The Time For Resolution

As per usual, I look fondly at this site and think, you know, I really should get back to doing this. Or I’ll sit next to Kirsty on the sofa and talk with her about my various projects and she will make some sarcastic remark or another about me writing on here, or the lack of it, making me feel like I am neglecting a duty. (She says that my writing rarely meets her taste yet she misses the posts! Kind of sweet really) It’s not like I haven’t been writing 400 words a day. It’s just that the creativity has gone into other avenues. Mainly computer coding and, ironically, I only starting focusing on that in my spare time to help with my writing ideas. Such as an online sort of CYOA. (On hold until I get the user interface created… which requires more learning) or the game Alex and I are playing around with. (On hold until I can work out what I’m getting wrong with some of the coding… that and Assassins Creed Oddessy…)

So, in spirit of this inferred request of Kirsty’s, let me start 2019 with a reflection on 2018.

Unlike 2016 and 2017, which were years of substantial growth and success; from winning custody of my eldest daughter, graduating, the birth of my youngest daughter and the achievement of attaining a career in two unknown roles for me, which finally meant I could break away from retail. I feel that 2018 was more about trying to shoulder the responsibility that came with my rapid growth. The move into such an unknown field (Computer Technical with the Service Desk role and then Program Development when I applied for the Developer Trainee program) had taken a larger toll on me than I think I admitted to anyone except Kirsty. So it meant I felt like I was sinking far more than I was holding my own. A number of times I even wondered if I had made a massive blunder in my decision, a blunder that would not only affect myself, but of two, then three, additional persons that I loved and couldn’t bear to let down. Because as I put above, my growth hadn’t just been in a professional or educational manner. I had suddenly gone from being a divorcee with two cats depending on him to having a family once more as well as two cats that depended on him (one of which had developed diabetes and now needs additional care).

So I had to learn these exciting new roles at work. I had to re-learn my eldest daughter, who over the course of a few years had gone through a number of difficult times (so should be a diplomat) and was having trouble coping with those experiences. I had to also adjust my relationship with her from the part time “I’m going to cram 3 months of love into 2 weeks” Dad daughter relationship to “I need to give you a structured lifestyle that keeps the fun but gives you good grounding for the future, oh and we don’t need to cram it into two weeks anymore” Dad daughter relationship. I’ll admit. It took me far longer than I would have liked to find an acceptable balance here. However, I think the foundations are now there and hopefully in time for the challenges ahead.

I also had to re-learn how to live with another adult and adjust my lifestyle to be more accommodating to the needs of that person. This was less of a challenge and more of a privilege as I hadn’t just found that which I never thought I would find (someone who would make me feel whole once more and give me purpose) but I had managed to find more than that. I had managed to find my equal in all matters. Someone who would support when I needed it. Care when I did not know I wanted it. And challenge when it was warranted. I don’t fight endless cycles with her, with points just being reiterated just because a fight was wanted. We fight on the points that are necessary, when necessary, then we discuss and plans are set out. She is the Yin to my Yang and despite how much she infuriates me, I wouldn’t change her for the world.

Then I had to learn how to be a father to a small being once more. I’ll be honest, and this is in some ways an apology to my eldest, but the first time around, I don’t think I was ready to be a Dad. I think hearing the words “I’m pregnant” for the first time is a character test for any man. In my mind, they do one of two things. Step up and try, or run. I stepped up for her, but I don’t think I was particularly good at it back then. However, when my youngest came along, I was ready. I knew my past mistakes and I didn’t want to repeat them. I think I treasure more my small roles after a day of work and I love the elements to her evening routines that are mine. I’ll give them up from time to time, sure. But these are my treasured moments, and being a working Dad, we don’t really get many of those. I also love the relationship between the two sisters. They adore each other and most of the time, they get on really well!

Finally, as I finish this reflection and look towards this year, 2019. We learned that Kirsty is carrying my son, who will be joining us somewhere between late January and late February. I’m particularly excited about this because I won’t be as outnumbered gender wise as I was! In seriousness, this will be completely new. While I love my daughters to bits, nor would I change them, I’m looking forward to this new adventure, also I’m looking forward to going into a store and knowing what to buy for him!

