Nav Logan's Blog, page 2
January 30, 2016
Buried In The Woods
NO VEHICLES BEYOND THIS POINT, the sign read.
It had once been black and yellow, before the rust took over. I stopped the car, killed the engine, and switched off the headlights. I sat there for a few moments, trying to collect my thoughts.
It was just past 5a.m.
Thankfully, I was alone in the secluded lay-by.
The midnight romancers had long since gone home, and the hikers wouldn’t arrive for some time, if at all. It was, after all, November; not the height of the tourist season by any means, but still, people still came out here to walk their dogs through the woods.
Now was as good a time as any.
Pulling myself together, I climbed out of the car and took a final look around. The night was cold, with a hint of frost in the air. The moon was big and bright overhead, when it showed itself through the sparse cloud cover. It would give me enough light to work by.
Opening the boot of the car, I looked down at the plastic-covered body that was lying within. For a moment, grief overcame me. Seconds became minutes as I stood there, lost in my thoughts.
We had had so many happy memories together over the years; so much sadness near the end.
The woods would be a fitting place for her burial. Jenny had always looked forward to coming here. We would go for long walks together, far off the beaten track; go swimming in the lake if the weather got warm enough, or maybe just sit quietly together at the top of the hill looking down at the calm waters.
Yes, I decided. That would be the spot where I would bury her body.
I dragged the plastic-covered remains out of the boot, apologising whenever I bumped or jostled her. It was stupid really. She couldn’t feel anything. She was dead, but still…
Hefting her onto my shoulder, I grunted at her weight. She’d put on a few pounds during the last few months, more than a few it seemed. Shifting the load until I was happy with my burden, I reached for the shovel. I had a long hike ahead of me. It would be dawn by the time I reached the lake.
“We’d better get this over with,” I muttered. This would be our last walk in the woods together, and the idea burned a painful hole in my chest. “Last one to the top of the hill is a loser,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood. It was a phrase I had always said, whenever we took our walks together. I always lost those races. She had always been fleeter of foot than I. It was our little joke.
This time, I would win … or at least draw.
Setting off down the well-worn path, we made our way gradually deeper into the silent woods. After so many years walking the path, I could have done it blindfolded, so the minimal light didn’t bother me.
By the time we reached the lesser used path that led up to our hill, I was out of breath and my thighs were burning. I must have put on a few pounds myself over these last few months. I hadn’t the heart to go hiking without Jenny. It would have been a betrayal to do so. We had stayed in together by the fire, each of us wrapped up in our own pain.
The ground got steeper, the path harder to see. This was our own personal path, made over long years of hiking together. No one else came this way. The hill did its best to discourage idle ramblers. It liked the solitude as much as we did.
Finally, we reached the top, just as the skies were lightening. It promised to be a wonderful winter’s morning once the mist disappeared from the lake.
I lay Jenny down on the damp ground as carefully as I could and paused to look out at the island in the middle of the lake. That would have been a good place to bury her too, but I didn’t have a boat.
Lifting the shovel, I set to work digging her grave.
There was a small clearing, like a bald spot at the top of the hill, so there were no tree roots here to hamper my task. Half an hour later, I had a decent enough grave dug, and carefully I laid Jenny down within her resting place.
I still couldn’t believe she was gone. I’d had months to prepare myself for this, and yet, I was as ill prepared now as I was on the day that the vet had first told me about her condition.
When she had started to struggle to get off her bed in the morning, I had lain down beside her, stroked her to calm her, and wept. She had tried her best to comfort me, licking my face, and nudging into me with her nose, but I was inconsolable.
Wiping away the tears from my eyes, I filled in the hole. My tears returned as quickly as I could wipe them away, but I persevered and finally, Jenny was laid to rest.
I contemplated saying a few words over the mound that would be her new bed, but we were beyond that. Our bond was deeper than mere words.
In the end, I sat down beside her, and together, we watched the sun burn the mist off the lake.
It had once been black and yellow, before the rust took over. I stopped the car, killed the engine, and switched off the headlights. I sat there for a few moments, trying to collect my thoughts.
It was just past 5a.m.
Thankfully, I was alone in the secluded lay-by.
The midnight romancers had long since gone home, and the hikers wouldn’t arrive for some time, if at all. It was, after all, November; not the height of the tourist season by any means, but still, people still came out here to walk their dogs through the woods.
Now was as good a time as any.
Pulling myself together, I climbed out of the car and took a final look around. The night was cold, with a hint of frost in the air. The moon was big and bright overhead, when it showed itself through the sparse cloud cover. It would give me enough light to work by.
