23 Hours - part one

00.00. The alarm goes off and drills into my sleep 'fracking' the depths of my mind and bringing muddled thoughts to the surface. I am awake, but it takes a few moments before I can remember why I set the alarm. I consider hitting the 'doze' button but I know I have left the minimum amount of time to get ready. Pushing back the duvet with an arm which is both leaden and fizzing with the shock of the rude awakening I swing my legs over the side of the mattress.

00.05. I have silenced the chirruping fool that sought to disturb my rest and stare at the time on the alarm clock. The vibrant red angular numbers are shapes from a distant past. They come from the time when watches and calculators were first introduced. The new digital font was a source of much amusement to young boys at school back then. How much joy was produced by turning the display upside down to reveal ‘B00BS’?

00.10. The shuffled walk across to the bathroom. At this point of awakeness the effort of my lifting feet higher than the top of the pile of the carpet seems unimaginable. As a result I am accompanied by a sound similar to corduroy chaffing. Hips and legs have not received the requisite amount of blood to tackle such a high-energy workout. The light in the bathroom is sharp and cutting in its criticism of my sagging physique.

00.15. I will attempt my ablutions. A lovely word that holds my attention and allows my mind to imagine the contorted shapes my mouth could make uttering the sound-  aaaabbbbloooooooshunssss. It is too early to attempt real speech. I know it need a mug of tea to clear the gravel from the path of my throat to allow the words out smoothly. This will be a long day so I will change the blade in my razor to ensure the closest of shaves.

00.20. A nagging voice in my head was reminding me about something that happens with new razor blades and me. The drips of blood in the sink and the confetti like toilet paper around my chin provide a visible reference for future memory loss. I stare at my face and remember looking up at my father in similar situations. How brave he seemed to a young child carrying such pain and loss of blood without complaint.

00.25. The one element of the morning I cannot accurately calculate, how quickly will my bowels listen to the messages from my head? This is not a time they are normally awake and they seem confused at the request to evacuate. I fear they believe that it is a dream state trick and that to obey could result in a lot of sheet washing and blame. Still, the strain appears to have coagulated the blood on my face and I now have small white flowers with a single red dotted stamen over my chin.

The World is my Oyster

A gloved hand reached through the bodies on the crowded tube and felt for the pocket. With all the jostling of the journey her hand was able to slip inside without notice. It withdrew slowly, its treasure hidden in its fingers. It found sanctuary within the folds of her own coat.

She let out a sudden breath that coincided with jolt as the train braked for the station. She watched nervously until her unknowing victim stepped onto the platform and into the sea of departing bodies as a new wave filled the carriage.

As the doors slid shut and the train stumbled to its forward motion she let a smile briefly flick across her lips. A fellow passenger noticing her smile grinned back. She let her eyes drop to the floor and closed her hand around the little package. As she held it she felt a new hand in her pocket. It grabbed and squeezed her clenched fist until she winced in pain. It carried on pressing until her legs began to buckle. She didn’t want to scream, she couldn’t attract the attention.

She swivelled her head and glimpsed into his eyes. It was not possible. How could he have done it? He gave her hand a sharp squeeze and twisted her wrist. As the tears ran down her cheeks she knew, “All this for an Oyster card,” she weeped.

The Homecoming

He had left his hometown in a rage. He had slammed the door on his past never thinking he would have to reopen it. Now, coming back, he was filled with strong and mixed emotions as he saw the familiar sites.

As he walked up the path to his past his childhood pet Rex ran towards him. Within moments his face was a mixture of slobber and rasping tongue. He threw his arms around the hairy neck and the years fell away. My god he loved that Okapi.

The door slowly opened and an elderly head quietly spoke his name.

“Mark?”

He stepped away from Rex who proceeded to gallop around the garden in giddy joy. “Mother?” he said cautiously. Could he really be the offspring of this ancient crone?

She was dressed in her familiar American Civil War uniform, confederate of course. If she was still alive then so was his father. He crouched immediately and scanned the garden. Nothing. Then something unusual in the corner of his eye. He made no sudden move but slowly moved his gaze to the tree by the well.

Brilliant disguise but fatally flawed. There had never been a tree by the well and certainly not one with branches in the shape of Danny la Rue’s head.

This was what had driven him away. Why couldn’t he have had a simple childhood like Edwin next door. His parents were always there and perfectly stable in the freezer units in the basement

“Ah well,” he sighed, as he drew his Timelance from its sheath and hacked at the tree “Berrylands will never change."

Stabby's Poem

When grown ups say,

“Don’t play in the woods,”

They're not being spoilsports

They’re being so good.

For they know what’s there

They know who hides

They’ve seen the shadows

They’ve heard the cries

So that when they say

“Be home when sun sets,”

They know the secrets

Of how the wood gets

When the moon strikes the trees

A creature will rise

And perish the small one

Who looks into their eyes

They want to protect you

As their parents did

So back to your bedroom

And make sure your hid

For Stabby is calling

His chorus is loud

Sung by the wind

As it blows through a crowd

He’s been here forever

As old as the hills

And he wants to find you

And wishes you ills

So parents are careful

And check you in bed

They know if you’re missing

You might lose you head

CBERSALB

The Devil placed the four slightly molten tiles on the board. 

"HATE, fourteen points, it's a double word score."

God sat back and looked at the word. The Devil stared at him becoming increasingly annoyed at his slow ponderous movement and irritating beatific smile.

Finally God leant forward and put down three letters in front of the 'e' of 'hate. 

"LOVE, with the 'v' on a triple letter score. Fifteen points. I thought you would have known that love will always win over hate."

The Devil sank back into his chair and stared at the corner of the room. They must get the tv fixed soon he thought.

If only

‘Have you had an accident at work hurting your hand hitting a solicitor who was trying to talk to you about PPI?’

What was wrong with his spam filter? Why couldn’t it pick out the rubbish that greeted him every morning when he turned on his computer? Why was his in box and therefore his life filling with trivia, nonsense, cons and rubbish

He opened a new search page typed “most effective spam filter” into the box and hit enter. The number of choices and downloads available was mind blowing. How was he going to make sure he got the right one? He started to read reviews when one comment suddenly grabbed him, “this spam filter has changed my life”.

He moved his mouse to the download box and clicked. He watched as the little blue bar slowly made its way across the screen until it was complete. Once it disappeared from the screen he slid his mouse to his email and pressed refresh to his email account.

An African Prince was seeking his help in freeing his frozen bank account. His heart sank. He lifted himself slowly from his chair and took his jacket from its back. He pulled the front door behind him and walked slowly up the street.

The couple from down the road who had bored him at last years Christmas street party were standing outside their house. He raised his arm reluctantly to wave but before he did they disappeared inside.

On the bus an elderly lady sat down beside him and began to talk. He shut his eyes in the hope that …..….. When he opened them again she was gone.

At the bank he asked to see the manager. The dull grey clerk was about to block the opportunity to see the person he wanted when her phone rang and she was distracted.

As he walked past her into the manager’s office he had a strange feeling that life was somehow different.

“This spam filter has changed my life”.