Running on empty - 1

The stillness lay as thick as the mist that hung in the pre-dawn air, coating everything with a thin film of moisture. A fox travelled across the empty ground and across his pelt could be seen a halo against the glow of streetlamps that lit the sky and caught its light in the droplets of water on his back. The fox stopped and shook himself, lifting his nose to the damp air hoping to catch a scent, his ears flicking back and forth to locate a sound. But the silence remained and the air did not move.
After the fox had moved on a sound did stir the air. It was a groan that came from the old railwayman’s hut beside the tracks, just before the bridge over the canal. Through the clapboard planks came the sound of pain and suffering.

For the umpteenth time she promised her brain that she would stop inflicting this hurt upon the cells within. Her brain gave no answer except to release more pain behind the eyes and cause another grunt. Eventually she drifted back to sleep and the silence returned.

The sun made a brief appearance as dawn broke through the low cloud but it was unable to penetrate the mist and was only seen briefly as a washed-out watercolour picture might show, before the clouds closed in again.

She awoke with her belly complaining and the headache still there. With a lot of mumbling and stumbling she had voided her bowels and even climbed down to the canal to clear the debris around the bottom step so she could wash her face in the cold water. The pain at the back of the eye sockets dropped a few notches and she was able to summon up the energy to think a little. In the hut, she had pulled a backpack from its hiding place (under the floorboards) and found an apple and a still-wrapped meat pie. Mindful that her mouth felt like the floor of a budgies cage, she decided to leave the pie until later. She took the apple outside and climbed up onto the roof to eat her breakfast.
The triangle of empty land lay still. To the left the railway, angled to the right the canal which disappeared beneath the railway bridge. To mark the top of the triangle the blank wall of a derelict printing factory joined the two. Steel, water and brick. Almost a prison. She had been here for months and had seen no-one. Which was odd, areas that had accommodation are hard to come by and the hut she sat upon was in a desirable area. Views over water – good transportation links and a blank canvas. A prime location; so why did nobody come here?
She changed into the cleanest ‘dirty clothes’ she could find in the capacious holdall. A rummage around also produced a linen tie-up bag into which she stuffed her laundry. She hid her rucksack and shut the door, carefully placing objects to show if anyone had entered.
She found enough change in her jeans pocket to pay for a Service-Wash and decided to kill the hours waiting for the washing with a good read so she set off for the library. Her mood was light as she stepped into the grand entrance of the public building and as she headed upstairs for the reading-room she came upon a photo exhibition.
Pictures lined the wall of the staircase – a portrait of a town through the eye of a camera. The photographer in question was a student at the local college she read from the introduction pamphlet at the foot of the stairs..
One by one she climbed the stairs, taking in the vast array of black & white pictures. They showed a good selection of views from oblique angles upon a town that had lost its way. Alongside the essential views of the high street and the civic buildings lay interesting and candid portraits of the population along with strangely lit pictures of decay and urban desolation.
It was a good balanced collection and then, there, suddenly was a picture of her current home – a beautifully structured picture; taken from the brick wall end and showing the railway and the canal meeting; forming, on the print, a perfect triangle. The tiny, leaning shed that stood alone at the apex said it all – derelict - Nothingness.
As beautifully crafted as the picture was, it held an air of despair that grated the nerves and with an effort she averted her eyes and then - fate being fate, halted their progress by bringing them to rest upon another image that sent a shock throughout her body and made the bile rise in her throat…

