Father Figure

He sees this as an opportunity to practice what he has been learning. He frets for a full day about how to phrase the message.

"Could you?" or "Would you?".

"I need you to" or not?

In the end, he decides not to text him, but to speak to him after dinner instead. The idea is that it will allow for a fuller discussion of the situation, each other's motivations, and solutions to the problem.

They are alone at the table. One of them is looking for topics to talk about, while the other, himself, is staring intently at his cough syrup. His nerves are building with gathered pace. He feels like he has been transported 30 years back in time, and he is summoning courage to ask for the latest "Shaker" mechanical pencil.

The time is right now. Still he hesitates to start the topic.

His father gets up to go, so he blurts out the question. His father replies, "OK, I know", and retires to his room to sleep.

The Gash

Oh it's so big!
It hurts so much.
I think it's at the peak now.
But what if it never heals? What if it gets infected and swells even bigger?
Oh I can't give a lecture like this!
Why do I always get this? I don't think anyone has it this bad.

Josh, stfu.

Friend of the Night

The boy wears a puffer fish for a hat. He has a deep gruff voice to go with it. His arms are narrower than the guitar. His gangly dancing style is interesting to watch from high up. He is not trying to impress with his moves though. He is clearly having a good time. But did he just play the same song three times?

The next band start setting up. They have many many speakers, and some are human-sized! One of the band members is carrying a piece of foolscap paper, walking to and fro, and tuning things here and there. 

He returns from his loo break and sits down. It is a little far, although he can see the stage very clearly. There are several smokers around him, and they are talking incessantly. 

The sun is almost down. The crowd is much bigger now. The band come on. 

"Hey we're Mogwai from Glasgow. It's great to be back in Singapore!"

Agaetis Byrjun

And so it begins. He announces his arrival at dinner and makes his appearance after lunch the next day, about a week early. What a difference he makes.

At times it is as though Calvin has stepped out of the comic books into their lives. At other times it seems like a little wyrm is struggling in his arms. Still other times they almost expect to hear him go, "Quaid.. Start the reactor..".

Half Time

He sits down on a piece of rock and rests his weapon on the ground. He takes off his helmet and uses a towel to wipe the sweat from his head, face and nape. Behind him the sun sets into the woods. His compatriot sits on the ground next to him. They share bread and water, but don't speak. The two flag-bearers mend the embroidered sigils in silence. The archers sharpen the tips of their arrows. A swordsman drops his sword as he practices his swing. Some turn because they are close enough to hear the thud. Many do not because of the thick grass.

The general rolls his map open and places wooden figures on it. His lieutenants gather around him. They go over the plan time and time again, but none is bored. All are switched on, ready. The harsh lessons have not been in vain.

The soldier stands up and walks behind an elm tree. He looks north. He thinks of the night before them, and the day after it. He turns back and sees his dinner companion staring in the same direction. They smile with excitement. In the morning they will arrive. Tonight they march. Now they rest. Back in the small clearing, they sit and talk about their families.

The general rolls up his map and signals to his liege. The liege makes his bird-call. The darkness is almost complete. The lieutenants walk the camp, pulling each man up with a firm grip. Before they break hands, they pause and stare at each other,

"To victory." 

Wishlist

1. I wish I could remember to never tense up my shoulders when working.
2. I wish to never bore of eating the same food, or of walking the same route.
3. I wish to be the gentle breeze on a hot muggy day.
4. I wish to be the guitar at end of Thom Yorke's despairing wail.
5. I wish to be ice, cool.
6. I wish I knew how Eddie came up with so many!

Whatever Happened to Those Times?

He is standing at the traffic light, waiting to cross the road. He has headphones in his ears, a cigarette in one hand and a 4-D ticket in the other. He feels the ticket in his hand. He is angry that he never wins. He lets the ticket fall to the pavement. I tap him on the shoulder and tell him that he has dropped something.

He smiles briefly, sheepishly, but it disappears instantly. He looks down, away, and says, "It's ok". I suggest that he pick it up. He turns away and concentrates hard on the traffic signal. He strides across the road when the green man appears.

I pick up the ticket and throw it in the rubbish bin not 10 metres away.