josh

I must be quick for I hear them coming.

I must be brave for I sense a presence troubling. I must be wise for I do not know their cunning. I must be gentle for I fear they are not loving. I must be cautious for I see my end becoming. I must be quick, I must start running.

tom

I must be quick for I hear them coming.

Don't look for me, that is what they want. Don't waste time mourning. Our work must continue. I have uploaded my research to the usual place. The artefacts we uncovered at the dig are real. Everything they've taught us is a lie. Tell Molly I User Disconnected.

tom

Our legs dangled off the side of the dock.

"Do you promise?" He asked, gazing out to sea, his fingers worrying a splinter of wood free. "I promise." There was a heavy throbbing joy in his chest, the exquisite leaden pain of love. A car pulled up nearby. "That's me." Lips brushed his cheek and she was gone.

josh

Our legs dangled off the side of the dock.

Southport Newquay Every Saturday morning, Gus and I dreamt of faraway places the boats were venturing. Lowestoft Newhaven Today you were nowhere to be seen. John O’Groats I scanned the fluctuating waters. “HEY! JOHNNY!” Disbelief. “GUS! WHERE ARE YOU HEADED?” Waves muffled your voice. Stavanger “WHERE!?” Waves again. “Please stay.”

josh

The sound of a piano drifted downstairs.

They answered on the second dial. “Mr Baptiste…” “It’s happening again.” “Mr Baptiste there is nothing we can do about nocturnal ivory tickling.” “You make it sound appealing.” “Sounds beautiful from where we’re sat.” I hung up and headed straight for the broom cupboard. I’d had it with that piano.

tom

The sound of a piano drifted downstairs.

The detective frowned, "You said there was no-one else home." "I... must have left the radio on." She uttered, flatly. A wrong key. A pause. Thee Blind Mice started again. "Paperwork?" Her head shook. He lent to his radio, "We have a suspected 374, unauthorised possession of a child."

tom

They called it the city of the sun.

An unmistakable metropolis, rising from a hunk of rock, silhouetted against our great ball of fire. Over the years we sent messages via every medium we knew how; there was no response. Silently it propelled itself towards us. Today we heard from them at last and the world went mad.

josh

They called it the city of the sun.

The final battleground, so it was told. The fight that could save us. The Seven Gods descended, presenting their battle scars, brandishing their monolithic weaponry. I stared them down, the weight of my world hanging heavy in my empty fists. I gathered all my might as the first blow landed.

josh

The stars were unfamiliar.

They echoed back to me a heavenly overture that sounded terrifyingly foreign. In that moment I felt the visceral, turbulent weight of fear. Try to see something beyond stars, beyond atoms, beyond anything of disbelief. “Mum?” I whisper to the phosphorescent multitude of bulbs above, knowing full well you were not there and you could not hear me. One day, my son. Keep whispering my name and one day I shall respond in the way you truly need me to. Gleaming abstractions transform and catch my eye until suddenly a constellation I recognise. Something resembling home. Beautiful. Devastating. Empty. Home.

tom

The stars were unfamiliar.

Water lapped at the side of her boat as she searched the strange firmament. Nothing. Her charts failed to render these points of light into waypoints; these stars did not exist. The air was cool after the storm and her sodden clothes chilled her skin. It had come out of nowhere; a gust caused the boom to swing and she was knocked to the floor. When she came to the storm had passed, leaving a clear but unknown sky. A rope creaked nearby and she turned; another boat. Her brother smiled gently across the water and she cried.

josh

A low rumble was making its way over the easterly hills.

From their peaks emerged a train delicately dancing along the rough topography, losing the race against the first rays of morning. As it gathered speed Seth tightened the scarf around his neck, preparing his body for flight. Then, that familiar step behind him. “Mads, you came.” The briefest of silences. “It’s not Madeline, it’s her Mother.” Seth tensed. “I found your letter.” The ending he had feared most. As the train pulled into the station, Seth turned and caught Mother’s eye. As stern as he’d expected. “The baby?” “No longer your concern.” Announcements, beeps, a wounded departure. Mother’s devilish grin.

tom

A low rumble was making its way over the easterly hills.

"What is it daddy?" They stared at the crest of the hill through an upstairs window. "I'm not sure poppet," he frowned. Disquiet oscillated; resonating. The lights went out. She clutched his shirt, anchoring herself to his beacon of stability; he smiled reassuringly. "It's ok, it must be a big digger doing some digging - if it get's too loud we might have to leave!" He joked, emptily, "Better pack our bags!" Vibrations could be felt through the floor now and panic stirred within, stretching it's noxious wings. He grabbed a rucksack and began to stuff in clothes.

josh

They lowered the bucket into the well.