He had a flat. Clean(ish) sheets! How could she not like it? It had been a good party. They had met at Geralds party, who had done everyone proud by throwing money at the booze; they had exchanged pleasantries and talked and at home-time he had offered a lift – or maybe, a coffee? A nightcap perhaps?
The coffee was gross. But he did have a nice flat and she had agreed to it. He had eyes with a slight squint, not unnerving but a tad off-putting. She had been with worse.
His grunts of passion had dissolved as he fell asleep on top of her. She caught an odour of his breath and heaved him off.
Climbing out of bed she padded her way to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. An hour passed.
She left a note thanking him. - Never let it be said that she wasn’t grateful. A good nights sleep in the arms of another did do something for the soul. Not nearly enough, but it went partway.
It was later that afternoon when their paths crossed.
She wandered the shelves of Safeway looking for instant gratification -though without the need for a microwave oven. Fresh fruit along with bread and cheese had so far made up the selection.
The arm that led her away from the cooked-meats clung firmly. The voice held a further warning that resistance was futile…
A debt was owed it seemed. She had not fulfilled her part of the ‘bargain’. She had walked out on him. She had hurt his pride. She placed the basket on the floor and followed him.
The immediate assumption that punishment was due became apparent when he closed the door to the flat. She took it. What followed was worse. She took that too. The dismissal was final.
During early evening when the day hovers between light and dark she had returned to her hut. The feelings she held within now came out and she vomited without reservation. She tried to let all the hurt and hate exit her body and stain the ground but she had been left heaving and hurting …..

The picture showed that moment. The photographer had been there and focused in on her as she let the day vent from her body. He had intruded upon her solitary moment and put that moment up for all to see. The shock of seeing the picture was to much. She held her hand to her face and cried out…

to be continued...

just the one..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5fGTzEuk6-8&mode=related&search=

or maybe

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I7RDuqJiayc&mode=related&search=

Days like these...

Some days interest and care wanes. You go to work and try to get through the day – but, others get in the way…. Then there are days when a job well done can work wonders.

“No. You cannot transfer the number of a bleep and expect it to bypass the transfer.”
“I NEED a bleep!” Shouting.
“Yes. You do. And you have one.”
“I need a bleep that will find me. This only gets the Ortho SHO. I want you to get hold of me. I am expecting calls.”
“You have a bleep.” Sighing. “WE know you are on that bleep because your number has been transferred to the Emergency bleep you now hold in your hand. That way WE know that YOU are on that bleep. If we want you we can find you – if you answer the thing.” Another sigh.
“Are you telling me that because I forgot my bleep this morning I am now non-obtainable?”
“No. I am telling you that should anyone come to us and ask for you by name or title, we WILL be able to bleep you personally. Because that’s what we do. We provide a service. We have serviced YOU with a bleep this morning because you forgot to brings yours with you. It behoves the Hospital to keep running in the face of such adversity and needs must, so, thus – We have given you a way around your singular predicament and allowed you to go about your clinical duties without any concern over your personal contact ability. Safe in knowledge that as long as the bleep you have about you is functional (easily tested yourself by dialling it), and performs to its maximum, you WILL be found. Far be it from us to cast a shadow upon your day.” A yawn.
Click
I have said it before and I will say it again; Doctors may be Clever – but they are not very bright.
The everyday objects that us ordinary mortals take for granted are anathema to Doctors. For varying reasons:
Some are prone to ultimate Professionalism they loose track of reality.
Some lean toward the effusive behaviour that belies the person underneath.
Some are so far Up themselves they all have brown eyes…
Some are just plain dim.
I carefully put the headset into its charger. I pushed back the chair and stood uttering another cry to the heavens and rolling my eyes. I saw sympathetic eyes as the others looked up.
With a casual glance at my desk I set off for the Post room. (As a Department we are lower than the bottom rung of any ladder and we fail to show on any charts, so we do not get our mail delivered like everywhere else.. Not that I mind, I like the walk through reception and the canteen to get a ‘feel’ of the place.)
Besides, David would brighten my day. He always greeted me with a broad grin and a loud hello. True, some mornings did not warrant such enthusiasm and anyone else would get their head bitten off, but David gets away with it through no knowledge of any over-indulgence on my part the night before. He doesn’t feel the pain between my eyes and the throbbing in my head. He only knows that he has to get the post delivered in five minutes, therefore approach with caution upon the – otherwise engaged.

