We think about the other place all the time. What itís really like, and whether He tells us the truth about it, or if he is selective in His descriptions. It is boring here. The place gets clinical, and we sit around the clean environment and wonder why we asked for quite so much forgiveness. Would some small infraction of morals really have been a bad thing? Would we not be more comfortable if we were able to engage in activities that werenít in the Ďgoodí book? Would we not prefer a little less structure, and a little more anarchy?
The fat from the sausages dripped past the rack and collected in the bottom of the grill pan. The croissant in the oven raised, and the egg in the saucepan thickened as it was stirred briskly, the scrambling process one of cookeries finer transformations. Salivating, the man felt his stomach gurgle. Not long to go. A strong, sweet cup of tea was already steaming next to the empty plate. The sausages and egg done, they took their place and the croissant was sat next to them, butter melting as soon as it was spread thickly over it. Christmas diets? Pah!
The stars began to stretch into lines as the ship began to vibrate, and the noise hummed and began to hurt my ears. The display showed what we thought were numbers, but of course we had no more idea of what the symbols meant than we did about just where we were heading. But we suspected. Home. And we knew that from the old star chart with the markings around one planet. We also knew it from the tales that were told from generation to generation, as we knew the name of our supposed destination. Green, grey and blue. Earth.
He sat on the edge of the canal and looked at the water, smooth and dark and cold and glass like. He thought about breaking its surface with the stone he held in his hand, weighting it without thinking, feeling its edge with his fingertip. His arm curled back behind his head and he let loose, the stone sailing high in the air before coming down in the stillness. The tension was broken, and the quiet dusk turned into the noise of birds disturbed, reflections shattered, and his feeling of uselessness dispelled. He could bring change around him, after all.
It fell heavy on the ground, threatening to spill me onto my back as I walked in it. Crisp powder, compacted until smooth, turning slushy in the day. I stepped gingerly, smiling when my feet slid a little, looking shocked when they slid a lot. Other people smiled as they passed. Strange how the cold weather can bring out the good in people, when normally they would pass without word. Strange that the darkness can make people happy, and make them realise others exist in the world and are only a greeting away. If only it snowed on London Underground.
The big chill is upon us, and we donít know what to do! But I have an idea, and it involves keeping the heating on and my jumper and my socks. And it doesnít involve leaving the house, other than if work is kind and lets me put away the Blackberry for some quality snowman building time. This is unlikely. Sadly. But at least I shall not be one of the very, very many who struggle with the trains, or grapple with the roads. Instead, I shall be making hot toast, finding a good book, and slumping on my sofa.
Was it just my imagination, or was there a flicker of a smile? A raise of colour in the cheeks perhaps? Or perhaps it was someone behind me who caught her eye. Someone at the bar, perhaps. So maybe my smile back went unnoticed. Or - did it? Her she comes, slowly, pushing back her fringe, and looking with those big, brown eyes. Now she really is smiling, a little bit of teeth as she gets closer, and itís my turn for my colour to rise. Another few steps, arms outstretched, right into the grasp of the bastard behind me.
A single bead of sweat ran down from her neck, between her breasts, and onto her stomach and still further down. She arched her back as she looked at me, the want in her eyes turning me on. I moved against her, pushing with my hips, and her fingertips scratched my back. Our breathing quickened to match our pace and the covers slipped from us, forgotten in the moment that we alone shared. Her mouth opened, her tongue licked her dry lips, and her thighs tightened around me as she shut her eyes, and our moment was complete and full.
There is nothing worse than the blankness of the page, and thinking, ďIím here again, and it still wonít come.Ē Perhaps this wonít change anything, or perhaps it will make it easier to write from the word go, rather than sporadically and occasionally. So I will complete it; I almost feel that I have to prove to myself that I can complete it. And when itís done, Iíll look back on my entries and I know Iíll be proud of what Iíve done. The achievement, this time, is worth more than the quality. Iíll save that for my first novelÖ
We had lived by the woods as long as I could remember, and I knew about the Tahl from my earliest childhood. They used to come and visit me when I played, shy until I called them out, then giggling in their silent way. When I moved to go to boarding school, they stayed with me, talking to me in my sleep and helping me when I needed them. I didnít need pretend friends, and I didnít need my parents help in my studies. The Tahl taught me, and when I was older, they counted on me to help them.
