Waiting

Exploding into the light at the top of the stairs, she shoved the bag falling off her shoulder with an elbow. The elderly couple in the corner sharing their lunch. The husband slicing an apple with practiced ease undiminished by his frail, trembling hands. 

She took in the viewing deck's other occupant. A man in his forties, so totally absorbed by the book he was reading that he had not even looked up. Out of breath from vaulting up the stairs she made her way across the wet flagstones to the wall that faced out to sea. 

Without looking at it, she placed the bag in front of her. Perhaps hundreds of people walking up and down the sea walls. Stopping to take pictures. Happy holiday snaps undeterred by the recent rain. Some were looking out to sea. There the source of her purpose appeared from the mist. 

As if by magic, threading her way, slowly and carefully through the busy shipping lanes of the solent, the destroyer. Growing in size as she moved closer to the harbour. The woman's position on a battlement that had been in place guarding the harbour since the fifteenth century afforded her the view of the ship as she would enter and make her way toward her berth. 

Glancing to the side as another passenger ferry passed where she stood. The warship coming closer. Ever closer. She could not believe the moment had come. She had waited. Waited so very long. Counting what felt like every second of every day since the same grey mass had left port all those months ago. 

Now the wait was over. Her heart quickening. She could see others with binoculars further along the wall. Desperately hoping for that first glimpse of the loved one from whom they had been parted far too many days and nights. She had not brought binoculars. There would be no need. As long as the ship was here. All would be well. The focus of her attention would be below decks in the engine room. 

She couldn't help but smile as she fumbled in her bag for her phone. With every passing second, the ship edged closer. The sound of the mighty engines forcing her through the waves. Two tugboats reached the destroyer, taking up positions fore and aft. 

On the ferry, the passengers were crowding the decks. Joining those ashore in waving welcomingly at the proud, but tired men and women lining the decks of the destroyer. 

Closer. Closer. Soon she would be able to send her message. Soon the wait would be over. Her heart racing again. She did not notice the cold seeping into her arms as she rested them atop the damp walls. Staring out to sea. These last few moments being the hardest of them all. As hard she thought as when the ship had left. 

She looked down at her phone. Typed out the message she had pictured herself writing a thousand times before. She had longed for this moment. Dreamt of it. Send. 

She looked up, as if she could see the jumble of letters flying from her phone across to the corresponding device inside the warship. She stopped breathing. The moments while she waited for an answer felt an eternity where time itself had been paused. Not even taking a breath. Closer. Closer.

A piercing light erupted on the waterline about three quarters along the length of the ship. She jumped. Feeling herself frozen while events moved on around her. The boom of the explosion felt as well as heard. Pushing away with it all the sound from the walls below her. 

Her phone was sliding out of her hand. Down the wall as it sloped away. She did not reach out for it. The phone disappeared over the edge of the wall and fell to the sea below. 

The klaxon cried out from the ship like the moan of a wounded whale. Smoke pouring out of the gaping hole. She could see fire inside. The sea racing in. The side of the ship blackened. Scared. On deck sailors raced. Stepping over those that lay awkwardly. Orders shouted. She began to list.

There were men in the water. Trying frantically to fight the steady currents at the mouth of the harbour. She could see bodies. Floating. Bloodied. Face down. 

The vacuum created by the shock now began to fade. Those that had not been watching, now gazed on in horror. Some frozen, inactive as she was. Some reacting as the age leads, by taking out their phones and filming. Filming as people suffered. As they died. The sobbing, and screaming increasing in volume from the relatives. Those that like her had waited so many days for the ship to come home safe, only to see her butchered seconds from port.

Snapped from her immobilised state, she grabbed her bag and ran back down the stairs. Racing down the steps as fast as her legs dare carry her. Everything a blur. She stopped at street level. Taking in the scene around her. She unlocked her bike without a thought. One last glance at the misery before cycling off. 

Can you hear It ?

Why does the noise never ever stop ? Something about this place. There's always that piercing hum. That throbbing sound of modern existence. This is something different. I've not been able to sleep for days. It's like my own personal torture chamber.

I've heard of those devices that shops use to scare away teenagers. Emitting a sound that can only be heard by the ears of adolescents. I'm neither near a shop or being a teenager. It can't be that.

It never seems to vary, never pauses - not even for a moment. It's always there, as constant as a heartbeat but as disruptive as a badly tuned radio. I've searched all round the house and failed to find the source. I've turned off every single appliance I own, one by one. It didn't work. I just had more silence in which to hear the sound.

I've laid motionless in darkened rooms at night. All alone in my bed. Just me and the noise. But still the ever present sound is there. Imagine lying awake, night after night. Staring at the same ceiling. I've managed to read more books than ever because of all the time I've been awake when I'd rather have been sleeping. At some point fatigue overtakes me and exhausted I fall into a fitful but still exhausting sleep.

I even leant out the window, embracing the warm summer air, searching in vain for some faulty streetlight, running car or air conditioning fan, something, anything that was causing the disruption. I've never been able to find it.

When it first started, (not that I can remember when that was anymore) I asked my neighbours what they thought this invasive annoying sound was. The looks they gave me varied from 'what the hell are you talking about you crazy, crazy bitch' to 'don't talk to me, just don't talk to me !'. Friendly sorts. I was very upset by their reactions. All I can say is I understand why most people don't talk to their neighbours these days. Who would want to ? Now I can't recall how it felt before the noise. I begin to even doubt such a time existed.

