Michelle could have hugged her boss when he told her that their morning meeting had been cancelled, she doubted she could have survived it without seeming completely incompetent. Her gratitude was short lived, as he dumped a pile of competitive data on her to collate and put in to workable spreadsheets. It was one of the necessary joys of being the most junior in the team but sometimes she had the paranoid feeling that management had meetings where they made up mind-numbingly boring requests for her to respond to for their own amusement.
As it was going to take a while for her geriatric computer to stop complaining about being asked to work and actually start, Michelle decided to go and make a strong medicinal cup of tea. Just as the kettle chorus was reaching its climax, Rav their creepy CFO ambled in mug in hand.
Not in the mood for small talk, Michelle busied herself with the art of tea making, using all her concentration on ensuring that the tag on the tea bag didn’t get dragged in to the swirl of poured boiling water. Looking up to reach for the milk she realised that Rav was staring at her. Feeling guilty for hogging the kettle she offered it to him. Taking it absently from her fumbling fingers before she could scald him with splashes of hot water, Rav continued to stare.
Self consciously pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, Michelle put on her brightest smile. “Big night last night, think there are going to be a lot of sore heads today” she chirped attempting to deflect attention from her own sore head. She wasn’t sure what the Finance department attitude was to week-day hangovers. They were always the wildest at the Christmas party, but that was only once a year and it was probably allowed in their contracts.
“Michelle, once you have finished preparing your tea, if you could pop round my office, there’s something I need to discuss with you” Rav answered. Michelle’s heart sank as the lack of inappropriate banter or innuendo surely meant that she was in trouble.
After taking as long as she could to ensure she put exactly the right amount of milk into the mug and viciously squeezed every ounce of tea juice out of the tea bag, Michelle headed to Rav’s office, clasping her mug like a weapon between her fingers. As she walked into the office, Rav was expressionless as he indicated that she should sit down before settling in his seat behind his uncomfortably tidy desk.
“When I was a boy, there was a game we used to play called “Eclipsing the Dog”. My parents played it, my grandparents. It goes back generations.”
Michelle looked up with surprise from her mug, unclear where Rav was going with this, and confused to find him looking at her with patent concern.
“You wouldn’t be able to play it in London, too much artificial lighting reflected off the sky. But where I grew up, there wasn’t this problem. The days were bright and the nights was pitch black except for a ceiling of stars During the day the sun used to make our shadows stretch out beside us and on cloudy days you could watch the shadows of the clouds dust over fields and buildings. It was on those days we would play Eclipsing the Dog, I still remember how we used to giggle and scream” Sighing Rav paused to take a sip of his tea.
“It was a serious business. You could not let the shadow of a cloud cover your shadow. The rules stated that once covered the cloud could steal your shadow leaving you behind to live a half life without it”
Michelle could feel her eyes riveted on Rav, she had never seen him quite so solemn and there was something in the slow way he was unwrapping his story that hypnotised her
“We played this game throughout my childhood and when I was grown I still knew to avoid the passing shadow of clouds in case they should hide something wanting to steal my shadow and leave me incomplete. It is ironic that it is when I moved to study in the city, that I became exposed to the real threat.
In a place where shadows have no room to breathe, where they live on top of each other and are reduced to pale, insipid forms in the glaring lights and teasing half-lights. It’s here that I’ve finally met the shadow-less, seen them move robotically through their daily lives completely unaware of their loss and too numb to understand that something is fundamentally wrong with them.”
Rav stopped for another sip of tea, Michelle still transfixed could feel a growing knot of unease in her guts. She didn’t want to ask but knew she had to “why are you telling me this?”
“Michelle, you are a bright and sensitive young lady, you know that something is wrong and that you are not yourself”
“Well I will admit that I’m a tad hung-over today, last night was a little on the crazy side” she tried to joke, while swallowing down the golf ball sized lump in her throat.
“That is not what I mean, if that were it I would have most of the office in here now, it’s clear you all had a drunken time last night. I’ve had some killer hangovers in my time too, that isn’t why I wanted to talk to you. Are you telling me that you haven’t noticed anything strange today?”
“Well maybe” Michelle mumbled quietly back, reluctant to talk about it with Rav and embracing her inner petulant six-year-old.
