Blur of images
Remembered and forgotten
Her analepsis
Remembered and forgotten
Her analepsis
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Flashback - Borealis
Throwing the windswept hair out of her eyes she grabbed her camera up against the reddening, dying light and snapped. The trees' silhouettes stood out as if someone had carefully drawn each fading, balding wintery-branch onto a canvas.
She hadn't returned to this spot beside the river since she was ten. Back then he'd sat, paintbrush in hand, dabbing away at a tiny portable set of watercolours, and somehow with the minimum amount of effort everything around them had come alive. The pockets of the cartridge paper had captured the watery paint, so that slowly the crystal clear painting looked like someone had rubbed vaseline on their lens. There was something about the way that the page had turned every feature of the landscape into tiny pits of colour - the world turned into indistinct blotches; water; rays of sun, autumny leaves - as if someone had grabbed the sky and yanked down, crinkling it up as they went.
So now as she tried to capture the past, she sighed at the futility of it. The images in her head and the pictures her camera took never matched up; her vision was all squew-iff. It was a long time since she could remember what the scene had actually looked like: the flashbacks she had were always of the painting now. What she'd been trying to do failed as her camera recorded the world with the harsh clarity of a stranger who hadn't read the brief.
Two weeks later her prints were sent back, the world preserved with sharp lines and lacklustre colour. She'd done this on numerous occasions - wandered off to see the old church they went to or the farm that they used to pick gooseberries at - taken photos - and returned, grumpy and discontented with how the world appeared to her now. The images in her head were always so different. Sighing at her silliness, she realised she'd mistaken the clarity of what she saw in her head for the world outside. Like everything else, it was all very black-and-white in her head; but reality always fumbled around and missed the point.
That Thursday she made a decision: quit trying to recreate the blotchy, crinkled up past. Change the time, change the day, change the picture. She hopped on her bike and rode down to the river, abandoning the usual ritual of cornflakes and E4 re-runs, this time just taking a pad of paper and sticks of charcoal and chalk. With the grass cushioning her, she looked out towards the boats on the river, with the stark trees hanging overhead and set about re-making it in black and white, just as she saw wanted the world to be.
She hadn't returned to this spot beside the river since she was ten. Back then he'd sat, paintbrush in hand, dabbing away at a tiny portable set of watercolours, and somehow with the minimum amount of effort everything around them had come alive. The pockets of the cartridge paper had captured the watery paint, so that slowly the crystal clear painting looked like someone had rubbed vaseline on their lens. There was something about the way that the page had turned every feature of the landscape into tiny pits of colour - the world turned into indistinct blotches; water; rays of sun, autumny leaves - as if someone had grabbed the sky and yanked down, crinkling it up as they went.
So now as she tried to capture the past, she sighed at the futility of it. The images in her head and the pictures her camera took never matched up; her vision was all squew-iff. It was a long time since she could remember what the scene had actually looked like: the flashbacks she had were always of the painting now. What she'd been trying to do failed as her camera recorded the world with the harsh clarity of a stranger who hadn't read the brief.
Two weeks later her prints were sent back, the world preserved with sharp lines and lacklustre colour. She'd done this on numerous occasions - wandered off to see the old church they went to or the farm that they used to pick gooseberries at - taken photos - and returned, grumpy and discontented with how the world appeared to her now. The images in her head were always so different. Sighing at her silliness, she realised she'd mistaken the clarity of what she saw in her head for the world outside. Like everything else, it was all very black-and-white in her head; but reality always fumbled around and missed the point.
That Thursday she made a decision: quit trying to recreate the blotchy, crinkled up past. Change the time, change the day, change the picture. She hopped on her bike and rode down to the river, abandoning the usual ritual of cornflakes and E4 re-runs, this time just taking a pad of paper and sticks of charcoal and chalk. With the grass cushioning her, she looked out towards the boats on the river, with the stark trees hanging overhead and set about re-making it in black and white, just as she saw wanted the world to be.
