I decided that it was such a good idea showing the first chapter of Abyss that I would also give you the first chapter of A town called Malice as well
so here you go remember relax shut the curtains turn the lights from bright to comforting and we will begin
The ruins lay ancient and grand
And those who had lived there would understand
That in Malice lay peace
And love unbound
In Malice was the release
For the stress that surrounds
The mind when alive
That gave up the will to thrive
Or even the thought to survive
And thus was taken their soul deprived
In Malice they found a place, safe and quiet
A haven from the life ruined and desolate
A sanctuary beautiful
Soothing the mind
And as the flowers entwined
Amongst the buildings and beauty is redefined
So the love, the welcome, solace tendered
Did heal those guests and many surrendered
To the final resting place an oasis found
And in such golden halcyon days they soaked up
The deep peace profound
And gentle and unwavering
No need for hope
For here was salvation
They stayed and became whole
Their mind reunited with their soul
And all as one
Did rest in the sun
In the hazy golden afternoon in the paradise
That is known as the town of Malice
The first time sequence, in which Jack discovers more than this reality
The screech, a high pitched, keening, ear piercing screech, that grated against the inside of the mind and seemed to go on for a nerve jangling, painfully long time, it stretched out over so many time-slowed down minutes, and it was the one memory that he retained, at first.
It was most inconvenient and meant he spent no time at all in trying to bring back the memory as he had no desire to keep reliving that jarring sound. Time, in its insistence, passed inexorably by, not even bothering to include him in its existence, he remained outside of time, outside of reality, in a forced sleep of recuperation and so time meandered right by and passed him without even so much as a nod.
A blinding white light and the sound of splintering glass, a painful sound of glass under great pressure, straining against the physics holding it together, the painful sound of glass being warped and buckled and pushed to its limits before exploding in a shower tiny, pain producing shards. The sound spoke directly to some inner core that let him know even in his paralysed and unthinking state a great explosion of glass would rain down in pain filled torrents a thousand tiny cuts upon him, and he could not move, so there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
The instinct was to raise the arms and protect the eyes, or at least the head area, but the sheer hell of not being able to even close his eyes against the impact of the glass cascade that was about to slice his face to ribbons was added to the now overbearing burden of panic surging through him, taking over everything, especially his bladder.
It would seem also that to open the mouth to scream when a shower of glass splinters covers your face in liquid pain is not a good idea, his mouth, unfortunately, was already open and he gulped down the blood now filling his mouth and this was also not a good idea, thankfully though as the glass sandpapered his throat he had passed out, the damage still happened but he would not be aware of it until later.
The blur of the next week in his life went by mercifully quickly and the surgeries were all accompanied by the really good medicine that helped him drift away and live a half conscious semi-existence, no pain made it through the drugs barrier and he was happy living in a dreamlike state, and for a while he existed neither here nor in the next world, he was alive and floated through each day in a mostly trancelike state and this helped him survive.
He would never make himself go through the events of the accident, he did not see the sense in dwelling on things and besides it would make him feel like he was suffering twice, the nice and friendly and quite gorgeous looking nurse, that he really would consider some kind of entertaining night with should he ever get the chance, had explained she didn’t think this was healthy and he needed to work through it and accept what had happened by analyzing and confronting everything, she had droned on in NHS health speak for some time and it had effectively ruined any chance she previously had with the entertaining night he had roughly planned out for them.
Well he had planned it as far as the removal of clothes went, after that it was all a bit vague, but now she had entered into the professional health official zone she was nothing more than another uniform lecturing at him, and he glazed over and waited, almost patiently, until she left.
He heard the voices filter through his early morning, groggy but slightly aware, almost conscious state, annoyingly the distant but audible voices interrupted his blissful slumber and broke though his determination in achieving the worlds longest sleep in, and the sun; which really had no idea of the concept of a good sleep and in its ignorance it had already thrown bright light into his room and though he knew he ought to wake up he stayed there with his eyes resolutely shut.
He hunkered down further into the bedcovers and hoped that somehow the morning would go away. This was followed by a sudden sharp pain stabbing him above his left eye and a groan of annoyance from him and involuntarily he sat up and rubbed his eyes, then holding his hand firmly over where the pain had so unkindly pierced him he sighed deeply and knew already this was not going to be the sort of day he would relish.
He liked being in the bed by the window; hospital beds are not the best of places but at least by the window he had something extra, a small but functional window to the outside world, though the view was not exactly riveting it was still better than no view at all, though right now he was silently cursing the eager sunlight as he felt sure that was what had caused the pain and so when he next opened his eyes he was speechless for a moment or so to discover there was no window. There wasn’t a hospital either he noticed.
He shook his head a little and tried to gather his thoughts and as he did so he mentally walked himself back through his most recent memories. No matter how much he searched he had no recollection of leaving the hospital or recovering or being anywhere other than in the hospital bed.
So the fact that he was surrounded by a babbling brook and verdant trees with the distinct smell and feel of the height of summer was not something he was ready to accept just yet.
