As I approached them the sultry-looking guy in the centre of the group gave an almost imperceptible flick of his head, a signal to the other four, who detached themselves from the alley wall and slowly positioned themselves around me until I was surrounded.
They kept their distance for now, waiting for the word to attack.
Each of them tall and well-muscled, their arms hanging loose, hands relaxed by their sides, smiles of supreme confidence on their faces as they eagerly anticipated what was to come.
I glanced across at their boss, as our eyes locked his mouth twisted into a sneer of contempt.
With a click of his tongue and another twitch of his head the others started closing in.
Taking two rapid steps towards the one directly in front of me, I deflected the punch aimed at my face, grabbing the wrist and pulling at the same time, dragging him forward even faster, off balance now. Twisting my body, I planted my elbow solidly into his temple, then pushed hard as he fell, throwing him at the feet of the one to my right, tripping him, slowing him down.
The first guy hit the floor hard, he didn't get back up.
I spun round, fast, my right leg lashing out, sweeping the one on the left off his feet, continuing the spin I circled the leg into the air, and brought it down savagely onto his head as it hit the ground.
Less than than a minute gone... Two down.
Both of the others took on a more cautious stance now, I backed up a few paces, giving myself more space away from the bodies on the ground, and at the same time putting the other two within my line of sight.
The one slightly to my left aimed a very hard front kick at my solar plexus.
Too slow amigo...
Grabbing the outstretched foot I continued it along its momentum arc, and pushed it higher into the air, then planted a solid kick straight into his groin. Stepping forward a pace I thrust a strong palm strike into his chin, and pushed the foot back at the same time.
He staggered backwards, hit the alley wall hard, slumped to the ground, and stayed there.
I heard the unmistakable sound of a switch-blade opening as I turned to face the last man standing.
He closed in slowly...
Holding the knife at arms length in front of him...
I stayed where I was, waiting, let him come to me...
I readied myself, hands held loose and relaxed at chest height...
He came in fast, Rapidly feinted left, then right, then left again...
As he thrust the blade forward I brushed it to my right, then went straight into his knee with the heel of my shoe, as he started going down I grabbed him, twisted him round then threw my arm around his neck from behind, holding him in a vice-like headlock, and squeezed....
His struggles soon weakened and in less than a minute I let him slump to the alley floor.
I turned to face the boss.
He gave me a wide, confident smile as he pulled the .45 from inside his jacket.
He stepped away from the wall as he raised the gun.
I made a dash towards him, I was still several feet short when the gun bucked in his hand.
“CUT!.... CUT!...
How many times do I have to TELL you? Wait until he GRABS the gun before you pull the trigger, JEEZ, we're gonna have just ONE more go at this, if you screw it up again you're off the set, I don't give a rat's ass HOW big a star you are, you're HISTORY, GOT it?”
As we all returned to our start positions I went through the routine in my head once more, the “Star” leant back against the wall, the brooding good lucks that had been his passport to stardom now seemed a trifle too sulky for a twenty four year old to be sporting.
The electronic clapper-board bore the legend, 'Alley fight scene Take 57'.
“Okay, from the top, LIGHTS... CAMERA... ACTION...”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 7 October 2011
Thursday, 29 September 2011
The best thing I can do
“It really is scary... y'know... the way things are goin'?” He said, his voice rising slightly on the last word, more a question than a statement.
I looked across the table at Tom, it was seven thirty in the morning, the first coffee of the day had barely started buzzing my brain, I had to be at work in an hour, I didn't want to listen about the world's problems.
“I'm not scared.” I said to him, “I have too much crap on my own plate to think about, unpaid bills crap, work crap, busted car crap, ex-wife crap, and oh yeah, more unpaid bills crap.”
“But just look at the situation,” He persisted, “most of Europe is paralysed with riots, unemployment is the highest it's ever been, there's massive military build-up on the India-Pakistan border, there was a facebook leak that Israel have gone to red alert, the new Iranian government has thrown out the UN inspectors, the Chinese and American economies are both on the brink of bankruptcy. I think we're heading towards total global meltdown.”
I propped my elbows on the table, let my face fall into my hands and let loose a long heartfelt sigh, after a few seconds I stood and walked out of the back door and up to the shed, opened the door and started pulling things out.
