The Light

Out of the murk the car leered. She turned the knob and listened for a legible voice, but the radio couldn’t penetrate the dense cloud. All she heard was the wail and cry of the radio static. The car gave out a few coughs from within its guts, lurching forward every time it sneezed and grumbled until it gave up its struggle. The engine died and it came rolling to a halt as she steered it off the road. Her ears had become used to the mechanical workings of the car from within its belly and now that they were silent, she became afraid. A book sat beside her. She picked it up, turned the first few leaves, past her photograph, and read to herself: ‘Silence is the new scream’.

Minutes passed like hours and she checked the rear-view mirrors to see if anything was creeping up on her. There was a monster peering at her, hairy with its teeth bared, but there was nothing real; she blinked and it had gone. She wondered to herself why she wanted to be scared, why her mind wanted there to be monsters and ghouls like she had written about in her books. She decided to wait for someone to pass and get their attention. Someone would help. It thrilled her to think of the danger of asking a stranger for help. She locked the doors of her car.

It got dark. Nobody had passed. She couldn’t believe it. Countless times she had been on this road behind five or even ten cars with maybe the same behind her, all in sight. Now when she needed just one, none had passed. It was eerie. She had heard nothing in such a long time that the ringing in her ears had become deafening. She turned on the interior light and took a pen from her bag. With it she scrawled on her hands and arms out of nervousness. She drew flowers and rainbows in the half-light until her arms were covered with the sketches. She pressed so hard her arms were red raw from the pressure. The fog had grown thicker, denser. It pressed against the windows of the car and peered in at her.

She stopped her scrawling and began to cry. She was now genuinely scared of being alone. The thrill and the romance of fear had vanished, and only fear remained. She heard a noise outside, several voices coming closer. She turned the interior light off and shrank down in her seat, tears streaming from her eyes. She could hear the mud under the feet of whoever it was, coming closer. Figures now pressed against the windows of her car, peering in. She froze in hope of not being seen.

A man opened the door and put his head into the car, turning on the interior light. He sat in the drivers’ seat and bent around. Nothing. On the passengers seat sat a book, one of hers. He opened it up and read to himself: ‘Silence is the new scream’.

The Dream

“That one’s like Italy” she says, with a frown.

“That one’s like your mother” he says. They both laugh. The sun is beating down on them, and makes it seem warmer than it is.

“I like the ones that climb into the sky, like the clouds you draw when you’re five.” He smiles. He’s always loved her childish side.

A warm breeze flows over them like a wave on the shore.

“I love the sea. The air is so different. It feels like home” she adds. A man walks past with a dog.

“Let’s move here then”, he says through a smile. She twists her neck to look at him.

“Seriously?” she asks, in a higher pitch.

“Why not?” He holds his hands to his forehead like a baseball cap. They are both laid on a grassy mound that is angled towards the sun and the sea. They are both completely naked. She turns back toward the sun, squinting through a smile.

“I love you so much.” She says. Their hands cross and clasp together like an old woman’s purse.

“That one’s sharp. I don’t like the sharp ones. They should all be big round beasts” she says, tickling her flat stomach. The sun momentarily goes behind a cloud, and it’s as if someone has drawn a giant curtain upon the world. The wind goes from mild to bitter, and they both shrink into their bodies for a moment like tortoises. There is an explosion of light, and the suns blade comes reaching through the atmosphere and through their skin; they are revived. The wind is restored as if it’s being blown over hot coals. They are smiling so hard, or is it a frown? It’s too hard to tell.

“Listen”, he says after five or ten minutes of silence “I know you’re having a hard time with your work and your family. I want something for you to look forward to.” She looks bemused, but interested. “You know I’m a dreamer, but dreams can be good. Not all of them are overdone.” He stands up. He has something in his hand. She can’t quite see because the sun is too bright. He moves closer to her, blocking the sunshine. She can make out his silhouette. “Marry me, Kate.” The sound of the sea is impenetrable for a moment.

“Yes. I will.” They embrace. He hasn’t given her the ring yet, it’s still in his hand, in the case. He is jumping and shouting, the ring flies from its little velvety box. His inane yelling turns into some loud intake of air, as if he’s been plunged into ice water. He is reaching, out-stretched. He is falling. Down. Out of sight. He is gone. Her face is aching from the smile/frown. Now it feels almost nice as her face contorts into ugliness. Screaming. Raising. She is too late; she looks over the drop only to see his body strewn upon the rocks like a chalk outline. She cannot maintain her yelp – his head is smashed open, it is a treasure chest burst open too soon, and the seagulls are pillaging its riches before too long.

