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.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
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)
Saturday, January 8, 2011
funny employee evaluation quips
EMPLOYEE EVALUATIONS
collected from HR review teams of one major corporation;s performance summaries in the 1990's.
Posted here just cos they made me chuckle then and still do now.
1. "Since my last report when this employee had reached rock bottom, he
has started to wear through that level."
2. "His men would follow him anywhere. . .but only out of morbid curiosity."
3. "I would not allow this employee to breed."
4. "This employee is really not so much of a 'has-been', but more of a
definite 'won't be.'"
5. "Works well when under constant supervision and when cornered like a rat in a trap."
6. "When he opens his mouth it is to change feet."
7. "He would be out of his depth in a puddle."
8. "This young lady had delusions of adequacy."
9. "He sets low personal standards and then consistently fails to achieve them.
10. "This employee is depriving a village somewhere of an idiot."
11. "This employee should go far,. . .and the sooner he starts, the
better."
12. "Got a full 6-pack, but lacks the plastic thing to hold it all together."
13. "A gross ignoramus--144 times worse than an ordinary ignoramus."
14. "He certainly takes a long time to make things pointless."
15. "He doesn't have ulcers, but he's a carrier."
16. "I would like to go hunting with him sometime."
17. "He's been working with glue too much."
18. "He would argue with a signpost."
19. "He has a knack for making strangers immediately."
20. "He brings a lot of joy whenever he leaves the room."
21. "When his IQ reaches 50, he should sell."
22. "If you see two people talking and one looks bored, he's the other one."
23. "A photographic memory but with the lens cover glued on."
24. "A prime candidate for natural deselection."
25. "Good social conscience, he donated his brain to science. Evidence suggests they have acted on his offer."
26. "Gates are down, lights are flashing, train not coming."
27. "Has two brains: One is lost and the other is out looking for it."
28. "If he were more stupid he'd have to be watered twice a week."
29. "If you give him a penny for his thoughts you'd get change."
30. "If you stand close enough to him you can hear the ocean."
31. "It's hard to believe that he beat 1,000,000 other sperm to the egg."
32. "One neuron short of a synapse."
33. "Some drink from the fountain of knowledge. . .he gargled and spat."
34. "Takes him 2 hours to watch 60 minutes."
35. "The wheel is turning, but the hamster is dead."
collected from HR review teams of one major corporation;s performance summaries in the 1990's.
Posted here just cos they made me chuckle then and still do now.
1. "Since my last report when this employee had reached rock bottom, he
has started to wear through that level."
2. "His men would follow him anywhere. . .but only out of morbid curiosity."
3. "I would not allow this employee to breed."
4. "This employee is really not so much of a 'has-been', but more of a
definite 'won't be.'"
5. "Works well when under constant supervision and when cornered like a rat in a trap."
6. "When he opens his mouth it is to change feet."
7. "He would be out of his depth in a puddle."
8. "This young lady had delusions of adequacy."
9. "He sets low personal standards and then consistently fails to achieve them.
10. "This employee is depriving a village somewhere of an idiot."
11. "This employee should go far,. . .and the sooner he starts, the
better."
12. "Got a full 6-pack, but lacks the plastic thing to hold it all together."
13. "A gross ignoramus--144 times worse than an ordinary ignoramus."
14. "He certainly takes a long time to make things pointless."
15. "He doesn't have ulcers, but he's a carrier."
16. "I would like to go hunting with him sometime."
17. "He's been working with glue too much."
18. "He would argue with a signpost."
19. "He has a knack for making strangers immediately."
20. "He brings a lot of joy whenever he leaves the room."
21. "When his IQ reaches 50, he should sell."
22. "If you see two people talking and one looks bored, he's the other one."
23. "A photographic memory but with the lens cover glued on."
24. "A prime candidate for natural deselection."
25. "Good social conscience, he donated his brain to science. Evidence suggests they have acted on his offer."
26. "Gates are down, lights are flashing, train not coming."