“There’s no maybe Michelle, you’ve lost your shadow and if you don’t get it back soon, you won’t care enough to!” Rav leant forward over his desk to lend addition emphasis to his words “Do you understand? Too long without it and you’ll lose direction. Yes you’ll still be alive but your spark will be gone! Forever!”
Michelle wished that Rav would stop over-doing it with the exclamation marks. All she wanted to do was sleep, everything beyond that required superhuman strength. Now he wanted her to worry about tracking down lost shadows.
“I’ll admit I’m not feeling very sparky today, but I really have learned my lesson, the tequila shots were a bad idea. I don’t know what else you expect me to do? I just want to get through today and go to sleep, I feel rotten”
“Think beyond the hangover Michelle, this is on top of the hangover”
“Rav, no offence but I really can’t cope with anything on top of the hangover and I really should be getting back to my desk, I have a mountain of competitive data to get through”
“Michelle, please” The earnestness of Rav’s plea stopped her as she moved to get up. She slumped back awkwardly in to the chair and turned to look at him. His brown eyes were darkened with worry. “I have seen what this does. It happened to a friend of mine and I lost him. I don’t want this to happen to anyone else. You must find it, believe me, your shadow is gone and you must find it, even in your current state, it can’t wait. I will tell your boss that you were clearly unwell and I sent you home. Go and look please!”
Intimidated by the urgency in his voice, Michelle cracked “but I wouldn’t know where to start” she protested as a tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away, sniffing loudly over the injustice of this happening to her.
“Try the lost property office at Waterloo. Not the one on the main train concourse. There is one in the underground. It is in a corner in the corridors near the entrance for the Bank train. It’s easy to miss if you aren’t specifically looking for it. The man who works there may be able to help you, his name is Jenkins”
To be continued
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Lost Property: Part 2 The Commute
Despite her green duffle coat, red woolly hat and the 10 miles of blue scarf wrapped around her throat, fingers of morning cold still found vulnerable areas to tickle and nip. Shivering, Michelle blew her warm breath up towards her nose in a vain attempt to defrost it.
Standing at Earlsfield Station was never the highlight of her day. The combination of pain, cold, thirst and tiredness made the whole commuter battle seem impossible. The thought of cramming herself onto an overcrowded train made bile rise to the back of her throat. She had already let three trains go without joining the herd fighting their way on-board. Unfortunately for every person carried away on the train, another two seemed to appear at the station to take their place. It was now or never, she psyched herself up. The next train, she would muscle her way in.
The next train to pull in was uncharacteristically empty. Although all the seats were taken there was actual standing room, this was a miracle of biblical proportions. Michelle sent a quiet “Thank you” to the god of commuters as she wedged herself in the corridor between the seats. They formed a natural barrier that limited the number of people that could stand or lean on her. Despite this, she still found herself uncomfortably close to an armpit on her left and a newspaper on her right. Couldn’t they stop reading for the 12 minutes it takes to get to Waterloo so she didn’t feel like a human coffee table? It would have been less obnoxious if the business man reading the paper didn’t glare at her every time she moved her head and it rustled the pages of his Times. She preferred Guardian readers anyway.
Rushing out of the train at Waterloo, Michelle moved with the other commuters, pulled along like water going down a drain. Propelled in to the bowel s of the underground she headed for the Northbound Northern line platform for part 2 of her torturous morning commute. Fortunately Michelle was a seasoned professional and knew exactly where to stand to line up with the doors of the tube train when it arrived.
1 minute later and she secured herself an actual seat on a train rocking and shaking its way northwards. Michelle briefly closed her eyes and enjoyed the ability to relax for a moment. Opening her eyes she watched a girl in the far corner carefully applying make-up. As the girl pulled out a mascara wand Michelle shuddered at her bravery, but looked away as she didn’t think she could stomach witnessing an accidental impaling.
She realised that she probably looked pretty shocking. Looking at her reflection opposite she was startled to discover that she had what looked like stubble all over her chin. Reflexively she stroked her face but there was nothing. No stubble under her fingers and no answering movement in the window opposite. Michelle blinked her eyes firmly to dispel the rather uncomfortable sensation that she wasn’t looking at her own reflection. On re-opening her eyes though nothing had changed. Either she'd morphed in to a 30-something ginger haired man in need of a shave or she was sitting opposite the wrong reflection.