Flashback - Fargo
MARK WAKES UP TO THE SOUND OF TRAFFIC, ONCE HE GETS INTO FOCUS HE NOTICES HE IS LYING FACE DOWN IN A PILE OF MUD, HE SLOWLY LIFTS HIS HEAD UP AND TAKES A LOOK AROUND. HOW THE HELL DID HE GET HERE? HE IS IN CENTRAL PARK IN NEW YORK CITY. HE TRIES TO STAND QUICKLY BUT HAS TO STEADY HIMSELF, HE FEELS UNEASY, AND UNSURE ABOUT WHO HE IS AND HOW HE GOT TO BE HERE, ALL HE CAN REMEMBER IS THAT HE’S ENGLISH AND HIS NAME, ONCE HE GETS HIMSELF TOGETHER HE BEGINS TO WALK AT A SLOW PLACE. PASSERS BY ARE LOOKING AT HIM STRANGELY, SO MARK THEN LOOKS AT HIS HANDS, WHICH ARE COVERED IN MUD, THEN HE NOTICES HIS FACE IS ALSO COVERED IN DIRT AND HIS CLOTHES ARE TORN IN PLACES. HIS PACE QUICKENS UNTIL HE COMES ACROSS A PUBLIC TOILET.
HE CLEANS HIS HANDS AND FACE, HE WALKS OUT OF THE PUBLIC TOILET BACK INTO CENTRAL PARK, AND BEGINS A BRISK WALK TO THE CITY.
ONCE OUT OF THE PARK HE WALKS INTO A COFFEE SHOP AND ORDERS A COFFEE, THEN HE THINKS, DOES HE HAVE ANY MONEY? HE CHECK HIS POCKET, AND PULLS OUT A CRUSHED I PHONE AND A WALLET, HE OPENS THE WALLET WITH GREAT INTEREST, THEN INTEREST TURNS INTO DELIGHT WHEN HE COUNTS THAT HE HAS POUNDS. BUT HE IS NOW IN AMERICA SO HE DECIDES TO TALK TO THE BIG AMERICAN MAN BEHIND THE COUNTER.
Mark
Excuse me, I don’t suppose I could pay in English money?
Counter Man
Hey, you’re an English guy, why you look all torn up?
Mark
Its going to sound strange but I don’t know?
Counter Man
You don’t know, what you lost your memory or something?
Mark
You could say that!
Counter Man
So if you lost your memory and you look all torn up, why you ordering a coffee?
Mark
I cant answer that, can I pay in English money.
Counter Man
Afraid Not.
Mark
You can just change it later, I need a coffee, I need to think of how and why I’m here, and I don’t particularly want to walk around New York looking like this with my mind all messed up, a good cup of coffee would really help right now.
Counter Man
Look, no can do, its our policy not to accept anything apart from the American Dollar Bill.
Mark
I will give you £200.
Counter Man
Coming right up Mr, I will bring it right on over.
Mark
Many Thanks.
MARK WALKS OVER TO A TABLE ON ITS OWN IN THE CORNER OF THE COFFEE SHOP. HE SITS DOWN SLOWLY AND AFTER THE MAN BRINGS HIS COFFEE OVER HE STARS FEELING ACHING PAINS ALL OVER HIS BODY. HE STARTS SIPPING HIS COFFEE AND TRIES HARD TO REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED. HE STRUGGLES ENORMOUSLY, THEN HE STARTS HEARING LOUD NOISES COMING FROM INSIDE THE COFFEE SHOP, HE LOOKS AROUND, NO ONE ELSE IS REACTING TO THE LOUD NOISE. ITS SOUNDS LIKE POLICE SIRENS. AND THEN HE HEARS SCREAMING. THE NOISE INCREASES A GREAT DEAL, WHICH IN TURN MAKES MARK SCREAM OUT LOUD. THE OTHER CUSTOMERS ALL TURN IN HORROR TO MARK ROLLING AROUND ON THE FLOOR, INSTEAD OF HELPING HIM THEY RECOIL.
MARK GETS UP WITH THE NOISES STILL INCREASING, HE RUNS OUT OF THE SHOP, SOME PEOPLE ARE LOOKING AT HIM WITH CONFUSION THE SIRENS ARE STILL THERE, ALONG WITH SCREAMING AND PEOPLE TALKING OF WHICH HE CANT MAKE OUT, HE TURNS DOWN AN ALLY. NO ONE ELSE IS THERE.
THE NOISES STOP.
HE SITS DOWN AND PUTS HIS HEAD IN HIS HANDS. WHEN HE LOOKS UP A MAN IN A PURPLE SUIT APPEARS AS IF FROM NOWHERE.
MARK STAYS STILL UNABLE TO MOVE A LIMB.
Man In suit
Its time.
HE PICKS MARK UP, AND CRADLES HIM LIKE A BABY.
Mark
(Struggling to talk)
Am I dead?
Man In suit
No, your beginning again.