27. "Has two brains: One is lost and the other is out looking for it."
28. "If he were more stupid he'd have to be watered twice a week."
29. "If you give him a penny for his thoughts you'd get change."
30. "If you stand close enough to him you can hear the ocean."
31. "It's hard to believe that he beat 1,000,000 other sperm to the egg."
32. "One neuron short of a synapse."
33. "Some drink from the fountain of knowledge. . .he gargled and spat."
34. "Takes him 2 hours to watch 60 minutes."
35. "The wheel is turning, but the hamster is dead."
ICE
The task was to write something based on the word Ice. for the first writers meeting of 2011. I was to be away at the time.
ICE
To the touch as steel it drives
A raw temptation to grasp,
To clasp the trapped eternity
While history melts around it.
The largest adorn and amaze
As their captured light refracts
A honed brilliance, a radiance
From passion to spectacle.
Clarity translates the heat of the earth
From the magma though blood to crystal
Besotting the beauteous and banal
Beguiling the bestial and base.
It flashes desire to the heart
Of a maiden and the crone and
Drives to distraction and ruin
Those captured by its eternal allure.
An ache of passions
Cold as ice.
Value beyond worth.
The flawed diamond.
ICE
To the touch as steel it drives
A raw temptation to grasp,
To clasp the trapped eternity
While history melts around it.
The largest adorn and amaze
As their captured light refracts
A honed brilliance, a radiance
From passion to spectacle.
Clarity translates the heat of the earth
From the magma though blood to crystal
Besotting the beauteous and banal
Beguiling the bestial and base.
It flashes desire to the heart
Of a maiden and the crone and
Drives to distraction and ruin
Those captured by its eternal allure.
An ache of passions
Cold as ice.
Value beyond worth.
The flawed diamond.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Feeding Birds
A task to write a piece of exactly 250 words for the first Leeds Savage annual. Thought I'd write of a recent experience I'd had discovering what sort of bird I was actully feeding after setting up the ideal bird table system.
The bird feeder
It has been difficult to attract specific birds into the backyard but I have succeeded and am quite proud.
It takes time to build an environment where wild creatures feel their desire for food exceeds the threat of visual exposure. My plan was to attract bullfinch as they are very desirable specimens.
I erected a birdfeeder with two tiers filled with bulk finch mix and a top tier filled with niger seed specifically to attract the bullfinch.
Of course the tits and chaffinch descend first as they are fleet of wing and territorial. The ground feeding dunnocks and blackbirds swiftly follow to clean up the spills. It is necessary to attract these non target species to provide a populous bird environment so the bullfinches become more emboldened.
It is also mandatory to locate the feeder in the open yard to provide good sight lines and maneuverability around the perches. A squirrel-proof baffle is installed to prevent rodents scaring away the bullfinch.
Great fun, my specific bird now happily feasts a couple of times a week in full view of my study window. He glides past my vantage point well shielded by the holly tree, banks and with needle talons extended thrusts majestically to surgically pluck a bullfinch from the air as it tries dumbly to fly into the shrubs. A puff of feathers and a small squeak is the reward for my patience. I watch captivated as the sparrow hawk roosts in the sycamore and hungrily devours his twitching meal.
The bird feeder
It has been difficult to attract specific birds into the backyard but I have succeeded and am quite proud.
It takes time to build an environment where wild creatures feel their desire for food exceeds the threat of visual exposure. My plan was to attract bullfinch as they are very desirable specimens.
I erected a birdfeeder with two tiers filled with bulk finch mix and a top tier filled with niger seed specifically to attract the bullfinch.
Of course the tits and chaffinch descend first as they are fleet of wing and territorial. The ground feeding dunnocks and blackbirds swiftly follow to clean up the spills. It is necessary to attract these non target species to provide a populous bird environment so the bullfinches become more emboldened.
It is also mandatory to locate the feeder in the open yard to provide good sight lines and maneuverability around the perches. A squirrel-proof baffle is installed to prevent rodents scaring away the bullfinch.
