New Year

Bathed in the glow of fireworks,
Lighting up the darkness,
Sleepy infant clamped to breast,
A cocoon of quilts and closeness.
The sounds of the revelry of others,
Drifts through the window,
And the new year is welcomed
With a mother’s forehead kiss
And silent thanks
for moments like these.

The Greatest Gift

                                           

I keep moving against the cold, never stopping my steady, ponderous progression. My body is warm – almost too warm actually, bundled as I am in heavy furs – but winter’s chill still bites at my nose, and my feet are tingly and numb.

It is rapidly becoming dark, and the snow is glittering with the reflected colours of Christmas lights that are just starting to come on. It might cheer the soul, if you were strolling along hand in hand with your lover, or heading home to your children. To me this day is always the saddest of the season.

They start to hang the lights earlier nowadays, though they have largely forgotten the reason. Some people have them up for the entire month of December, small points of cheer and defiance against the darkness. But today is December 27th, and soon they will all be gone. All the build up, all the belief, all the energy that built to wake me is slowly ebbing away. I feel myself weakening already. It is becoming harder and harder to maintain my stride, my breath wheezing now in asthmatic gasps.

Every year I hope that I can bring enough light and joy and cheer to last through the dark season. Lately it seems like the dark period has a tighter hold. It doesn’t seem to matter how much peace and hope I pour into the world, there is never enough in the hearts of men. If ever there comes a time when people no longer raise their voices together in song, when they no longer set aside old pains for one day of peace and plenty, I wouldn’t have enough energy left to sustain myself at all.  I fear for mankind if that day comes.

I collapse onto the bench in the bus shelter, my energy spent. At least I still have the children. They believe with a fierceness I can taste, especially the under 5s. There may come a time when there isn’t enough belief to sustain me, but it won’t be next year. Next year the mince pies will be left as offerings, the children will pray for blessings, families will feast. I will manifest again. I will spread joy and laughter and as much togetherness as I can muster, and I will hope against hope that it is enough to see you through.

My final thought, as I die in the snow, is that hope is the greatest of gifts.

Remembrance

It is a small act
Just once a year
A pause
Slight hush
In the hubbub of life.
One hundred and twenty seconds
Of silent reflection
Such a small thing
In exchange
For such a sacrifice
Just silence
For the lives lost
And the loves lost
And the limbs lost
It seems a nothing
To simply do nothing
But in our busy world
And busy lives
One hundred and twenty seconds
Of respect
And remembrance
Seems a lot
So we pat ourselves on the back
For our two minute silence
And we look on
While men who still
Give orders to
Send other people's sons
To pointless wars
Nod piously
And mouth the now meaningless
Never again
With seemingly straight faces.
And we swear solemnly
We shall we remember them.
Then we return to our busyness
There's Christmas coming, after all.
Our paper flowers crumple
And fade
And blow away,
Forgotten,
Until next year.

The Door

I have a jar full of story prompts and sometimes I pick one out at random to write a story about. This is one of those stories. The prompt that came out of the jar was - a new door appears in  your home. This is what I came up with...

The door

It was a sleepy Sunday morning when I first noticed the new door. It could have appeared on the Saturday night - I had been out drinking with my boyfriend Robert that night and was pretty distracted at bedtime, I might not have noticed it. It definitely wasn't there Saturday morning.

My house isn't the biggest - just a living room with a small kitchen attached downstairs, a bedroom and small bathroom upstairs. It's not like I have a huge old rambling house where a door might be overlooked.

I walked straight past it the first time, my hung-over brain not really registering it as I stumbled downstairs to make coffee. While I stood waiting for the kettle to boil, I started to feel like something wasn't right, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. My head was sore and my mouth was dry and I just wanted to get the coffee and go back to bed. I could hear Robert moving around upstairs and I smiled to myself. We had a whole day together before he had to go for the working week. I wish he didn't work so far away.