I'm not sure how much longer I can maintain a normal existence. I'm barely functioning as it is. I can't find a source of the grating sound anymore than I can find a decent night's sleep. My mind is starting to play tricks on me. Teasing me with images of impossible things and with half formed memories of things I have or have not done. I find I can't absorb details at all well and find myself crying for entirely insignificant reasons. This noise is robbing me slowly of my faculties.

I simply do not know what to do anymore. All I want is silence and a decent nights sleep. Is it really too much to ask for ?

What if it is just inside my head ? What if there is nothing external causing it ? I've heard it now for so long. A strange madness that follows me like a shadow. Such an imprint it has made on my very being that I could no longer say I can remember what it sounds like not to hear it. Am I just recreating the sound in my head ? Am I stuck processing a sound over and over again that I heard, or maybe never ever heard at some point in the past ?

The only good thing is I've given up drinking coffee. There gets a point when no matter how much you drink, no matter how shaky you get with caffeine overdose, the coffee simply cannot be strong enough to combat the endless feeling of exhaustion.

I could swear I just saw a fox walk calmly across my bedroom floor. I'm at the point now where I'm no longer phased by the prospect that maybe one did.

I just want it to stop. Please. Please. Please, make it stop. I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. Please. Make it stop !!

The Golden Gently Sinking Sun.

The way the trees broke up the light of the summer evening sun, allowing golden patches here and there created the feeling of walking through a tapestry of golden green. 

The whisper of a breeze easily drowned out by the cheerful chirping of the birds as they called to their companions. Whilst some were singing away in endless repitition of the same tune, others made their mark in a random manner. Punctuating the scene with a boisterous cackle or crow. The occassion slosh as a fish broke the glass still waters of the lake before swishing its whole body back to the depths again, there to await the next insect that took its fancy. 

Of the many hours Ericson spent in these woods as a boy, he'd seen others fishing in the lake, although he couldn't swear to ever seeing anyone catch anything. Even when the wind was up or the rain was falling Ericson still loved this diversion. Either before or after his shift he would come here just to walk or to sit and listen. The glowing feeling of the sun on his face as the shadows steadily drew longer. The oddly pleasing sound the gravel made as it crunched and shifted underfoot as he made his was into the forrest. 

This place was so special to him. Being a mere ten minutes walk from his home made it so easy to come here for exercise and quiet contemplation. When his days were full of statistical reports or summaries of more subjects than he cared to ever count - when it felt like his entire life would be spent either in front of a computer screen or in one of any endless meetings this was the place he came to. This place grounded him, recharged him and afforded him that which he needed in order to face whatever challenges the next day would bring him. 

He felt the birds were trying to get him to stay. The tuneful whistles forming the sentences 'stay with us, always, Stay with us, always, stay with us always' or 'Stay here ! Stay here ! Stay here !' In his head. As tempting as he found the idea he know that in reality it was not an option. He had too many obligations to just walk away and set up home in the woods with the birds and animals. As romantic a notion it sounded, he wasn't entirely certain that anyone had every done it except in old books of fiction. 

He watched as two ducks flying in close formation zoomed down the lake, gently decreasing their altitude with every meter, before gracefully slipping into the water and folding their wings away. Such a manoeuver made to look effortless. The ducks certainly appeared pleased with themselves as they shook off their tails and quaked muttedly. Congratulating each other no doubt on another fine landing. 

The vibrations of his wristwatch tore him away from the ducks. Reminding him that the time of his escape had now passed and that now he must return to those obligations he had only temporarily avoided. By pressing the screen on his watch the comforting shade of the trees was broken by the piercing artificial light expanding in a straight line that came from the opening door. A straight line that looked so out of place here it jarred. The door open enough for him to walk through, he paused, glancing back at the forest as a squirrel made the best of it and scurried down one tree, accross the path and up another. With a sigh he stepped onto the metal deck beyond the door. Behind him the door closed and the screen indicated that the holographic program had ended. 

Ericson brought his watch to his face. The flashing red icon demanding his attention. The tranquility afforded by the holographic theatre seemed suddenly no less distant than the planet the real forest was on. 

"Report !"

"There's an incoming message for you sir, from command" He recognised immediately the voice of his ever eager communications technician. 

"Very well. I'm on my way". He raced off in the direction of the most efficient route to the bridge.

The Cottage

At the end of the lane, there was a brook with a small footbridge over it. Barely a bridge which is really nothing more than just a couple of planks of wood covering the distance from one bank to the other, in a rather rickety, slap dash fashion. On from the 'bridge' a narrow, winding gravel path takes you further into the woods. At the end of the path is the cottage.

Entirely unremarkable in design, and seldom noticed by passers by. The mould stained walls and sagging roof show the lack of care and attention the cottage had received in anything like the recent past.

Curiously, despite being surrounded by nature, anyone that happened to walk down the lane, across the bridge and down the path would notice that none of the animals in the forest went anywhere near the cottage. Nothing so much as a bird sitting on the roof, and certainly no brave squirrel ever ventured into the open windows.

The casual, but rather lost observer may comment that the trees and bushes surrounding the cottage had grown to be as close as they dare, as if some invisible barrier prevented their further encroachment. Either something within the cottage shielded it from their advances, or the plants and animals did everything in their power to avoid it.

No one ever knew which, or at least if they did know they never made it back up the path, across the bridge and up the lane to warn anyone else.