Great fun, my specific bird now happily feasts a couple of times a week in full view of my study window. He glides past my vantage point well shielded by the holly tree, banks and with needle talons extended thrusts majestically to surgically pluck a bullfinch from the air as it tries dumbly to fly into the shrubs. A puff of feathers and a small squeak is the reward for my patience. I watch captivated as the sparrow hawk roosts in the sycamore and hungrily devours his twitching meal.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Farewell a friend
Task for December 15, Pack Horse Inn, Briggate, our first night in our new meeting place. Great night.
A reflective piece
(One man’s reflection on the passing of his youth)
I’ve known young Max since he was just a lad. We shared some of the most wonderful, and the most horrible of times in our lives.
As time has passed, the stories we shared have become my reminiscences. I regret that I can no more join in the exhilaration of racing to our team’s victory, of riding those south coast waves, or of crashing terrified and unhurt from that mountain rally track.
It is now so many years later, and I am again sitting here alone with a pint of ale, in front of a Yorkshire fire which the publican has just stoked. I pause and watch the heat return into the embers, and as I watch I see the orange flames flick through the smoke and lick at the log. The heat on my face triggers a memory of an afternoon sun shining, there is a chase through summer grass in pursuit of giggling and fleet-footed temptress. A sigh vibrates my chest. It was such a long time ago this delight. The end of the chase on that summer afternoon was so illicit, it excites memories still fresh to this day.
I recall the tension and thrill of other adventures we shared. Even now I wonder about the victories we had in our travels and business, and of the toys and homes we owned. Indulging myself in memories like these is a sumptuous and glorious past time I probably spend far too much time doing but as I re-live them again I feel a lopsided grin growing across my face.
The flames have settled back in the hearth and I reflect on the length of time that has passed and how our exuberance waned. I accept that life took away the feeling that every attempt we made would end in a victory. I stare into my glass and I actually pine for that time when we had unending energy, for that confidence that we knew all the answers, and I long for that time when we were ignorant that our actions would let imperfections remorselessly creep into the body.
I still know young Max well, he continues to dream of all the possibilities. Regrettably he is no longer the man of infinite ability and unending optimism he once was.
Young Max has become a man I know less well. He is a thoughtful, considered man, made cautious by experiences both wonderful and horrible.
He is still a man with dreams of what can be, but he tempers them by what should be. He has a body less able and a mind more circumspect. Middle-aged Max is what I call him now, a bad joke he reluctantly shares. However there remains in him a defiant shaft of light and an energy which propels him and makes clear the ambition and the fun that was always present.
I buy myself another ale and realise that I have become concerned about young Max’s passing. As any good friend would be I guess.
Returning to my chair to be warmed by this fire I sip my final ale. Before I leave the pub to go home to my domestic contentment I wonder, will I feel as good about Middle-aged Max in thirty years time as I do now about his predecessor?
I hope so.
Farewell young Max, I will always remember you fondly.
(for those of you who didn’t get it, Max is the narrator)
A reflective piece
(One man’s reflection on the passing of his youth)
I’ve known young Max since he was just a lad. We shared some of the most wonderful, and the most horrible of times in our lives.
As time has passed, the stories we shared have become my reminiscences. I regret that I can no more join in the exhilaration of racing to our team’s victory, of riding those south coast waves, or of crashing terrified and unhurt from that mountain rally track.
It is now so many years later, and I am again sitting here alone with a pint of ale, in front of a Yorkshire fire which the publican has just stoked. I pause and watch the heat return into the embers, and as I watch I see the orange flames flick through the smoke and lick at the log. The heat on my face triggers a memory of an afternoon sun shining, there is a chase through summer grass in pursuit of giggling and fleet-footed temptress. A sigh vibrates my chest. It was such a long time ago this delight. The end of the chase on that summer afternoon was so illicit, it excites memories still fresh to this day.