It wasn't until I was halfway up the stairs that I looked up and saw it. A solid oak door, with black, cast iron hinges and an ornate door knob,  right there at the top of the stairs. I stopped dead, didn't know how to react. I didn't even really feel the hot coffee slop against my pyjama bottoms as the mugs fell from my hands and bounced down the stairs. I must have screamed or something because the next thing I knew Robert was charging out of the bathroom asking what was wrong, wrapping his arms around me as I sank to my knees on the stairs. My head was spinning, I couldn't see, couldn't breathe, my whole body was overtaken with waves of shock.
"Oh my God, tell me what's wrong? What's happened?" He demanded but I couldn't get the breath to speak. I just pointed. He looked over his shoulder at the door.
"What? Kathy please, you're scaring me! What's wrong?"
I didn't understand why he wasn't as panicked as me.
"The door" I managed to gasp "Can't you see the door?"
"The door?"  He frowned at me. "Of course I can see it baby. What's wrong with it?"
I stared at him blankly. What could he mean, what's wrong with it? Did he think it was normal for a door to just appear out of nowhere?
"Let's get you off the stairs" he said soothingly, helping me to my feet. He half led, half carried me up the stairs. I couldn't take my eyes off the door. An icy draft hung around it and I shuddered convulsively as we passed it.

Robert sat me on the bed.
"Just take a few deep breaths my love" he said.  I could see it through the open, familiar, white, plywood bedroom door, the new door, just sitting there staring at me over Robert's shoulder.

"What's happened?" He asked, when he thought I had calmed down. I hadn't calmed at all though, I was just trying to concentrate on suckling air into my lungs. What should I do? What are you meant to do when a new door appears in your home? Call the council? The police?
"That door" I said, my voice trembling. I cleared my throat and started again, "that door. It wasn't there yesterday."
He snorted, half smiled and then shook his head a little.
"I don't get the joke? " He said, confused.
"I'm not joking" I snapped "it wasn't,  you know it wasn't.  There has never been a door there." I started to get annoyed.  If this was some kind of elaborate prank it certainly wasn't very funny.
"Babe, you've lived here two years. That door has always been there." He said. "Are you feeling ok? Did you bump your head last night?" He looked genuinely concerned.
"This isn't funny" I yelled at him, "of course I didn't bump my head!"
"Okay, it's okay" he said soothingly, and it just made me angrier.
"Why are you talking to me like I'm crazy? You know as well as me that door wasn't there yesterday! Where would it even Lead?  That's an external wall!"

I jumped up off the bed and strode towards the door, my rage smothering my fear. I grabbed the iron door knob. It was cold enough to hurt my hand. Undeterred, I turned it, pushing on the door. It was locked.
"Babe, come on. You know the door has always been locked. The landlord told you that before you moved in." Robert frowned,  concerned confusion clouded his features. "Should I call your mum or something?"
"Why would you call my mum?" I asked, "Did you hear that?" I held my head close to the wood, not daring to lay my skin on its cold surface, straining my ears.
"Hear what?"
"It sounded like a kid, laughing"
"It was probably just a kid outside. I think maybe we should call a doctor"
"No, it came from in here, I'm sure of it"
He strode across to me, took my face in his hands.
"Babe, listen. No one is in there. You've lived here two years and the door has been locked all this time. There is no one in there."
I stared at him for a little while, blankly. Then I turned and stared at the door. I barely registered him walking past me, going downstairs.
I started to think about ways I could get it open. Maybe if I unscrewed the hinges? Did I even have a screwdriver? I decided I could go to the DIY store, get screwdrivers, maybe a chisel or an axe?  I went back into my room and threw on yesterday's jeans and a jumper. I didn't like turning my back to the door to go downstairs.

Robert was on the phone when I got down there. I ignored him  while I looked for for my keys. I was annoyed with him,  but not sure why.
"No, she was fine last night. I don't know what's wrong" he was saying as I found my keys. "Kathy wait-" but I slammed the door on his words, jumped into my car and headed for the DIY store.

As I threw the screwdriver set into my basket I realised that I hadn't had a proper look at the hinges. The screws might be hidden, or on the other side of the door. I ended up buying a mallet and chisel, a small saw and an axe as well. I'm surprised they didn't question it when when I got to the till. Thank goodness for apathetic minimum wage workers I suppose.

