These are the afterthought tales, bite-size chunks of a
life’s grander design, something to gnaw on briefly before moving on.
The Old Man – a child’s perspective on meeting an unknown
uncle
The Royal Feline – it’s a cat life indeed
The Mountains Burn – the destructive power of fire
Morning Rainbow – when a rainbow is a sign
Blood Moon – when reality feels entirely unreal
Veils of Sleep – what happens in the realms of oblivion
Winged Wonder – a winged creature walks the city streets
Glass Dreams – every time a man closes his eyes, glass
shatters
First Day – a child’s perspective on her first school day
At the End – life’s long years
A few recorded moments in time that will ask of you a few
minutes of your day. A breathy laugh might follow, or ‘oh, yes, I see myself in
there!’ Maybe a morsel gifts a smile, while a tale creates a sense of wonder.
Enjoy!
THE OLD MAN knocked on the door quite
loudly. Dad told me in no uncertain terms to stay put - children do not open doors, he said.
I stayed put with reluctance at the round kitchen table where we were
having tea, and heard the weather-beaten wooden door creak open and my dad
peremptorily demand an explanation for this interruption.
THE CAT HAS no name she is aware of.
She sleeps most of her days away curled up and silent, and most of her nights,
too. Occasionally she stretches, and enjoys the attention it brings her. When
she chooses her place of slumber, it is best to leave her in peace.
Sometimes she hears a sound, and it is familiar to her, a sound often
repeated, but she cannot duplicate it, for it has no meaning to her other than
that sense of familiarity. She knows this word heralds a summons for her
presence. She sits up from her slumber and listens briefly, and then chooses
whether to answer that command or not, for she
is in control of her fate, not another.
LOOKING ACROSS THE waters darkened and
stilled by night’s undeniable influence, I viewed the shadowy silhouette of the
far mountains highlighted by the half-moon setting beyond. It was a familiar
sight, one I often stared at during daylight, and watched at night as the moon
tracked across the heavens.
This night familiarity was altered.
In the centre of the rugged range an almighty scarlet glow dominated the
night sky and seemed to flow into the invisible waters of the bay, like a
sphere vanishing into the depths.
AS WE DROVE along the quiet road in the
early morning, a young couple embarking on an adventure with the tank filled,
trailer loaded, kids sleeping on the back seat, we wondered if we had made the
right decision.
Others told us we were mad, but we ignored them. Was leaving civilisation
behind for a life in the wild a choice we could deal with long-term? Those
others - family - said it was stupidity.
ENTERING THE TOWN, it felt as if we had
entered another time and dimension. The name on a signboard about a kilometre
back told us we were on the right road, this was the town we had marked on a
map, but what we found could not have been explained by any means.
The usual was in place. Store fronts were lit for temptation at night,
and some shops were still trading. There were streetlights, the typical tarred
main street, a park opposite - fronting the ocean, for we could hear waves
breaking - bins for rubbish, advertising on walls and boards, street signs and
so forth, but there the usual ended.
THE VEILS OF sleep take my
consciousness into the sub-conscious, layer upon gradual layer. When my
imagination departs from my body, I open my eyes upon a different set of veils.
These are as diaphanous, but they are not as benevolent.
Sticky crisscross patterns adorn my path, then another pattern and
another veil, seemingly into eternity. No arrangement is quite the same,
although they are entirely geometric, therefore deliberately designed. I am
faced with an elaborate set of traps, webs meant to ensnare.
THERE ARE EYES on its wings. Many have
this subterfuge somewhere upon them, out there in the wilds, and therefore the
concept is not exactly strange. Used to fool predators, it is an effective tool
of disguise. But this is not a creature of the wilds.
This is a …
That is the problem - what is it?
This is not the wild either. I am standing here at the corner of a
high-rise building, seeking escape from the frigid wind howling through this
city, and this winged wonder does not belong here.
THE GLASS SHATTERED
first and then the roof shook resoundingly. One would think it should be the
other way around. First the roof shake and then the glass breaking. Warnings
came first. One would expect the warning to come first, a herald to danger. But
no; the glass shattered first and then the roof shook resoundingly.
But this was not real.
He was in an aeroplane.
Snorting, he snatched the first breath of sudden awakening and stared
around him. Right. The flight from London to Glasgow.
MOM IS AWAKE first, as always, but this
is a special day. My heart pounds when I hear her slippers slapping as she goes
down the passage towards the kitchen.
Today I will go to big school for the first time.
I hear the kettle make a noise, and know she will soon come in with my
tea, but today I will wear my uniform, not my normal clothes as I did before to
go to my old school.
I NEVER THOUGHT I would get old. It
comes as a surprise to sit here at age ninety. Really it does. This, for me, is
merely a number, for I do not feel nine decades old and, despite those sets of
ten and the various injuries sustained over their progression, my body tells me
it is a lie.
Is my mind as sharp as I believe? You be the judge of that. Base it on
these ruminations, perhaps.
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