I think 2019 should be a year of enjoyment. Maybe small growth from the foundations that Kirsty and I have spent the last two years trying to settle in. Maybe even a house with a garden, which would be nice. Or maybe this year, I’ll manage to sit and write on here some more.

But from me, I hope you all had a great 2018 and good luck for 2019.

Happy New Year!

Nothing

I stare at the blackness surrounding me. It would be hard to say darkness, as that insinuates that there is a modicum of light to be seen. A shred of something. A glimmer of a long dead star or the ethereal glimpse at something in the distance. That is not the case. Tis just black. It strikes me that this is nothing and if that is the case then what is there to write about? What is there to talk about?

Nothing.

Then I think of the story I once read. I struggle to think of the name of it, although it definitely had a wizard. He was challenged to do nothing. An easy task I almost hear you say. Why I can sit there and no nothing right now! But are you really doing nothing. Can anyone do nothing? Can there really be nothing? Because in reality, when you are just sitting there, you’re travelling around the sun at 66,615 miles per hour. So even if you discount the breathing, heart rate and not to mention your thoughts. Are you doing nothing? Because it takes a lot of effort to maintain nothing.

And herein lies the secret to nothing. It makes you curious about it. I reach out testing the blackness around me; is this really nothing? And a thread of light, thinner even, streaks and swirls away to disappear just as it had arrived. A shiver runs down my spine and I grin at the sensations released, only to sigh and feel the corners of my lips drop as it dies. It felt good, I think, again?

I reach once more towards Nothing and light begins to swirl away. It’s hard at first, it takes a lot of focus to keep the stream of light flowing. It flickers, dims and threatens to fade away once more. Then, at the point that I feel like there’s no hope in maintaining it, it strengthens and holds. Glinting slightly as it solidifies.

Yes, I punch up at the nothingness and a nod confirms my success. A steady trickle is threading its way, alleviating the blackness to the state of darkness. There was light, finally.

I clutch hold of my tendril of light, sweat beading my brow, not wanting this success to waver or break, but also fearful of losing control and falling back into nothing. So I reach out in another direction and another thread spawns. This one solidifies quicker than the first so I throw out two more. It becomes a game almost. What is the fastest time that I can create this beacon of hope? Each time one begins to waver and falter I rush back to it to give it more strength, clearing the odd sting from my eyes as sweat drips in.

But each success emboldens me further, maybe I can be the bringer of light to this barren place? Because that is what it seemed to be. I cared little as I spread my light like a spider spins its web, my light illuminating all around it. But nothing seemed to be revealed and the darkness hungrily encroached upon it. .

But it’s still better is it not? Is it not better than the nothingness of before?

I close my eyes and feel my head droop slightly and almost feel one of the beacons waver once more. And my mind leaps to strengthen it.

I frown as I feel an ache around my shoulders and my mind leaps to the defence of another, then descends to my torso as I reinforce it some more… or was it emanating out from my chest to my shoulders-

You’re losing another…

My eyes snap open. That thought was not my own. I stare at my chest. I blanch but cannot move, for all of my tendrils of light are linked to my chest and were streaming out towards my web.

I claw at my chest, and where I felt a solid form before, my hands pass through as ineffectually as trying to grab air. Then the Nothing begins to feast as I try to draw within myself.

What’s the matter? it asks, You were so happily offering yourself before. What happened? We’re not full yet. We need more.

Taking a deep breath, I try to cut the flow from me, however the pull is too strong. Hungry…

I imagine a full plate armour and encase myself within it, praying to anything that would listen that it would rebound the darkness from its shining metal plates.

The Nothing listened. It always listens, and it took some more.

My legs begin to shake as I struggle to breathe, the weight of my armour forces me to a knee and the light within starts to dim.

“Please,” I ask. “I have given enough.”

What? the Nothing says, You don’t want to help us anymore?

“It’s… not that,” I reply, “I just have nothing more I can give”

The Nothing laughs as I realise the folly of my words.

