© Neil Hayes and neilhayeswrites
If you had to give up one word that you use regularly, what would it be?
It is not that I really love the word and would miss it. I would just love to have it eradicated from my vocabulary. I just can’t stop using it. I don’t even notice when I am doing it. But when I check my work or run it through a spell checker it seems to be everywhere. Everything is really big, or I don’t really know, I am not really sure, really? Aaagh!
Why do you blog?
I guess that I started blogging as a way of sharing my thoughts. It wasn’t that I wanted to share with the whole world, a few readers would do.
I could just write in a journal but then I wouldn’t get the sense of community which blogging gives me. That was something which I did not anticipate and came as a very pleasant surprise.
Any feedback comes as a very welcome surprise and in this environment is generally a very positive one. If anyone can get any pleasure out at what I have written then I am more then content.
Mind in turmoil, spiralling out of control.
Tired and numb, brain seems fogged.
Confusion, difficult to focus on reality.
Through these blinding lights, no focus.
This fire needs to be extinguished.
Emergency!
Seek help.
Ensure that every glowing ember has died.
Phil is walking back along the main road, toward Leah’s house. He decides to go through the back lane and enter her garden. A short hop over the wooden fence and he is there. As he approaches the back door of the house he can see her stirring something in the frying pan. She is glancing occasionally at the front door, no doubt expecting Rob to arrive at any minute.
He watches her for a few more minutes and he can see that she is beginning to get concerned. He decides that there is no more point in waiting, she will be his now, and then they can both be happy together. But not just them, it will take three to be complete, the lady of the forest is awaiting them.
Continue reading “Tracks, a short story: The End”
He doesn’t deserve her, she belongs to me. How could she think he is better than me?” He thinks.
He is walking along the main road that leads to their street, looking determined, angry, and scary. People who see him go across to the other side of the road. One young man, who doesn’t want to appear intimidated, makes the mistake of attempting a game of chicken. Phil sees him coming towards him, lowers his shoulder and charges. The young man falls to the ground.
“Watch where you are going asshole!” screams Phil.
Continue reading “Tracks, a short story: Part 18”
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