She wakes sharply. It is cold, and she has fallen asleep on her arm, which she cannot feel. She is one her side, and looks up and out to sea. Her belly is spilling over her jeans – she sucks it in. The clouds have turned from magnificent white balloons to streaky, jagged furrows like those on top of a shepherd’s pie, forked-in. She turns over when her arm lets her, and he is there. He’s not the same, but he’s there. He is fatter, and asleep. She goes to feel his pocket, but there is no velvet box. The wind stabs against her skin.

He’s there, but he’s not the same.

The Desert

Twenty minute shifts were arranged for the sentries that stood on-guard in the watch-towers, for that was as much as any man could stand in the heat of the midday sun. The fortification had resisted invasion for over a century; some questioned the need for it at all. Some said that the enemy wouldn’t come across the sands but from the sky itself. The sun, and its beating rays were the enemy. A man clad with dust climbed the stairs of the inner wall, to the tower. When he reached the top he took his water container and tipped it towards the sky, showering his face in warm, slightly salty water. It far from quenched his thirst. The sentry whose shift was ending hung his head in a dose, pulling it back up when he realised a superior might see him and berate him in front of the other men. He stood to attention when the new sentry spilled water all over the stone floor, thinking he was that superior. He sighed with relief when he realised it was his old friend. The new sentry took the binoculars and patted his friend on the back as he passed down the stairs.

The binoculars felt dusty in his hands as he lifted them to his face. Everything got sand on or in it — watches stopped because sand clogged-up the mechanics inside, food tasted of it when chewed and sometimes a man could feel it passing out as he took a piss. There was a joke among the men that the air they breathed was half sand. He peered through the lenses and out as far as the horizon went. Nothing but sand. Every direction faced was filled with sand underfoot. The nearest town was three days away. A few times a year one of the men would lose their mind and go out in the night, in a vain attempt to escape, their minds not registering that the temperature fell to below zero at night, and the insurmountable distance to the nearest anything would take their lives. The superiors wouldn’t even bother rounding up a search-party once they knew there was a man missing. They would die in less than a day – if the conditions didn’t take them then the jackals and vultures would.

There must have been sand on the lenses. He rubbed at them with one of his sleeves. The heat rising from the floor of the desert created waves that distorted sight across a great distance, and he was trying to look some ten miles into the distance. He thought he could make out a dark shape that flittered and danced in among the waves of heat. Perhaps it was an optical illusion. Most men didn’t bother using the binoculars because they knew they’d see something that wasn’t there and get a reputation for being ‘out of his tree’. A man held a lot of respect in the base if the other men didn’t suspect him raving mad. The general protocol was to stand there and pretend you were scouring the horizon whilst actually trying to rest enough to feel better for it but not actually losing consciousness and falling forty feet to the floor.

It grew, and came closer, he was sure of it. The next man came to take his post. He climbed down the stairs and filled his water container from the well. He sat nervously in the shade watching the tower, to see if the new sentry spotted the figure in the distance. Nothing. He stood in the tower and squinted into the distance. Hours passed, men frequently went up and down the tower without realising what was coming closer. He escalated the steps of the tower to its summit and told the man he was being relieved. Now the sun had begun to sink longer sentry shifts were allowed. With the binoculars he could now visibly make out the shape — it was a man! All day he had been out there, dragging his feet forward toward this fortification. Time passed, the sentry refused to be replaced, the replacements laughed and turned around back down the stairs.

The figure was now in sight to the naked eye, but no other sentry had spotted it. It grew with every minute and was now less than a mile away. It was a tall figure covered with black robes that lunged from one foot to the other, leaning as it progressed. Still the sentry told no one. He felt compelled to watch every step as the figure got within a few hundred yards of the door to the base.

A gust of wind came across the desert, seemingly from nowhere that lifted the sand from the floor and into the air. Nobody could see through this instant, unpredictable storm that rendered every man deaf and blind for its duration. The sentry fell to the floor of the tower, sheltering from the violent combination of wind and sand. As quick as it came, the storm died. Sand fell from the air like rainfall. The sentry climbed to his feet and peered down at the gates where he last saw the figure. All that remained were the black robes, strewn across the sand, limp, figureless.