Indeed you do, so Nothing will I take…

I gasp as the light streaks harder, splintering off from their carefully constructed beams. Shredding down to thin wavery wisps as I fall to hands and knees, trembling to keep myself whole.

Then the first one snaps and I cry out as a jolt convulses me. Then another and another. In the order that I created my web, they shred and snap. I focus on the light within me as it begins to dim, the pain intensifying as I cradle the dying candle to shield it from an unseen threat.

I watch it flicker.

I watch it splutter.

Then…

 

 

 

Nothing

 

 

Writing Exercise: Meta

I walked in through the front door and felt the reassuring slam ripple through me as it closed behind me. The argument between Mr and Mrs Morris from flat five was silenced by the sealing of the portal.

I was home.

Realising my eyes were closed, I open them to the misty air inside my living room. First thought was that I’d left the cooker on from earlier in the day or, heaven forbid and thank God I still had a home, the previous night. However the cloying smell of tobacco assaulted my sense of smell and my eyes sought the source.

In the corner was a middle aged man, or rather, a middle aged man for his race. His blue spikey hair was resting against the headrest of my armchair as he billowed smoke towards the ceiling. He was wearing his usual green t-shirt and blue jeans. His maroon leather coat was flung across the arm of the nearby sofa.

My cat Asuka was rubbing herself up against his hand as he idly scratched the top of her head and his one red eye watched my every move with casual amusement. The other eye was white and pupil-less. The vertical scar going through it the testament to how he lost it.

“Hard day?” he asked as he raised a pipe to his mouth and took a toke. Red embers flared up in its bowl and a tendril of smoke snuck out of a nostril.

My mind finally registers the impossibility before me. “Seems like,” I mutter as I reach into my pocket for my phone. It seems oddly allusive but then my fingers clasp around the cold metal backing of it and lift it out by the corner with the cracked screen. In one fluid motion I scroll onto the camera, point it at the person in my armchair and take the picture, instantly sending it to Alex with the caption of “Can you see this too?”

Reassured by the creation of the photographic evidence that my mind was still sound, I sat in my office chair across from him. The computer on the nearby desk seemed to sense my arrival, or rather I must have inadvertently knocked it, and whirred to life.

“You don’t smoke,” I stated as he billowed more pipe-smoke into my living room.

“I thought I’d give it a try,” he replied, “besides, you have yet to write the chronicles of Gabriel, so I can do what I like…”

“Chronicles of Gabriel?”

Gabriel grinned at me, accentuating the chunk that was missing from his nose. “Yes,” he said, “Riddick got his own and so did that ridiculous place Narnia. Least you could do is give me my own.”

Music (Part 2)

There are other times though when the music has influenced the scene that has then become logged as a memory. The first one of these examples is this:

It was shortly after I had split up from my wife and I wasn’t taking things particularly well. My best mate was still in the country (I know right, what best friend deserts you for fairer climes?) and I had my daughter for one of my holiday stints. We had travelled out to Chichester where he lived so that she could see her Godfather and so that he could attempt to cheer me up.

We had a pleasurable enough day, despite my mood throughout. Anyway, during it, my daughter was sat at the computer, a two monitor set up with keyboard and unit, as well as a drawing pad as Alex likes to do a lot of drawing. Alex had youtube playing a playlist he had set up. This song came on as part of it and my daughter started singing along to it. Now, whenever I hear that song, that scene and my daughter singing it pops into my head.

Another was when I had a friend over a little while after getting my own flat as I’d promised to cook a meal to prove to her that I actually could. So after a bit of tinkering, clanging of pots and the odd profanity here and there where I caught myself on the edge of a tin lid, I had cooked up a rather respectable spaghetti bolognaise.

While serving, I quickly decided to run the drinks into the living room, which was serving as my diner. I had placed a square dining table on top of the beige coloured carpet and seated two chairs opposite each other. She had sat in the chair facing the entranceway, as I had no door partitioning the living area and hallway, and I remember her toying with her brown hair, staring intently at the offending strands through green eyes while quietly singing along to “Here without you” by 3 Doors Down. I remember standing in the archway listening before she looked up and saw me, immediately stopping with her song. Smiling, I had walked to the table and set the teas down on it, telling her that the food would only be a couple more minutes.