I recall the tension and thrill of other adventures we shared. Even now I wonder about the victories we had in our travels and business, and of the toys and homes we owned. Indulging myself in memories like these is a sumptuous and glorious past time I probably spend far too much time doing but as I re-live them again I feel a lopsided grin growing across my face.
The flames have settled back in the hearth and I reflect on the length of time that has passed and how our exuberance waned. I accept that life took away the feeling that every attempt we made would end in a victory. I stare into my glass and I actually pine for that time when we had unending energy, for that confidence that we knew all the answers, and I long for that time when we were ignorant that our actions would let imperfections remorselessly creep into the body.
I still know young Max well, he continues to dream of all the possibilities. Regrettably he is no longer the man of infinite ability and unending optimism he once was.
Young Max has become a man I know less well. He is a thoughtful, considered man, made cautious by experiences both wonderful and horrible.
He is still a man with dreams of what can be, but he tempers them by what should be. He has a body less able and a mind more circumspect. Middle-aged Max is what I call him now, a bad joke he reluctantly shares. However there remains in him a defiant shaft of light and an energy which propels him and makes clear the ambition and the fun that was always present.
I buy myself another ale and realise that I have become concerned about young Max’s passing. As any good friend would be I guess.
Returning to my chair to be warmed by this fire I sip my final ale. Before I leave the pub to go home to my domestic contentment I wonder, will I feel as good about Middle-aged Max in thirty years time as I do now about his predecessor?
I hope so.
Farewell young Max, I will always remember you fondly.
(for those of you who didn’t get it, Max is the narrator)
Monday, December 6, 2010
ghost story - newspaper competition - December 4 2010.
Once upon a time there was a newspaper competition asking for new writers to submit a 2000 word ghost story. I submitted this one below but six much worse stories were selected for the short list. I am not bitter about that at all.
An undesirable patron. (2000 word target)
He wasn’t a friend at all, just a bloke I saw most nights usually lingering over a single scotch, crouched alone and watching the regulars come and go. His name was Nick but other than knowing each other's name our only common link was that we were both regulars of the pub.
He’d adopted the ancient table hidden behind the door as his spot. It sort of suited him I guess, his pale face was made indistinct by his lank grey hair, stained beard and ruined teeth. A threadbare brown checked coat added to his worn-out look and made him the ideal occupant for that battered corner. It was never a popular seat, the stained ceiling hung low there and the entry next to it caused it to be a somewhat cold alcove. Not that Nick was ever involved with much, he didn’t exactly exude an essence of bonhomie, so mostly everyone ignored him.
I admit that while I do drop in to the pub most evenings, I go in for a pint with my mates and to warm in front of the fire, so I mostly ignore him too. Sitting where he did though, Nick was in easy earshot of our often animated discussions. He never interjected or passed comment, although I did see him sometimes smiling grimly.
Occasionally I saw Nick sitting in earnest discussion with the odd stranger over the years but none of the regulars paid him any attention. In effect he was like the piece of furniture really, always there but not noticed.
Anyway, today's the anniversary of my father’s death, at least I always think of it as the anniversary. It’s when the Ministry of Defence told us that Dad was missing in action, presumed dead. I was ten at the time and to be honest, I've never got over the unfairness of it.
Last year, on the anniversary, I had again told the lads everything I knew about Dad’s last mission and they had again let me talk it out. That time though, as I was leaving, Nick grabbed my arm and said, hauntingly, “I know about your dad”.
The surprise at being gripped so firmly stopped me dead. He slowly released my arm from his bruising fingers but his icy blue-flecked eyes stayed staring into me. “Sit down with me and I’ll tell you of things I know”.
I remember feeling compelled to sit despite thinking that I didn’t want to listen to this old bloke’s ramblings. Every November I hear tales from veterans who re-tell their stories. I rarely tire of the unassuming way these quiet heroes release their memories but I know from years of questions that there is no record or memory of my father’s last mission so I was in no mood to hear Nick’s rambling tale.