MARK THEN TURNS INTO A BABY, THEN A BRIGHT LIGHT APPEARS, THE LIGHT TURNS INTO A WORMHOLE, THE MAN AND BABY MARK WALK THROUGH AND THE WORMHOLE VANISHES.
2 HOURS EARLIER ENGLAND
MARK IS WALKING DOWN A STREET IN LONDON WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND EMMA. THEY HAVE THEIR ARM LINKED, THEY ARE LAUGHING.
Mark
Did you see his face, he couldn’t believe it when I told him the pompous twat!
Emma
It was priceless, he always said you would never make it, but now you have, we have to celebrate!
Mark
Lets go out for dinner, my treat, now I’m going to be rich!
Emma
Now mark lets not get carried away.
Mark
Why not I have been waiting for so long for this, I’m gonna treat you all weekend, and do whatever you want.
Emma
Getting carried away is what you should do!
Mark
Ha, right lets go to the most expensive restaurant, the best one you can think of.
Emma
Oh I know the one, but it will have to be on you as I left my purse at the flat.
Mark
You wanna go now, okay right lets see. (Feels around in his pockets for his wallet, then checks his jacket) I have gone and left my bloody wallet at the office.
Emma
He did say it wouldn’t be long till you went crawling back.
Mark
Oh haha, Look, wait here I wont be long, I will run and get it.
Emma
Hurry then, my tummy has the rummblies !
MARK STARTS A BRISK WALK AND STOPS AT THE PEDESTRIAN CROSSING, THE LITTLE RED MAN THEN TURNS GREEN AND HE STARTS WALKING ACROSS THE ROAD WHEN HE NOTICES A MAN IN A PURPLE SUIT STANDING A FEW YARDS AWAY, WITHOUT NOTICING, MARK IS JUST STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD, THE MAN IN THE SUIT IS STILL STARING AND THEN HE SMILES. MARK THEN COMES AROUND AND REALIZES HE IS JUST STANDING THERE HE STARS TO WALK AFTER THE MAN IN THE PURPLE SUIT, BUT WITHIN SECONDS THE TRAFFIC FLOW AND BEFORE MARK COULD DO ANYTHING A CAR COMES FROM AROUND THE A KNOCKS HIM OVER, HE FLY VIOLENTLY OVER THE CAR AND COME CRASHING DOWN DEAD.
THERE IS A BRIGHT LIGHT AND THEN A WORMHOLE APPEARS, THE MAN IN THE PURPLE SUIT WHISTLES, AND WALKS THROUGH THE WORMHOLE.
HE CLEANS HIS HANDS AND FACE, HE WALKS OUT OF THE PUBLIC TOILET BACK INTO CENTRAL PARK, AND BEGINS A BRISK WALK TO THE CITY.
ONCE OUT OF THE PARK HE WALKS INTO A COFFEE SHOP AND ORDERS A COFFEE, THEN HE THINKS, DOES HE HAVE ANY MONEY? HE CHECK HIS POCKET, AND PULLS OUT A CRUSHED I PHONE AND A WALLET, HE OPENS THE WALLET WITH GREAT INTEREST, THEN INTEREST TURNS INTO DELIGHT WHEN HE COUNTS THAT HE HAS POUNDS. BUT HE IS NOW IN AMERICA SO HE DECIDES TO TALK TO THE BIG AMERICAN MAN BEHIND THE COUNTER.
Mark
Excuse me, I don’t suppose I could pay in English money?
Counter Man
Hey, you’re an English guy, why you look all torn up?
Mark
Its going to sound strange but I don’t know?
Counter Man
You don’t know, what you lost your memory or something?
Mark
You could say that!
Counter Man
So if you lost your memory and you look all torn up, why you ordering a coffee?
Mark
I cant answer that, can I pay in English money.
Counter Man
Afraid Not.
Mark
You can just change it later, I need a coffee, I need to think of how and why I’m here, and I don’t particularly want to walk around New York looking like this with my mind all messed up, a good cup of coffee would really help right now.
Counter Man
Look, no can do, its our policy not to accept anything apart from the American Dollar Bill.
Mark
I will give you £200.
Counter Man
Coming right up Mr, I will bring it right on over.
Mark
Many Thanks.