Looking desperately along the far window, she could not find herself anywhere and all of the other reflections matched the person sitting opposite them. “Of course” Michelle thought bitterly “I’m the one with an out of whack reflection.” As if to add insult to injury her ginger companion winked and smiled at her. “Brilliant and he’s a comedian” she muttered to herself as she scuffed her shoes together violently in confused irritation, stopping only when a maternal looking lady gave her a pointedly concerned look.
Getting off at Warren Street, Michelle moved in autopilot out of the station along her normal route to the office. She was worried that her work colleagues might notice that she had a man’s reflection and she would never hear the end of it. Surely that was considered a major no-no in client meetings? Feeling rather persecuted, Michelle felt it was just typical that something like this would happen to her! Taking a deep breath she stopped and turned to stare in the window of a news-agency. There she was, distinctly transparent but also quite clearly neither ginger nor male. Heaving a big sigh of relief she’d resumed her walk to work.
Maybe everything was going to be OK after all.
To be continued.......
Standing at Earlsfield Station was never the highlight of her day. The combination of pain, cold, thirst and tiredness made the whole commuter battle seem impossible. The thought of cramming herself onto an overcrowded train made bile rise to the back of her throat. She had already let three trains go without joining the herd fighting their way on-board. Unfortunately for every person carried away on the train, another two seemed to appear at the station to take their place. It was now or never, she psyched herself up. The next train, she would muscle her way in.
The next train to pull in was uncharacteristically empty. Although all the seats were taken there was actual standing room, this was a miracle of biblical proportions. Michelle sent a quiet “Thank you” to the god of commuters as she wedged herself in the corridor between the seats. They formed a natural barrier that limited the number of people that could stand or lean on her. Despite this, she still found herself uncomfortably close to an armpit on her left and a newspaper on her right. Couldn’t they stop reading for the 12 minutes it takes to get to Waterloo so she didn’t feel like a human coffee table? It would have been less obnoxious if the business man reading the paper didn’t glare at her every time she moved her head and it rustled the pages of his Times. She preferred Guardian readers anyway.
Rushing out of the train at Waterloo, Michelle moved with the other commuters, pulled along like water going down a drain. Propelled in to the bowel s of the underground she headed for the Northbound Northern line platform for part 2 of her torturous morning commute. Fortunately Michelle was a seasoned professional and knew exactly where to stand to line up with the doors of the tube train when it arrived.
1 minute later and she secured herself an actual seat on a train rocking and shaking its way northwards. Michelle briefly closed her eyes and enjoyed the ability to relax for a moment. Opening her eyes she watched a girl in the far corner carefully applying make-up. As the girl pulled out a mascara wand Michelle shuddered at her bravery, but looked away as she didn’t think she could stomach witnessing an accidental impaling.
She realised that she probably looked pretty shocking. Looking at her reflection opposite she was startled to discover that she had what looked like stubble all over her chin. Reflexively she stroked her face but there was nothing. No stubble under her fingers and no answering movement in the window opposite. Michelle blinked her eyes firmly to dispel the rather uncomfortable sensation that she wasn’t looking at her own reflection. On re-opening her eyes though nothing had changed. Either she'd morphed in to a 30-something ginger haired man in need of a shave or she was sitting opposite the wrong reflection.
Looking desperately along the far window, she could not find herself anywhere and all of the other reflections matched the person sitting opposite them. “Of course” Michelle thought bitterly “I’m the one with an out of whack reflection.” As if to add insult to injury her ginger companion winked and smiled at her. “Brilliant and he’s a comedian” she muttered to herself as she scuffed her shoes together violently in confused irritation, stopping only when a maternal looking lady gave her a pointedly concerned look.
Getting off at Warren Street, Michelle moved in autopilot out of the station along her normal route to the office. She was worried that her work colleagues might notice that she had a man’s reflection and she would never hear the end of it. Surely that was considered a major no-no in client meetings? Feeling rather persecuted, Michelle felt it was just typical that something like this would happen to her! Taking a deep breath she stopped and turned to stare in the window of a news-agency. There she was, distinctly transparent but also quite clearly neither ginger nor male. Heaving a big sigh of relief she’d resumed her walk to work.
