David Hadley's Blog, page 125

Wait and See

It was not, although we felt it. It had shape, form. Or rather there was an absence – sensed in the air – where it would be if it was here. Many thought it was some presence from some other world. The more mystical thought it was from some world to come that had slipped through the barrier between those separate worlds; some devil or demon from the nether regions making itself manifest. Those that longed for the end of the world to bring some terminal certainty to their uncertain lives saw it as presaging the end of days. Even though it was not the benevolent creator god they’d longed and hoped for, they still welcomed it and hoped the promise of it smiting the ungodly, who sneered and laughed at them, would be kept.

Others, more rational, thought it could be some seepage from a parallel universe. Maybe one with malevolent intent to be sure, but perhaps something that lived in a universe unlike our own where our concepts of right and wrong, light and dark did not hold sway.

More thought it was some mass delusion, some spiritual yearning for something beyond the wonders of this universe they found too hard to understand, a yearning for the simplicities of good and evil right and wrong, goodies and baddies.

Many more, though, thought it was best just to wait and see what happened next.

An Obvious Elephant

It was not that unusual, at least for around here, but it was rather an obvious elephant. After all, this part of the Black Country is not as well-known as, say, Africa or India for its populations of large mammals. In fact there have been remarkably few sightings of migrating wildebeest on the local ring roads, even in the rush hour.

Although, after closing time there have been reports of several sightings of elephants. However, we can – mostly – discount these as rather unreliable as naturalist discovered very few wild elephants the particular lurid shade of pink common to all these reports.

Still, as for the matter of the penguins in our local government offices, I think we all know what than means. So, we have no need to investigate any of that, or at least that is what certain representatives of the local penguin community ‘suggest’. The number of bodies of influential people turning up at the morgue apparently flippered to death also suggests that too intrusive scrutiny into the doings of the penguin community as they now call themselves could meet with a similar fate.

That leaves the elephant.

Not that anyone is suggesting, of course, that in these days of diversity and equal access, there is anything wrong with an elephant shopping at the supermarket. It is just that some fellow shoppers feel the size of the shopping trolley used by the elephant does block up the aisles somewhat. This is especially so when the elephants often fill their trolleys with whole trees. This can be a bit awkward when there is a queue for the checkout snaking back up the aisle, which makes some of the more tempting bogof offers somewhat hard to reach through the foliage.

However, many feel that with the supermarkets now employing more lemurs and other more arboreal assistants, they will be able to assist customers with the more difficult to reach items. Perhaps then we will have to accept seeing a more diverse selection of fellow creatures in the supermarket on our shopping trips than has hitherto been the case.

The King is Dead

This is not a good world, a fair world or a just world. History does not remember many people when they are gone. Most people – if they are lucky enough to survive childhood - live a short uneventful life and then die. Only those in their village and – perhaps – a few others, if that, remember them. Some though, like me, are fated to be remembered by history. My name will go down in the line, like my father, my uncle, before me and like the son that will follow me.

History, though, will not remember me well. How could it, since I write these few last words here in this dungeon while I wait for my last dawn on this Earth? History will remember me, I know that. But I will be remembered as the fool who lost this kingdom. Not as I'd once hoped as the king that made life better, not for me and the landed families, but for everyone, including those that die and are then forgotten in the villages and hamlets.

I wanted to do so much. But in these few short years I did so little, apart from turning my own son against me. Then losing to him in another of those pointless wars that ruling families inflict on those who serve them. With each such war leaving thousands to die for no other reasons than the vanity and ambitions of those who see themselves as born to rule.

Yes, history will remember me, but only as a fool who threw his kingdom away because he tried to be an honest man in a court of schemers, plotters and liars, the greatest of which was my own son.

Long live the king.

Spring is in the Air

I was walking down the path in the woods. It was a fine spring morning, the sun was shining, the birds were singing... and the badger spoke.

'Er... excuse me?'

I looked down, somewhat apprehensive about conversing with a badger. 'Er... yes?'

A talking badger... and wearing a police uniform.

'Are you thinking of going down that path?' The police badger pointed with his snout.

'Er... yes... officer... why?'

'What?' The badger looked down at himself. 'Oh, I'm not a policema... police badge... police officer. Don't worry about that.'

'Then why?' I made a gesture towards his uniform.

