Solitude

Pacing is a common sign of madness. That being said, pace is what he does. In his room. Procrastination is a sign of being unorganised. Pacing is what he did to procrastinate. Spending so much solitary time is very ill advised.

He cannot leave the space. There is no need to get dressed. Pants all day long. Laziness brings no joy. Things to do, things to do. The only sound he gets is his own voice when he coughs, or sneezes. And occasional boom of the pacing feet; storage and back to get basic food or water.

The silence is lingering and horrid. If you listen to the silence close enough, you can hear the lack of hearing. A faint ringing that doesn't exist is the sound of a million little voices whispering words against him. The closer he listens, the quieter they get as if taunting his very marrow. What do they say? “They hate me, they hate me” The repetitive thoughts hang from a noose. Rhythm in line with repetitive rocking.

The pain of the stinging eyes becomes normal and the eyelids stay static for longer. Disheveled is the hair on every part of his body and the sunlight beams through a hole in the roof. If anyone else is alive, they hate him as much as the ringing voices of nothing. The ringing, the ringing, the cringe and the sting.

The only thing missing is a distinct lack of smell in the rancid room of a jaded nose. He would count the days, if not for forgetting the existence of numbers.

What are they saying?

They hate me.

Ode to my Mum

Like a few others in the world,

I was born of woman.

My mother, though,

Goes by the name of 'Karen Sweet'.

If she were on 'Mothering on Ice',

Her score would come up 'elite'.

I'm as grateful now, as I always was, back

When feeding from teat.

Now,

We may get annoyed at her being a mother,

At times, my brother and I.

When she fusses over me,

Or watches crap TV,

I just want to break down and cry.

And when I was little I was always amazed at

Just everything my mother knows,

But now I'm away I'm mostly amazed at how hard it is

To wash my own clothes.

My mum may get sad at at us being grown up,

Not young or playing with toys.

But she knows very well, that no matter our age

We will always be 'her little boys'.

So for me, with my mother,

There can be no other - to have her is my

Worldliest Treat.

I just have to say that,

This rose by another name,

Will always be my mum,

Karen Sweet.

Questions Wanted for Podcast

Okay, well the Easter holidays are commin up in April and my friend Josh and I have this plan to do a bit of recording. If all goes to plan there will be some sketches for Youtube and some developments on our own work, but mostly we're looking to do a Podcast.

Now, we will be drafting in a third person in our Podcast and we will probably record a few of them to go into iTunes, and some for Youtube. Most of it will be free flow, but we have this idea about having some prompts to aid us in our weird and wonderful chats.

So in order to do this, we would like some questions. Literally questions on anything, we could talk about anything or even use a crap question as a prompt to talk about something else. If you have any questions from 'Would you rather be a teapot or a teapot cosy?' to 'what do you think about the recent thing in Japan where some guy married a robot?'.

Literally whatever you have to say, you can either send it to me on here as a comment, or on the right hand side it my e-mail if you wish to send it there. You could also send it over Facebook if you have it on my Facebook page here (please like it, I crave your attention). My friend Josh, I'm sure will be happy to recieve any, also. You can contact him on his fresh Youtube channel here.

Basically, all we want is confirmation that it is a question for the podcast - such as in the Subject, or whatever. Your name if you want it read out on the Podcast and however many questions you want.

Not all questions will be used, so we will be looking through them to find the best ones.

Thank you all for your help, in advance and I will give you an update when the Podcasts are being made and are posted. Thanks a plenty :)

Lake Of Missed Signals

So, I'm gonna try and get back on track with posting stuff on here. But today's writing is one that I've had for a fair while which has been re-envisioned plenty of times. I'm really happy with how it is at the moment and I think might reach a wider audience, showing off my style a little bit.

I hope you like it, it's a short sad romance called 'Lake of Missed Signals':

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  The occasional moonlit glimmer bounced carelessly off the empty lake. People were scarce and the ducks were ashore. From behind one of the mini islands, a swan glided. Arrow head ripples disturb the water's surface.

  He couldn’t help but think about her…

  Going for a walk helps things. It allows one to clear the head. The cold ground beneath his foot quivered as one hefty lorry made it's self known. Unfazed, he continued to the boating lake. He was usually walking swiftly when listening to his music, though now, he had slowed right down.

