© Neil Hayes and neilhayeswrites
“Well, that is some coincidence!” says Rob.
He is laughing and smiling, but Leah doesn’t look so happy. She looks creeped out.
“Oh, my God. The poor thing,” she says as she approaches the window.
The bird appears to be stunned but is moving slightly. I am peering over Leah’s shoulder and scanning the sky to see if any of the bird’s friends are nearby. She looks back at me, her face full of concern.
“Was it just a coincidence?” she asks me.
Continue reading “Tracks, a short story: Part 9”
It seems the imminent threat of physical assault is over. Rob, the rugby player, has calmed down and seems to see me more as a pathetic specimen to be taken pity on rather than any threat. I am not sure which I prefer.
They have taken me into the house and made tea for us all. We are now sitting in the living room and I am attempting to make sense of this whole thing, whilst also attempting not to look like a madman.
Rob isn’t saying much, but Leah is concerned, especially as to how I found out where she lives.
“It’s not like I was trying to hide from you, but we finished and I thought it was best not to stay in touch. I know I hurt you, so I just wanted to move on. So, how did you find me? Have you been following me?”
Continue reading “Tracks, a short story: Part 8”
Rage, and the power to do something about it. That is how I feel. How could she do this to me? Was it all just about the looks? Did she just want the tall rugby-playing type all along?
“She was always a shallow bitch,” I think to myself.
Continue reading “Tracks, a short story: Part 7”
A numbness was filling both my body and my mind. I had been walking for some time now without really thinking about my destination. It was only when I reached the edge of the forest that I begin to realise where I was and what I was doing. But much of the fog still remained. I have no idea of where I am going, or why. I feel drawn to this road and this direction, but who I know that lives this way I cannot think.
Continue reading “Tracks, a short story: Part 6”
One foot after another. He appeared somehow lost, but kept shuffling along. He wasn’t leaving footsteps behind him in the snow, more like drag marks where his feet slid along in the snow. It was falling fast now, night had descended and the snow was halfway up his shins.
Continue reading “Tracks, a short story: Part 5”
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