Maybe everything was going to be OK after all.
To be continued.......
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Lost Property: Part 1 The Hangover
Morning light leaked insipidly through the gaps in the curtains, the pale sharp-edged white hinted at the cold lurking outside. An arm emerged from the sanctuary of the duvet and felt around blindly for the source of a hostile ringing noise. Failing in its mission, more of the body emerged into the cold “barley white” morning revealing Michelle in the company of one hell of a hangover.
Splitting open crust-sealed eyes Michelle looked around only to be reminded that in the spirit of drunken malice the night before, she had placed her alarm clock on the other side of the room. This left her with two equally unpleasant alternatives: she could leave the warm bed cocoon or she could put up with the continued clang of her alarm. Given its continued insistence that she get up, she opted for the former and moved with the grace of a semi-frozen, partially dead gazelle across her room where she violently took her frustration out on the rather noisy inanimate object that had insisted on torturing her. Once she was sure it was dead, she stood shivering in her rather dilapidated night shirt, not awake enough to make a quick decision regarding her next move.
As the wheels of her brain squeaked reluctantly into her action, she reached for her dressing gown. An annoying nagging voice squatting in the back of her mind reminded her that alcohol fuelled bitchiness had not been the only reason for the moving of the alarm clock. She look wistfully at the bed but the voice would not be quieted, pointedly reminding her that she had a meeting first thing at work and she could not afford to be late.
Dragging her hangover with her Michelle showered, brushed her teeth, and moisturised while she struggled to maintain a state of out-of-body numbness. She jabbed contact lenses that felt like they’d soaked in acid over-night, into her angry, red eyes. Blinking blearily around the bathroom the full scale of her hangover finally hit. She was in a world of pain and her body was screaming for water. Guzzling rusty tasting water directly from the tap did very little to alleviate her raging thirst. This was going to be a truly shitty day.
Once fully dressed, Michelle examined herself in the full length mirror. She wasn’t convinced the blue top went with the brown trousers, but she couldn’t find the energy to care, let alone change. She rubbed her eyes delicately and peered more closely at the mirror, it misted gently with her sour mint breath. She decided she must still be drunk because she looked positively blurry. It wasn’t just her red eyes, damp tangled hair or pale face that made her look the worse for wear. She felt and looked positively translucent. Surely she was imagining that she could see the books on the shelves directly behind her? The more she stared the more she realised that the words “Great Expectations” were aligned uncannily perfectly with her nose, or through her nose, or behind her nose..... Her mind balked as she tried to work out the relationship between Dickens’ book and her nose.
Closing her eyes and breathing slowly she decided to move on. No good was coming of her staring through herself in the mirror. Her mind was clearly playing tricks on her and she needed to pull herself together and brave the commute to work. Tardiness was not an option and London Transport waited for no man or woman or hangover.
To be continued......
Splitting open crust-sealed eyes Michelle looked around only to be reminded that in the spirit of drunken malice the night before, she had placed her alarm clock on the other side of the room. This left her with two equally unpleasant alternatives: she could leave the warm bed cocoon or she could put up with the continued clang of her alarm. Given its continued insistence that she get up, she opted for the former and moved with the grace of a semi-frozen, partially dead gazelle across her room where she violently took her frustration out on the rather noisy inanimate object that had insisted on torturing her. Once she was sure it was dead, she stood shivering in her rather dilapidated night shirt, not awake enough to make a quick decision regarding her next move.
As the wheels of her brain squeaked reluctantly into her action, she reached for her dressing gown. An annoying nagging voice squatting in the back of her mind reminded her that alcohol fuelled bitchiness had not been the only reason for the moving of the alarm clock. She look wistfully at the bed but the voice would not be quieted, pointedly reminding her that she had a meeting first thing at work and she could not afford to be late.
Dragging her hangover with her Michelle showered, brushed her teeth, and moisturised while she struggled to maintain a state of out-of-body numbness. She jabbed contact lenses that felt like they’d soaked in acid over-night, into her angry, red eyes. Blinking blearily around the bathroom the full scale of her hangover finally hit. She was in a world of pain and her body was screaming for water. Guzzling rusty tasting water directly from the tap did very little to alleviate her raging thirst. This was going to be a truly shitty day.