I expected Robert to be gone when I get got home, but he was still there, my mum and the landlord with him, drinking tea out of mismatched mugs.
"Where did you go babe?" He asked quietly, in the kind of tone you might use to speak to an animal you were afraid of spooking.
"I went to buy some tools. I want that new door opened."
"Katherine, you're being ridiculous" Mum said "there is no new door. Doors don't just appear overnight. It has always been there, isn't that right Mr Singh?"
The landlord nodded.
"It has always been there. It's just a storeroom is all. We talked about it before you signed the lease, remember?"
I stared at them. Whatever this was, they were clearly in it together.
"If it is just a store room, why is it locked?" I asked, playing for time. What were they playing at?
"Like I said when you moved in" said Mr Singh "a previous tenant lost the key. That's all. We've not been able to replace it because the door is so old."
I stared some more. I knew that door was new. I was certain of it. Why was everyone pretending it had always been there?
"Well I bought some tools now." I said, playing along " we can get it open and start using it again."
"Like I said before, the door is very old. Antique in fact. You can't damage it" said Mr Singh "you are a good tenant, I don't want to lose you, but I'd can't be letting you damage the property."
"Come now Katherine,  you are being silly. It's never been a problem before." Mum snapped.
I didn't know what to do.  I was never going to get the door open with everyone here.
"Maybe I did bump my head after all" I said. "I do feel a bit headachey"
"Maybe we should go to the hospital?" Robert suggested, chewing on his bottom lip.
"No!" I said " I mean, I'm sure I will be fine. I just need some rest is all. I'll be fine."
It didn't take the landlord long to leave, but it took Mum hours before she decided to go.
The rest of the day with Robert was strained and awkward. I tried to pretend like I remembered the door, but but I think he knew I was lying. Usually Sundays go so fast and I dread him leaving, but on that particular Sunday I couldn't wait for him to leave so I could attack the door. He stayed later than usual though, and I ended up falling asleep on the sofa with him still there.

When I woke up the next morning he was gone, but had tucked me in and left a note saying saying he would call later, as always. The note didn't mention the door.

I went straight out to the car and brought my new tools in. I started by unscrewing every screw screw could see. Then I turned the knob and shoved against the door with my shoulder. It didn't budge. I slammed my shoulder into it again but my only reward was a white hot pain that shot from my shoulder to my elbow, leaving my hand tingling. I heard a faint giggle from the other side of the door, I'm sure I did.

Next I took the chisel and tried to get it into the gap between the door and frame, but it was too tight. I hit the door with the mallet, trying to get it to budge enough to get the chisel in. I might might as well have tried to shift a mountain. Nevertheless, I kept trying anyway.  I was determined to get the door open.

It was getting dark by the time I decided to get the axe. I had tried kicking it, chiselling it, pounding it with the mallet, but the door looked as perfect as before, unmarked, ice cold wood. The door had no face, of course, but it felt like it was smirking at me.

I stood as far back as I could, right at the top of the stairs, and ran at the door, my axe raised. The force of the blow vibrated up my arms, jarred my whole body. The axe head went flying off over my shoulder, down the stairs, before settling with a sickening thunk into the front door. The new door remained pristine. I sank to my knees, panting, despairing, trying to convince myself I couldn't hear the gales of giggles coming from behind the door.

It was fully dark before I moved again, getting up to switch the landing light on. The bulb flickered on and off, buzzing loudly. Fear gripped me and I ran around the house switching on every light and lamp I had. Then I rummaged through the kitchen drawers until I found my torch.

I took the blanket off the sofa and wrapped it around myself, then sat sat with my back to the front door, watching the new door at the top of the stairs. I'm not sure when, but at some point I fell asleep.

The week continued in that pattern, me trying to open the door all day, watching it until I fell asleep at night. I'm not sure when Robert stopped calling. I think it was Friday when my boss' concerned voice mails became angry. I don't think I have a job anymore.

Whatever lives behind the door is getting bolder now. Last night when I woke in the night the door was slightly open, I'm sure of it, a faint greenish blue light coming from inside. I grabbed my big torch like a weapon and headed upstairs, but by the time I reached the door it was locked tight again, as if it had never been opened.