Tom walked up and stood beside me, a bemused look on his face. “What're you doin'?” He said.
“Given the circumstances,” I replied, “I'm doing the best thing I can do.”
“What's that? Getting the spade to start diggin' a shelter?”
I found the item I was looking for. “ No,” I said, dragging the rod out. “I'm going fishing.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Author's note:-
Hi everyone, I'm going away for a couple of days, yup, you guessed it, I'm going fishing, so I'll be catching up with the reading and commenting sometime on Sunday. Have a great weekend, and thank you for reading.
Steve Green.
I looked across the table at Tom, it was seven thirty in the morning, the first coffee of the day had barely started buzzing my brain, I had to be at work in an hour, I didn't want to listen about the world's problems.
“I'm not scared.” I said to him, “I have too much crap on my own plate to think about, unpaid bills crap, work crap, busted car crap, ex-wife crap, and oh yeah, more unpaid bills crap.”
“But just look at the situation,” He persisted, “most of Europe is paralysed with riots, unemployment is the highest it's ever been, there's massive military build-up on the India-Pakistan border, there was a facebook leak that Israel have gone to red alert, the new Iranian government has thrown out the UN inspectors, the Chinese and American economies are both on the brink of bankruptcy. I think we're heading towards total global meltdown.”
I propped my elbows on the table, let my face fall into my hands and let loose a long heartfelt sigh, after a few seconds I stood and walked out of the back door and up to the shed, opened the door and started pulling things out.
Tom walked up and stood beside me, a bemused look on his face. “What're you doin'?” He said.
“Given the circumstances,” I replied, “I'm doing the best thing I can do.”
“What's that? Getting the spade to start diggin' a shelter?”
I found the item I was looking for. “ No,” I said, dragging the rod out. “I'm going fishing.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Author's note:-
Hi everyone, I'm going away for a couple of days, yup, you guessed it, I'm going fishing, so I'll be catching up with the reading and commenting sometime on Sunday. Have a great weekend, and thank you for reading.
Steve Green.
Friday, 23 September 2011
Beartrap
The shock had set in now, and was doing a good job of numbing the pain, the first thoughts in his mind when the teeth snapped onto his ankle weren't of pain or fear, but to roundly curse his own stupid clumsiness for stepping into his own beartrap.
If he could get the damn thing off, or pull the stake from the ground he'd be able to make it back to the house and use the phone. No go. No amount of pushing or pulling achieved either, he just didn't have the strength left.
For several nights the creature had visited his farm, tearing his stock to pieces, he hadn't managed to spot the cursed thing yet, but there was no mistaking the snarling bark that echoed around the nearby woods throughout the dark hours.
At first he thought it must be a cougar or wolf, but the tracks had told the story of a beast that walked on two legs not four, and no animal he had ever known would tear the animals limb from limb like that.
He tore a ribbon of cloth from his shirt and fashioned a tourniquet tightly around his leg a few inches above the steel, then considered his next move.
His rifle was propped against a nearby tree trunk, so close and yet unreachable, rendering it useless as either a means of defence or signal.
Shouting and screaming had brought no-one, his farm was far from anywhere, and people coming this way were few and far between.
He was still there when the sun went down, as the daylight began to fade, and dusk started to creep over the woods he heard it.....
The first snarl came from a long way off, probably from partway up the mountainside, he listened in abject terror as the sound echoed around the hills.
The second time he heard it he was pretty sure it came from the foothills at the base of the mountain, panic started setting in....
He eyed the strip of white skin between the steel and cloth....
The snarl came again, louder... closer...
All reasoning lost now, he pulled the large, razor-sharp hunting knife from its sheath and began hacking feverishly at his leg....
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
If he could get the damn thing off, or pull the stake from the ground he'd be able to make it back to the house and use the phone. No go. No amount of pushing or pulling achieved either, he just didn't have the strength left.
For several nights the creature had visited his farm, tearing his stock to pieces, he hadn't managed to spot the cursed thing yet, but there was no mistaking the snarling bark that echoed around the nearby woods throughout the dark hours.