The badger winked. 'Some of the female badgers they like a male in uniform... know what I mean?'

'Er....' I nodded.

'That's why I was asking, like.' The badger nudged up to me conspiratorially. 'Only today you know its the woodland mammals' special day.'

'What?'

'Well, you're a human of the world. You know what us animals get up to in the spring... don't you?'

'What you mean....' I tried to think of a gesture all-encompassing enough and gave up. I raised my eyebrows instead. 'You mean... the mating season.'

'Hang on,' the badger said, taking a step back. 'There's no need for language like that.’ He straightened his police uniform. 'Bit crude, but you get the idea.' He nodded down the path. 'Only it is all happening down there... y'know... in the clearing?'

'Oh, right,' I said, not really knowing what to do.

'Only you're not one of those naturalists are you?' The badger eyed me suspiciously.

'Oh, no....'

'Good... perverts I call 'em, always turning up when you and the missus fancy a bit of the old continuation of the species. There's something not right about them, if you ask me. Too much time on their paws, probably.'

'Anyway,' I said. 'I'll probably go the other way then.' I turned.

The badger nodded and set off down the path himself. 'Mind how you go,' he said, rounding the bend.

Frames

Frames

We take a hold of this world
and hide it in drawers and albums.

Keeping the past safe
and still within these frames.

Memory does not wither,
Immortality is all around us.

The past no longer dies
in silence and forgetting.
It is here forever to hand.

We do not allow ourselves
the luxury of forgetting.

We carry with us always
the weight of remembering
and never letting go.

A New Story

The doorbell rang.

I wasn't expecting anyone and, besides, I had work to do.

She stood there for a moment looking at me as I held the front door open. 'I'm Rosewyn,' she said, eventually.

'Who?'

'Rosewyn.' She spoke as if we knew each other.

'I'm sorry, But I don't kno....'

'Look, can I come in, at least?' she glanced behind herself at the dull grey day. There were a few desultory snowflakes in the air. 'As you can see I'm not exactly dressed for this weather.'

As she spoke, I noticed she was wearing jeans and a vest top with a loose check shirt over the top of it. 'But....'

'Listen,' she stepped forward through my front door before it occurred to me to try to stop her. 'I'm Rosewyn... I'm the new protagonist for the story you were just about to write.' She strode past me into the hall.

I shivered, noticing the draught from the open front door for the first time. I shut it and turned to her... to Rosewyn. 'You are... what?'

'I'm your new central character, the hero... the heroine.' She stood hands on hips in the manner I'd imagined her only a few minutes before. 'I only wish you'd created me in some more suitable clothing for the season.’

I glanced down and she pulled the loose shirt tighter around herself, buttoning it up, giving me one of those looks.

'Sorry,' I said.

'Well, at least your not one of those male writers who insist that we female characters have to have enormous ones.' She hugged herself.

'Are they... I mean... I could... if you want?' After all, I do know about subtext.

'No... they are fine...' she looked down at herself. 'Really. I just wish they weren't quite so noticeably sensitive to the cold, that's all.'

'I could...' I pointed in a general direction towards my computer through the open doorway. There was a blank page in there, waiting for me... for us. 'Shall we?' I said, indicating the open door. 'Sorry about all that, the cold and everything. I did... I was imagining you in the summer, lying in a sun-dappled meadow.' I walked through and sat down in my writing chair.

Rosewyn sat down in a chair, pulling it closer to the writing table. 'So,' she said. 'What happens to me next?'

She Took the Shape of the Night

She took the shape of the night, wrapping its waves around her. She disappeared into its cloaking folds where the shadows are the darkest. She moved through the night like something insubstantial. She became another of those presences felt in the darkness, but never seen, as she swam the seas of the night, diving ever deeper into the darkness, tasting its sharp secrets on her tongue.

She knew where she was going and how deep into the darkness she would have to dive. The night grew tighter around her; she knew those that dive too deep often lose their way back to the surface. Some drown in the darkness, choking on the black. Their bodies grow limp as the scavengers of the night smell prey and writhe and undulate through the thick dark to feast, to devour.

Others, though, she knew, learnt how to swim the darkness. They became like those older ancient predators that swum the night. They too learnt how to live, how to feast on the night fears of the unwary, caught in the dark currents dragging them deeper down to the places where the shadows fold their darkness in on themselves.