MARK WALKS OVER TO A TABLE ON ITS OWN IN THE CORNER OF THE COFFEE SHOP. HE SITS DOWN SLOWLY AND AFTER THE MAN BRINGS HIS COFFEE OVER HE STARS FEELING ACHING PAINS ALL OVER HIS BODY. HE STARTS SIPPING HIS COFFEE AND TRIES HARD TO REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED. HE STRUGGLES ENORMOUSLY, THEN HE STARTS HEARING LOUD NOISES COMING FROM INSIDE THE COFFEE SHOP, HE LOOKS AROUND, NO ONE ELSE IS REACTING TO THE LOUD NOISE. ITS SOUNDS LIKE POLICE SIRENS. AND THEN HE HEARS SCREAMING. THE NOISE INCREASES A GREAT DEAL, WHICH IN TURN MAKES MARK SCREAM OUT LOUD. THE OTHER CUSTOMERS ALL TURN IN HORROR TO MARK ROLLING AROUND ON THE FLOOR, INSTEAD OF HELPING HIM THEY RECOIL.
MARK GETS UP WITH THE NOISES STILL INCREASING, HE RUNS OUT OF THE SHOP, SOME PEOPLE ARE LOOKING AT HIM WITH CONFUSION THE SIRENS ARE STILL THERE, ALONG WITH SCREAMING AND PEOPLE TALKING OF WHICH HE CANT MAKE OUT, HE TURNS DOWN AN ALLY. NO ONE ELSE IS THERE.
THE NOISES STOP.
HE SITS DOWN AND PUTS HIS HEAD IN HIS HANDS. WHEN HE LOOKS UP A MAN IN A PURPLE SUIT APPEARS AS IF FROM NOWHERE.
MARK STAYS STILL UNABLE TO MOVE A LIMB.
Man In suit
Its time.
HE PICKS MARK UP, AND CRADLES HIM LIKE A BABY.
Mark
(Struggling to talk)
Am I dead?
Man In suit
No, your beginning again.
MARK THEN TURNS INTO A BABY, THEN A BRIGHT LIGHT APPEARS, THE LIGHT TURNS INTO A WORMHOLE, THE MAN AND BABY MARK WALK THROUGH AND THE WORMHOLE VANISHES.
2 HOURS EARLIER ENGLAND
MARK IS WALKING DOWN A STREET IN LONDON WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND EMMA. THEY HAVE THEIR ARM LINKED, THEY ARE LAUGHING.
Mark
Did you see his face, he couldn’t believe it when I told him the pompous twat!
Emma
It was priceless, he always said you would never make it, but now you have, we have to celebrate!
Mark
Lets go out for dinner, my treat, now I’m going to be rich!
Emma
Now mark lets not get carried away.
Mark
Why not I have been waiting for so long for this, I’m gonna treat you all weekend, and do whatever you want.
Emma
Getting carried away is what you should do!
Mark
Ha, right lets go to the most expensive restaurant, the best one you can think of.
Emma
Oh I know the one, but it will have to be on you as I left my purse at the flat.
Mark
You wanna go now, okay right lets see. (Feels around in his pockets for his wallet, then checks his jacket) I have gone and left my bloody wallet at the office.
Emma
He did say it wouldn’t be long till you went crawling back.
Mark
Oh haha, Look, wait here I wont be long, I will run and get it.
Emma
Hurry then, my tummy has the rummblies !
MARK STARTS A BRISK WALK AND STOPS AT THE PEDESTRIAN CROSSING, THE LITTLE RED MAN THEN TURNS GREEN AND HE STARTS WALKING ACROSS THE ROAD WHEN HE NOTICES A MAN IN A PURPLE SUIT STANDING A FEW YARDS AWAY, WITHOUT NOTICING, MARK IS JUST STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD, THE MAN IN THE SUIT IS STILL STARING AND THEN HE SMILES. MARK THEN COMES AROUND AND REALIZES HE IS JUST STANDING THERE HE STARS TO WALK AFTER THE MAN IN THE PURPLE SUIT, BUT WITHIN SECONDS THE TRAFFIC FLOW AND BEFORE MARK COULD DO ANYTHING A CAR COMES FROM AROUND THE A KNOCKS HIM OVER, HE FLY VIOLENTLY OVER THE CAR AND COME CRASHING DOWN DEAD.
THERE IS A BRIGHT LIGHT AND THEN A WORMHOLE APPEARS, THE MAN IN THE PURPLE SUIT WHISTLES, AND WALKS THROUGH THE WORMHOLE.