Once fully dressed, Michelle examined herself in the full length mirror. She wasn’t convinced the blue top went with the brown trousers, but she couldn’t find the energy to care, let alone change. She rubbed her eyes delicately and peered more closely at the mirror, it misted gently with her sour mint breath. She decided she must still be drunk because she looked positively blurry. It wasn’t just her red eyes, damp tangled hair or pale face that made her look the worse for wear. She felt and looked positively translucent. Surely she was imagining that she could see the books on the shelves directly behind her? The more she stared the more she realised that the words “Great Expectations” were aligned uncannily perfectly with her nose, or through her nose, or behind her nose..... Her mind balked as she tried to work out the relationship between Dickens’ book and her nose.
Closing her eyes and breathing slowly she decided to move on. No good was coming of her staring through herself in the mirror. Her mind was clearly playing tricks on her and she needed to pull herself together and brave the commute to work. Tardiness was not an option and London Transport waited for no man or woman or hangover.
To be continued......
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Tom's Grandma Pam
My best friend at school is Tom. He’s taller than me and has brown hair that sticks up at funny angles out of his head, which looks cool.
Tom and me sit next to each other ‘cos his last name is Perkins and mine is Parkes and the teacher made us sit alflibeticly at the start of the year and there was no one with a last name between Parkes and Perkins.
This was very lucky coz we was best friends straight away because he likes Batman and he knows that Batman would beat Spiderman in a fight, even if Spiderman was fighting with a bear! Not that he would because Spiderman lives in a city, but if he lived in the country with bears, Batman would still win.
I like going to Tom’s house because he has the best video games and he has no brothers or sisters that he has to share with, so we can play all night until bedtime without a stop except for toilet and dinner. One time we had to stop playing because Tom’s mum was going to visit his Grandma Pam. Tom wanted to go too because the ice cream place near Grandma Pam does bubblegum flavoured ice cream.
We went in the big car with the DVD so we could watch Ice Age again, but that is OK cos I like that movie. His mum drove us to Grandma Pam’s. There was no houses which was funny. Tom explained that his Grandma Pam lives in a hole in the Cement Tree. There was a big stone that told us we were at the right hole. The hole was hidden in the ground, but if you talked loud enough Grandma Pam would hear you.
When I’m old I want to live in a hole in the Cement Tree too. I would have all my video games and I would play all day and not have to share. It would be warm and cosy. No girls would be allowed and I would eat lots of red skins and fantails.
When I got home I told mum about Grandma Pam. My Grandma Alice lives with lots of old people in a big house with green walls the colour of snot that smells of cabbage and is really really hot. Grandma Alice always cries when we visit because she doesn’t like it there.
I told mum that I thought Grandma Alice would be happier in a hole in the Cement Tree too. Mum started to cry so Dad got cross and I had to go to my room without any dinner but that was OK cos I was still full of bubblegum ice cream.
Tom and me sit next to each other ‘cos his last name is Perkins and mine is Parkes and the teacher made us sit alflibeticly at the start of the year and there was no one with a last name between Parkes and Perkins.
This was very lucky coz we was best friends straight away because he likes Batman and he knows that Batman would beat Spiderman in a fight, even if Spiderman was fighting with a bear! Not that he would because Spiderman lives in a city, but if he lived in the country with bears, Batman would still win.
I like going to Tom’s house because he has the best video games and he has no brothers or sisters that he has to share with, so we can play all night until bedtime without a stop except for toilet and dinner. One time we had to stop playing because Tom’s mum was going to visit his Grandma Pam. Tom wanted to go too because the ice cream place near Grandma Pam does bubblegum flavoured ice cream.
We went in the big car with the DVD so we could watch Ice Age again, but that is OK cos I like that movie. His mum drove us to Grandma Pam’s. There was no houses which was funny. Tom explained that his Grandma Pam lives in a hole in the Cement Tree. There was a big stone that told us we were at the right hole. The hole was hidden in the ground, but if you talked loud enough Grandma Pam would hear you.
When I’m old I want to live in a hole in the Cement Tree too. I would have all my video games and I would play all day and not have to share. It would be warm and cosy. No girls would be allowed and I would eat lots of red skins and fantails.
