I hear the faint tick ticking of the clock by my bedside. So many nights I have lain here, listening to the stillness of this room. So many nights this stillness has been shattered by that faint tick or the low soft breathing of the man I lie with and still I wait with bated breath, listening intently for that one unfamiliar sound in the darkness, that one reassuring sign that life is infinite. A familiar blue-white light suddenly fills my room, he’s home, manoeuvring the car into position on the drive. Soon I will hear the gentle clunk as he closes the car door; the loud pitched peep and the dull click as he locks the car followed by the rattle of keys in the front door. Then he will quietly climb the stairs, undress in the dark and carefully slide into bed by my side but tonight it’s different.
I am frozen to the bed unable to comprehend what I have just seen, was it a trick of the light or was it… My eyes are trained on the corner of the room. Did I imagine it? I strain my eyes unwilling to blink, I am staring, I know I am staring because my eyes are beginning to hurt, to water. I hold my breath; listening but all I can hear is the heavy throbbing drum beat in my head as my heart beats faster and faster in my chest. As I watch, the shadow I saw in the glow of the headlights begins to take shape, to thicken, to colour, and there he is.
I don’t know how I got here, but here I am, he held out his hand and somehow I followed, I don’t remember climbing out of bed or walking across the room but here I am. He doesn’t speak, he smiles that wonderful compassionate smile, his ocean blue eyes dance with a light emanating from nowhere and his hair, his soft golden curls fall down about his face, his oh so youthful face. He takes my hand and begins to guide me into a dark deep corridor I know does not exist, I follow and than suddenly I turn and look back into my room, at my bed. He is there, he hasn’t slipped silently, gently into bed, he is kneeling on it legs astride an object I cannot quite make out. He is pummelling franticly at something I cannot see and than he jumps off the bed and begins to blow into…my mouth. I scream. The object on the bed is myself. How can I be there and here at the same time? This isn’t a dream, this is so different from my dreams my fantasies.
I turn and with my free hand I lash out at the apparition I have dreamed of all these years. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be this isn’t how it happens. All these years, all the dreams, expectations it was never supposed to end this way.
‘No,’ I scream, ‘not now, not this way. It’s not my time, I only ever wanted to say goodbye.’
He releases my hand and I run towards my bed, I don’t look back, I can’t look back, I have my answer, life is infinite but I am not ready to leave this rollercoaster only to ride another. I stumble before I reach my bed, and that is it. I must have banged my head or fainted because I cannot remember anything else until I awakened a moment ago in an unfamiliar bed, an unfamiliar room, my three boys standing around, smiling at me. I hold out my hand and he takes it, my tall, no longer dark but still handsome husband.
‘I… love… you. I… love… you… so… much.’
And this time, I know mean it, from the bottom of my heart.
Ann Madden-Walsh is the pen name of Ann Walsh - mother, grandmother, CSR and librarian.
Hannah's Song
Whitby Abbey - Pure Inspiration: An Anthology of Stories
Born, bred and still living in Bolton Lancashire Ann’s pastimes include hiking, camping, live music concerts and Guinness but not necessarily in that order. Although writing for as long as she can remember Ann only started to write seriously after penning a short story ‘The Beachcomber’ in a tent in the middle of a field in North Yorkshire in 2009. The story was entered into the English Heritage ‘Pure Inspiration’ short story competition, came fourth in the Peoples Choice category and is included in Whitby Abbey – Pure Inspiration: An Anthology of Stories available in paperback format. Her first novel Hannah’s Song was released for Kindle in Sept 2011.
Love Transcending
By Lou Wellman
Before I met her, my life seemed to be making little sense. Like so many young adults, I had left education feeling aimless and insignificant, a stranger to the outside world. Finding employment had been the least of my problems thanks to a number of academic achievements, but even with a well paid and challenging career I still felt a disembodied numbness and lack of direction deep within. After several months of suffering quite badly at the hands of this inner turmoil, I managed to convince my employer to allow me to take all of my annual leave at once in order to 'find myself' and hopefully to be finally rid of this malady.
Many of my friends had taken a year long hiatus to travel Europe after graduating, but with limited resources and time I decided that I would spend the meagre four weeks leave discovering my own country. Starting with the south coast, I would travel on and see where fate eventually guided me. Finding somewhere affordable to stay during the summer proved to be a challenge, but after several hours of phone calls, I managed to secure a short booking in a small bed and breakfast by the coast. Two days later I said my goodbyes to friends and colleagues and made my way to the train station.
The journey was far more tiring than I had anticipated thanks to a seemingly endless number of tedious unscheduled stops, and, after changing trains at London Victoria, a compartment packed with children hell-bent on starting their summer holiday with as much noise and uproar as they could muster. When the train finally pulled in at the station, I snatched my luggage from the overhead rack and wasted no time evacuating the carriage for the platform below. I had planned to walk from the station to my bed and breakfast which by my reckoning would have taken about thirty five minutes, but standing beneath the mesmerising wrought-iron swirls of the station exterior, weariness goaded me to the taxi rank instead.