Flashback - Jow Bates
GOD IS FUCKING YOUR SISTER
The bold new slogan of St. Matthews controversial advertising campaign stood plainly in 6ft high text outside the nervous looking Lincoln church.
"It's just, I'm still not sure." Fretted the good Reverend John Bale, who had been uncertain about the necessity for an ad campaign to begin with. A tall, Armani clad agent of the Arscott London advertising company was midway through holstering his iPhone when he replied.
"Your religion is dying in a sea of shit, Reverend."
The small elderly man of God looked saddened by the comment, but the suited up Dan Hayward continued undaunted.
"Nobody cares about your God anymore, why?"
"I-"
"Because God is not relatable. He needs to be more accessible."
"Bu-"
"We need to shove God into the faces of every hapless bastard that walks past this church. Do you know what's wrong with your God?"
"…"
"Your God is getting nobody laid."
Rev. John Bale remained quiet as Dan pressed on, his mind cast back to the parish council meetings that had lead up to this. Sunday sermons were quiet, nobody took confession anymore. Roman Catholicism seemed to be getting harder to sell. Rev. Bale had persisted that things would pick up, that a London advertising company would not benefit a small church like this. They hadn't listened, they were interested in good community values, trying to get more people through the doors of churches to boost statistics within the St. Matthews catchment area. Rev. John Bale sighed.
"-Ram a bible down every uncircumcised cock in England." Finished Dan. The Reverend didn't say anything, instead he turned his gaze back to the billboard now incriminating his Lord and Father in breaking one of the most valued commandments.
GOD IS FUCKING YOUR SISTER
Dan continued his unabashed explanation as to why it was a good idea to publicly desecrate the Christian faith on a 2 meter high billboard, using qualifying phrases like "spiritual wank material" and "fuck-ability". Rev. Bale remembered struggling to come to terms with the use of email, when the church parish had voted it a good idea to broaden their means of communication, spreading the word of God.
The word of God.
Reverend John Bale sighed.
"Sorry."
The bold new slogan of St. Matthews controversial advertising campaign stood plainly in 6ft high text outside the nervous looking Lincoln church.
"It's just, I'm still not sure." Fretted the good Reverend John Bale, who had been uncertain about the necessity for an ad campaign to begin with. A tall, Armani clad agent of the Arscott London advertising company was midway through holstering his iPhone when he replied.
"Your religion is dying in a sea of shit, Reverend."
The small elderly man of God looked saddened by the comment, but the suited up Dan Hayward continued undaunted.
"Nobody cares about your God anymore, why?"
"I-"
"Because God is not relatable. He needs to be more accessible."
"Bu-"
"We need to shove God into the faces of every hapless bastard that walks past this church. Do you know what's wrong with your God?"
"…"
"Your God is getting nobody laid."
Rev. John Bale remained quiet as Dan pressed on, his mind cast back to the parish council meetings that had lead up to this. Sunday sermons were quiet, nobody took confession anymore. Roman Catholicism seemed to be getting harder to sell. Rev. Bale had persisted that things would pick up, that a London advertising company would not benefit a small church like this. They hadn't listened, they were interested in good community values, trying to get more people through the doors of churches to boost statistics within the St. Matthews catchment area. Rev. John Bale sighed.
"-Ram a bible down every uncircumcised cock in England." Finished Dan. The Reverend didn't say anything, instead he turned his gaze back to the billboard now incriminating his Lord and Father in breaking one of the most valued commandments.
GOD IS FUCKING YOUR SISTER
Dan continued his unabashed explanation as to why it was a good idea to publicly desecrate the Christian faith on a 2 meter high billboard, using qualifying phrases like "spiritual wank material" and "fuck-ability". Rev. Bale remembered struggling to come to terms with the use of email, when the church parish had voted it a good idea to broaden their means of communication, spreading the word of God.
The word of God.
Reverend John Bale sighed.
"Sorry."
Flashback - John Browski
I can't really write about a flashback, because I'm having a flashforward of how stressy everything is going to be tomorrow, and the next day, and the fact that I've got to start a course of penicillin, and what if I'm allergic to it and I get really ill, the horrible grasping at the throat when my airways close up oh GOD!
Hahahaha
That last (long) sentence was written partially tongue in cheek, but let's be honest, much of my life is spent worrying about things to come.
I've always maintained that it's the chess player's way of life. If you play chess, you are more likely to think "well, if THIS happens then THAT will happen, which means I'll have to do THIS, and then that will mean that THIS will need to be ready".