Music brings me back to those moments, stirring sensations that sometimes I had thought were long forgotten. Music and I are inseparable which is why I find it so strange when I meet someone who lives their life without it.

Music (Part 1)

Ok, this is a topic that I seem to keep drifting back to on a fairly regular basis, however I can claim that today it is not necessarily my fault. At work this morning, I spoke to one of the delivery drivers as we watched a guy, pissed off his face, walking down the road as if it was a water bridge. It had drifted from comments on the state of the drunk’s life to be drunk at that time, to a mate of the delivery driver who had to get drunk no matter where he went, including music gigs and finally, onto different bands that we’d both seen, both tribute and actual.

It was his parting comment that got me. “Where would we be without music?”

As evident by earlier works, music is the core of my being. There are too many things that can be related to a song or state of mind. Others are linked to memories, some of which I hold dear. It also made me think of a discussion I had with someone else who has no music in their life. They would prefer silence over anything else, the polar opposite of me.

I guess I just don’t see how they could eliminate music from their life. Not only is it there to help with my writing, showing me the choreography to a fight scene or empower an emotion that was very drab to begin with, but as I said, it gives an added layer to every other aspect of my life. There are times when a track comes on and suddenly I’m flooded with memories.

For instance, whenever Reverence comes on, I have three distinct memories that are associated with it. The first is back when I bought my first Mini Disk – for all those who remember the brief stint where Mini Disk went up against MP3… It will about as remembered as the HD disk in their battle against BluRay… – I had used my Christmas money and the remainder of it I spent on a few singles that looked a little interesting so thought I’d give them a try.

One of them was titled “You Don’t Need Eyes To See You Need Vision”, “Reverence”, “Faithless”. and on it was 5 different versions of the song, “You don’t need eyes to see you need vision” that I enjoyed immensely.

Roll onto the second memory, I decided that I wanted to listen to more of their work so went in search of more music by Faithless. I remember going into a HMV store, trying to find the album with the track “You don’t need eyes to see you need vision” on it. I found the Artist and scoured the track lists of the CDs they had there to no avail. So I took two of the cases up to the desk and asked them to do a search for that track and again, they found nothing. Those of you who are checking back to before and nodding knowingly where I went wrong, get back here, that’s cheating, this is my story! But the two albums I bought were “Outrospective” and “Reverence”…

I got on the bus from Winchester to Chandlers Ford and put Reverence in my portable CD player and the first track…  “Reverence”…  was the track that I had been searching for…

The final memory is probably the one that rises to the surface first. When I got those albums I played them to death. I’m also a heavy gamer and I enjoy RPGs – No, not rocket propelled grenades… roleplaying games… – but the soundtracks do get a bit boring after a while. Especially when you’re level grinding and you have to play the same maps or fight the same battles over and over. So, game music normally gets muted and my music gets put on.

 

During the time that I was playing Faithless songs to death, I was playing the game “The Summoner” on the PS2. I loved it and now, when tracks like Reverence comes on, I get the imagery of that game rise to the fore in my mind and not only that, but I also get a weird compulsion that I should really play that game again sometime soon.

 

(TBC)

Return of the RP

Today, I was brought back to my roots. The place where one of my greatest creations was born. About eleven years ago, I went onto a forum for those who loved Square Enix games, or more to the point, it was a fan base for Final Fantasy. There, in the boredom of a Computing class that was really not for me, I started a story in Square Enix Forums’ Creative section.

It was an experiment using the second person where I made the reader the evil character and any sections that involved the antagonist became about what you were doing. Safe to say, it failed miserably. Mainly because second person is so difficult to write believably. In addition, you are telling people what they are doing and no one likes to be told that. However, this is beside the point, I had from this experiment a character that I then carried into the Roleplaying section of the site.