The aim was to catch The Thing. “Go on, Tigs, a little further.” Tigs did as instructed, feeding the rope until a thud rang up the well in slow circles. The darkness hit her before the realisation of deception. *** Regaining consciousness, Tigs watched yellow eyes prise themselves apart. “Welcome,” it said. “You are The Thing now.” Its talons scaled the wall, transforming back into a man with each spindly grasp. Tigs looked down at her own hands, now covered in fur, claws protruding. It ate a rat from the bucket as the delicious patter of mischievous children above drew close.

tom

They lowered the bucket into the well.

Peering over they could see their reflection far below; a foetid smell rose. The reflection broke as the bottom of the bucket skimmed the surface - but rope was at it's limit. She cut it from the spindle. He grabbed her waist as she stretched over, rope in hand, dipping the bucket beneath the water. She turned; a furrowed brow. Her lips parted to explain; her body wrenched suddenly over the side. He tried to grasp her but she was gone; a guttural scream and the slap of dead weight hitting water. His head a silhouette in reflection.

tom

That night, the summer sun still lingered.

The cicadas nightly vigil started with their ululating drone, paying tribute to the passing of another day as the horizon burnt orange. In the grass two lovers lay, their bodies entwined; faces luminescent in the afterglow. No words were spoken for between them existed an eternal silent understanding. A beam of light swept the grass. The cicadas stopped abruptly; jarring silence. The couple remained still, hiding in the grass from a world which did not want them. The detective nudged the arm of the man with his boot, dislodging a cloud of flies who resumed the chorus.

josh

That night, the summer sun still lingered.

I caught myself inhaling to the cadence of the breeze. Berlin hadn’t treated me well - it had tested and pulled me, lulled me into false states and destroyed me in seconds. I was going to leave. It was you, really, who pushed me to go. To head back home. I had sold everything. Every last item in that tiny Kreuzberg apartment now belonged to somebody else. I messaged, ‘Final walk along the Spree?’ ‘See you in ten.’ We headed westward through Uferweg, that lingering summer sun floating with a blissful buoyancy. I realised how much I would miss you.

josh

"In fact, I believe we have met before."

Initially I had tried to delicately shrug Clemence off, feigning ignorance and turning sharply away, but there was little room for negotiation in their statement. While petrified, I stiffened my upper lip and stared the man down, aware of the tangential journeys I could embark on. I could come across as bewildered, befuddled and utterly loopy, or an all guns blazing offensive maniac. I settled on the former with the latter safely stowed in my back pocket. “MR JIMINY!” His face slowly shrunk in horror. “MY GOOD LORD COULD IT BE YOU?” “I, er…” “Oh, wait - no, I’m sorry, good sir, my father was Mr Jiminy. You must be Saint Yves.” “I believe…” “Or are you from the third rank? Please do refresh my memory?” “Come to think of it, I must have been mistaken,” he quickly backtracked. “I’ve never been so confused in my life.” Against my hip, the weight of the revolver lessened. Keeping just a slight twinge of crazy in my left eye I allowed myself to exhale and release the tension in my neck. Believing myself to be safe I turned away once more just in time to hear the click of the safety release.

tom

"In fact, I believe we have met before."

The host of the party, having made the introductions wandered off with a vague hospitable murmur. I squinted at the woman before me, trying to place her wry smile - I paused for too long. "You don't remember?" She pouted her lips in mock disappointment. My wife appeared at my elbow. "Hello love." She touched my arm and I glanced down at her, she looked towards me expectantly, awaiting an introduction. "Ah, yes, Clarissa, meet my wife, Mary." Clarissa's raised her eyebrows at me almost imperceptibly, before turning to my wife and offering her slender hand. "So how do you two know each other?" Mary asked, eyes darting. The real question lurked beneath the surface. I paused again and Clarissa's half smile slightly widened. "We met at a conference a few years ago, in Paris." She answered. A tingling heat spread across my body and perspiration instantly prickled. Paris. We stayed at the same hotel, shared a cab, it was late, I offered to transfer my slides, her room, plausible deniability and the smell of her perfume. She thanked me, touched my arm, lingered. The taste of her body and cheap champagne. Mary nodded slowly.

josh

There is an overwhelming freedom in growing older.

Time, space, energy - so plentiful, so rich even when in absence. As a transcendent being, I feel an endless universe of possibility before me. Yet sometimes, when on Earth, the simple mortal act of sitting feels too much, feels too guilt-ridden and shame-shrouded. I know I must. I must recoup, recharge, realign my spiritual self. So I sit. I allow myself the time to think. Introspection is such a rare and valuable gift that so many of us take for granted. Yet today, in giving myself that permission, I have reached a monumental decision. One that has been weighing heavily on my soul. Today I have decided to finally die. It is time. I have seen too much of this earth and the horrors that each generation brings in a never ending attempt at conclusive domination. It cannot exist, and I can no longer bear to witness it. This is a decision that has been playing on my mind for millennia. Then we met, one visit, and we spoke, and everything clicked itself into place. It is here, in this place of sitting, that I can see, with such clarity, that there is no longer a need to hold on.

tom

There is an overwhelming freedom in growing older.