It's the sort of thing that you tend to find more with those of us who are chess players. I'm not saying that if you DON'T play chess then you WON'T think like that, but I think the nature of chess playing means that you're more likely to subsequently adopt that mode of thinking.
I used to teach chess to young people who had been excluded from school. I don't mean teach them in the sense that I am a grandmaster, I mean teach them the basics - literally, what a pawn does. What a knight does. What a rook does. And so on.
What I found, and what they found, I think, is that once you start looking at the world through those eyes, you find yourself thinking much more about consequences. For instance... if I steal that, then I might get caught, which will mean.... and so on. It was reasonably successful, I think, in challenging the ways the kids thought and how they acted, at least certainly with us.
Chess also has vaguely tenuous ties with martial arts. The discipline, the different styles, and of course the fact that not only does the Rza play chess (and a load of the WuTang Clan), but there was an incredibly dope film called The Mystery Of ChessBoxing, with one of the truly great martial arts villains, Ghost Faced Killer. (And yes, that's where the rapper got his name from.)
....not quite sure how I got from Flashback to Ghostface, but I think I've made my point. Whatever it was.
Hahahaha
That last (long) sentence was written partially tongue in cheek, but let's be honest, much of my life is spent worrying about things to come.
I've always maintained that it's the chess player's way of life. If you play chess, you are more likely to think "well, if THIS happens then THAT will happen, which means I'll have to do THIS, and then that will mean that THIS will need to be ready".
It's the sort of thing that you tend to find more with those of us who are chess players. I'm not saying that if you DON'T play chess then you WON'T think like that, but I think the nature of chess playing means that you're more likely to subsequently adopt that mode of thinking.
I used to teach chess to young people who had been excluded from school. I don't mean teach them in the sense that I am a grandmaster, I mean teach them the basics - literally, what a pawn does. What a knight does. What a rook does. And so on.
What I found, and what they found, I think, is that once you start looking at the world through those eyes, you find yourself thinking much more about consequences. For instance... if I steal that, then I might get caught, which will mean.... and so on. It was reasonably successful, I think, in challenging the ways the kids thought and how they acted, at least certainly with us.
Chess also has vaguely tenuous ties with martial arts. The discipline, the different styles, and of course the fact that not only does the Rza play chess (and a load of the WuTang Clan), but there was an incredibly dope film called The Mystery Of ChessBoxing, with one of the truly great martial arts villains, Ghost Faced Killer. (And yes, that's where the rapper got his name from.)
....not quite sure how I got from Flashback to Ghostface, but I think I've made my point. Whatever it was.
Flashback - Michelle Cleary
As I stood staring into the gaping chasm in front of me I could see nothing but darkness, there seemed to be no life at all.
"Are you coming in? The tour is heading in now and we can't wander alone" asked my friend.
"Sure, I'm comin' in a sec". But as I said it I could not bring myself to move, the darkness scared me, to my very core, it was something that happened as a child and I have never fully gotten over it. No-one but me and my friend knows about it and I intended to keep it that way.
I was with my mother in the park around sunset and we were sitting watching everyone leave for the day as we sat and my mum told me stories about fantastic adventures into the unknown by princes to rescue their damsels in distress so they could be with their true love and live happily ever after. Of course my mum didn't believe in such things but she told me the stories to keep me happy. We sat under an oak tree until it got dark and drank from our flask of hot chocolate. This was our ritual every Saturday, a method of escape from the pursuits of happiness in a world that had given up on us.
"It's time to leave sugar", my mum told me, "lets go."
So we got up and started the journey through the weaving paths out of the park, taking our time and wanting to soak in the calm summer night, stars beaming down on us. They made the walk back in the dark a magical one, but as we were walking jovially a shadow appeared in front of the street lamp ahead and stood rigidly waiting for us to reach it.
My mum grabbed my hand tight and tried to careen away by stepping onto the grass, trying to get away from this shadow.
She leaned down to me and told me not to let go of her no matter what. The person followed us and eventually started walking faster to catch up and out of the darkness I heard a loud noise that took me by surprise and I flinched. I felt my mum's hand loosen on mine as she fell to the ground. I couldn't see her face but I could hear her breathing and it was rushed and shallow.
"MUM!? Mummy?" I wanted her to talk to me, hold me so I would be safe.