Sometimes in  the morning  I wake and find things in my house have moved. Nothing large or significant; my childhood teddy bear that sat on top of the wardrobe is now on my bed, the magnets on my fridge have been rearranged, my photo album was open on the coffee table.

It's too cold to go upstairs now. My breathe turns to clouds halfway up the stairs. I go up only when the need to go to the bathroom is too great, and never after dark.

I don't know  why I don't move house. I just can't seem to bring myself to.  More than once I  have thought about just burning the place down. I play with matches, lighting them, watching them burn out, never quite daring to do it. I don't think I will ever leave here.

My only company now is the eternal sound, echoing through my house, the laughter of an unseen child.

Character Flaw

I did exist. I was real, you can't deny it. Though no one but you ever knew my name, I had people that loved me, cared for me, respected me. I had needs and hopes and desires. I had dreams. You never thought about that did you?  When you abandoned me for better things, you thought I would just fade away. Of course I didn't,  I am a person. People don't just disappear.

Oh I know it's easier with him. You don't have to think so much with him, he is simple, relatable, he makes it all so easy. You just "get" him, don't you?  No need to work at uncovering his layers, work out his motivations, what makes him tick. He is an open book to you, not like I was. He doesn't confuse you or deceive you or challenge the way you see the world or your place in it. I understand all that. He was the easier option. I was making things too complicated, with him it just flows.

I didn't just stop existing when you stopped caring you know. You brought me to life; shaped my personality. Without you I never would have known how much I love banana ice cream, or what joy I could get from reading obscure Russian poetry. Without you I wouldn't have danced to electro punk into the small hours, or sang 80s power ballads at the top of my lungs when I thought no one was watching. We will always be a part of each other, you and I.

You can move on, try to forget me, but I will always be there. Like it or not, I shaped you almost as much as you shaped me. All those endless nights you lay in your bed, thinking of me, the dimple in my cheek when I smile, the scent I wear, the hidden pain behind my eyes. Sure you can move on, but those nights will always be mine. I might never get the ending I need to be free, but I will always have all those hours you spent dreaming of me, imagining my touch, trying to get inside my head. There was a time when I occupied your every waking thought, invaded your sleeping mind, resided in your dreams and visited your nightmares. You couldn't read the newspaper without wondering what i would think of the article.  You couldn't watch TV without asking yourself if  i would enjoy the show with you or sit there picking plot holes until you changed channel. Do you do that with him now? Does he occupy your very soul like I once did? Was it something I did, that made you leave me alone in the dark? Or are you just that fickle, your head easily turned by something more fun?

Maybe one day he will be in my position, left abruptly to dwell in the back of your mind just as he thought you were getting along so well. Or maybe he will be the lucky one, who gets a proper ending and is freed, released into the world to be loved by many. Maybe one day you will pick me back up and we will sing and dance and love one another again. I can but hope.

Now I am powerless, the cards are all in your hands. You are the author after all, I'm just a character. I've got no choice but to stay here, frozen in this moment, in an unfinished draft until you decide to complete my story.

Please don't forget me. Please write my ending.

Small Talk

Maria: What shall I buy for dinner? We could have cottage pie, only we had mash yesterday. Oh God, I can't be bothered to cook again. Would it really be so bad if we had take-out twice in a week? Pizza means no washing up, that will give me more time to do spellings with the kids, they must be at least three days behind. Must buy washing powder, forgot yesterday.
Oh no, that's her isn't it? That woman whose name I can never remember. Is it Laura? Lara? Clara? Why does she always want to talk to me, it's always so awkward!  I never know what to say to her, and we talk far too often for me to ask her name now. Have I got time to duck into a shop? Oh no, she has seen me now.

Lana: I see Maria looking in the shop window. I really don't feel like pinning a smile on right now, but I can't have her thinking I'm rude. She is always so nice to everyone, snubbing her would be like kicking a puppy. I'm going to have to fake an interaction. Maybe I could turn round?  Oh no, she has seen me now. Now I'm going to have to say hello.
"Maria!  Hi, how are you?"