At first he thought it must be a cougar or wolf, but the tracks had told the story of a beast that walked on two legs not four, and no animal he had ever known would tear the animals limb from limb like that.
He tore a ribbon of cloth from his shirt and fashioned a tourniquet tightly around his leg a few inches above the steel, then considered his next move.
His rifle was propped against a nearby tree trunk, so close and yet unreachable, rendering it useless as either a means of defence or signal.
Shouting and screaming had brought no-one, his farm was far from anywhere, and people coming this way were few and far between.
He was still there when the sun went down, as the daylight began to fade, and dusk started to creep over the woods he heard it.....
The first snarl came from a long way off, probably from partway up the mountainside, he listened in abject terror as the sound echoed around the hills.
The second time he heard it he was pretty sure it came from the foothills at the base of the mountain, panic started setting in....
He eyed the strip of white skin between the steel and cloth....
The snarl came again, louder... closer...
All reasoning lost now, he pulled the large, razor-sharp hunting knife from its sheath and began hacking feverishly at his leg....
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 16 September 2011
Zurvivor (A Zombie's tale Part 2)
Author's note :-
Hi everyone, this week is my first anniversary of posting on #fridayflash, a year in which I have had so much enjoyment being part of the #fridayflash community. The reading, writing, posting and receiving comments, and of course the banter. Thank you to everyone for visiting, and taking the time to check out my stories over the past year.
My debut story on #fridayflash was posted on 17th of September 2010, and was entitled “A Zombie's tale” And so to mark the milestone I decided to write “Zurvivor (A Zombie's tale Part 2)"
Anyone wishing to read the first part of the story can find it here :-
A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)
Thank you for reading.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Zurvivor. (A Zombie's tale Part 2)
I didn't feel any guilt at deciding to save my own skin, I mean, no-one else was going to do it for me were they?
I had done my share of the fighting, pretty much a losing battle from the start. We never really got on top of the situation. Always retreating, room by room, corridor by corridor, our numbers dwindling as the enemies' grew.
When it first started we were taken by surprise, many of the castle's residents had been partying the night before, and by the time they had half-awoken in their hangover fug it had already been too late for them, and so even before any sort of defence could be initiated the zombies' numbers had already risen rapidly, as they continued to do so over the first few hours.
Six days later... and what small groups of humans were left were holed up in various rooms scattered around the castle, barricaded in, mostly with very little food or water, very little if any ammunition left, very little hope left too for that matter.
The zombie horde shambling around the corridors, or battering at the barricades must number well over three hundred by now. Pretty much a grim situation.
Four of us had fought our retreat down a stone stairway, pushed backwards by the sheer weight of numbers. By the time I reached the heavy door at the bottom I was the only one left, the only one that could be classed as human anyway.
I slammed the door shut behind me and slid the thick steel bolt into place, then continued down another flight of steps into what I discovered to be a sprawling dungeon converted into several storerooms.
It would seem fortune smiled on me this day, or smirked on me maybe, time would tell.
Investigating my surroundings I discovered crates of tinned meat and fish, bottled water and cola, dried fruit, cartons of crisps, enough to feed me for months.
Further investigation turned up a veritable treasure trove of useful items. Blankets, candles, cutlery, just about everything I would need to sit out a long siege. But unfortunately, no weapons or ammunition.
Bumps and thuds came from the top of the stairs, no worry, that door would hold.
I sat on a crate of tinned fruit, and reviewed the events of the past few days.
No-one knew for sure how the zombies had got into the castle, the walls were too high for them to scale, and the massive doors were still intact and braced.
I heard a rumour that the teenager and his parents who lived over at the east wing were the first victims, and that it had spread from there.
That kid was one weird piece of work, he had a way of looking at you, with a strange smile on his face, as though he knew something that you didn't, and he was smug enough to want to blurt it out but smart enough not to. I wouldn't even be surprised if he had let the virus in on purpose as some kind of psychotic joke.
The only thing I could do now was wait, eventually the zombies currently clawing at the dungeon door may die of starvation, although I didn't hold out much hope for that, or they may be distracted by other survivors, or wander off in search of easier prey.
There was only one way out of here, and that was back up the steps and through the door I came in. I was well supplied, and had nothing but time on my hands...