Nick started to tell me events from my Dad’s mission that only I had ever researched. He went on to provide bits that were missing from my searches and records. I couldn’t believe how much detail Nick knew and said he knew and I demanded to be told where he got all this information.
“I said I knew about your Dad” he answered quietly and intently, looking directly at me again.
“In fact I don’t only know about what your dad did, I know he was not killed in action. I also know his whereabouts this very day”
I sat there looking at this strange thin man. He was not smiling, not pretending, he was simply delivering insights into my father’s past and more shocking to me, was about to tell me about my father’s present.
My brain was struggling to make sense of that. I wanted to refuse to accept he was alive. I wanted desperately to meet him. I was angry. I was incredulous, struck dumb. I deeply wanted to reject but Nick’s facts were so credible, so incredible. I stared back blankly into the steely eyes.
“What do you mean? You know where his body is buried?” was the only rational question my brain would allow. My fear just contained.
“No Dave.. I know where he is. Right now”
“I don’t believe you.” Rationality was my last refuge. Any other thought was lunacy.
“What would it take for you to believe me?” Nick stared through narrowed eyes, his pupils coal black and intense.
“I , I don’t know. How can you prove that its my dad? You could show me anyone.”
Nick didn’t even pause to think.
“Your dad will know of things you did together, things you talked of that only the two of you will remember. It will take no time for you to be certain” His voice quiet and firm.
Thoughts flashed like lightening through my clouded brain. He was right of course, the times I have with my kids, I remember the smallest of details for years.
I started to recall days out with my dad. I wondered if he would remember them too.
But this was crazy. Why would my wonderful father have stayed away, left his wife, abandoned his kids, what would have allowed any man who loved his family to do that?
As if reading my thoughts, Nick continued,
“Your dad was given no choice in his actions, he could not make contact with you. But now, I can arrange for you two to meet” For the first time I saw a smile crease his face, it was not a pleasant thing, it was an unnerving gruesome gape.
“How could you do that?” I so needed to remain unconvinced and unwilling.
“Never mind how. What would you do if I could guarantee you can meet your dad again?”
I wasn’t sure but I thought Nick was peddling for some reward or payment so I just looked blankly back at him not knowing how to respond..
“I can make it happen” Nick said smoothly “but I need to know how important it is to you and if it is worth my arranging it. You see, this is a one time offer, the window of opportunity is small and it will pass. I need to know if it is important to you.”
“Well of course it’s important, if my dad is around I'd want to meet him. Of course I want to meet him” I didn’t know what Nick had expected me to answer. Who wouldn’t want to?
“So, what would you do if I could guarantee such a meeting?’ he held that eerie grin.
“I’d do anything” I spat out. “If you can bring my father to me, then I’d do whatever”
“Great!” He said leaning back and straightening himself up. He suddenly looked much less feeble.
“Follow me!” He rose strongly, moved the table aside with ease and strode towards the doorway.
In a sort of emotional trance I caught the urgency of his movements. I trailed behind him into the swirling rain and heaving traffic of the busy high street.
Nick turned to me, his eyes were alive and sparkling now as he said “Come on just across the road and down a bit.” as he headed towards the curb.
I hurried to join him at a gap he’d found torn in the pedestrian fence where the traffic careened past in a solid stream of headlights and spray. No sooner had I joined him than he grabbed my arm with that vice-like hand, and pushing me impossibly hard in the small of my back, he spun me directly into the path of the speeding bus.
In that instant of my imminent death, the last microseconds of my existence took on a slow motion roll. I looked back in horror to see a spectral skull with a yawing yellow toothed grimace where Nick had stood. “You wanted to meet your maker!” it screeched hideously at me. “You are sent now to be with your father” it added in wicked mirth.
I tried to scramble clear but even in the slow roll of my demise I saw the speeding wall of metal would not be escaped.
A world-shattering explosion preceded my scream which pierced the shards of my agony and burst existence. I was tumbling and flailing with a searing pain tearing at every part of me.
Then nothing.
Then the merest hint of a tiny spark of light.
Then nothing.
