Archive for September 2007

mist & rain

September 25, 2007

Mist and rain. Shapes appear and fade in the middle distance. Everything is muffled. The only echo is silence. It is a dream, or the memory of a dream. The damp stone pier shines with the dull reflection of the cloud and mist around. The water laps it gently, without rancor, deceiving, hiding its size, the vastness of sea that stretches out beyond the haar that clings to its calm surface.

The walker heads to the end of the pier, looks out to the mist and sees what he wants – there is nothing else to see.



September 15, 2007

The girl stared at the glass for a moment before picking it up by the stem and lifting it to her lips. She sipped it with a kiss. A light smear of lipstick remained on the glass as she set it on the table. Her eyes flickered for a moment, but locked on him again.

He saw the flicker. He wasn’t meant to, but he saw it and he felt himself slipping. He read everything into it, everything that was there and wasn’t. He saw the night disappear. He gripped his bottle of beer and swallowed. His eyes shut for a moment.

She watched him and sipped with a kiss again.

Her eyes didn’t flicker a second time.

on the trail

September 9, 2007

She hummed to herself. No tune in particular, just the odd snippet of melody. Her own personal soundtrack. Sometimes it turned to a whistle. The trail turned north and then east with the wind gentle from the west, lightly pressing her back and tussling her dark hair around the sides of her face. She shoved her hands in her pockets. The air hummed back with a cacophony of countryside sounds. The rustle of hedgerow, the waves of grain, the scurry of small things and the odd bird call gave her a backing track. Her beat up trainers kicked the odd pebble into the tall grass. The wind calmed and the sun emerged from behind the perfect cotton ball cloud. She took her hands out of her pockets and tied her jumper around her waist.

She kept humming and whistling.

an atypical conversation

September 3, 2007

her “You screwed it up.”

him “How? How did I screw it up?”

her “You screwed it up because you don’t get it.”

him “That’s why. I asked how.”

“You told her. You’re never supposed to tell her.”

him “Tell her what?”

her “You told her you liked her. You just came out and said it.”

him “Of course I told her. I’m bored of all the bullshit. The waiting, the teasing, pretending not to care. I liked her. I told her. What the fuck is wrong with that?”

her “Everything. It goes against nature.”

him “Nature? Fuck you. This isn’t a fucking Friends rerun. If I like someone I should be able to tell them. It’s honest. It’s being upfront. It’s not insulting someone by feigning disinterest and ignoring them. It’s not pandering to some stupid and primitive ‘treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen’ bullshit.

her “But that’s how it works.”

him “That wasn’t how it worked with us.”

her “And now there is no us.”

He looked at the whisky glass and took a small sip. It didn’t burn enough, so he gulped and felt the fire at the bottom of his throat and the sting of tears.

him “No. There isn’t.”

her “You have to learn to play the game. Be selfish.”

him “It’s not a game.”

her “It is.”

him “It shouldn’t be.”

her “That doesn’t matter.”

him “It does. It’s who I am. It’s a matter of principle.”

her “Principle? You’re not going to get laid because of principle? You’re going to be alone for the rest of your life because you disagree with the unwritten rules of dating?”

him “Yes. Because it’s got to work out. Eventually.”

her “That’s what you said about her. ”

He closed his eyes and held the empty glass to his forehead.

her “You just don’t get it.”