For a fleeting moment...
119 words
For a fleeting moment I allow myself to close my eyes…
I see myself standing in a narrow street of an Italian mountain town, the air is cool and fresh, the sky blue and the sun is warm on my face. Nearby there is an impressive church, the ancient building boasts an imposing bell tower, it casts a cool shadow over the the green grass below…
I open my eyes…
I have joined the other grey faced people who are seated around me. The tube train is hot, its lighting harsh, the carriage shakes and rattles onwards deeper into the city.
We sit with blank expressions, almost unaware of the train hurtling at high speed through the dark tunnel.
Posted by: Leeroy Lugg
About Time
110 words
As a child I would sometimes stand in front the 70’s styled fireplace and gaze into the face of the wooden wind-up clock that sat upon the thin mantelpiece.
I was fascinated by the gentle ‘tick-tock’ and by the way the minute hand only appeared to move when you were not looking directly at it.
On a few occasions I even attempted pressing my nose right up against the clock face to try and detect movement.
Now, the minutes, hours, days, months and years move by at a greater speed and sometimes I wish I could stand in front of that clock again – and not see the minute hand move.
Posted by: Leeroy Lugg
Tiny rainbows
95 words
I once stood at the very end of a sun bleached pier.
The pier had a simple design, roughly constructed out of white fractured concrete; over the years parts had become damaged, chunks were missing; it was slowly falling into the sea. The concrete structure stretched deep out into the Mediterranean, its base was four feet wide and only high enough to extend a few inches above the lapping water.
As I watched the distant surf roll towards the shoreline, tiny rainbows magically appeared just above the waves; translucent colours bouncing aimlessly in the sea-spray.
Posted by: Leeroy Lugg
Mr Approachable!
376 words
I leave the house for the first time in three days…
I have been stuck in front the of the computer screen for hours, fighting with CSS and various annoying browser bugs. I have to get out of the house; my brain feels like it might explode. Its been raining, that non-stop drizzly rain, it reminds me of living in Wales!
I don the appropriate weather gear, pull a hat over my head, and make my way to Sainsburys. I am only five minutes out of the house when I hear someone shouting “hello, hello” at my back.
I ignore the calls; I have been living in the city long enough not to respond to everyone who calls out in the street. The man shouts again, this time there is some urgency in his voice. I stop to face him and ask him what he wants.
He says something like ‘Mwubson’, I ask him to repeat, and he speaks the same word again. I apologise and tell him that I cannot understand. He appears unconcerned; smiles and walks away. I continue with my journey to the shops.
In the chilled meat section of Sainsburys, someone else demands my attention. The man has an Eastern-European accent, he is pointing at a package of chicken legs. He quizzes me about the label. The label states ‘Buy one and get one free’. I tell him that this is correct, buy one piece of chicken and get another one free. He gives me a worried look and then adds the items to his basket. I leave him pondering this strange new information; I briefly look back at him, the worried expression has been replaced with a smile.
On the way home a motorbike pulls up next to me. The man on the bike shouts something, I cannot hear above the sound of his bike. He tries again, this time I lift my hat from over my ears, I hear him say ‘Walthamstow?” I tell him he is on the right road, but going the wrong way. He thanks me, rides away, now heading in the right direction.
Most days I move through this city like a ghost, I feel as if I am invisible.
Today however, I am… Mr Approachable!
Posted by: Leeroy Lugg
Long-distance harassment
317 words
I am sitting in front the computer, locked in my office; I am working flat-out to meet a client deadline.
Too many programmes are running at the same time, the computer is groaning, the old machine is distressed, I think I’m having some kind of a JavaScript, CSS, Fireworks breakdown. The phone rings…
I pick up the handset, there is a slight pause and then a crackle, a man speaks, there is an echo. A man with a Deli accent tells me that his name is Ken; he has called me with some good news. He asks me to confirm my name and telephone number; I tell him the information he has is correct.
Ken continues. He tells me that his computer has randomly chosen my name and that he delighted to tell me that I have won an all expenses paid European holiday, he stresses the word European.
As he speaks, I hear a clatter of background noise, hundreds of other telephone-workers chattering to other lucky customers. Ken tries his best to come across excited and enthusiastic, it does not work. I tell him I am not interested, he does not appear to listen… he continues to talk.
Ken is unaware of my JavaScript, CSS, Fireworks breakdown; he does not care about my predicament or my client’s deadline, I am rapidly running out of patience. I tell him once again that he is wasting his time. However, there is no stopping Ken, he is persistent; he continues with his long-distance harassment, his voice digitally transported to London across thousands of miles of Space.
I have had enough, I slowly place the receiver back into its cradle; his excited voice is still audible, talking not listening, however, he is now talking to himself. I cut Ken off, mid-sentence.
I look up at the computer screen, it has frozen; I decide its time for a cup of tea.
Posted by: Leeroy Lugg
Like old friends?
147 words
I have been cycling to work along the same route for about five years, I take the short cut over the Marshes and up into Hackney, East London. It’s a quiet off-road route, a pleasant, easy ride with only one hill. As I peddle along the hedge-lined road, I see the same regular faces. We pass by briefly, sometimes we make eye contact, and sometimes we do not. I suppose the other cyclists are commuting themselves… heading off to work.
The funny thing is that there are only two people, out of the twelve or so regular riders that I bid a “Good Morning” or say “Hello” to. I do not know who they are, what their names are or anything about them, yet I say “Hello” or “Good Morning” to them as if they are old friends.
I probably wouldn’t even recognise them off their bikes.
Posted by: Leeroy Lugg