I have no recollection of the next six months, I am told about the miracle of my survival, of the wondrous works by the paramedics and the surgeons. I am advised of the tiny window of opportunity I squeezed through to survive. I recall being vaguely aware of my wife and children during my recovery from coma.
I know I am here today because of people I’d never met, professionals from all fields, donors of all races and support from all walks of community. I am forever grateful.
I remained mystified about Nick. I've been back to the pub on many occasions since that night. I have had chats with my mates. My story of how my death nearly happened is politely listened to and everyone smiles and nods, then they change the topic. Tonight though, on this years's wretched anniversary of my dad's death , Keith took me aside and said that he had to have a word with me. He was being very serious, a mantle that didn’t fit comfortably on him.
“Mate, I’ve got to tell you, get over it, you have to accept that there never was a Nick, no one threw you into the traffic, you’d just had one pint too many that’s all”
“What?” I was incredulous, “As if I’d walk into traffic!? " I stared at my friend. "You mean to tell me nobody ever saw Nick? He sat at his spot at that corner table every night! I don’t believe you.” I felt like I was being abandoned.
“Dave, no one ever sits at that table, it’s too bloody cold. Sure, sometimes a visitor might squat there for a while but they never stay long. No one has it as ‘their spot’ that’s for sure.”
“I’m not that daft Keith, and I was never that wasted that night”
“Gees Dave, you always get full on your dad’s anniversary, and it’s not like you were the first accident out there you know. People are always getting bowled down. Another punter was turned to pizza a couple of months ago, that’s why they’re putting that new fence there.”
Keith’s confident practicality shocked me. I started to question my memory and sat quietly for a while. Was it booze, or perhaps the drugs, or my coma? If Keith was right then I didn’t know what a real memory was any more.
He slapped me on the shoulder and with a friendly shake added “You’ve just got to stop living in a dream mate” he sat back and said “Your missus told me you shout out "Nic"! in your sleep, she thought you’d been having a bit on the sly. Don’t worry, I've put that to rest for you, but you have to get a grip”
He got up to order another pint leaving me staring at the fire.
It was a couple of minutes before I was snapped out of my muddle by a call to re-join the lads with a fresh pint. I dragged myself up but went to the gents first.
Standing at the hand basin I looked at my torn face in the mirror. I splashed water to cool my eyes before going out to try and slip into to the usual banter. It was good to have mates, good to have survived.
I should get a grip as Keith said.
I walked back into the bar just as a stranger was getting up out of that corner seat. Keith was right, nobody stayed there long.
It was as the stranger was heading onto the street that I glimpsed the back of a grey head and a threadbare brown checked coat leading him out.
I stared transfixed at the door as it slowly shut and my eyes closed over tears as the screams from skidding car tyres and shocked bystanders laid a soundtrack to Nick's latest fatality.
© GregWebster 12/11/2010
An undesirable patron. (2000 word target)
He wasn’t a friend at all, just a bloke I saw most nights usually lingering over a single scotch, crouched alone and watching the regulars come and go. His name was Nick but other than knowing each other's name our only common link was that we were both regulars of the pub.
He’d adopted the ancient table hidden behind the door as his spot. It sort of suited him I guess, his pale face was made indistinct by his lank grey hair, stained beard and ruined teeth. A threadbare brown checked coat added to his worn-out look and made him the ideal occupant for that battered corner. It was never a popular seat, the stained ceiling hung low there and the entry next to it caused it to be a somewhat cold alcove. Not that Nick was ever involved with much, he didn’t exactly exude an essence of bonhomie, so mostly everyone ignored him.
I admit that while I do drop in to the pub most evenings, I go in for a pint with my mates and to warm in front of the fire, so I mostly ignore him too. Sitting where he did though, Nick was in easy earshot of our often animated discussions. He never interjected or passed comment, although I did see him sometimes smiling grimly.
Occasionally I saw Nick sitting in earnest discussion with the odd stranger over the years but none of the regulars paid him any attention. In effect he was like the piece of furniture really, always there but not noticed.
