Sunday, 14 September 2014

The Letter Part 2

The letter part 2
The reservoir was giving off steam at this time in the morning, the vapour rising lazily and creating a cloud that collected a few inches over the water. The cicadas were still chirping, not having stopped all day, their incessant noise in crescendo with the lapping of the water against its banks. Several yellow stones, smoothed after years of harsh weather gave out a heat that burnt the touch of anything that brushed past it. The humidity had caught a toad unawares, having crawled too far away from the safety of water to get back its drying body was flaking by the side of the path that led to the car park.

Sunlight burned already through the bottle of Jack Daniels concentrating in one point just off to the side of the sandstones. A twig caught in the focal point was smoking gently, having burned out a couple of hours before, being in the middle of a stone path nothing had caught light, although were a gust of wind to blow that small insignificant piece of wood towards the brush there would be hell to pay.

Sirens played out their screams in the distance, hungry and attacking as the vehicles like slavering wolves came rushing up the path, screeching to a halt a couple of yards away from the bottle. People exploded out of the vehicle as if they were little back bullets, the sweat on their uniforms giving away the rush, despite the air conditioning in the ambulance and the police car. Voices were everywhere, panic was spreading; a suit, shirt and tie were neatly laid out together as if waiting for a suitcase to put them in.

Dear Alice,

It’s the pain. I can’t get away from the pain. I don’t know if it is in my mind or actually in my body any more, it’s a fantasy played out in my head where colours and noise all make an enormous black scribble together that bock out even you. Even your face twists and turns into something I can’t take.

I have watched the end so many times, I have watched people fight, I have watched them swim against a tide that they can no longer control, but I’m going to do just that. I’m in control now – no one else.

Clich̩ is all we have left РI could creak on, use one hundred words that have already been written a thousand times by authors much better at expressing their feelings than I.

I am not going to.

You make the things you deserve, you deserve the things you have made, and finally I have made a decision. It has only taken me nearly seventy years to take, but I have taken it. At times I loved you and at others I could have wrung your neck, now it isn’t going to be anyone’s problem any more – especially not mine.



The body floated in the water, a pill box in one hand, dressed in nothing but a knowing smile.

Recovering a satellite...

Pressure. I feel pressure and it won’t go away until I write it all down; this is mothing unusual. Ninety eight percent of the time I delete what I have written as it would be considered too incendiary or too overly soppy to actually inflict on the internet. Of what you read, there have probably been at least ten previous versions before it is finally published. I am not comfortable with just any old random thought being unleashed on the unknowing public - no matter how small that unknowing public is.

So there was another photograph, another moment caught for facebook posterity that was going to mean nothing more for the publisher than another day spent with this person or that person and some fun times and a few laughs; but those laughs were about two thousand kilometres away.

It isn’t easy being this far away from you all. I have read your goings on, I have followed all of the engagements, births, wedding celebrations, and so on with a slightly jealous eye. Watching you all carry out your lives in a voyeuristic fashion from my computer screen, and really wishing to have been with you for some of it.

I had my reasons for leaving, and they have been made ever more apparent as time goes by – people that I haven’t seen in years meet me now and wonder where the hell that manic freak has gone, to have been replaced with a quieter, more chilled out version. I am finally me.

That person, though, is now a million miles away on another continent and living another life and having to watch you all get on with it, and I miss you all so much. We haven’t spent time together as we should have, and it’s unfair to expect all of you to come here where I am now. I suppose that I just wish that now I am final comfortable with myself, now that I finally know where I am going and what I am doing, that I could be with you all and share in some of the things that are going on in your lives.

Perhaps it is just all idealised rubbish – who knows, but I would like to say just how much the times we were all together meant, I know these moments are rare and that I have only really shared them with about three people on the entire planet, and I married one of them, and so I leave you with a fond farewell and a hug that would probably leave you with painful ribs.

Until next time

B xx

Monday, 8 September 2014

The letter part one

No alarm clock went off that morning, none had in quite some time. There was no shrill nagging noise to prise bleary eyes open and then drag and heave the half rested body out of bed anymore; those days were over.

A pair of eyes fluttered open as consciousness and pain started to bring the body to life, both started at the same time, but one was considerably faster than the other. Pain spread and mingled with the awakening happening to a body that although fit, was heading towards the retirement paunch. A grumble escaped Tom’s lips as he shuffled forwards towards the bathroom, the pyjamas that had been a present for his last birthday always seemed to get tangled up in the night, and waking up made him feel like the icing being squeezed out on top of the cake. Buttons were digging in where they shouldn’t be and the trousers had moved far enough around his midriff that his hips were poking out the hole meant for using as a fly.

He left Alice fast asleep in the bed, a small strand of hair covering her left eye and mouth moved like a snake as her breath caught it and moved it frantically around. He would have stopped to look at her as he had so many other times, but this morning couldn’t bring himself to; it just didn’t seem right.

The decision had not been easy to take, but now that it had been done it brought with it an enormous sense of relief, it was almost as if it was out of his hands. The aches and pains although there as they had been for some years now, were just a numbed throb that was slightly annoying. Tom flapped about moving arms and legs like a St Vitus dance, trying to get the pyjamas into some semblance of order before he washed his face. In the midst of his jigging about a button pinged off his shirt and landed behind the toilet. He then spent a couple of seconds wondering whether it really was worth the effort to do anything about rummaging around behind the lavatory just to get a wretched button back. He decided against it and went to wash his face and think about tea.

A thought wombled around his mind about the look on his face as he thought that it was sincerely and honestly totally unfair to feel hung over when he hadn’t done anything to deserve it. A small shot of whiskey the night before had left him feeling dizzy at the time, and like he had been out on the town this morning. Each tooth felt like it had its own furry jacket and his mouth tasted like a badger’s set. He had to set about getting things ready before the event. One shower and a fresh suit later he was ready to carry out the deed as he walked crisply out of the door.

Alice got up as quickly as usual and stepped lightly into the shower, not bothering to wait for the water to heat up, feeling the pins of water rap against her and then trickle down all over her. It was a sensation that served two purposes, the main one being to wake her up with a  jolt, the other to be a way to get away from the oppressive heat of the area. Fortunately the climate was dry, as she had always hated the humidity in her birthplace. There was nothing like the fresh and clean sensation of water after a night stuck to clinging sheets and unable to feel any air moving at all. It was a wonder any of the olive trees in the grove behind the house grew at all. Any plant around there needed to be very hardy indeed to survive the sharp changes in temperature, from forty degrees in summer to minus ten in winter. She slipped a summer dress on over her head, and went downstairs to fill the coffee pot and start the day. The letter almost jumped up at her from the table. She saw her husband’s writing and, expecting a love note she opened the neatly folded yellow headed paper and started to read.