Maria: And now she has spoken to me. I should have run into the post office. She always looks so damn cheerful, with her perfect smile and perfect hair and perfectly pristine clothes. God she makes me feel inadequate. Force a smile.
"Hello lovely, how are you?" Urgh,  who calls someone lovely? She must know I have forgotten her name. How embarrassing! I wonder if she can  tell I haven't brushed my hair this morning?

Lana: Aaw she always calls everyone lovely, Maria is so friendly. She always seems so pleased to see me. How am I?  Dying inside, sick of my daily routine, desperate for something to break the monotony. Can't really say that though, can I?
  "Can't complain. Beautiful weather for the time of year, isn't it? Bit too hot for me though."

Maria: It's normal weather for June. I mean, it's summer, it is supposed to be sunny. Why are we English so obsessed with the weather anyway?
"Isn't it though? We were making the most of it in the garden this weekend, firing up the barbeque.  How's the family?"
She doesn't need to know we spent the weekend slumped on the sofa with the curtains shut, watching the football and arguing over whose turn it was to do the ironing. A few creases never hurt anyone anyway.

Lana: Why did she have to ask that? I can't exactly say I spent the weekend sobbing over dirty dishes while Chris worked late yet again. I feel like a single mum the majority of the time. Even when he is home, Chris is so burnt out from work he doesn't have the energy to play with the children.
"Not bad, not bad. Chris is up for promotion, so he has been working hard on that. How are the kids?"

Maria: Well I'm starting to think my son has ADHD  and my daughter barely spoke to us all weekend.
"Good thanks, they are looking forward to the holidays. Your son is doing his exams isn't he?"

Lana: Failing his exams more like. He has barely done any coursework, I'm sure he is going to fail everything and end up at home until he is 45.
"Yes, he only has a couple left. They grow up so fast don't they?" Having a teenager makes me feel so old. Where did my 30s go anyway?

Maria: "Definitely. Time flies! Speaking of which, I had better run. It's all go today!"
Time flies when you are having fun, that's meant to be the saying isn't it? Time flies when every bloody day is exactly the same is closer to the truth. When did my life become an endless Groundhog Day of chores and telling people off? Where did my dreams and ambitions go?

Lana: "Tell me about it! I will let you get on then. We must meet for coffee soon!"
I can get away with saying that, I know she will never take me up on it. We say it every time we bump into each other.

Maria: "Definitely! See you at the school gate."
Unless I see you first. I've exhausted my repertoire of small talk for today. And now I have to rush off to make it look like I really am in a hurry. It's too hot for rushing, and the only place I am rushing to is home, so I can shut the door on the world and slump on the sofa.

Lana: I watch Maria scurry away. She must be in a real hurry. She always seems to be on the go. I hope I can avoid her at school run time, I've completely run out of things to say to her. She must think I am so boring. I am boring I suppose. 3 hours until it's time to pick the kids up. Think I will head home, shut the door on the world and slump on the sofa.

More Fond Of Rain

You said you would be my sunshine
But I have always been more fond of rain.

Summer's light is too harsh
Too bright
It exposes you.

I much prefer
The soft grey dawn light
Of overcast skies
Refreshing, life giving water
Raining from above
Like blessings.

The sun can only warm
Until it burns
Leaving red pain
An unpleasant reminder
That will not fade
Long after the warmth has gone.

Rain can be a refreshing mist
On a fevered brow
Cooling and calming
like a mother's hand

Or it can be fierce
Lashing down on skin
Small sharp pains
Like a lover's words
In a heated argument.

Rain cleanses the world
Makes everything new
Awakens soft scents of nature
That summertime has crushed

Rain revives, gives new life
Washing cares away.

Rain rages,
It hammers, It roars,
Then calms, And quiets
Like a beast.

While thunder thuds it's beat
And lightning takes centre stage
It is rain that gives melody to the storm.

The sun is easy to love
And everyone adores her
It's much more of a task
To see the beauty
In the many shades of rain
To love all her quirks
The good, the bad,
The darkness she brings.

You keep your sticky summer sun
It's few moments of scorching beauty
I have always been more fond of rain,
Of dancing in the storm,
Walking bare headed in the downpour.

You huddle under your umbrella,
I will raise my face to the skies
And be blessed with rainbows.