Short Story Extract

Well, I said I was a writer so perhaps I’d best post some of my writing. I thought I’d start with an extract from a short story.

If you’d like to read it all follow this link to my website where you’ll find some other short stories and a selection of poetry. Post a link to the stories if you think any friends, relatives or acquaintances may like a quick read on the way to the office or waiting in the dentist’s surgery – always assuming they have a laptop or similar with access to the internet.

I apologise for the restrictions of Blogger which won't allow the correct punctuation and page layout but it is correct on the website where you'll find paragraphs and speech indented.

Pock Stones Moor

Do you ever wonder what makes a man cross that line? I’d never had time to wonder, dangerous ground, best left undisturbed. And I’d never loitered too long under black clouds. When that first splodge of rain hustled in on unbroken sunshine that was my cue to pick up my towel and move to dry ground. That’s why I’m up here, looking out over the Thames from a triple glazed penthouse and thery are down there, those fools who sat around waiting for the weather to change.
I never looked back either. No point. There’s only now. That’s something I have in common with Sarah, apart from grey eyes and a passion for Springsteen. Sarah’s a very spiritual person, a people person. Me? I never worried what made a man tick unless it affected his work, like that time Ben pleaded with me to give Dave Hopkins a second chance,
‘Mike, you have to understand, He’s got a lot of problems at the moment-’
‘He’s not the only man to have problems Ben we’ve all got problems only some of us leave them at home where they belong. Either he’s on that plane in the morning or he’s out. I don’t give a shit what his wife says. I got rid of two wives who tried to tell me what to do, maybe he should do the same.’
‘It’s like mole hills, Mike. First one appears and then another and then - ’
‘Jesus, Ben, what do I care about bloody Molehills. Tell him he’s on that plane or he’s fired.’
But then I noticed I was spending more and more time thinking and less and less time moving on. Clouds were drifting in and blocking out the sunshine. Of course a psychologist would say the clouds had always been there, my unacknowledged shadow, whereas Sarah would probably put it down to a traumatic experience on a planet in another galaxy. Me? Well I never really bought into any of that ‘New Age’ crap or Freudian neuroses. My life has always been linear and logical and I liked it like that. When livelihoods depended on your signature there was no room for emotion. I’d seen too many buried under that gravestone. No, I’d had my share of problems and dealt with them until now. Suddenly I was being plagued with my own molehills only I preferred to call them clouds. If I’m honest I think it began with that phone call from Cissy ten days ago...

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