The person came rushing at us and stopped so they were leaning over us. All of a sudden he reached down and I screamed , screamed hoping that there was someone around to hear me, I scurried backward trying to get away but I hit a tree trunk behind me. He continued to reach down and gripped my mothers bag, ratched through it and then ran off into the night avoiding all street lamps. I went back to sit with my mother as her breathing slowly stopped. I sat with her in the lingering darkness the entire night until someone came across us on their morning run.
***
"Are you OK?" I heard my friend asking, "we don't have to go in if you don't want to".
"No,lets go, being afraid of the dark is something I'm going to have to get over, what is the point in life when you can't even conquer your own fears, and I WILL conquer mine".
"Are you coming in? The tour is heading in now and we can't wander alone" asked my friend.
"Sure, I'm comin' in a sec". But as I said it I could not bring myself to move, the darkness scared me, to my very core, it was something that happened as a child and I have never fully gotten over it. No-one but me and my friend knows about it and I intended to keep it that way.
I was with my mother in the park around sunset and we were sitting watching everyone leave for the day as we sat and my mum told me stories about fantastic adventures into the unknown by princes to rescue their damsels in distress so they could be with their true love and live happily ever after. Of course my mum didn't believe in such things but she told me the stories to keep me happy. We sat under an oak tree until it got dark and drank from our flask of hot chocolate. This was our ritual every Saturday, a method of escape from the pursuits of happiness in a world that had given up on us.
"It's time to leave sugar", my mum told me, "lets go."
So we got up and started the journey through the weaving paths out of the park, taking our time and wanting to soak in the calm summer night, stars beaming down on us. They made the walk back in the dark a magical one, but as we were walking jovially a shadow appeared in front of the street lamp ahead and stood rigidly waiting for us to reach it.
My mum grabbed my hand tight and tried to careen away by stepping onto the grass, trying to get away from this shadow.
She leaned down to me and told me not to let go of her no matter what. The person followed us and eventually started walking faster to catch up and out of the darkness I heard a loud noise that took me by surprise and I flinched. I felt my mum's hand loosen on mine as she fell to the ground. I couldn't see her face but I could hear her breathing and it was rushed and shallow.
"MUM!? Mummy?" I wanted her to talk to me, hold me so I would be safe.
The person came rushing at us and stopped so they were leaning over us. All of a sudden he reached down and I screamed , screamed hoping that there was someone around to hear me, I scurried backward trying to get away but I hit a tree trunk behind me. He continued to reach down and gripped my mothers bag, ratched through it and then ran off into the night avoiding all street lamps. I went back to sit with my mother as her breathing slowly stopped. I sat with her in the lingering darkness the entire night until someone came across us on their morning run.
***
"Are you OK?" I heard my friend asking, "we don't have to go in if you don't want to".
"No,lets go, being afraid of the dark is something I'm going to have to get over, what is the point in life when you can't even conquer your own fears, and I WILL conquer mine".
Flashback - Beau
I just had a flashback, which would make this story "Quick Non-Fiction".
There was a 100% chance of snow that day, so I grabbed my umbrella, dressed warm, and headed out the front door early to enjoy the day. I had a mental list of all the places I would be going; first on the list was the grocery store for DXM. (Dextromethorphan Hydrobromide is plentiful in the United States, and it packs a punch, especially if you drink alcohol or smoke weed on it) But on my way to the store, I noticed a large brown lump sitting in the gutter on the side of the road. Upon closer inspection, I realised I had stumbled upon a beaver. Now, I might have seen beavers in zoos when I was a child, but here I was, face to face with one! It was obvious it had recently died, however it was also apparent it had died of natural causes and had not been hit by a car.
I looked down at the still-warm mammal, poked it with a stick, and cursed the fact that I had decided to leave my digital camera at home. But it would have been disastrous to bring it with me, as a blizzard was on its way. For a split second, I contemplated bringing the entire corpse home with me, but decided that the 4 mile walk with it might prove to be too much for me. I touched the beaver's tail to see what it felt like, opened my umbrella, and headed towards the mall as the snow began to fall.
I got high from the DXM. And when I say that, I mean I got REALLY high from it. I had a few beers in my pocket, so I drank a few and got even higher. The day turned out to be eventful and interesting, as most people from Atlanta only see snow about once every year. The mood of everyone that day had changed drastically because of the frozen precipitation. After a long day of being a reprobate, I decided to head home, but the thought of that beaver stuck with me. "Why didn't I bring my camera?", I asked myself as I trudged to the house. "No one will ever believe this story on Facebook without proof.", I muttered. About a week later, I decided to go out again. I walked past the same point and let me tell you, I was surprised to see the beaver sitting in the exact same spot. The corpse was well preserved because of the coldness and recent snow. But, shit! I had left my camera at home AGAIN! Had I expected the beaver to still be there, I would have definitely brought it with me this time.
