Thursday, March 31, 2005

Amazing what you find when you look

Three posts in one morning, what's it all about?

I don't want there to be a folder of archived posts and it have only two measly posts in there. And, I never got to tell you about Paris. To cut a long story short: it didn't inspire me. Why? Well, dog shit and miserable people are not the things that help me write, unless the story is about dog shit and miserable people, of course.

Although the week away was relaxing, some aspects of it were a nightmare. No one to help on the Metro; rude shopkeepers; dog shit; people in the apartment above the one we rented (that's myself and my girlfriend) moving out at midnight; parties on the floor below that started at 11pm and finished around 3am (and no invite!). The list could go on but I don't want to bore you. I didn't get any writing done, so that's that.

So, to keep all you readers interested I discovered a story in my archive and posted it up for you all to read. Hope you enjoy it.

Until later on today or the next time, whichever comes first, read, think... comment.

purplesimon out...

Something I dug up from the archives

I watch silently as they leave the tent, their hearts pounding like the beat that raved earlier, from dusk 'til dawn. I see the sweat glistening on their skin, clothes damp and dishevelled as they cling to thin bodies, pallid faces and wide eyes. I spot a girl. She looks wild and scared as the dawn rushes towards her from behind the mountains and cloud. I pick her. She is to be the one I choose today. No reason. There never is a reason.

The traffic is backing up the High Street in this suburban town. People have come out of the shops to stare at the old woman lying in the road, half her body obscured by the car she is lying under. A solitary scream can be heard from a girl, several seconds after the incident; a case of delayed shock. Then nothing for what seems like hours. Two shouts from men that someone should call an ambulance, then, we hear the sirens as the vehicles approach at high speed. A woman kneeling beside the old lady's body turns to those crowding round. She's dead is what she says.
Another one bites the dust.

There are giggles from the back of the bus and the waft of cigarette smoke perambulates along the windows to the front. I look to see if the driver will stop today, to tell "those like fuckers to put out those fags, or else". The "or else" means the taking of names and addresses. He doesn’t pass them to the teachers; he uses his time off at weekends to watch them. He prefers the girls, but sometimes a boy will catch his eye. He doesn't yet know that the brakes will fail on this bend, that the coach will go hurtling through the fence and crash through a plot of trees. The driver will not know that the vehicle teeters on the edge of a precipice because a wayward branch smashing its way through the windscreen will have already decapitated him. Sadly, no one will come out alive. Sometimes it is necessary to take casualties.

Onwards and upwards, as you say.

He wakes to the sound of the telephone, its incessant ringing disturbing his slumber, which he has been deprived of recently anyway, what with his brother clinging on to life. He picks up the receiver, already in the back of his mind knowing what the voice will say at the other end. But, he is surprised by the news he is told, for it is not bad, as he had assumed. Recovery is slow, but his sibling is no longer on "the critical list" and "we are positive he will recover fully, given time and medical help". He feels joyous at the news and he sheds tears as the relief sweeps from him in a gushing of emotions. They will discover him three weeks later, the telephone still grasped in his hand. They will have to carry out a post-mortem to discover how he died and the coroner will describe it as "if someone had literally squeeze the life out of his heart". No one will consider if that is so, they will simply accept this and try to move on. The coroner will make no mention that the corpse had been got at by rats, that spiders had begun to nestle in the ears and throat, that maggots has also commenced decomposition and that they'd had to identify him through his postal address and dental records.

The rain is falling as the day begins, but soon the sun will push through and dry the roads, make the children come running from their homes to play in garden and park, their shrieks rankling old men and delighting old ladies. They are safe.
Along the road lies the church, where the pious come to worship a God, the Almighty. It is also the place where life ends and you are returned to the earth from whence you came. Today they will bury many; an old lady, a young woman who has become a celebrated victim of drugs, school children and their paedophile driver.
When the heart attack strikes the pilot, will it be fate that this church is the aircraft's final destination just as the service peaks and the sermon yearns for us all to live as God does, to be pure in our thoughts and to forgive and forget? Or is it His will to take his flock to be at his side in Heaven?

I don't know, I guess it depends how I feel when I get up in the morning.

One each end of the month

Has it really been a whole month since I last put up a post? So it seems...

Anyway, this site has been locking me out for ages now, so glad to be back.

From tomorrow, I am going to get around to posting something more interesting than my work-life and other things, I want to get back to writing and posting a story or two up on my blog. So, perhaps today I will set aside some time to write a short story or a poem.

So, check back later.

purplesimon out...

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

The end of another day

It's the end of another day, but the beginning of another month. Work has been my mainstay since the new year began and I have neglected to write anything new for quite some time.

Well, readers, this is about to change.

On the 11th of this month of March I am off for a week in Paris. If ever there was a city that could inspire me to write, this is probably it. I mean, think of the major writers that have lived and worked in the city - plus a few unknown ones, too - and it all adds up to, well, hopefully a story or poem or some other creative idea.

In the meantime, I will simply be posting elements of my life up here for you InterWeb fans to read about.

purplesimon out...