The people I met there helped me craft not only that character, but my skills as a writer. The thing people don’t necessarily get with Roleplay writing, is that although you may come up with the original idea for the narrative, you have no control over the general flow of the story. It is in the hands of all those that wish to participate to help craft and guide the story, not losing sight of possible plot points but everyone writing the story from the perspective of their character. So you would have different avenues, different perspectives, different methods to achieving the story’s aims and many of them were ways that you as the original creator could not have thought up to begin with. It also created intense character dynamics as not only were you learning your own character, but how to write with other people’s as well.

It was with a heavy heart, all those years ago, that I saw that hobby pass away. Firstly I focused on my own writing, and then before I knew it life had taken over. In addition, many of my writing friends fell to the wayside, their own lives taking them away from the realms of writing and creativity, the dreams of the characters they created falling into the abyss of ‘childhood play’. Before I knew it, I was very close to the only Roleplayer from that period of my life, still writing.

However, recently, there has been a resurrection. With a couple, it has been my writing of these 400 words and the story of Creativity where I revived some characters long thought dead to their creators. Others, had been focusing on their own works, believing the same as I that the passion for writing had perished in the hearts of the others.

So, tonight, on a site I thought had long since died, but kept alive by a good friend of mine in the hopes that we would all one day return, I gave my character, Ranger, back to the lands of nostalgia and threw him into the vortex for a new portal entrance into a brand new roleplay.

And to be honest with you all, it felt good to write with him in a manner that didn’t need to have a devised plot or direction. It felt good, to play once more.

 

(PS – Yes, I know this reeks of a filler, however, I felt that it needed to be said. For any interested in reading or even joining in with the fun. Go to http://z11.invisionfree.com/Mao/index.php?act=idx

People Watching

As I walked away from the till today, Yaz took a phone call. Innocuous enough I know, however what amused me was how she stood while talking away on it, phone to ear, feet crossed at the ankle and her free hand on her hip.

I watch people for a number of reasons, the first and foremost is to help with my writing. To give that added edge to a description or a scene. Those tiny things that make the story or piece that little more authentic. It also reminded me of other people who’s mannerisms when they… let’s say … have “conversations with those who cannot be seen”.

Reason for that phrasing is the first example. I was at St John with a woman once who had quite amusing mannerisms. Her name was Lyn, and to me she was always a rather pleasant person to talk to. She was short and on the plump side of things. She had short hair that on the occasion of this memory was red and circular lensed glasses. We were doing radio work at the division that evening, with someone inside being control and we were basically playing a game of hide and seek but using radios to relay areas that we had searched and other information. A game designed to make us more comfortable with using the comms radios.

The radioes had crackled before Mark, the ‘Control Officer’ for the exercise began communication. “Foxtrot Delta 495, Foxtrot Delta 495 from Control are you receiving? Over.”

Lyn took the radio in her hand, the other positioned on her hip like a teapot handle. The hand containing the radio slowly raised towards her mouth, her arm curving like the spout of the pot in the process while her legs were positioned like someone doing the Egyptian dance.

“Foxtrot Delta 495 receiving, over,” she said and then tipped the radio in her hand, holding it between thumb and index and turned her head to look over the shoulder of her ‘handled’ arm, lips pouted as if posing for her close up.

Another person who amuses me, is my mate Dean. Whenever he is talking to someone on the phone, he treats it like he’s having a face to face conversation… and he’s an illustrator. I remember one time, I was playing a game on the console he was merrily talking away to someone on the headset, describing the box he received for his edition of Elder Scrolls Online.

“It’s this big,” he said outstretching his hands to twice shoulder width. “Fucking huge mate, I’m tellin’ ya. No idea how I’m going to fit it on my shelf.”

In my defence though, even though I was sniggering at the sight of his illustrations, I did try and point out that they couldn’t actually see him.

And finally, although it’s not strictly under the banner of “conversations with people who cannot be seen” I can’t talk about postures and how people are subconsciously without mentioning Holmsey. A mate of mine from cricket. Us as a club have a habit of filming stupid situations or games that are played. Normally the drinking type. I remember one in particular, where we were having a few beers at the White Horse in Ampfield after a match. They were coming up with a repetition game where we all had a call sign and Gunner decided that he was going to film a round.

