The message wakes him with a start, glaring at him like some terrible urban legend.
On his bedside table is a slate mug, and on it a message written in chalk. Normally the message is written by his wife as she leaves for work, something for him to wake up to and keep for the rest of the day.
Continue reading “Wake-up call”
The flowers are delivered without a message or recipient.
The husband immediately accuses his wife of having an affair, and in turn she accuses him of having the very same. Before long it has escalated into a vicious argument, where years of unsaid truths are hurled at each other in unison, culminating in him wanting a divorce, further culminating in her also wanting a divorce.
Continue reading “Say it with Flowers”
For two years the noises are inside my head, an inescapable ringing and buzzing that the consultants are unable to correct. Test results show the condition to be slowly worsening, and my days are spent craving a silence, an escape from the internal ringing that keeps me awake and unable to function.
Continue reading “Enjoy the Silence”
They argue over everything, especially when it comes to packing the car.
Her approach is to plan ahead and pack methodically, whereas he grabs items on sight and packs with brute force.
Continue reading “Pack Your Bags”
His wife screams, audible over the television.
Can someone get rid of this spider please she yells.
Continue reading “Shower Scene”
Some new header images for the blog. Finally time to get rid of the pylons and country roads.
You can view the rock today as a high resolution image on the official website.
In the past you could view the rock from fifty yards away, buying a postcard as you did so.
Continue reading “Eroded”
As children my brother and I would go cycling together, hoping to discover the infinite downhill loop that was rumoured to be hidden within the country roads of our childhood.
We knew it to be impossible – a route that was downhill all the way, bringing you back to the start without an uphill stretch. An urban legend of the countryside, a geographical impossibility. Still we searched, happy with our own company and the goal we knew to be impossible.
Continue reading “Downhill all the Way”
The search for Natasha lasts for three days.
On the third night we gather on the beach for a service of remembrance. Symbolic ashes are cast into the ocean as we sing the old songs of the sea. A prayer of thanks is said for the volunteers who protect us from the uncertain waters.
Continue reading “The Shallows”