliver of cream sand caught the eye and highlighted a gentle bend. Bill’s smile, if anyone was around, would have made his dentist proud. He gathered his camping kit from the car and as quick as he could he headed off on the 3 mile downhill hike to set up his home of the next few weeks.
Steve banked off the X9 flyway, landed and un-docked his propulsion unit. The geosite was as he had left it. The g-tag indicated there had been no activity here since his discovery. Not surprising really, there was no reason for anyone to divert to this eroded old cliff face. His trained eye could spot immediately the faint traces of the ancient transport relic. It was evidenced by a dim metal stain to the rocks and some decayed thermoplastic fragments. His mission today was to fully report the site, determine the history and wrap it to record. Unhooking and aiming his sonic trowel it immediately detected platinum trace. Fantastic. That should put this find smack into the 30 year time line of his thesis.
The three miles had seemed much longer to Bill this time but to be fair his fitness was not what it was. Smashing a hip always was going to be the risk in motocross racing. The hip replacement had stopped most of his action-man pursuits and even this annual escape had had to wait. It had also meant the trip had now slipped into late summer with the added risk of flooding and, this late in the season, the wildlife would be protecting territories and looking to feed their young.
Late summer, always a time for added caution.
Such thoughts were not top of his consciousness by the end of this first day as he fell back onto his bedding. He looked out past the campfire and watched the sun fade to a red glimmer on the surface of the river. The meal of fresh fish and forest greens had been a great reward for little effort. It was no wonder to Bill why he returned here every year, the absolute solitude, complete peace, no phone network, plenty of food, water and birdsong. Paradise.
Archeology tools had improved a lot but Steve was still required to set out, document and excavate with the same tedium his predecessors had perfected. He scanned a laser grid of the entire site, imaged and morphed the terrain and then began the gradual removal of stratum, cataloging every find. It was only a small site but Steve had allowed himself three days to resolve the mystery. One lone transport relic, in total isolation. It was a wonder to Steve why anyone would choose to come here. The cliff face was the edge of a barren landscape overlooking a desolate sea. He did realise that at the time of the event the geology may well have been a bit different but even back then it would have been very remote, unpopulated and many days travel from the nearest infrastructure.
As the peaceful days glided past Bill reverted slowly to the nature he was living in. There were times he thought of never returning to civilization and just staying here subsisting on natures’ bounty.
The temptation is strong, he humored himself.
Reality however is the great leveler and he knew he was always going to be dependent on his blasted medications. They would be the only reason he would have to plan his return up that 3 mile track and back into community. But that trip was a month and three days away by his pill count. He let out a sigh for the inevitable but all in all he would much rather be feeling well and able to be out here than to be clutching his chest and gasping for breath. Coronary medicine was a modern wonder he was happy to be a beneficiary of.
Steve’s excavations proceeded as planned. It was clear this was a vehicle which was intact and not looted or deformed as so many of these sites turned out to be. The symmetry indicated the relic was most likely abandoned rather than smashed. The thermoplastic load, the interior trim, was contained wholly within the perimeter of corrosion. This was about as much as Steve could glean from the central part of the site as time and technology were not good partners. The platinum had tested as the catalyst component Steve had hoped it was. Organic fuel catalysts were only used for a period of about 40 years so the time line was almost minute perfect. Steve decided that tomorrow he would extend his survey grid and excavate to one meter around the vehicle. See if there were any associated artifacts and then call it a wrap. He had today also determined the vehicle was of an agricultural type, concentrated metal trace at both ends indicated that solid mechanicals probably provided propulsion from each corner of the relic.
Morning was glorious. A light rain had passed over the campsite without waking Bill and his rain trap had harvested an abundant supply of drinking water. Great. Nothing like a big cuppa first thing. Bill cast around looking to see if there was any dry tinder nearby that would accept a flame. The rain had been more intense than Bill had hoped and he had to wander into the scrub a little further than normal in search of dry twigs.
The bite was immediately painful and deep into the middle of his index finger. Two clear puncture marks indicated an unseen snake of a decent size. Bill knew this was not good news, he spat on the wound, wiped off the venom around it, grabbed his wrist and held it aloft to limit circulation. Panic was not what he needed but he could not stop himself imagining the toxins seeping into his system. Stay calm. Three miles. Uphill. The 2 way radio is in the Land Rover. Calm. Keep calm. He got back to camp, washed the wound and bound his arm tightly from the bicep down to the bite. The pain around the bite now was intense.
Water. He’d need the water.
Keys where were the fucking keys?
Right. Calm, walk swiftly.
The pulse was now pounding in Steve’s head. He was getting delirious with excitement. It had to be a human jaw bone. Found almost in the first area he had extended his grid into. It was immediately next to the corrosion perimeter, right where that curious angled line of corrosion was. Steve thought that it was an opening, probably the main entry portal to the vehicle. His call went out immediately. It was a matter of minutes and Steve’s colleagues were on site and all working feverishly at unearthing and recording the remaining grid one meter around the corrosion perimeter. But just one humanoid found.
The jawbone had fallen to dust immediately it was disturbed but the morphing program had recorded and reported its structure. A thirty five year-old male, Caucasian/Mongoloid mix with homo-sapien and neandertal genetic links. So just a common male type of the era. With the identity solved as good as it could be, Steve collated the three indestructible pieces of evidence, the dental caps, the artery stent, the titanium hip joint.
As his professor had drummed into him, find the artifice, find the date. Steve had no doubts now, the report he addend-ed to his thesis stated, "The presumption of events prior to demise of this 34 year old male have been derived from the evidence that the individual had suffered from a chronic decaying physiology, there was evidence of long term poor health and it was further presumed the individual had most likely traveled as far from his civilization that his agricultural vehicle could reach. At the point of the vehicles failure he exited the conveyance to end his pain filled days. Evidentiary substance sampling and chemical analysis of remains would indicate cause of death as being self administered organic poison."
Steve snapped shut his pad, re-docked and programmed his re-entry onto the X9 flyway and home.
The pulse was now pounding in Bill’s head. He was getting delirious from the toxins. He had made it back to the vehicle, he was conscious, not clear-headed but happy to be here. The world had worked for him again, it was far too wonderful a place to leave and he never had any intention of doing so. Bill used the key to unlock the door, reach across to the radio. The battery was dead. Calm. There is an EPIRB in the center console.
Another wave of nausea and searing chest pain made him coil and fall to the ground again. Stay Calm. He lay there in the shadow of the car door, waiting for the agonies and the spasms to ease off again, just this one more time.
They didn’t.
(epirb: Emergency Position-Indicating Radio Beacons)
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