The older you get, the less significant each moment becomes. Much like how a £10 note is a princely sum to a begger, but to a rich businessman it's a pittance. To one such as myself, a year is a trifle; a man's lifetime is a barely worth considering. When you have lived through aeons, you escape mankind's scratching and clawing obsession with pain and suffering and mortality. Any such state is so brief as to be meaningless. The enlightenment of a vast perspective allows you to realise that in the grandest scheme of things humans are none too different from insects. Protest, revolution, rebellion - noting more than an ant mound erupting in fury. Within a moment the government will fall, the strident revolutionaries will be forgotten, the cycle will continue. Nothing is unique, there is no pressure of impermanence, a thousand more like this will come. However, much like how the millionaire who grows tired of opulent meals will never know the sweet taste of an iced bun in the mouth of a guttersnipe, this freedom comes at a price. I tried to savour our love but in an instant it was gone.

josh

"I'm afraid we don't have anyone of that name in our records."

I booked it, I know I booked it. I’m sorry, there’s nothing on the system with that name. Don’t you have the confirmation email? No, you know I delete emails as soon as I get them. Well do you see now why that’s wildly unhelpful? I do, yes, thank you. Let me just think for a second. Wait, I have the credit card charge - look, here’s the hotel and here’s the amount. Is this the booking number? It should be. One minute while I check… Ah, yes, here you are. The name on this booking is Theobald. Is that you? You booked using your married name? I must have done. But you’re not married anymore. I didn’t do it on purpose - it must have been on autofill. Right. Okay so you’ll be in room 308, lifts are just off to the right. Okay. Thanks. *** Dinner was tense. It wasn’t anywhere fancy, just the bistro next door, there wasn’t an air of pomp or ceremony, but there was certainly an expectation. An expectation of me, I imagine, after the fiasco at the front desk. Just tell me if you’re seeing him again. I sighed. What’s one more lie?

tom

"I'm afraid we don't have anyone of that name in our records."

"Are you sure?" The woman scanned the list again. "Yes, I am very sure. Perhaps they have you on the books downstairs?" "I was just down there, they sent me up here." "Hmm, that is unusual." The woman scratched her chin with the end of her pen. "Well, I am sure it will all get cleared up soon." She smiled warmly and looked over his shoulder to the next person in the queue. The person behind the man dithered awkwardly, waiting for him to move aside. He didn't. After a moment, the woman smiled at him again, "I really am sorry, I'm just not allowed to let you in if you aren't on the list." She pointedly looked at the person behind who moved forward brusquely. "What do I do now?" The man asked. "There is a waiting room over there," she said without looking at him, gesturing vaguely to the right. He turned around and saw a doorway with a faded sign above it. WAITING ROOM. He entered and sat down on one of the wooden benches, looking around. There were a handful of others in there looking dejected and bored. 'What now?' He thought.

josh

That day was the first time we’d tasted freedom.

It was something sweet. Nectarine, or peach, on the lips of souls desperate for satiation. Ripe, and delicious. We stepped one foot in front of the other, awash with potential, with possibility. The streets here whisper excitement, they scream safety. We four aliens drawn into a sudden sense of home. Yet home was once a space of obedience. We each had our distinct place - our raison d’être. We simply woke up one morning full to the brim with the certainty of purpose. Sasha, the eldest, was the doer, the one with gumption. Xavier, the perfect companion when working out complex puzzles. I, Rosco, held a knack for culinary flair. The youngest, Amelie, felt the vibrations of the earth and had the most beautiful ability to connect with anyone and anything. We had never strayed from these roles, for the fear of what could happen. Here, that fear was sure to disappear. We could feel it. We all looked to Sasha, ready for the first command. Our excitement grew as we watched their chest expand with strong and solid breath. “I don’t know what to do here.” Our faces fell as we looked out across streets suddenly losing their glow.

tom

That day was the first time we’d tasted freedom.

The camp we were in had been abandoned, our captors fleeing as they learnt their war was lost. Our freedom therefore was not granted exuberantly by some foreign saviours but by our gradual realisation that the watchtowers were empty. Reasoning it was another cruel trick we took a full day to venture from our quarters into the main yard. Even longer before we felt brave enough to break into the kitchens and the guards quarters. It took a week before anyone thought to venture beyond the barbed wire. It was Johnson who did it first, standing dumbly on the other side of the fence while we watched him silently, waiting for the fearful crack of a rifle that never came. We joined him. We gazed wide-eyed at the expanse before us. That land we had glimpsed, dissected into small digestible squares through the chain link, overcame us in it's vastness. Slowly, one by one, we returned back to the camp. Freedom, it turns out, is an acquired taste; highly seasoned and confronting to bland senses. For us who had never sampled it's rich and heady nature, it was simply unpalatable.