She knew her love was down here, somewhere. She knew she would not rest until she was deep enough; far enough down to take Kimberley’s reaching hand. Then swim with her, back up to the surface of the day.

Health and Safety Outrage

Well, it wasn't as straightforward as we'd hoped, but then again, that sort of thing very rarely is. For, such is the complex world in which our collective contemporary hat-hanging takes place, that what was once straightforward, and caused very little strain to the elbows and knee-joints, is – these days – fraught with all manner of caveats and complications.

Back in our younger days, when the world was black and white and daytime TV was invariably the test card, we had to venture outside. Mainly because fresh air was regarded as a good thing and character-forming. Consequently, we learnt so much about the dangers of the world from running into (sometimes quite literally) its pointier bits. A childhood without scars, scabs and frequent bandaging was regarded as no childhood at all.

Surprisingly enough, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune were not regarded as signs that the world was constructed thus as a way of causing harm to children, or even adults – but as something given and to be lived with despite the occasional catastrophe. Just get up, brush yourself off and wipe the blood off then carry on, rather than look around for someone to sue.

Soon, if this H&S obsession carries on, the rest of the universe will be illegal and we will be banned – in our own interest and for our own safety - from ever touching any of it and then – of course – we will never learn anything, thus becoming the ideal citizens of this new age.

This Means War

Then, as you are no doubt aware, it all began. This was a bit of a surprise as we were not expecting her to be ready before Wednesday at the earliest. But then she is one of those people who like to prepare for a night out… sometimes up to several weeks in advance. Even then, she sometimes forgets to load the shotgun and we discover there is very little left on the ammunition shelf. Then we have to have a last-minute rush to the late-night supermarket…. When we get there, there is always a two for the price of one offer on the hand grenades or extra loyalty points on surface-to-air missiles, or a new shade of night camouflage she just has to try.

Then, once we get out of the supermarket, we have to pack the shopping away in the armoured personnel carrier. By then we are already late for the battle and we have missed the early air strikes….

And, of course, it is all my fault… somehow….

So, by the time we get to our forward position, everyone else is already in their forward position. So, we have to spend what seems like ages on small talk, and the women complimenting one another on what they’ve done with their battledress, and so on, and how the kids are doing at the military academy. So, by the time we get into attack position the advance is already late. Or, if we are defending that evening, our forward positions are already overrun – and you know what that can do to property prices. That is another perennial topic of conversation in every battle; about how even the most superficial battle-damage can knock significant sums off the valuation. Still wars are never won without sacrifice, and if someone looses a few thousand off the asking price of a semi-detached… well, that is war.

The Marriage Arrangement

She stood at the wall's edge, looking out over the mist-shrouded lands that lay beyond the castle. 'We are to marry,' she said, not looking at me.

'Yes.' I stood beside her at the wall, noticing her bodyguards, at a discreet distance from us, tensed and their hands inched closer to their weapons.

She turned to look at me. 'Do you think we should try to get to know each other first?'

I shrugged. 'It is not up to us, is it?'

She sighed and nodded towards the ramshackle town that had grown up outside the castle walls. 'The people out there, do you think they marry without knowing each other, without having met?'

'Maybe.' I shrugged again, what the ordinary people out there did matter so little when you stood at the wall looking down on them. There was a good brothel, though, down there. So if she turned out to be an unwilling or unwelcoming bride, there was always Sharla, down at The Bed of Roses, I knew she would not forget me. There were also several high-born women who would relish the prospect of becoming my mistress. Something the Lady Roena had pointed out last night as she lay in my bed, her husband so far away leading my troops under the king.

I turned to look at my prospective bride; she lowered her eyelids, and looked down. 'Look at me.'

At least she obeyed, that was something, but there was some defiance, some anger there.

'I don't want to marry you either,' I said, even as I wondered what she would look like naked on the wedding bed. 'But that is the way it is.' I saw some of the courtiers come out onto the battlements, gesturing for us to return to the main hall. I heard snatches of music and the sounds of revelry where every, but us two, was celebrating the announcement of our marriage. I offered my prospective bride my arm. After a moment's hesitation, she took it.

We strode back into the hall arm in arm to cheers from the guests gathered there, all raising their glasses to toast us as we returned to our seats.