She watched the news over breakfast. Overnight there had been movement over the southern continents which had led to threats of action. It was political. Images of the three leaders appeared briefly, and she could see her reflection where their dark suits spanned the screen. The steadiness of her hands reflected apathy more than resolve. She noticed she still needed to get dressed. Continue reading “Grow”
I realised that I didn’t look out of the train window anymore, even when the contest for seats subsided during the holidays, and infact my ability to recognise my location by the sway of the tracks was indeed dismal but particularly helpful. The dark mornings and evenings had long passed, and yet the risk of catching the sky- dazzling blue, pink and orange liquid- gave an unbearable transitory glimpse into something which vaguely resembled peace, so I kept typing into my computer [I’m alright. It’s the deadline for Chair’s Actions today, so naturally no-one is adhering to it and I’m fucking stressed. How are you?]. There was a passage in a book I couldn’t recall which might have helped, and I couldn’t read it again- had it ever existed at all- because I didn’t have the time, and nonetheless the book itself was on the other side of town, sandwiched between other books in a box, between other boxes stacked neatly upon each other, inside a rented room at the storage facility – a type of suspended animation I couldn’t afford to resume. There would be other passages in other books that I wouldn’t read again or at all, because of the weather, or because I was busy, or because I would be dead in the future [I hope you are well. I have compiled a short list of outstanding queries regarding the project which I hope you are able to review/answer, if it isn’t too onerous]. Continue reading “Seasons”
Beneath pastel skies scents evocative of a lamenting nostalgia, smoke and geraniums, graced the air on the hillside walk between the train station and bus stop. Trails of breath were pulled into the distance by departing trains; vapour shifting along the platform into momentary extraordinary shapes, quickly lost like the depleting passengers.
The girl walked slowly to escape the crowd before the path’s descent to bear witness singularly to the beautiful horizon of Trent Valley, and the small boats which collected within the distant sailing club. Above the landscape opened the grand sky, and the girl regarded clouds which could have been mountains; expansive and grey, they collected in textured pillars to intersperse swathes of pale yellow both above and below, creating what might have been the sea reflecting the turbulence of the sun. It was charmingly ordinary.
The quiet unease for the internal numbness in her legs was momentarily replaced by displeasure at having pressed V rather than the space bar on her phone, struggling as she was to balance imaginary mountains and physical burden- a bus pass and phone in her hands, and The Wasp Factory tucked beneath her arm. She couldn’t read modern novels, she had once told a man at the station, for she did not want to know that there was misery but to know that misery had always existed.
Approaching the bus stop she held her bus pass between her teeth so as to use both hands to more comfortably rectify any erroneous digital communication. Glancing at the electronic bus display, she considered that the buses typically were never early when she was early. Glancing at the electronic bus display, she did not see a man pull up in his car.