Ten minutes later I handed the driver a crumpled tenner, told him to keep the change and heaved my luggage up to the entrance of the Bluebird Guest House. Grabbing one of the smaller bags, I edged the door open with my elbow and used this as a temporary doorstop while I hauled the rest to the front of the makeshift reception desk.
“Hello,” said the middle aged woman behind the desk.
“Mr Anthony,” I said, “I've booked a room.”
The woman flipped the page of the large diary, ran her biro down the list and drew a tick next to my name.
“Your room's all ready for you. Let me just find the key.”
After a few moments of rummaging around in the desk she handed me a key sporting a large plastic fob with the number 6 on it.
“It's up the stairs and then round to the right. Breakfast is from seven until nine thirty and checkout's at eleven.”
“Thanks,” I said as I grabbed my bags again and rearranged them to make the stairs easier.
“Do you need a hand – I can find someone to help if you like?”
“No, I'll be ok,” I replied and started the ascent.
When I reached my room, I turned the key and finding the door quite resistant, pushed hard to open it. Relieved to at last put my bags down, I jumped on the bed a few times, pushed the button on the tiny TV and lay down to relax. After a restless ten minutes I got back up again, found the kettle which I filled from the bathroom tap and then made a cup of tea to drink while I watched the news.
Later, feeling less exhausted, I decided to go outside and have a wander; maybe something light to eat as well as it was quite late. The guest house was situated on the opposite side of the road to the nearby cliff-top. Just in the distance I could make out lights coming from the pier and its surrounding attractions. Being dusk, there didn't seem much point in crossing the road to look down from the cliffs, so I turned and headed toward the lights.
It took me about ten minutes to reach the pier and join the throng of excited people milling around. Walking along the pier I passed a small arcade with its familiar clink – chink sound coming from the air hockey table. Barely resisting the lure of the arcade, I hurried on to where a few stalls selling food were clustered. I paused at the hotdog stand while the bloke ma
de one up. “Pound guv,” he said, handing me a sausage twice the length of the enclosing bun. As we made the exchange, a good half of the onions managed to fall out and scald my hand. Blowing bits of hot onion away I continued to walk to the end of the pier while eating, just reaching the final building as I finished.
Outside the building were posters sporting some brightly coloured silhouettes of disco dancing girls beneath the slogan ‘Nite Moves’. By the door were two very competent looking bouncers who, eyeing my trainers, seemed ready to pounce should I make a move toward the door. They looked pleased with themselves as I turned my back to walk away; I was knackered after all and decided that perhaps I'd check it out tomorrow - if nothing better came up. As I retraced my steps, I couldn't help staring through the gaps in the boards at the dark water ebbing below so cold and unforgiving. After perhaps fifty of these gaps I was jolted out of my trance by a girl's voice shouting “Watch it!” Narrowly avoiding bumping into her, I decided to abandon my game and pay more attention to where I was going, though not before looking behind for half a minute to watch the group of girls continue on their way to the nightclub. Not bad I thought, now all but certain of my return the following evening.
As I neared my residence, I decided that perhaps I would take a look at the cliff-top after all, so taking the alternate footpath which led away from the road I made my way toward the sea. The path was unlit and more than once I veered painfully into overgrown gorse bushes, but after a while of treading more carefully I soon heard the gentle crash of waves on the rocks as the edge of the cliff drew near. I cautiously stepped as close to the edge as I dared in the dark, placed my jacket on the grass and sat down to take in the air. The clouds shifted to reveal the full moon and all at once the vista from this lofty viewpoint left me breathless. The white light shimmered across the waves, daring the white horses to dance in the celestial spotlight. Above, the sky, now so clear, came suddenly alive with more and more stars. It's very easy forget and take the stars for granted, but they never grow disheartened, waiting patiently for your attention. The whole effect made me feel like the first and the last, full of life as I stared through a window to heaven. I didn't go back to my room that night, I just sat and contemplated until sleep took me unawares.
Rousing with the dawn chorus, I gathered my jacket and brushed myself down. Luckily it hadn't been cold or wet overnight save a small amount of dew. Worried someone may mistake me for a vagrant, I hurried back in time to wash and catch breakfast. After a sizeable fry up and a large mug of tea I felt fantastic; more alive than I had for a very long while and so I wasted no time setting about the further exploration of my surroundings. First, I returned to the cliff-top where I spent the night to see the changes that daylight had brought. In the bright morning sun, the cliffs themselves were chalk pale with sparse growths of gorse and saxifrage on their near vertical inclines. Far below on a small stretch of beach a family were sitting, the kids clambering around the rock pools as the parents looked on with concern. I couldn't quite make out the full extent of the horizon as a light sea mist blended both sea and sky to a dazzling white at their union.
I spent the remainder of the morning browsing the curios in the old part of town and then taking a late lunch in a rustic tea-room. Afterwards, I made my way back to the busier part of the seafront around the pier and tourist attractions. The promenade was a hive of activity and where often I would find such a crowd uncomfortable, today I seemed to enjoy the hustle and bustle of excitement. Later on, after stopping to buy an ice-cream from a small hatch at the side of a café, I crossed over the road to an arcade. There had always been something about the noise and the flashing lights that had drawn me to the games, despite being probably the world's most incompetent destroyer of alien invaders.