Anyway, today's the anniversary of my father’s death, at least I always think of it as the anniversary. It’s when the Ministry of Defence told us that Dad was missing in action, presumed dead. I was ten at the time and to be honest, I've never got over the unfairness of it.
Last year, on the anniversary, I had again told the lads everything I knew about Dad’s last mission and they had again let me talk it out. That time though, as I was leaving, Nick grabbed my arm and said, hauntingly, “I know about your dad”.
The surprise at being gripped so firmly stopped me dead. He slowly released my arm from his bruising fingers but his icy blue-flecked eyes stayed staring into me. “Sit down with me and I’ll tell you of things I know”.
I remember feeling compelled to sit despite thinking that I didn’t want to listen to this old bloke’s ramblings. Every November I hear tales from veterans who re-tell their stories. I rarely tire of the unassuming way these quiet heroes release their memories but I know from years of questions that there is no record or memory of my father’s last mission so I was in no mood to hear Nick’s rambling tale.
Nick started to tell me events from my Dad’s mission that only I had ever researched. He went on to provide bits that were missing from my searches and records. I couldn’t believe how much detail Nick knew and said he knew and I demanded to be told where he got all this information.
“I said I knew about your Dad” he answered quietly and intently, looking directly at me again.
“In fact I don’t only know about what your dad did, I know he was not killed in action. I also know his whereabouts this very day”
I sat there looking at this strange thin man. He was not smiling, not pretending, he was simply delivering insights into my father’s past and more shocking to me, was about to tell me about my father’s present.
My brain was struggling to make sense of that. I wanted to refuse to accept he was alive. I wanted desperately to meet him. I was angry. I was incredulous, struck dumb. I deeply wanted to reject but Nick’s facts were so credible, so incredible. I stared back blankly into the steely eyes.
“What do you mean? You know where his body is buried?” was the only rational question my brain would allow. My fear just contained.
“No Dave.. I know where he is. Right now”
“I don’t believe you.” Rationality was my last refuge. Any other thought was lunacy.
“What would it take for you to believe me?” Nick stared through narrowed eyes, his pupils coal black and intense.
“I , I don’t know. How can you prove that its my dad? You could show me anyone.”
Nick didn’t even pause to think.
“Your dad will know of things you did together, things you talked of that only the two of you will remember. It will take no time for you to be certain” His voice quiet and firm.
Thoughts flashed like lightening through my clouded brain. He was right of course, the times I have with my kids, I remember the smallest of details for years.
I started to recall days out with my dad. I wondered if he would remember them too.
But this was crazy. Why would my wonderful father have stayed away, left his wife, abandoned his kids, what would have allowed any man who loved his family to do that?
As if reading my thoughts, Nick continued,
“Your dad was given no choice in his actions, he could not make contact with you. But now, I can arrange for you two to meet” For the first time I saw a smile crease his face, it was not a pleasant thing, it was an unnerving gruesome gape.
“How could you do that?” I so needed to remain unconvinced and unwilling.
“Never mind how. What would you do if I could guarantee you can meet your dad again?”
I wasn’t sure but I thought Nick was peddling for some reward or payment so I just looked blankly back at him not knowing how to respond..
“I can make it happen” Nick said smoothly “but I need to know how important it is to you and if it is worth my arranging it. You see, this is a one time offer, the window of opportunity is small and it will pass. I need to know if it is important to you.”
“Well of course it’s important, if my dad is around I'd want to meet him. Of course I want to meet him” I didn’t know what Nick had expected me to answer. Who wouldn’t want to?
“So, what would you do if I could guarantee such a meeting?’ he held that eerie grin.
“I’d do anything” I spat out. “If you can bring my father to me, then I’d do whatever”
“Great!” He said leaning back and straightening himself up. He suddenly looked much less feeble.
“Follow me!” He rose strongly, moved the table aside with ease and strode towards the doorway.