Opening the boot of the car, I looked down at the plastic-covered body that was lying within. For a moment, grief overcame me. Seconds became minutes as I stood there, lost in my thoughts.
We had had so many happy memories together over the years; so much sadness near the end.
The woods would be a fitting place for her burial. Jenny had always looked forward to coming here. We would go for long walks together, far off the beaten track; go swimming in the lake if the weather got warm enough, or maybe just sit quietly together at the top of the hill looking down at the calm waters.
Yes, I decided. That would be the spot where I would bury her body.
I dragged the plastic-covered remains out of the boot, apologising whenever I bumped or jostled her. It was stupid really. She couldn’t feel anything. She was dead, but still…
Hefting her onto my shoulder, I grunted at her weight. She’d put on a few pounds during the last few months, more than a few it seemed. Shifting the load until I was happy with my burden, I reached for the shovel. I had a long hike ahead of me. It would be dawn by the time I reached the lake.
“We’d better get this over with,” I muttered. This would be our last walk in the woods together, and the idea burned a painful hole in my chest. “Last one to the top of the hill is a loser,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood. It was a phrase I had always said, whenever we took our walks together. I always lost those races. She had always been fleeter of foot than I. It was our little joke.
This time, I would win … or at least draw.
Setting off down the well-worn path, we made our way gradually deeper into the silent woods. After so many years walking the path, I could have done it blindfolded, so the minimal light didn’t bother me.
By the time we reached the lesser used path that led up to our hill, I was out of breath and my thighs were burning. I must have put on a few pounds myself over these last few months. I hadn’t the heart to go hiking without Jenny. It would have been a betrayal to do so. We had stayed in together by the fire, each of us wrapped up in our own pain.
The ground got steeper, the path harder to see. This was our own personal path, made over long years of hiking together. No one else came this way. The hill did its best to discourage idle ramblers. It liked the solitude as much as we did.
Finally, we reached the top, just as the skies were lightening. It promised to be a wonderful winter’s morning once the mist disappeared from the lake.
I lay Jenny down on the damp ground as carefully as I could and paused to look out at the island in the middle of the lake. That would have been a good place to bury her too, but I didn’t have a boat.
Lifting the shovel, I set to work digging her grave.
There was a small clearing, like a bald spot at the top of the hill, so there were no tree roots here to hamper my task. Half an hour later, I had a decent enough grave dug, and carefully I laid Jenny down within her resting place.
I still couldn’t believe she was gone. I’d had months to prepare myself for this, and yet, I was as ill prepared now as I was on the day that the vet had first told me about her condition.
When she had started to struggle to get off her bed in the morning, I had lain down beside her, stroked her to calm her, and wept. She had tried her best to comfort me, licking my face, and nudging into me with her nose, but I was inconsolable.
Wiping away the tears from my eyes, I filled in the hole. My tears returned as quickly as I could wipe them away, but I persevered and finally, Jenny was laid to rest.
I contemplated saying a few words over the mound that would be her new bed, but we were beyond that. Our bond was deeper than mere words.
In the end, I sat down beside her, and together, we watched the sun burn the mist off the lake.
January 29, 2016
The Balloon
Danny sits on the park bench, looking up into the sky, wondering where his balloon went.
Yesterday was his birthday.
His father took him to the fairground. They ate candyfloss together, went on the big dipper and played fairground games.
Danny won a balloon, but if drifted away; lost forever.
*****
The more I struggle, the tighter it binds around me; choking off my air. Gasping, I peck franticly at the twine.
Footsteps approach, and my panic increases.
I want to flee, but can’t.
I begin to lose consciousness …. “Daddy, Daddy, look at the bird! It’s trapped. Help it Daddy, please!”
Yesterday was his birthday.
His father took him to the fairground. They ate candyfloss together, went on the big dipper and played fairground games.
Danny won a balloon, but if drifted away; lost forever.
*****
The more I struggle, the tighter it binds around me; choking off my air. Gasping, I peck franticly at the twine.
Footsteps approach, and my panic increases.
I want to flee, but can’t.
I begin to lose consciousness …. “Daddy, Daddy, look at the bird! It’s trapped. Help it Daddy, please!”
Bumps in the Night
I hear strange noises coming from the cellar; bumps in the night, even the odd muffled scream.
I mention it to the beloved, “We haven’t got a cellar, dear,” she’d reminds me. “Maybe it’s coming from the neighbors.”
“We live in a detached house!” I protest.
She’s having none of it.
Determined that I’m not going mad, I wait until she goes shopping and start pulling up the carpets.
I find a trap door; steps leading downward.
“Hello!” I call.
No one responds
Too late, I hear my wife’s footsteps behind me.