So I guess I'll just wait...
I removed the revolver from my waistband and checked the load, I was surprised to discover there was still one live round left...
I was wrong, there were two ways out of here.
- - - - - - - - - -
A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)
Zigourney. (A Zombie's tale Part 3)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Hi everyone, this week is my first anniversary of posting on #fridayflash, a year in which I have had so much enjoyment being part of the #fridayflash community. The reading, writing, posting and receiving comments, and of course the banter. Thank you to everyone for visiting, and taking the time to check out my stories over the past year.
My debut story on #fridayflash was posted on 17th of September 2010, and was entitled “A Zombie's tale” And so to mark the milestone I decided to write “Zurvivor (A Zombie's tale Part 2)"
Anyone wishing to read the first part of the story can find it here :-
A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)
Thank you for reading.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Zurvivor. (A Zombie's tale Part 2)
I didn't feel any guilt at deciding to save my own skin, I mean, no-one else was going to do it for me were they?
I had done my share of the fighting, pretty much a losing battle from the start. We never really got on top of the situation. Always retreating, room by room, corridor by corridor, our numbers dwindling as the enemies' grew.
When it first started we were taken by surprise, many of the castle's residents had been partying the night before, and by the time they had half-awoken in their hangover fug it had already been too late for them, and so even before any sort of defence could be initiated the zombies' numbers had already risen rapidly, as they continued to do so over the first few hours.
Six days later... and what small groups of humans were left were holed up in various rooms scattered around the castle, barricaded in, mostly with very little food or water, very little if any ammunition left, very little hope left too for that matter.
The zombie horde shambling around the corridors, or battering at the barricades must number well over three hundred by now. Pretty much a grim situation.
Four of us had fought our retreat down a stone stairway, pushed backwards by the sheer weight of numbers. By the time I reached the heavy door at the bottom I was the only one left, the only one that could be classed as human anyway.
I slammed the door shut behind me and slid the thick steel bolt into place, then continued down another flight of steps into what I discovered to be a sprawling dungeon converted into several storerooms.
It would seem fortune smiled on me this day, or smirked on me maybe, time would tell.
Investigating my surroundings I discovered crates of tinned meat and fish, bottled water and cola, dried fruit, cartons of crisps, enough to feed me for months.
Further investigation turned up a veritable treasure trove of useful items. Blankets, candles, cutlery, just about everything I would need to sit out a long siege. But unfortunately, no weapons or ammunition.
Bumps and thuds came from the top of the stairs, no worry, that door would hold.
I sat on a crate of tinned fruit, and reviewed the events of the past few days.
No-one knew for sure how the zombies had got into the castle, the walls were too high for them to scale, and the massive doors were still intact and braced.
I heard a rumour that the teenager and his parents who lived over at the east wing were the first victims, and that it had spread from there.
That kid was one weird piece of work, he had a way of looking at you, with a strange smile on his face, as though he knew something that you didn't, and he was smug enough to want to blurt it out but smart enough not to. I wouldn't even be surprised if he had let the virus in on purpose as some kind of psychotic joke.
The only thing I could do now was wait, eventually the zombies currently clawing at the dungeon door may die of starvation, although I didn't hold out much hope for that, or they may be distracted by other survivors, or wander off in search of easier prey.
There was only one way out of here, and that was back up the steps and through the door I came in. I was well supplied, and had nothing but time on my hands...
So I guess I'll just wait...
I removed the revolver from my waistband and checked the load, I was surprised to discover there was still one live round left...
I was wrong, there were two ways out of here.
- - - - - - - - - -
A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)
Zigourney. (A Zombie's tale Part 3)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 9 September 2011
An unimaginable thing
My question is this...
If someone offered you an unlimited amount of money...
To do an unimaginable thing...
Would you do it?
When the question was asked of me I was unemployed, I was deeply in debt, I was living alone, I had no immediate family, I had no close friends, I owned very little in the way of material things. No-one cared for me, and in return, I cared for no-one.
What could possibly be asked of me that would hurt anyone or anything that I cared about?
So I accepted.
As I sit here sipping champagne on the foredeck of my yacht, with a warm mediterranean breeze gently tousling my hair, I cast my mind back over events of the last two years.
