I put tulips under all the pillows, and then I set fire to the house. It was a ritual that I had often dreamt of, symbols of the love I once had for this place. But that feeling seems old now, a burnt flower is already where my heart used to be. The happy times are like a movie reel playing through my mind and I no longer feel any connection to them as real events.
Crouched down the street I watch with fascination as the fire takes hold, spreading from room to room, slowly consuming the whole place. I want to watch for as long as possible, to make sure the job is done. If I see this place reduced to ashes perhaps the ashes inside me could finally be cleared away.
A girl is walking along the street and she stops directly in front of my position. She seems to sense something is wrong, and she casts her eyes around searching for whatever her instincts have alerted her to. Why did someone have to come along? Couldn’t I just have a few moments alone to enjoy this?
Continue reading “Burning the Past : a story”
Wandering the streets, searching for some different images to capture. I have walked this way so many times, that it seems pointless. Then I realise that I have never stopped for any length of time here. It is such a weird and wonderful image, how could that even be possible? So one day I did, I took the time to take it in, not just to make an image, but also to let my imagination wander. What could this be? What alternative purpose could it serve? In another world, or perhaps in this one? And, so, a story began…
Continue reading “Hidden Within: Short Story”
It can be an addiction for some, and for those it can be hard to understand the aversion that others seem to hold for it. Many people fall somewhere between these two extremes, most people do it in some form. But, why do we read stories?
Many people say reading fiction is an escape. Going into another world, which is different to our own. Is our own world so bad? For some it is and therefore books must seem like a raft taking them to safety. Most of us have a fairly comfortable life, but with comfort often comes monotony, then we are searching for the different. That could mean magical worlds filled with mythical beasts, or it could simply involve being transported to distant lands that we wish we could visit.
Continue reading “Why We Read Fiction”
Mr Tibbins could never understand people. They all rush around stuck in their own little world, having no idea what that world really is. They don’t know because they don’t want to. It is easier that way. Some people, like him, can see. Is it a gift? Or is it a curse? He has never been able to decide. There are certainly times when blissful ignorance seems like a blessing.
He feels tired today. An old man, out of breath and lonely. Some days are like this now, his energy reserves seem to desert him at times. Maybe they are only finite and one day he won’t be able to call on them. But, until now, they have always been there when he has needed them. A feeling like electricity runs up the back of his neck and he knows that one of them is near. Looking around he can’t see anything untoward.
Continue reading “Mr Tibbins : Short Story”
We need it, it gives us a high, sending us to another sphere.
Out of this sensible world where everyone is safe, stable, yet they still rush.
A different rush, one with no feeling, other than panic.
Panic on the streets, get somewhere, get some thing, get someone.
All now, tomorrow is too late.
© Neil Hayes and neilhayeswriter