Loneliness, then a drink, then a smile, then a moment. A glance above a wine glass, a hello at the bar, a friendly exchange, and then a number. A conversation, an arrangement, a touch of nerves, and a stomach full of excitement. A joke shared, a touch of the hand, an arm offered and taken on a walk home. A beginning. A want and a need, a passion, a warmth unlike the sun, and a lifetime to look forward to. A person, a partner, a friend and a confidante. A trust, a respect, and the knowledge that it is forever.
Stumbling over the doormat, I let rip with a huge fart that rippled the space-time continuum as well as the slightly flimsier material of my boxer shorts. I stood still immediately and listened. After approximately half a second, my mentally - and beer - impaired mind told me all was well and I was safe to continue. I entered the bedroom, stealthily, and kicked off my shoes as I stood in the doorway. She groaned a little as one hit the dresser, and I sidled into bed, fully clothed. Belching hellfire I hugged her tightly; I had escaped without waking the beast.
I ducked his fist and swung hard, under his chin, and connected in a shower of sweat and with a loud, smacking crunch. He hit the floor even harder and the referee began counting him down. I barely heard the bell ring, drowned out as it was by the noise of the crowd. After all this time, I was being lifted on to the shoulders as I had watched happen so many times before. Victory. All of it. The recognition, the money, but the best part of all I now held above my head; the belt of a world champion.
Silence and the impenetrable darkness bore down on me and suffocated my mind and left me thinking that there was nothing worth thinking about and I ceased to care in that single moment. My senses were blunt and blinded and stunted and far removed from the light and dawn that were previous in my life and that brought me the hope that I depended on. Nothing left now but the night and the rain and the ashes and the hurt that the absence brings me and leaves me alone with. The yellow rays of the sun donít warm here anymore.
Up to the last bite of burger, I enjoyed it allÖ The fine meat, the melted cheese and the hot steaming tomatoesĎ. I bit into it, and sank deep into my psyche. She was gorgeous, but was she mine? Who cared? She had been hand reared and fierce as sin, the kind of meat that would make a wealthy man scream for the chef, to be brought out to bear, to be hung in front of their spit roast, the meat of choice being his. Thankfully, no such decisions came up; we enjoyed eating our friend in sick, serene silence.
I think itís the air of innocenceÖ It might be the fact that the values are great; manly-men, who treat women as lesser objects but strive to take care of them, and hold their morals above all else. It might be the fact that the ideas are believable, for their times, and there is some form of romance in them, that appeals to me and makes me think of how great man could be. They are simple, easy times, and I think that makes them all the more magic. Innocence, and truthfulness, resurface within me. It makes me feel human.
I think I am in love with pizza. I love the simplicity, the opportunity, and the randomness they present. The base; it has to be thin for me. The toppings; tomato and cheese, of course, with bacon, sweet corn, ham, pineappleÖ And bananaÖ How banana compliments and completes the pizza, as foul as it may sound. Hot and crispy, sliced through perfectly, I use my fingers to devour the first few slices, then savour the remainder. Diet coke to wash it all down with, and I donít wipe my fingers clean until the box is empty before me. Oh, pizzaÖ
So what of the work bonus? Not unexpected, but disappointing nonetheless. Not even enough to pay off my windows - probably not even more than half of what I owe. So it will now be a painful few months of trying not to spend but wanting to. Never mind. I should be grateful that at least the job is easy, though I am beginning to think it is a little too easy and not particularly satisfying. Is this the part of my psyche that is always wanting more? Perhaps. But then again, perhaps this time I really am just down.
I think Homer has it easy - the Simpson kind, that is, not the Greek kind. He is an idiot. He screws most everything up, but he is one of the happiest people on TV. He has a wife, a family and, most of the time, a job. Admittedly, he has a horrendous manager, but he seems able to look past this copes well with the pressures that brings. Iím jealous of Homer. I would like the level of carelessness in my life, but it isnít over the horizon. Unfortunately, I also have more insight than he does, damn it!
Her bra was black satin, purple lace trim edging. The straps were thin and pulled taught between her shoulders and breasts, and the line of her cleavage was part shadowed in the light from the table lamp. She came to me, that smile on her lips, half beautiful and half questioning, and I pulled her against me by her hips. She flowed into my arms, one curling around my neck, bringing our lips close enough to kiss. She tasted of sweet white wine, the tip of her tongue soft and inquisitive, the feel of her against me intoxicating and pure.