The exotic places I have visited, the exciting things I have done, the rich and famous people I have met, the sheer amount of money I have spent.
I look around at the luxurious trappings that surround me, at the beautiful vista, at the clear blue sunlit sky...
And once again, like a lightning strike, the guilt and shame punches into me...
The absolute horror of what I have done hits me again and again and again, like hammer blows.
The champagne leaves a bitter, sour taste on my tongue, the riches and possessions have brought no pleasure to my life, no happiness, no satisfaction.
All I have seen... all I have done... all seem a worthless waste.
The truth of the words “When you sup with the devil, use a long spoon.” Haunts my thoughts.
There has not been one single solitary day over those two years when I haven't wished that I could turn back the clock to the time before I said yes.
So, my question is this...
If someone offered you an unlimited amount of money...
To do an unimaginable thing...
Would you do it?
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
If someone offered you an unlimited amount of money...
To do an unimaginable thing...
Would you do it?
When the question was asked of me I was unemployed, I was deeply in debt, I was living alone, I had no immediate family, I had no close friends, I owned very little in the way of material things. No-one cared for me, and in return, I cared for no-one.
What could possibly be asked of me that would hurt anyone or anything that I cared about?
So I accepted.
As I sit here sipping champagne on the foredeck of my yacht, with a warm mediterranean breeze gently tousling my hair, I cast my mind back over events of the last two years.
The exotic places I have visited, the exciting things I have done, the rich and famous people I have met, the sheer amount of money I have spent.
I look around at the luxurious trappings that surround me, at the beautiful vista, at the clear blue sunlit sky...
And once again, like a lightning strike, the guilt and shame punches into me...
The absolute horror of what I have done hits me again and again and again, like hammer blows.
The champagne leaves a bitter, sour taste on my tongue, the riches and possessions have brought no pleasure to my life, no happiness, no satisfaction.
All I have seen... all I have done... all seem a worthless waste.
The truth of the words “When you sup with the devil, use a long spoon.” Haunts my thoughts.
There has not been one single solitary day over those two years when I haven't wished that I could turn back the clock to the time before I said yes.
So, my question is this...
If someone offered you an unlimited amount of money...
To do an unimaginable thing...
Would you do it?
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 2 September 2011
Addictions
My drinking and other vices were becoming increasingly expensive, and my meagre unemployment benefit just didn't stretch to pay for them, so like any self-respecting person, I looked for a way to generate a second income to keep my pleasures supplied.
A career in burglary suited me right down to the ground. The hours were minimal, the pay was usually good, and there was no overheads and no nagging bosses on my case.
One afternoon I broke into what I thought would be an unoccupied premises, as I prowled from room to room I came across a partly open door, and could hear slight movements coming from within, I turned to sneak away but some kind of irresistible force seemed to grip me and draw me involuntarily to the doorway.
I took a peek inside and saw a semicircle of chairs, most of them occupied, by men and women of varying ages.
Seemingly from nowhere a hand gently grasped my arm and ushered me inside, the owner of the hand was a stunningly beautiful redhead, with the strangest brown eyes I have ever seen, I swear I could see flames dancing in them.
“Sit down, sit down, we'll be starting in just a few moments.”
Her voice was rich, and sweet-sounding, images of drizzling honey filled my thoughts.
I sat down nervously, hoping to sneak out after whatever was about to start, had started.
A minute or two later a fat, balding man, with a bright red nose stood up...
“My name is Tom, and I am an alcoholic........”
“Oh dung in a bucket, this is all I need.” I thought, and stood to leave.
“Please... sit down,” said the redhead, “you're among friends here.”
Images of sweet, sweet honey drizzled into my brain again.
“No...” I stammered, “I really don't belong here.”
The honey began to crystallize, to harden... to splinter and crack...
“Oh, I think you do.” She said, and her fiery stare burned into the depths of my soul. “NOW.... SIT.... DOWN.”
And that my friends, is the story of how I took the first step on the road to becoming teetotal.
How I got off the heroin, the cigarettes, and the solvent abuse?