I awake to find myself bound and gagged.
I mention it to the beloved, “We haven’t got a cellar, dear,” she’d reminds me. “Maybe it’s coming from the neighbors.”
“We live in a detached house!” I protest.
She’s having none of it.
Determined that I’m not going mad, I wait until she goes shopping and start pulling up the carpets.
I find a trap door; steps leading downward.
“Hello!” I call.
No one responds
Too late, I hear my wife’s footsteps behind me.
I awake to find myself bound and gagged.
January 27, 2016
Just One of Those Days
Stepping into the café, I groaned. The queue was a mile long. This wasn’t good. After the morning I’d had, I needed a quick fix.
Drastic times called for drastic measures.
Stepping outside, I popped the trunk and rummaged around. Pulling on my balaclava, I headed back inside.
Ignoring the long line of irate caffeine addicts, I placed a pint-sized travel mug on the counter, alongside my sawed-off shotgun.
“Hand over the Americano and no one gets hurt!”
I needed to hurry. My gang was robbing the bank next door, and I was supposed to be driving the getaway car.
Drastic times called for drastic measures.
Stepping outside, I popped the trunk and rummaged around. Pulling on my balaclava, I headed back inside.
Ignoring the long line of irate caffeine addicts, I placed a pint-sized travel mug on the counter, alongside my sawed-off shotgun.
“Hand over the Americano and no one gets hurt!”
I needed to hurry. My gang was robbing the bank next door, and I was supposed to be driving the getaway car.
January 22, 2016
The Delivery Man
The bumper sticker said, “My other car is a Ferrari.”
Nice car, I thought, but no luggage capacity. Not like this Ford.
I followed the Sat-Nav into Chinatown, and hit the intercom, “Package for Mr Wong.”
Two flights of stairs later, I knocked at the apartment door.
Mr Wong’s eyes showed curiosity, and then they changed to fear when he spotted the silencer. Finally, they showed resignation.
Whatever he had done, he knew his time was up.
I didn’t know his crimes. I just delivered the goods.
Ironically, he was small enough to fit into the trunk of a Ferrari.
Nice car, I thought, but no luggage capacity. Not like this Ford.
I followed the Sat-Nav into Chinatown, and hit the intercom, “Package for Mr Wong.”
Two flights of stairs later, I knocked at the apartment door.
Mr Wong’s eyes showed curiosity, and then they changed to fear when he spotted the silencer. Finally, they showed resignation.
Whatever he had done, he knew his time was up.
I didn’t know his crimes. I just delivered the goods.
Ironically, he was small enough to fit into the trunk of a Ferrari.
January 20, 2016
The Hearing
“My client is renowned for his upstanding character. He’s an outstanding example to our young players,” pointed out the defendant’s lawyer. “Why, I can hardly nip into Tesco’s for a pint of milk without some complete stranger accosting me to tell me what a jolly nice fellow my client is!”
The judicial officer rolled his eyes heavenward. “Please! This is a disciplinary hearing, not the effing High Courts.”
I’d nodded off halfway through the long-winded adulation, and for a moment, I thought we’d moved on to another case. “Is this about Alun Wyn Jones?” I ask.
“No, bloody Ashton again!”
The judicial officer rolled his eyes heavenward. “Please! This is a disciplinary hearing, not the effing High Courts.”
I’d nodded off halfway through the long-winded adulation, and for a moment, I thought we’d moved on to another case. “Is this about Alun Wyn Jones?” I ask.
“No, bloody Ashton again!”
Guilty as Charged
The Judge raps his gavel to silence the court.
“Mr. Logan, you stand accused of possession with intent to distribute drabbles. How do you plead?”
What can I say! The evidence before the court is quite damning.
“I admit to a little dabbling in Drabbling, your Honour,” I admit reluctantly.
“Dabbling!” the Prosecutor exclaims in disbelief. “You’ve published two books!”
“He has a point there!” admits the defence.
“I plead temporary insanity,” I declare, clutching at straws.
The judge peers over his pince-nez at the large mound of literature on the evidence desk before him.
“Habitual temporary insanities,” I add.
“Mr. Logan, you stand accused of possession with intent to distribute drabbles. How do you plead?”
What can I say! The evidence before the court is quite damning.
“I admit to a little dabbling in Drabbling, your Honour,” I admit reluctantly.
“Dabbling!” the Prosecutor exclaims in disbelief. “You’ve published two books!”
“He has a point there!” admits the defence.
“I plead temporary insanity,” I declare, clutching at straws.
The judge peers over his pince-nez at the large mound of literature on the evidence desk before him.