In a sort of emotional trance I caught the urgency of his movements. I trailed behind him into the swirling rain and heaving traffic of the busy high street.
Nick turned to me, his eyes were alive and sparkling now as he said “Come on just across the road and down a bit.” as he headed towards the curb.
I hurried to join him at a gap he’d found torn in the pedestrian fence where the traffic careened past in a solid stream of headlights and spray. No sooner had I joined him than he grabbed my arm with that vice-like hand, and pushing me impossibly hard in the small of my back, he spun me directly into the path of the speeding bus.
In that instant of my imminent death, the last microseconds of my existence took on a slow motion roll. I looked back in horror to see a spectral skull with a yawing yellow toothed grimace where Nick had stood. “You wanted to meet your maker!” it screeched hideously at me. “You are sent now to be with your father” it added in wicked mirth.
I tried to scramble clear but even in the slow roll of my demise I saw the speeding wall of metal would not be escaped.
A world-shattering explosion preceded my scream which pierced the shards of my agony and burst existence. I was tumbling and flailing with a searing pain tearing at every part of me.
Then nothing.
Then the merest hint of a tiny spark of light.
Then nothing.
I have no recollection of the next six months, I am told about the miracle of my survival, of the wondrous works by the paramedics and the surgeons. I am advised of the tiny window of opportunity I squeezed through to survive. I recall being vaguely aware of my wife and children during my recovery from coma.
I know I am here today because of people I’d never met, professionals from all fields, donors of all races and support from all walks of community. I am forever grateful.
I remained mystified about Nick. I've been back to the pub on many occasions since that night. I have had chats with my mates. My story of how my death nearly happened is politely listened to and everyone smiles and nods, then they change the topic. Tonight though, on this years's wretched anniversary of my dad's death , Keith took me aside and said that he had to have a word with me. He was being very serious, a mantle that didn’t fit comfortably on him.
“Mate, I’ve got to tell you, get over it, you have to accept that there never was a Nick, no one threw you into the traffic, you’d just had one pint too many that’s all”
“What?” I was incredulous, “As if I’d walk into traffic!? " I stared at my friend. "You mean to tell me nobody ever saw Nick? He sat at his spot at that corner table every night! I don’t believe you.” I felt like I was being abandoned.
“Dave, no one ever sits at that table, it’s too bloody cold. Sure, sometimes a visitor might squat there for a while but they never stay long. No one has it as ‘their spot’ that’s for sure.”
“I’m not that daft Keith, and I was never that wasted that night”
“Gees Dave, you always get full on your dad’s anniversary, and it’s not like you were the first accident out there you know. People are always getting bowled down. Another punter was turned to pizza a couple of months ago, that’s why they’re putting that new fence there.”
Keith’s confident practicality shocked me. I started to question my memory and sat quietly for a while. Was it booze, or perhaps the drugs, or my coma? If Keith was right then I didn’t know what a real memory was any more.
He slapped me on the shoulder and with a friendly shake added “You’ve just got to stop living in a dream mate” he sat back and said “Your missus told me you shout out "Nic"! in your sleep, she thought you’d been having a bit on the sly. Don’t worry, I've put that to rest for you, but you have to get a grip”
He got up to order another pint leaving me staring at the fire.
It was a couple of minutes before I was snapped out of my muddle by a call to re-join the lads with a fresh pint. I dragged myself up but went to the gents first.
Standing at the hand basin I looked at my torn face in the mirror. I splashed water to cool my eyes before going out to try and slip into to the usual banter. It was good to have mates, good to have survived.
I should get a grip as Keith said.
I walked back into the bar just as a stranger was getting up out of that corner seat. Keith was right, nobody stayed there long.
It was as the stranger was heading onto the street that I glimpsed the back of a grey head and a threadbare brown checked coat leading him out.
I stared transfixed at the door as it slowly shut and my eyes closed over tears as the screams from skidding car tyres and shocked bystanders laid a soundtrack to Nick's latest fatality.
© GregWebster 12/11/2010
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