But I had a plan.
Upon leaving the grocery store, I asked for several grocery bags; I was going to bring this mammal home with me, take some pictures, then leave him to decompose in my back yard and save the skull after the bones were bleached.
Did you know that full grown beavers are heavier than you might think?
I picked up the animal by its tail, and loaded him head-first into the triple wrapped grocery bags.
Did you also know that beavers are larger than you might think?
Imagine my despair when half of the beaver was flopped over the side of the bags; the bags weren't big enough, and the beaver had to have weighed at least 30 pounds. No joke. But I decided to stick to my plan. So there I am, walking down the street, carrying a grocery bag with the bottom half of an animal hanging over the side of it. As cars passed me and stared, I realised that perhaps carrying a bag that OBVIOUSLY had some dead animal hanging out of it might not be such a good idea. From everyone else's perspective, I could have been carrying a dead dog or cat that I had slaughtered for all they knew, and for some reason, people don't take kindly to that. Just ask Mary Bale. I had also been drinking that day, and would have been jailed if a police officer had been called to check out the situation. (Gotta love America, right?)
The moral of the story - Bring a camera with you everywhere you go. Beavers are fucking heavy.
There was a 100% chance of snow that day, so I grabbed my umbrella, dressed warm, and headed out the front door early to enjoy the day. I had a mental list of all the places I would be going; first on the list was the grocery store for DXM. (Dextromethorphan Hydrobromide is plentiful in the United States, and it packs a punch, especially if you drink alcohol or smoke weed on it) But on my way to the store, I noticed a large brown lump sitting in the gutter on the side of the road. Upon closer inspection, I realised I had stumbled upon a beaver. Now, I might have seen beavers in zoos when I was a child, but here I was, face to face with one! It was obvious it had recently died, however it was also apparent it had died of natural causes and had not been hit by a car.
I looked down at the still-warm mammal, poked it with a stick, and cursed the fact that I had decided to leave my digital camera at home. But it would have been disastrous to bring it with me, as a blizzard was on its way. For a split second, I contemplated bringing the entire corpse home with me, but decided that the 4 mile walk with it might prove to be too much for me. I touched the beaver's tail to see what it felt like, opened my umbrella, and headed towards the mall as the snow began to fall.
I got high from the DXM. And when I say that, I mean I got REALLY high from it. I had a few beers in my pocket, so I drank a few and got even higher. The day turned out to be eventful and interesting, as most people from Atlanta only see snow about once every year. The mood of everyone that day had changed drastically because of the frozen precipitation. After a long day of being a reprobate, I decided to head home, but the thought of that beaver stuck with me. "Why didn't I bring my camera?", I asked myself as I trudged to the house. "No one will ever believe this story on Facebook without proof.", I muttered. About a week later, I decided to go out again. I walked past the same point and let me tell you, I was surprised to see the beaver sitting in the exact same spot. The corpse was well preserved because of the coldness and recent snow. But, shit! I had left my camera at home AGAIN! Had I expected the beaver to still be there, I would have definitely brought it with me this time.
But I had a plan.
Upon leaving the grocery store, I asked for several grocery bags; I was going to bring this mammal home with me, take some pictures, then leave him to decompose in my back yard and save the skull after the bones were bleached.
Did you know that full grown beavers are heavier than you might think?
I picked up the animal by its tail, and loaded him head-first into the triple wrapped grocery bags.
Did you also know that beavers are larger than you might think?
Imagine my despair when half of the beaver was flopped over the side of the bags; the bags weren't big enough, and the beaver had to have weighed at least 30 pounds. No joke. But I decided to stick to my plan. So there I am, walking down the street, carrying a grocery bag with the bottom half of an animal hanging over the side of it. As cars passed me and stared, I realised that perhaps carrying a bag that OBVIOUSLY had some dead animal hanging out of it might not be such a good idea. From everyone else's perspective, I could have been carrying a dead dog or cat that I had slaughtered for all they knew, and for some reason, people don't take kindly to that. Just ask Mary Bale. I had also been drinking that day, and would have been jailed if a police officer had been called to check out the situation. (Gotta love America, right?)
The moral of the story - Bring a camera with you everywhere you go. Beavers are fucking heavy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)