Well, that's for another day.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
A career in burglary suited me right down to the ground. The hours were minimal, the pay was usually good, and there was no overheads and no nagging bosses on my case.
One afternoon I broke into what I thought would be an unoccupied premises, as I prowled from room to room I came across a partly open door, and could hear slight movements coming from within, I turned to sneak away but some kind of irresistible force seemed to grip me and draw me involuntarily to the doorway.
I took a peek inside and saw a semicircle of chairs, most of them occupied, by men and women of varying ages.
Seemingly from nowhere a hand gently grasped my arm and ushered me inside, the owner of the hand was a stunningly beautiful redhead, with the strangest brown eyes I have ever seen, I swear I could see flames dancing in them.
“Sit down, sit down, we'll be starting in just a few moments.”
Her voice was rich, and sweet-sounding, images of drizzling honey filled my thoughts.
I sat down nervously, hoping to sneak out after whatever was about to start, had started.
A minute or two later a fat, balding man, with a bright red nose stood up...
“My name is Tom, and I am an alcoholic........”
“Oh dung in a bucket, this is all I need.” I thought, and stood to leave.
“Please... sit down,” said the redhead, “you're among friends here.”
Images of sweet, sweet honey drizzled into my brain again.
“No...” I stammered, “I really don't belong here.”
The honey began to crystallize, to harden... to splinter and crack...
“Oh, I think you do.” She said, and her fiery stare burned into the depths of my soul. “NOW.... SIT.... DOWN.”
And that my friends, is the story of how I took the first step on the road to becoming teetotal.
How I got off the heroin, the cigarettes, and the solvent abuse?
Well, that's for another day.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 26 August 2011
47 Days
I stepped through the doorway into a white corridor which stretched off into the distance.
I glanced backward over my shoulder and watched the door quietly close behind me, the door too was white, and handle-less.
I didn't spare a thought as to why I was here, I knew that the answers would be revealed when the time was right.
I began to walk.
The corridor never varied. Walls, floor and ceiling a uniform shade of white that stopped just short of being a glare.
I didn't worry that the temperature never altered, despite my nakedness I felt neither warm nor cold. The floor was the same temperature as my bare feet, which gave the sensation of walking on nothing. When I touched the walls there was no texture, only more of the sameness.
One Elephant... Two Elephant... Three Elephant...
My internal clock counted the seconds, the minutes, the hours and days.
Just keep walking.
I didn't think about the strangeness of not feeling the urge to eat, or drink, or sleep, or defecate, or urinate.
Just keep walking.
One Elephant... Two Elephant... Three Elephant...
Although I didn't pass anyone else in the corridor, I never felt any sense of loneliness, or isolation.
Just keep walking.
Twenty three days, eleven hours, sixteen minutes, four seconds...
One Elephant... Two Elephant... Three Elephant...
Just keep walking.
Forty seven days, three minutes, seven seconds...
A large signpost stood in the corridor, effectively blocking my way, peering through the narrow gap at the side I could see the corridor stretching away into the distance exactly the same as before.
I stood looking at the signpost, feeling calm, somewhat detached. I just knew that whatever happened, if anything happened, it would be the right thing.
A shadow appeared on the smooth, white surface of the signpost.
The shadow darkened, solidified, became readable, the words said simply...
“GO BACK”
I turned around in the corridor to face the direction I had come from, and there, just a few paces away was the white, handle-less door, the door stood ajar revealing a bright light on the other side.
I stepped through the doorway into a blurred kaleidoscope of moving colours, and the sounds of faraway voices, and a cacophony of bleeps, beeps, pings and burbles.
A bright moving light shone into my right eye, moved to my left eye...
“Just relax, just relax, you're gonna be okay, you're gonna make it...”
The voice seemed to come from the moving blur hovering over me... which slowly, slowly began to resemble a face.
Over the next few days I learnt about the accident, and all the other details.
The doctor said it was some kind of miracle.
“You were forty seven days in a coma, total body shutdown, permission had been given to turn off the Life Support Unit. I actually had my hand on the switch ready to pull the plug...
And you opened your eyes.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
I glanced backward over my shoulder and watched the door quietly close behind me, the door too was white, and handle-less.
I didn't spare a thought as to why I was here, I knew that the answers would be revealed when the time was right.