Holmsey was slumped in his chair, one hand resting idly on his knee while the other propped his chin, laughing as the game moved around the players. And then his call sign snapped to him and Gunner’s camera followed. He sat bolt upright, chest puffed out with a camera smile pasted across his face and did his go. He remained in this position until the camera was finally off him, where he slumped back into his original position, and lit a cigarette.

November Rain: Day 4

What have I done?

Things have so badly gotten out of hand, I don’t know how it happened. Okay,  okay, pull yourself together and think things over clearly. Right, deep breath, now start.

I’d gone to my overlook to make sure whoever was bothering her didn’t come round. It’s been a long week and my work has suffered from my lack of sleep, but she’s important. I can handle a little sleep loss if it means that she could sleep at night. Problem is that she hadn’t been. She kept pacing around her house, glancing out of the window as if expecting trouble to come barging through her door at any moment. It’s Okay, I wanted to tell her, I’m here. You’re safe. But she would never accept my help, so it was best that she didn’t know I was there. Best that I remained in the shadows, her protector in the darkness, you know, a bit like Batman!

Last night, sleep must have finally taken me because one moment I was covered by the shroud of nightfall and the next, the sun had crested over the horizon, bathing her garden in its golden rays. Dew had settled into my clothing and the songbirds were in full song. Normally, I was back home by this point and showered and ready to head in for my shift. Today, I stared down from my branch at her angry eyes and haughty hands on hips.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she said. “You spying on me? What the fuck?”

I scrambled down from my branch. “Please,” I said when my feet touched the ground, my knees buckled under me and I fell to the floor. “Not so loud. I was worried.”

“You were worried?” she shrieked and pushed away from me. Me! “About what?”

I got to my feet, “Ryan, I thought he was harassing you, I thought that was why you were always so worried, so anxious.”

“Anxious? I was scared shitless because I thought I was being followed, watched. People were telling me it was in my head. I haven’t slept for days! And not I find it was you, all along and not in my head.. I’m calling the police-”

“No! Don’t! I was only trying to protect you, I…”

She wasn’t listening. She had turned her back on me and was walking back towards her house, I had to stop her. I wouldn’t last five minutes in jail, and I hadn’t done anything wrong, I was looking out for her!

I rushed after her and got to her just as she got to her door. She looked over at me and screamed, “Stay away you perve!” and tried to slam the door. I put my shoulder to it. I just wanted to talk, I had to make her see that I meant no harm.

I pushed through and she bounced off the door into the table she had in the hallway, bashing her leg as she did so. She must have deadened it as her next step gave way and she fell, staring at me with fear in her eyes, scrambling away from me.

She was screaming, I had to stop her screaming as the neighbors would call the police and then I’d have a hard time explaining this. It wouldn’t be what it looked like. I scrambled down onto my hands and knees and practically crawled over her, grasping her mouth with my hands. “Sshh,” I said, “Sshh, please be quiet, please stop screaming, I’ll explain everything, please just calm down and let me explain to you.” Tears were streaming down my face, as were they hers as well as my hands were getting wet by them. “I love you, I just wanted to protect you. I’m not going to hurt you I just need you to be quiet so that I can explain!”

The screaming stopped.

I eased my hands from her mouth and sighed, glad it was finally quiet.

She didn’t move, not an inch.

“It’s Okay, I said I wouldn’t-”

I stared at glassy eyes, her mouth agape where I had left it moments before.

Her chest was still and her head slumped to one side.

 

November Rain: Day 3

I’ve decided that I need to be there for her more.

She’s getting worse and there’s nothing I can do. She’s getting home safely each night, I’ve made sure of that, but the bags are getting worse, she’s getting paler and she even started coming in to work without any makeup on. No distinct eyelashes that batter so sweetly when she laughs, no rose to her cheeks. She’s even stopped with the perfumes she likes to where instead uses a cheap deodorant.

Maybe, whoever is harassing her isn’t doing it on the way home? Maybe Ryan comes round after I go home and ruins her evening, bangs on her door till she answers. Maybe, they’re doing it when she’s at home, which is unthinkable and disgusting. A home should be a sanctuary and this creep, whoever they are, is violating it.