It seems to be getting me rather stressed, and in no way is that a good thing. I think about it quite a lot which in itself is a bad sign, but I think it will be done soon. It is coming to a head, and thatís much needed to clear the air. So Iím kind of nervous, and kind of looking forward to it. At least it will be entertaining if nothing else, and I know that I have the backing of most other people there. So roll on the new guy. And then weíll see just what happens.
Starlight shined down upon us as we lay on the hill. We wondered if it was the same hill that had taken that man away to meet the star maker, and we would have been happy following his journey, so long as we had stayed together. But we were content for the hill to be ours alone, where we could lie and be still and be quiet and be free. Away from the noise and the city, and the rush and the turmoil. It was a grassy hill, warm and glorious, peaceful and wonderful. We could lie there forever, happy.
I stepped from the car into the streaming rain, pulling my hat lower on my brow and my collar higher around my neck. The city screamed in the night; shouts, a gun shot here and there, a woman screaming. I patted the revolver that lay in its holster. Looking up at the building, my mind thought ahead for what I might say to him, if I gave him the chance to speak at all. If I didnít, it was either him or me coming out in a bag. I checked the other gun strapped around my ankle. Time for payback.
The fire spread across the land in an instant, melting and destroying all that stood before it. Beaches were turned to glass, the seas boiled, and the land was swept barren by the savagery. Man and beast were stripped of flesh, bones reduced to dust, and minds didnít have time to comprehend why or who and what it was that did it. In bunkers, generals realised their folly of thinking they had made them deep enough, and were crushed beneath the earth and rock with by concrete and steel. Nations were annihilated, all that existed was undone in nuclear fury.
Once upon a time, a boy met a girl, and they were happy together. They turned into man and woman, and subsequently husband and wife. Their children were born, and grew, and left the comfort of the home, and had families of their own. Eventually, the man died. His wife mourned, but the sadness was too much, and her broken heart failed her. And then they met again, their minds having transcended the bonds of Earth. They talked without words, sang without voices, and held hands without bones or flesh or bodies. They soared together, and were in love forever.
With elastic tied firmly to my harness, the platform began its rise into the heavens. I began to shake and had to hold the railings on both sides of me. The man, who didnít speak English, simply winked and flashed his crooked teeth smile. The crowd became ants as I looked at them. I could feel the blood rushing to my head; and my bowels told me they werenít in keeping with my idea of this being a good thing to do. He opened the gate, I took a deep breath, and I fell from the sky like a rockÖ
I watch the jet plumes streak the blue sky, their trails making me jealous of destinations unseen, and breath in deeply from my stomach. The freshly cut blades of grass relax me, as I lean back on my arms and enjoy the sun on my face. I could stay here all day, watching the sun appearing to move overhead, eventually revealing the bright stars, and forget that it is us that are small and it is our world that is turning, in chains to the Sun and the universe. But for now, the sky is fabulous, and all I need.
Only a few days to go and Iím struggling at the last hurdle. It has been a good project to do, but, ultimately, it has not been for me. I have felt very uninspired when writing recently, and it doesnít help to write just anything as it gets me down further; I feel like I havenít done my best, which for me has a major impact on my mood. So I will finish up the next few days and then I shall conclude the experiment. I need to move on and go back to writing what I enjoy, and soon!
So tonight I watched Ninja Assassin at the cinema. It was good, but Iím now home, at midnight, wanting to be a ninja myself, or at the least a Kung Fu master. I used work as an excuse not to join up to martial arts again, but Iím concerned about not being fit enough or good enough to be able to enjoy the class. And I hate gradings. I hate them in a big way. For me, it was never about what sash I wore; it was about the enjoyment, and the feeling of calm that it brought to me.
The beat was strong and my body moved with the rhythm of the music. I danced like it was the last night on Earth, feeling my hands and legs move in time, looking but not seeing with my eyes. I felt the thin film of sweat on my face and lifted the water, letting it soak my head and trickle over my lips. The song began to shift to another rhythm, the timing in keeping with the first. My grin widened as I recognised the song, my hands lifted towards the DJ in a salute, and my night was complete.
Conclusion: how has it been? It has been interesting, and Iíve been pleased that I managed to make every day, despite some being late. But it hasnít made me write more. In fact, I have felt strained to write every day, and I donít think itís healthy for my inspiration, or that itís motivational for me to carry on my various stories that Iíve started. So I wonít be doing another batch, but Iíd recommend the experience to anyone, as a means of proving that it is possible to do. But perhaps now I will get on with something else!