He stood up, rather shakily and slower than usual but then his body was still in recovery mode back in the hospital and had no idea what it was supposed to do with weak wobbly legs that now stood unsteadily on the soft mounds of fresh grass.
He heard the sweetest sound as if tiny drops of dew suddenly had the power to become music- not in a Disney everything all fluffy bunnies and rainbows kind of way- but in an ethereal, surreal and ghostly way, these faint sounds edged around the consciousness plucking away at some inner melody long forgotten, like a long lost race memory.
He listened in awe as now the leaves of the trees added soft background notes and the swaying of tall blue and deep purple velvet foxglove style flowers joined and produced a low deep sound like a didgeridoo, the distinct and sweet sounds flowed round and round, forming circles of music in layers, each layer floating down and circling round, and as each layer reached the ground a new layer began up above as more leaves shuddered in their melancholic notes and were embroidered with the notes of languorous yellow flowers that with a delicate shiver produced the most tender of notes and the rich tapestry of tuneful layers kept swimming around him and he was thoroughly lost in the beauty and hypnotised by the music of this wondrous forest.
He felt there was no need to rush and gently lay himself back down and let the layers of the forest music wash over him and around him and through him, the ever decreasing circles of sound softly sliding inside him, relaxing him and taking away his tension and stress and then quite surreptitiously his consciousness.
The clattering of the food trolley jerked him awake and he felt a sudden and overwhelming depression swallow him as he became aware of the return of the hospital, and annoyed and grumbling quietly he sat and sulked. The trolley lady left muttering about how rude people were these days and was gone with not a backward glance.
He wanted to be back in that magical forest; it had been such an amazing experience that to be wrenched away from it felt as if he had lost something precious and not replaceable. It must have been a dream that’s all he could think. Must have been, yet it had felt so real, none of it made sense, he knew this was reality; being stuck here in hospital until his sentence was up and he was certified fit and healthy, but he had never had such a vivid dream before. He had never had a dream where he could physically interact with the scene that he dreamt, he still held within him deep down a childlike sensation of wonder to have felt the soft grass beneath his feet, to have felt the dampness under his body as he lay down his mind awash with the soothing sounds.
He sat bolt upright as he felt something under his fingers on the bed and he knew before even seeing it would be a sweet yellow flower, he could tell by the feel of the delicate shape and size of the tiny petals. So he looked and the widening of his eyes and audible gasp that escaped his mouth showed clearly that this was indeed the same yellow flower, so how then could this be? How then could anyone explain such a happening?
Sitting staring at a small yellow flower was not something Jack usually indulged in. Well until now that is, now this one tiny flower held the same fascination as finding out Father Christmas was not only real but he was sat having a cup of tea in the next chair, and he just asked if you liked your present.
He presently closed his open, dry mouth he had not realised how long he had sat and gaped at this flower but now the million eager questions that invaded his mind were thrust aside as the flower wilted and drooped alarmingly in his fingers, he looked about he needed a cup of water to help it revive but nothing of any use was around the immediate area.
With no better idea occurring to him than to find a kind nurse he lurched uncertainly forward after having half fallen from his bed, but determined he made another painfully slow attempt at movement and tried to walk into the corridor that he had hoped to find if the trolley woman was around still and she was.
“Um, er, miss?” he had no idea how to address a trolley woman and it showed “I need water, erm no sorry what I meant to say was; could I please have a small cup of water?” he looked at her so hopefully that she rescinded her earlier opinion of him and had actually begun to feel sorry for him.
“‘Ere you go love, you have this and get a nice rest, have you not got anyone coming to see you today?” her manner was meant to be kindly she meant no offence and yet had no idea of just how much with that one sentence she had hurt him as much as if she had kicked him right in the stomach. He rallied well though; his attention caught with the saving of the flower he had half muttered a vague reply and was already heading back to his bed.
The flower had all but crumbled and not even the water would help it now, he sadly swept the dust away and sat down. Still he knew one thing; if the flower existed then so did the forest. He also knew he would spend a whole life time trying to find that forest again.
To look at the situation with the logic of the common man he knew that no such place as the forest should exist, but to know that it does and to have had proof of its existence meant that he must look at this with another type of logic. He tried science; well more correctly he tried physics.
Jack had always nurtured a fondness for physics, especially if it involved Stephen Hawking and the mere mention of quantum mechanics and he would devote his whole attention to the subject, being an armchair physicist he had an abundant but useless fountain of knowledge on everything from black holes to the popular theory of the multiverse.
He knew in that kind of logic there were an infinite number of possibilities and probably as many realities. So had he in fact visited another reality? It was here all the logic and all the popular theories in the world couldn’t help him; because the human brain isn’t wired to readily accept the travel between different realities outside the realms of science fiction books, or Star Trek.