  The concrete quivered again; distracting his attention as the timing of his step made a weightlessness awe spring through him when the lorry hit a bump. He stopped and looked up to make sure it didn't shake a third time.

  Thoughts racing; heart the same.

  Annoyingly, the end of the number plate read 'LVE'. The word seemed to be chasing him. Carry on walking. The word hurts.

* * *

  Confusion. The cold ground beneath her bench quivered for a short, wavering moment. Undisrupted in her confusion, not the will to become distracted, she stared accusingly at a small patch of stone laden floor. The floor did nothing. The stones did nothing. Music almost full volume. The water of the lake rippled as the earth quivered again. A single swan flew away, miniature waves gave animation to floating leaves. She watched. Lamp light cast on weeping willows, causing silhouettes in the lake.

  Only, questions were still flowed in thought. Confusion. What he really felt? What he said? What he thinks? Falling for him in the first place was a massive mistake; always was. One she hated herself for.

  Glance caught a slumping figure. Double take. He turned away. Stop. Eye contact. He walked over.

 * * *

  Shit. Is that...? There she was. At the boating lake. This was his place to think all night, not hers. Why is she here? Walk away. Eye contact. No choice. Not prepared. Walk over.

  “Hey there. You OK?” he hesitated.
  “Not really, no. How about you?" she hesitated.
  “Erm… Y... Yeah, fine” he managed to fake a smile. “Tell me then, I’m happy to listen.”
  Her stare into her own mind and straight through him lingered, before spinning toward the lake. The swan was back, static. A second was nearby. Had appeared, as nobody was looking, from under a bridge. Both Cob and Pen face opposite directions, paddling. Not a single fish seemed disrupted by the motion.

  She held out her arms as if asking for a hug. He accepted. Seconds passed, and the unwanted lower twitch caused him to let go. Not that she noticed.
  “I’m confused” She sighed “I just don’t know what’s happening with me and you know who. One minute I really think everything is gonna be brilliant, and going well. Next, I want to rip his balls out cause he calls me his friend. He just doesn't realise how I feel about him. I'm locked in this sort of friend-zone. I just wanna scream or go on a massacre… either one.” She pulled a half grin and looked into his eyes. He didn't grin back. He just acknowledged. Putting his arm around her with a comforting squeeze. He let go before he got too comfortable.

  She's complaining to me about a friend zone?! Wow, not sure this could get any more awkward.

  With the movement, he reassured: “Everything will pan out fine… I’m sure.” 'I'm sure' meaning 'I hope'. Hope is all he has to be with her. Reality is defiant.
  “Maybe, but I think really like him. And I don’t want to, any more. I just don't know!”
  “Well it’s OK for now. I’m here, so you don’t have to feel lonely. And I’ll stay and listen for as long as you need. I'm a comforter y'know? It's like my job by now.” Using the most comforting voice possible to muster, hoping she hadn't noticed how he was looking at her. Even on this cold day he was sweating under his jacket. This had gone on for too long already.

  He's so nice. He has such a loving stare. Do you maybe think...?

  “Thanks.” She paused to look him in the eye as he looked at her. “You’re my best friend, y’know?” He went to speak but stayed silent. She was smiling sweetly. Though the moment was broken as they realised the music was playing loud and each turned it off. They looked at each other. They giggled. One swan turned. Saw the other. It moved quickly. Second swan must have felt something as it span a half turn.

  Best friend. Typical. This can never happen now. She likes someone else and I just can't tell her.

  The water was never clear. But at night, it didn't matter. All you could see with the surface and that was as shiny an object as they both could wish. Corner of his eye, a lone figure had a length in it's stride. Even at this time of night people had destinations, goals. Perhaps was just another one with problems.

  He laid his arms round her shoulders. In this moment he was comforted by clarity. Pain. Internal sigh. He knew all he had. She was all that mattered.

   I need someone like you. I do care for you. Then again, I do still like him. I'm sorry, but I'm not sure if me and you would really...

   The swans swam by each other; it was a nice scene. Their necks arched over apparently meeting in the middle. They totally ignored each other. The distance between them was larger than it appeared. The lamps went off. The moonlight grew. Stunning scenes of dismal trees turned to dimly lit masterpieces. Time to go home? Just give me five more minutes. Here. 'With' you. The ground quivered once again.

____________

Thanks for reading :) Here is my other work.