I saw her at the water butt today and I managed to ask if she as okay. She gave me a weak smile and a mumbled yes. She then left and head back to her seat while my next question hung on my tongue. Is there anything I could do? We don’t talk anymore. It’s sad, and worrying. She’s shutting everyone out and battling on like the valiant trooper she is! Struggling by herself. It isn’t right and if no one is going to make sure she’s okay, then I must! Even if it means I sacrifice my whole evening, it’s what friends do isn’t it? Be there for each other in times of need?

So tonight, when I escorted her home, I didn’t go home like I normally did. I walked around it for a place to get comfortable. It’s a nice home. We get a good salary so I wasn’t surprised to see she had herself a nice place, not like me with my one bedroom apartment. She lives in a two storey house with a veranda decorated with flowers, carnations and roses. The windows were the old Victorian style that was making a rebound in fashionable style and the walls were slatted rather than showing the raw brick.

When she switched the lights on, I could see that her windows were netted as well as the edges of the curtains, purple in the living room with a sheen that made me think they were silk. The rest of the room was beautifully decorated, a purple feature wall with paler walls. Leather sofas and cabinets with elegant glasses and fancy dishes. She walked in after closing the door and went straight to the sofa to pick up a remote. She turned on a television I couldn’t see and then moved off into another part of the house, removing her coat as she did so.

I remembered my mission. I was not a pervert to watch her having her evening. I was to make sure that nothing went amiss with it. That she was remained undisturbed and that nothing untoward was happening. So I continued my patrol around her home till I came to the side. There was a tree there which stretched up to the same height as the arched roof. The trunk was thick and the lowest branch was well out of my reach, but if I could somehow get up there… I looked left towards the front of the house and then back towards the back. I reckoned that I’d have a good view of both ends of the house.

Maybe if I brought a rope…?

November Rain: Day 2

I’m worried.

She hasn’t been the right for a while and each day she comes in looking more and more haggard and gaunt. Her face is becoming more and more pale each day. There’s bags hanging heavily under her eyes. George, our manager, took her to her office this morning and I saw her crying through the full size window before he closed the curtain blind.

When she came back out, her make up had run, merging the mascara with her foundation and her eyes were all puffy. She just went to her cubicle and sat down. I tried to ask her about it when she passed me, but she just glided right by me, leaving my nothing to grab hold of than the remnants of her fragrance, which was a lavender today, she must have changed conditioner again…

I’ve sat for the rest of the shift wondering what I could do to cheer her up. Maybe it’s just a case of keeping her safe? Keeping an eye on her to make sure that she doesn’t hurt herself, or if there is someone watching her, maybe I could scare them off? Let them know I’m on to them? Hey, I’m not the bulkiest guy in the world, but I could hold my own in a pinch… I think. Maybe Ryan’s not letting her go? Maybe, he’s being an ass and holding something over her? I reckon I could take him!

Her cubicle is a little ways from mine, a few rows back and one to the right. I’d shifted my desk around a while back so that I could see when she got up to grab a drink so that we could talk for a few minutes while the kettle boiled, or in the summer, by the water butt. George didn’t mind, so long as we didn’t take the mick. But, she didn’t get up for the rest of the day. Even during lunch she stayed in her cubicle. Something’s really not right and what sort of friend would I be if I let her suffer her alone? Right, my mind’s made up. I know she said that she’d prefer that I didn’t but I have to make sure she gets home safe and hope that changes something.

*     *     *

I made sure she got home safely after our shift. I didn’t see anybody strange on the journey and no sign of Ryan. Just the usual dog walkers and kids that are too old for the swings and slides hanging around the park. I can’t believe she takes the route through the play fields in order to get home though! Especially considering that it’s nearly dark when we leave here, let alone when we get that far! I can’t have that! What if whoever is.

I’m going to have to keep doing this, you know, just to keep her safe. If she doesn’t want me to walk her then I’ll follow at a discrete distance… If she doesn’t know that I’m there, then the person harassing her won’t either. Then I can scare them off. I’d be the hero! Then maybe… No, don’t think like that. So long as she’s safe, and happy, that’s all that matters… isn’t it?