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Writing is Serious

September 07, 2016

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20:42. He checked the clock on the dash again, 20:42. The green numbers hadn’t moved, he stared at them; they had to move soon, if he watched them he might see them click over. He watched. They didn’t, he stared, they still didn’t, he stared not wanting to blink wondering if he was quick enough to look in the rear view mirror and back to the clock before the numbers changed, he must be. His eyes flashed up to the mirror, nothing there, back to the clock, 20:43, damn, he checked the mirror again. Still nothing there, she was now thirteen minutes late, unlucky for some. He shifted in his seat and it made a noise like it was breaking wind, he cursed it and sighed. Still 20:43. He decided not to look at the clock and ran his hand through where his hair used to be, he’d not noticed it going at first, and then, as if it was offended by his lack of interest, it had stormed off in a huff, never to be seen again. It had behaved a bit like his ex wife, all he had was the odd reminder of its pres...

That Feeling.

That feeling, the pit of the stomach, when it goes up and keeps going up, even though the rest of you has started going down. She wasn’t expecting that, although, had she thought about it before the event, it was the least she could have expected. What else would happen when a 747 exploded, bucked, bounced then fell apart at 32000 feet? Not that she knew she was at 32000 feet when her stomach had flipped and woke her up, she’d been running on a beach with that fat old Labrador that used to live two doors down the street when she was a kid. In the dream she’d wondered why the fat old Labrador had shown up after all those years, maybe sixty years, since she’d last patted its head through the gap in the fence as she walked to school. As a kid she hadn’t even noticed that its wheezing squeaky nose wasn’t poking through when she’d gotten home that night, it was a detail too small for a frantic eight year old brain to notice, but there it had been in her sleep, running and panting, slo...

The Big Daft Dog.

The big daft dog, bounced and flounced into my life in 2002. My life, such as it was, was very different back then. But the big daft dog wasn’t, he was the same then as he was yesterday. Age had not withered him, he still loved to play, he still loved to bounce, he still loved to flounce. If I looked at him in a certain way he'd be off the couch and next to his lead reading my mind before I’d thought the thought. He knew me better than I knew myself, he knew me like a shadow knows a shape, he knew me better than anyone who’s ever met me, he was my best mate. He saw the highs, he saw the lows, he saw my deepest depths and my highest highs, he knew when I needed a cuddle or when I needed to play. The big daft dog wasn't so daft after all. We went through a lot together; there was a time, a dark time, when we lived in a car together, long winter nights sharing a ...

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