When I got home I told mum about Grandma Pam. My Grandma Alice lives with lots of old people in a big house with green walls the colour of snot that smells of cabbage and is really really hot. Grandma Alice always cries when we visit because she doesn’t like it there.
I told mum that I thought Grandma Alice would be happier in a hole in the Cement Tree too. Mum started to cry so Dad got cross and I had to go to my room without any dinner but that was OK cos I was still full of bubblegum ice cream.
Monday, June 08, 2009
The Princess & the Wolf
The sun scattered freckles of light through the arching canopy of trees. Lifting her face to embrace the rays, our Princess rides at full speed. Immersed in the pure sensation of movement: her hair dancing behind her; the sound of wind thundering past her ear drums; the gentle slap of the air on her cheeks; eyes shining brightly in her up-turned face as she watches the light play between the leaves & branches over-head. She feels the purest joy of movement, a sensation of complete oneness with her own universe. She is the princess, escaped from her castle to run free. Her faithful hound loping rhythmically by her side.
She doesn’t worry for her own safety as she urges her mount forward, peddling faster and faster down the natural tree formed cathedral. Nothing can touch her as she runs free to worship her own religion. She has flowered to be the magical creature she always believed herself to be. Here the rules of mathematics do not apply. Here the real world isn’t allowed in and she can create her very own mythology.
From behind the trees the Wolf watches her with hungry eyes; the eyes of a hunter mentally devouring his prey. Her happiness tortures him with the razor-sharp knifing pain of longing. Her youth casts a twisted spell over him, creating desires that bubble under the surface of his skin. He can feel his fingers tingling with the urge to reach out and touch her light-soaked cheeks. Just one touch would alleviate his pain and distract him, if only for a moment, from the disease eating him from the inside out.
The Princess slows, exhilarated and breathless as she nears the end of the path. She prepares to turn back, to go back to her castle home. Dusk has started to leave her velvety fingerprints across the air.
Turning to her dog sitting panting by her side she exclaims “I’ll race you back”, leaping forward with laughter frothing in her throat.
Hurtling forward through the cooling and darkening air she sees the Wolf step out of the trees ahead. She slows as she approaches him, stopping barely an arm’s reach from him.
“We were racing” she explains slightly breathlessly
“I can see that” the Wolf answers “but now it’s time to go home.”
Smiling the Princess dismounts to walk beside the Wolf, pushing her bicycle as he turns in the direction of their home. Walking along, he reaches out his fingers to touch the smooth skin of her arm.
“I hope dinner is ready, I’m starving” the young girl says innocently turning to smile at the old Wolf that she knows and loves so well.
“Me too” he answers, a glimmer of sadness in his eyes “me too”.
She doesn’t worry for her own safety as she urges her mount forward, peddling faster and faster down the natural tree formed cathedral. Nothing can touch her as she runs free to worship her own religion. She has flowered to be the magical creature she always believed herself to be. Here the rules of mathematics do not apply. Here the real world isn’t allowed in and she can create her very own mythology.
From behind the trees the Wolf watches her with hungry eyes; the eyes of a hunter mentally devouring his prey. Her happiness tortures him with the razor-sharp knifing pain of longing. Her youth casts a twisted spell over him, creating desires that bubble under the surface of his skin. He can feel his fingers tingling with the urge to reach out and touch her light-soaked cheeks. Just one touch would alleviate his pain and distract him, if only for a moment, from the disease eating him from the inside out.
The Princess slows, exhilarated and breathless as she nears the end of the path. She prepares to turn back, to go back to her castle home. Dusk has started to leave her velvety fingerprints across the air.
Turning to her dog sitting panting by her side she exclaims “I’ll race you back”, leaping forward with laughter frothing in her throat.
Hurtling forward through the cooling and darkening air she sees the Wolf step out of the trees ahead. She slows as she approaches him, stopping barely an arm’s reach from him.
“We were racing” she explains slightly breathlessly
“I can see that” the Wolf answers “but now it’s time to go home.”
Smiling the Princess dismounts to walk beside the Wolf, pushing her bicycle as he turns in the direction of their home. Walking along, he reaches out his fingers to touch the smooth skin of her arm.
“I hope dinner is ready, I’m starving” the young girl says innocently turning to smile at the old Wolf that she knows and loves so well.
“Me too” he answers, a glimmer of sadness in his eyes “me too”.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