I began to walk.
The corridor never varied. Walls, floor and ceiling a uniform shade of white that stopped just short of being a glare.
I didn't worry that the temperature never altered, despite my nakedness I felt neither warm nor cold. The floor was the same temperature as my bare feet, which gave the sensation of walking on nothing. When I touched the walls there was no texture, only more of the sameness.
One Elephant... Two Elephant... Three Elephant...
My internal clock counted the seconds, the minutes, the hours and days.
Just keep walking.
I didn't think about the strangeness of not feeling the urge to eat, or drink, or sleep, or defecate, or urinate.
Just keep walking.
One Elephant... Two Elephant... Three Elephant...
Although I didn't pass anyone else in the corridor, I never felt any sense of loneliness, or isolation.
Just keep walking.
Twenty three days, eleven hours, sixteen minutes, four seconds...
One Elephant... Two Elephant... Three Elephant...
Just keep walking.
Forty seven days, three minutes, seven seconds...
A large signpost stood in the corridor, effectively blocking my way, peering through the narrow gap at the side I could see the corridor stretching away into the distance exactly the same as before.
I stood looking at the signpost, feeling calm, somewhat detached. I just knew that whatever happened, if anything happened, it would be the right thing.
A shadow appeared on the smooth, white surface of the signpost.
The shadow darkened, solidified, became readable, the words said simply...
“GO BACK”
I turned around in the corridor to face the direction I had come from, and there, just a few paces away was the white, handle-less door, the door stood ajar revealing a bright light on the other side.
I stepped through the doorway into a blurred kaleidoscope of moving colours, and the sounds of faraway voices, and a cacophony of bleeps, beeps, pings and burbles.
A bright moving light shone into my right eye, moved to my left eye...
“Just relax, just relax, you're gonna be okay, you're gonna make it...”
The voice seemed to come from the moving blur hovering over me... which slowly, slowly began to resemble a face.
Over the next few days I learnt about the accident, and all the other details.
The doctor said it was some kind of miracle.
“You were forty seven days in a coma, total body shutdown, permission had been given to turn off the Life Support Unit. I actually had my hand on the switch ready to pull the plug...
And you opened your eyes.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 19 August 2011
Neighbours
I live in a very quiet cul-de-sac.
My elderly next door neighbour was very sweet.
The middle-aged couple on the other side were bitter.
George and Maria at number 22 were rich.
Frederick at number 16 was a sour old git.
Janice Almondey-Smythe at number 11 was a lady of great taste.
In contrast the Belmonts at number 9 were very tasteless people.
The big bully and his overbearing wife at number 23 were tough.
The young man who resided at number 4 was a very tender person.
Robert and Glynis from number 12 were like chalk and cheese.
The big-bosomed wife at number 8 was a real dish.
Whilst I found her compulsive liar of a husband a bit hard to swallow.
Eighty-odd year old Peterson from number 17 was a crabby old bugger.
I didn't like the widow from number 13 at all, but her son was quite nice.
A new girl has just moved into number 27, I can't wait to get my teeth into her and find out if she's as tasty as she looks.
Mwuhahahahahahaha.... MWUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
P.S. I'm going away for a couple of days so I'll be a bit late catching up with reading and replying this week. Have a great weekend everyone.
Steve.
My elderly next door neighbour was very sweet.
The middle-aged couple on the other side were bitter.
George and Maria at number 22 were rich.
Frederick at number 16 was a sour old git.
Janice Almondey-Smythe at number 11 was a lady of great taste.
In contrast the Belmonts at number 9 were very tasteless people.
The big bully and his overbearing wife at number 23 were tough.
The young man who resided at number 4 was a very tender person.
Robert and Glynis from number 12 were like chalk and cheese.
The big-bosomed wife at number 8 was a real dish.
Whilst I found her compulsive liar of a husband a bit hard to swallow.
Eighty-odd year old Peterson from number 17 was a crabby old bugger.
I didn't like the widow from number 13 at all, but her son was quite nice.
A new girl has just moved into number 27, I can't wait to get my teeth into her and find out if she's as tasty as she looks.
