The thaw.

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Flash fiction from November 2014 (suitable for today’s freezing weather! brrr!)

Song Bird Songs

writer

It was not just the frost that numbed his mind as he trudged home; his heart froze long ago, finding expression only in his writing.

The cleaner was singing again, he noted as he hung his coat. “Can you be quiet? I’m trying to work!” He growled, pulling the chair up to his desk. Typewriter posed, a cup of coffee slid silently beside his elbow. He nodded. Phrases squeezed out onto the page.

She was humming confound her! It was the Latin background. “Let’s face it,” he thought, “I can’t afford anyone else.” He paused watching her smile as she placed his wet shoes by the fire. He didn’t pay her to do that, or make coffee. She was just a natural mother, not like his had been… He recalled the time she’d brought her little daughter, how they’d cleaned and laughed together. He’d got no work done that day…

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Enough!

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desk

He’d had enough, more than enough! He just wanted it to end. He looked morbidly at the pills, pills, to sleep, pills to stay awake, to offset his stress levels, pills to adjust effects of other pills. It would be easy enough, a beguiling inner voice said. But what of his family, his few remaining friends?

That’s the coward’s way out, he told himself. Whatever else he was, he was no coward! Besides he didn’t really want to die. He wanted to live. But this existence, this endless matrix he found himself in, this was not living; it was a slow and painful death. He glanced at his “prison” hanging in its immaculate plastic wrappings, the crisp lapels, expensive cut, to hide a slowly disintegrating physique. It defined who he was, restricting him to a role, (an ugly one at that).

Angrily he grasped the hanger flinging it aside. He eyed the pills. Hell no! Gathering them together he tossed them into the black steel bin beside his desk. Something stirred within, rebellion! There was no one to tell of his decision, the immaculate penthouse apartment was empty, devoid of life, but deep in his heart a flame had kindled. Ignited, it devoured the dross, enlightening his surroundings. He would live once more, and through him others.

He sipped his coffee, feet propped triumphantly on the creamy white desk veneer, as he watched the sun rise.

What’s With All This “End Time” Stuff?

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From November 2014. Seems once more sadly appropriate.

Song Bird Songs

endtime

Gayle Irwin (one of my favourite people) when asked if he believed we were living in the “end time” replied something to the effect of “Do you see things in the world, socially and environmentally getter better or worse? The answer being obvious he added, “Guess we must be then.” (He said it much better but I can’t find the quote.)

Whatever field you look at today world peace, health, social, economic and environmental stability, things seem to be growing worse and worse. When I was young the great question on people’s minds was, “how best to turn things around,” now it seems more like “how long have we got?”

I’m not a conspiracy theorist but I can read the writing on the wall and it doesn’t look good. The very governments we should look to, to avert these catastrophes have been waylaid by the dollar bills of big corporations…

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Soft Heart Wears an armored Jacket.

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Those who read my post “Heartbreaking Truth”may recall my German son in law works as a translator for the Syrian refugees arriving in Germany. We just heard he now has to wear an armored jacket as two of his colleges have been stabbed since the Paris attacks. I suspect someone wants to turn opinion against the refugees – who are fleeing the same people! (It seems from the “accidental electrical fire” that engulfed the Calais refugee camp  shortly after the Paris attacks they are succeeding. – Do they really think we are so stupid!)

I console myself, perhaps it is a good illustration. The tender hearts still go to help, they still care, but now they are more on guard and protected. My son in law has the additional “armor” of our daily prayers.