“Habitual temporary insanities,” I add.
January 18, 2016
Hide and Seek.
(For Kathleen)
I wake in the darkness and feel the emptiness around me. I know you’re there, but I cannot feel you.
“Are we playing hide and seek again,” I whisper.
I hear a sleepy grunt in the darkness, giving me a clue to your location.
“One-one hundred, Two-one hundred, Three-one hundred …” I murmur with a smile.
I give up counting, skipping ahead to the best bit… “Coming … ready or not!”
Slithering across the bed like a snake, I quickly find your warm body and entangle myself around you.
Your sleepy groan of contentment encourages me kiss to your neck. “Tag!”
I wake in the darkness and feel the emptiness around me. I know you’re there, but I cannot feel you.
“Are we playing hide and seek again,” I whisper.
I hear a sleepy grunt in the darkness, giving me a clue to your location.
“One-one hundred, Two-one hundred, Three-one hundred …” I murmur with a smile.
I give up counting, skipping ahead to the best bit… “Coming … ready or not!”
Slithering across the bed like a snake, I quickly find your warm body and entangle myself around you.
Your sleepy groan of contentment encourages me kiss to your neck. “Tag!”
January 16, 2016
Stranded
Following the daily routine, I scratch another mark into the coconut tree. Sixty marks. Sixty days on this god forsaken deserted island.
Breakfast consists of the last of yesterday’s fish, washed down with coconut milk.
I hate fish!
After breakfast, I walk up the hill to scan the ocean, hoping to spot a ship’s sails on the horizon.
Nothing.
Back at the beach, I scratch another note and place it in a bottle – I’m still waiting for the reply to my last one.
It reads: “12” Pepperoni with peppers, large fries and a diet coke. Large tip for prompt delivery.”
Stranded Part II
Day Ninety-one.
I hear the noise of an engine over the surf. I see a light bouncing up and down as it crashes through the surf.
I can’t believe my eyes. Have I finally succumbed to madness?
I watch a battered jetski arrive, not far from my makeshift camp.
At last! I’ve been rescued!
The driver, a Rastafarian, rummages in his backpack. “Ya gotta sign ‘ere, mon,” he demands. “Cash or Debit Cay-ard?”
I sign and hand over my visa.
He turns to leave.
“Wait! Aren’t you rescuing me?”
“Sorry, mon. Ma insurance doesn’t cover no passengers, mon:- Company policy!”
Breakfast consists of the last of yesterday’s fish, washed down with coconut milk.
I hate fish!
After breakfast, I walk up the hill to scan the ocean, hoping to spot a ship’s sails on the horizon.
Nothing.
Back at the beach, I scratch another note and place it in a bottle – I’m still waiting for the reply to my last one.
It reads: “12” Pepperoni with peppers, large fries and a diet coke. Large tip for prompt delivery.”
Stranded Part II
Day Ninety-one.
I hear the noise of an engine over the surf. I see a light bouncing up and down as it crashes through the surf.
I can’t believe my eyes. Have I finally succumbed to madness?
I watch a battered jetski arrive, not far from my makeshift camp.
At last! I’ve been rescued!
The driver, a Rastafarian, rummages in his backpack. “Ya gotta sign ‘ere, mon,” he demands. “Cash or Debit Cay-ard?”
I sign and hand over my visa.
He turns to leave.
“Wait! Aren’t you rescuing me?”
“Sorry, mon. Ma insurance doesn’t cover no passengers, mon:- Company policy!”
January 11, 2016
Daily Madness
I hope that I have done this subject matter justice.
New shoes squeak. Borrowed suit pinches my armpits. Nevertheless, I feel good. First impressions matter. Freshly shaven, I walk briskly down the street to my interview.
Almost there.
All is well until I hear the helicopter approaching.
My blood runs cold. Terror takes over. Desperately, I seek a hiding place before the bombs start to drop. A dumpster catches my eye. I climb inside and hunker down amongst the refuge, mumbling to myself.
High overhead, the traffic helicopter reports the on the latest hotspots, but I’m lost in another world. All thoughts of the job interview swept from my mind.
New shoes squeak. Borrowed suit pinches my armpits. Nevertheless, I feel good. First impressions matter. Freshly shaven, I walk briskly down the street to my interview.
Almost there.
All is well until I hear the helicopter approaching.
My blood runs cold. Terror takes over. Desperately, I seek a hiding place before the bombs start to drop. A dumpster catches my eye. I climb inside and hunker down amongst the refuge, mumbling to myself.
High overhead, the traffic helicopter reports the on the latest hotspots, but I’m lost in another world. All thoughts of the job interview swept from my mind.