Mwuhahahahahahaha.... MWUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
P.S. I'm going away for a couple of days so I'll be a bit late catching up with reading and replying this week. Have a great weekend everyone.
Steve.
Friday, 12 August 2011
A waste of pain
Jack had been strapped to the table for almost three days now, the exquisite pain and suffering he had endured were almost over, he would be dead soon, his body had had enough, his mind and will had had enough. Throughout the agony he hadn't spoken a single word, hadn't given his torturers one single shred of information.
They had snatched him from outside the government building where he worked.
A chemical sprayed into his eyes, handcuffed, and thrown into a van, it had happened so unbelievably quickly.
The constant questions were of a military nature, where were the silos? What was the stand off capability? How many troops? Where were the heads of command situated?
Jack had all the answers, and he would have given them to stop the pain, he worked on the computers and had access to the information they sought, and they knew this.
What they didn't know was that Jack had been a deaf mute from birth, and although he could lip-read perfectly, the unwise choice of chemical spray his abductors had used had burned deep into Jack's pupils, the poor man never regained his sight.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
They had snatched him from outside the government building where he worked.
A chemical sprayed into his eyes, handcuffed, and thrown into a van, it had happened so unbelievably quickly.
The constant questions were of a military nature, where were the silos? What was the stand off capability? How many troops? Where were the heads of command situated?
Jack had all the answers, and he would have given them to stop the pain, he worked on the computers and had access to the information they sought, and they knew this.
What they didn't know was that Jack had been a deaf mute from birth, and although he could lip-read perfectly, the unwise choice of chemical spray his abductors had used had burned deep into Jack's pupils, the poor man never regained his sight.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 5 August 2011
Off the boil
Lance hadn't been able to sit down for over a week now, in fact he had been able to do hardly anything, the rather large, and extremely painful boil on his right buttock was ruining his life. He could manage to sit by perching his left buttock on the seat, but the pain caused by the skin being taut meant that even this position couldn't be held for very long, so he had taken to standing to do just about everything, the cream that the doctor had prescribed may just as well have been rubbed onto the carpet for all the effect it had on the boil.
He had to sleep on his stomach, without covers, but was awoken screaming several times each night as he rolled over in his sleep. The touch of any fabric against the offending, fist-sized lump was agonising, so Lance had to cut a hole in his only pair of jeans just so he didn't have to walk about semi-naked all the time, which he didn't mind so much, but he couldn't afford the extra heating costs.
The constant pain, and the sheer exhaustion caused by being on his feet all day, combined with the lack of sleep, were beginning to take their toll, and poor Lance was becoming run down and depressed.
Thoughts of suicide were trickling through Lance's mind as he stepped out of the shower, straight onto a patch of previously spilt shower gel, both legs flew high into the air, and he landed heavily on his backside, the pitch of his scream almost hit ultrasonic as the boil splattered an impressive amount of blood and pus in every direction across the tiled floor.
A few minutes later the pain had dulled to a bearable level, and Lance whistled cheerfully to himself as he stepped back into the shower, and began to wash the red and yellow goo from his freshly de-boiled bum, thinking to himself that falling on your arse wasn't always a bad thing.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
He had to sleep on his stomach, without covers, but was awoken screaming several times each night as he rolled over in his sleep. The touch of any fabric against the offending, fist-sized lump was agonising, so Lance had to cut a hole in his only pair of jeans just so he didn't have to walk about semi-naked all the time, which he didn't mind so much, but he couldn't afford the extra heating costs.
The constant pain, and the sheer exhaustion caused by being on his feet all day, combined with the lack of sleep, were beginning to take their toll, and poor Lance was becoming run down and depressed.
Thoughts of suicide were trickling through Lance's mind as he stepped out of the shower, straight onto a patch of previously spilt shower gel, both legs flew high into the air, and he landed heavily on his backside, the pitch of his scream almost hit ultrasonic as the boil splattered an impressive amount of blood and pus in every direction across the tiled floor.
A few minutes later the pain had dulled to a bearable level, and Lance whistled cheerfully to himself as he stepped back into the shower, and began to wash the red and yellow goo from his freshly de-boiled bum, thinking to himself that falling on your arse wasn't always a bad thing.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
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