This particular arcade was the biggest I had ever seen, stretching back a long way from the small entrance. Excited, I hurried with my ice-cream and strode in to survey the cabinets. Wandering among the rows I looked at the nameplates: Gauntlet, Shaolin's Road, Rygar and plenty of other machines I knew well along with many more I'd never seen before. Intrigued by the name, I stopped at a machine titled Xain'd Sleena, shoved in a pair of coins and watched intently. According to the all too brief introduction I was a space trooper charged with thwarting untold hordes of evil intent across endless galaxies. Prepared for my role, I pushed the joystick and ran to the right of the screen to be immediately swamped by laser-toting pixels. Twenty seconds later I looked at the game over screen considering the offer to continue my drubbing for just one more coin. I gracefully declined and returned to more familiar territory, eventually succeeding in spending more hours and money than intended. By the time I emerged, the sun was waning and my stomach growling.
I stopped by a greasy looking burger bar to quell my appetite and, eating on the way, walked briskly back to my room to spruce up and change ready for the evening ahead. Glad that I chose the en-suite option and didn't have to queue for the communal bathroom I spent a luxurious twenty minutes in the shower before drying and changing into the best of the clothes that I had brought with me. Looking in the mirror I could no reason for the bouncers to deny me my evening’s fun, although my shirt and trousers really could have done with a press. I'd have to make do with the hope that the lighting would not be too harsh and revealing. Satisfied that I was looking respectable, I decided to go to reception and ask for a taxi to the seafront as my shoes were far less comfortable than my trainers and had a tendency to shred my heels when walking any distance. Ten minutes later a cab pulled up in front of the building and I was on my way. The nearest drop-off point was some distance from the pier, so I still had a bit of a walk; I hoped my shoes would be kind. As the night before, the promenade was a throng of people old and young, many of whom were making their way directly to the building at the end of the pier, ‘Nite Moves’. It looked like it was going to be busy.
Joining the back of the queue I judged that I had about ten minutes waiting time, but after just five, I was standing in the gap between the bouncers ready for the once-over. I couldn't help but hold my breath as I waited for their approval. Plenty of lads had already been turned away and I silently hoped that I wouldn't be joining them. After a few seconds the man on the left gave me the tiniest of nods and moved aside to let me pass and pay my entrance fee.
Inside, the club was far less modern than the slick neon exterior had implied, the dim lighting barely able to mask the tired seventies decor. The wooden dance floor consumed the majority of the available space leaving just enough room for a small but busy bar on the near side, next to the entrance. Sparse seating was arranged around the outer edges of the floor with the odd table dotted between. The bar was growing busier by the second, so I wasted no time in joining the queue and, when finally my turn came ordered three pints of house lager at once to delay the inevitable return. Fortunately there was a table free on the far side of the floor, so after carefully carrying three full pints and depositing them each on a beermat, I pulled up a chair, crossed my legs and sat back to take a look at the people dancing.
It was fairly early still, so the floor wasn't exactly heaving with just two small clusters of girls and an even smaller group of lads who shuffled around, drinks in hand. Slowly more people began to fill the room and later take to the dance floor when the DJ convinced them to ‘strut their stuff’ with a mix of old hits and some newer tunes from Prince and Oran 'Juice' Jones. The club was practically full to bursting now and starting to take on that familiar heady smell of smoke, sweat, perfume and beer. The vomit, fear and blood will come later, I thought to myself with a wry smile. Already nearing the end of my second pint, I was beginning to loosen up and was on the verge of dancing myself were it not for the recent run of tracks - the Pet Shop Boys and Bon Jovi, neither really my cup of tea. Staying seated for the time being, I downed the rest of my second pint and made a good start into the third, all the time dreading the moment when I would lose my seat as I battled my way to the bar. Just as the opening ch
ords to Madonna's ‘Into the Groove’ started, a person seated just behind me rose and in the process jostled the rest of my drink into my lap causing me to leap out of my chair. That was when my world changed.
It was as though all the light in the universe had dimmed, all the colours turned to monochrome, save for one incredible halo like aura surrounding what was and still is the most understatedly beautiful girl I had ever seen. In contrast to the fuzzy grey world at the edge of my vision she alone was a torrent of colour and vivaciousness. Transfixed, I studied her as she danced. In contrast to the rhythmic swaying of her body with the beat, her face, like fine porcelain, remained utterly serene as though lost deep in thought. Unlike virtually every other girl in the room she appeared to have paid little or no attention to her appearance beyond the most rudimentary of makeup. Her clothes were almost boyish in their practicality, both smart and unassuming. When her head turned and her eyes met mine, my legs turned instantly to rubber. It felt as though the floor was made of wet glass and I was slipping across it in a landslide of terror and excitement even as an icy wind blew in to send shivers down my spine. It took more than a few moments to compose myself enough to look back at her. Her eyes were beautiful; huge, blue and so full of meaning. These were the eyes of a girl completely lost in music and in life. After just a few moments of looking deep into those eyes I understood more about her than I did even myself.
Hearts and Arrows Page 3