This day, Daevid was engaged. His eyes and mind focused upon an envelope that he held in a vice-like grip and peered at with suspicious eyes. It did not convey language to him that he understood –
Indignant tone ~ “What’s this?” The letter thrown onto the desk. The moment passed.
I entered the post room and said “Good morning all, morning David.” I headed for the pigeonhole where my post is kept, To the left Steve mumbled a sound that could have been a greeting. David gave another envelope a thorough scrutiny.
I grabbed my post and made my exit.
I was halfway along the corridor almost at the slightly different coloured tile in the floor when I heard the response…
“Morning! Mand” Shouted David.
“Hello David.” I glanced down at my handful of post and saw a name that was unfamiliar. I stopped and turned and retraced my steps up the corridor. The address on the envelope was for another department and I reasoned that they might want it more than me. As I re-entered the room two heads as though’ joined peered down at an envelope held in Davids hand.
“But what does it mean?”
He thrust out his hand toward Steve who took it and peered through bloodshot eyes at the thing before him and tried to focus. “I dunno. Means nothing to me. Get George to look.” He turned to put the offending article to one side and noticed me. “Oh, hello again. What did we get wrong?” He picked up another pile from the open sack and began to deposit them in the appropriate compartments.
“No problem Andy, just this one which belongs in the hole underneath mine I believe.” I flicked the offender into the gap and turned away again.
“What do you make of this?” Said David as he thrust the envelope under my nose. “We can’t understand it.”
I glanced at the envelope. It had clear writing on it, it said; - ‘Adams wife – Hamlet Ward.’
David gave his thoughts aloud and with some indignation, “How do we know who Adam is.?” He snorted derisively, “How does he expect us to know his wife.” He laughed at the mistake the silly person responsible for writing that into the address box had made.
I shall admit no collusion here. I have come across this ‘clever’ addressing of envelopes before. - In a previous incarnation (or was it this one?...) I used to be a humble Porter who had the task of post-sorting. It is now tho’ an established position in its own right. To have sent it deliberately would be to admit to a massive amount of forethought on my part. – I rest my case.
“Perhaps David, you Do know, but he has written it in code that only You may know.” I gave him back the envelope.
He snatched it from me and looked at it with more suspicion than before. He began to see more in the words on the letter. “Are you sure?” He glanced my way and looked hard for the right answer.
“I reckon so David. You are up to it. Just think it through one step at a time. First think of Adams wife. I will see you later and check if you have any success, I am interested to know.”
“Did you send it?” He called down the corridor.
“No David.”
Steve may have helped a little. Who knows? I didn’t ask. I returned toward eleven a.m. because the first round has been done and the internal sorting is almost over.
David was eager to impart news of his progress. “Guess what!” He demanded.
“About what?”
“The letter!!” His eyes rolled at my stupidity. He was on a quest – and I appeared to be distracted from it. Then he added, “Perhaps you have been working and forgotten.”
“I am afraid so David. But I remember now, how have you got on?”
“Well,” he shuffled his feet a bit and stared at the floor. “I think I know who Adams wife is.” Before I could ask he blurted out the answer. “EVE!”
“Of course!. SO, where does that leave things? Have you got the letter to the rightful owner?”
“No.” He returned his gaze to the floor. “I was just thinking of Hamlet Ward. I don’t know anyone called Hamlet.”
“Ever heard of William Shakespeare?”
“Course.”
“And what do you know about Shakespeare David?”
“He wrote a lot of plays and things.”
“yes he did. Do you know of any?”
He threw back his head and gave the speech…. “To be or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing, end them. …”
“Wow! Where did you learn that?”
“I read it” He looked at me as though I was a simpleton. I felt one.
“OK, go back to the beginning. What is the first line?”
“To be or not to be. …that is….”
“Stop.” I held up a hand. “Say that again.”
“To be or not to be.”
“Give me just the first two words.”
A moment of digestion. “To be.” Triumph! The light came on. “2B!!!! It’s ward 2B!!!!” He almost danced with joy. “Andy!!!, it’s ward 2B, we need to ask if they have anyone called Eve!”
I wandered off. It was nice to see success, but much better to hear it fading into the distance and enjoy the moment for what it was.
I had just past the different coloured tile when I heard a voice call up the corridor and my heart glowed.
"Thanks Mand"