Thursday, 21 March 2013

Writing and rage.




Paroxysm

Barbed wire ragged through
intestines.
Burning wrench
of
disappointment.
No violence necessary
just a thoughtless
WORD
Every muscle aches
with it
delivered
by friends!
©David L Atkinson March 2013


'A book is a friend that does what no friend can do - stay quiet when you want to think!'

When writing stories I find that they are principally relationships acted out in different settings. 

Time to think

The sky was overcast, the wind blowing and to him it seemed to be building. He stepped off the pavement and walked carefully, because the grassy slope was slick with dew from the melted frost that had settled over night, down to the sturdy metal gate that gave access to the sculpture park. He needed time to think and, because the weather wasn't great and the forecast worse, he was alone. Ideal conditions.



The view was clear enough and the sculptures stood silently in their patch of grass saying and doing nothing. He stepped through the gate which clanged shut, rather violently he thought, and began walking down the hill.
"Damn!" he thought to himself as he felt the dampness of the dew seeping into the sides of the trainers. Glancing down he noticed that not only were the shoes wet but they had attained a rim of mud just to take the edge from their sharpness. The rhythm of his walking soon dragged his attention away from the conditions surrounding him to the occurrences of the previous evening.

The room was small, cosy as you might say, and it was full of people attending a meeting concerning an organisation he was a member of, but just routine. As with all small town meetings the conversations were trivial and decisions weren't life changing. There was no real reason apart from frustration but the longer the meeting went on the more angry I was feeling. Couldn't they see how lame these decisions were - and why can't they just get on with it? In the end it was something they had forgotten that triggered the non-argument, we were all too polite to argue for real. That in itself was doubly frustrating.

"Are you ok?" the secretary inquired as we left the sweaty little room.
"I'm not standing again!" I snapped rather ungraciously and stomped off into the night.


I hadn't been home for ten minutes when the phone rang and it was her. We'd sat opposite each other for three years and barely shared a word other than for business purposes. 
"Are you ok?" she asked. Her voice had a curious timbre that pierced the night without being loud. 
"Always the same question. Yes thank you I'm fine," I replied civilly enough.
"You seemed a little put out tonight and I was concerned," she stated simply. "Okay if you are fine I'll let you go."
The phone went down with a click as I was framing the words 'Thanks for ringing'.

That just about took the biscuit. We were both single, she was a little younger than me and quite attractive and once again it was an opportunity missed. 

I felt my foot squelch into an even soggier patch than I'd ploughed through thus far and it just served to pull me back to the present. I'd brought my camera and dutifully photographed the exhibits and strolled more rapidly as the first flakes of snow began to fall. The slight increase in heart rate and purposefulness in my gait set up a resolve in me to ring her back and speak to her with a little more thoughtfulness.


God Bless