After reassembling the poor hard worked atoms of his brain he decided to write down on a piece of paper the facts. He realised he had been in hospital far too long when it came to writing facts on paper about whether he had visited a different level of reality and promptly put down the pen and leaned back to close his eyes for a minute.
“You ok there Mr. Denver?” inquired a young nurse, he looked closely at her and decided she was far too young to be a nurse. “Yeah” he grunted as some kind of reply. She did not look up just held his notes and remained quiet. “When do I get to go home?” questioned Jack and he knew he was speaking too gruffly, he knew he was coming across as a rude, probably even a cantankerous old man, but he couldn’t help it, people under the age of eighteen dressed in a nurses uniform should not be attending to old men like him and it made him feel uncomfortable. In fact women of any age and dress style made him feel uncomfortable right now and he was sure it wasn’t a problem with his libido, he couldn’t decide exactly what it was but he figured given time it would either be worked out or go away and that was enough for him, there was other stuff to worry about; the main issue occupying his mind right now was going home.
“Well shouldn’t be long now Mr. Denver you seem to be recovering quite well. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were to be home by the end of the week, but let’s see what Doctor has to say, ok?” she answered with a bright and breezy attitude followed by a professional smile that belied her years and he wondered then if she were not a little older and was just cursed with looking so young.
The days of that week passed without incident and Doctor had agreed with the efficient nurse whose age could not be determined and so Jack was given permission to leave, along with a barrage of questions and some medication. He figured he must have passed the test because they let him go.
As time went by the smell, a hideous nose scorching smell of burnt rubber; foul and clinging to the back of his throat making him heave, was the next memory to join the empty space in his mind, however it was not really enough to say he had much recall of the accident.
He had been told of the death of the other driver and at first he was still numb, it was shock they told him and in time he would be able to feel again, but it didn’t matter what they told him he thought he should have either some vague memory or at least the ability to feel awful about it.
He did feel bad about it all when laid in the hospital and going over the whole dreadful experience in his mind; about how he would apologise to the dead mans wife, or family. He didn’t know if he had been the cause of the accident or if it had been the fault of the other driver, no one had told him anything, and he wasn’t even sure if perhaps something else altogether- a stray dog or escaped horse, had caused the accident. He realised he hadn’t actually asked though but he was worried that he knew nothing about the other person or even if the victim had any family, but Jack assumed there must have been someone for him to apologise too, though in the end it never happened like that.
In fact nothing ever happened the way he expected ever again in his life, and this was just the beginning.
Slowly, taking its time a recollection of intense pain joined the two memories, an awful lot of pain now made its presence known and he remembered quite clearly the day he had fought with the nurses as they took away his morphine drip. They never brought it back though. He sighed as he looked at the feeble Codeine tablets they expected him to take now.
He also remembered not making any friends with the physio team as they put him through his paces. He smiled as he reminisced about some of his more colourful and continuous cursing days with the ever patient physio nurse.
The time in hospital had gone so painfully slowly and even as he got back on his feet it still seemed like for ever until he was allowed home, and now here this day had finally come, and in reality it was apparently eight months he had spent imprisoned in hospital but it felt like eight years to Jack and he limped up the path to his cold and desolate looking home.
Weird how a home looks cold and abandoned as if unlived in for many years yet he had only been gone eight months, he shook his head and cursed at the mountain of mail and the sharp stabbing pain immediately caused him to wince and curse.
Brain damage had been mentioned at some point but he had glazed over and not really taken it in at the time. As far as he was concerned he could see just as well as he always had done and he could hear perfectly fine and he could feel everything in working order, well as far as he could determine; therefore no need to go worrying about his brain. It still knew how to play World of Warcraft and that was him happy for now.
The pain subsided and he was able to carry on with his plan of rummaging through all the rooms to satisfy himself his home was all present and correct. At least that was his plan and he would have happily carried out this plan if his rooms had been there, or indeed any part of his home; for now he was surrounded on all sides by sand. As far as the eye could see in any direction that was it; sand. No trees no buildings, nothing at all could be seen, no matter where he looked there was the sky, the horizon, and from there it was an uninterrupted view of sand, there was nothing at all living or otherwise, except sand.
The sun beat down mercilessly and drained everything of its colour, not that he had much with colour to look at and sand remained the same colour he figured, anywhere it lay on a sun bleached desert; without change a sea of pale golden grains with no movement nor detail just a huge block of pale gold sand, it always looked attractive on adverts not so much when you stuck in the middle of it though.
The heat was unbearable and he felt so weak and thirsty. The thirst was beyond painful it was like all moisture within his body had evaporated the moment he entered this personal hell, and his mind cruelly tortured him with images of tall glasses of water with a single drip rolling slowly down the side of the glass. So many people in this world complained about so many small and insignificant problems, they haven’t got the latest 3d TV or the latest game console, they don’t have enough clothes or friends or money; the list was endless he had heard more than enough whinging to last him a lifetime down the pub on a Saturday night but when it came down to it, when you’re stuck in the middle of a baking hot desert only one thing is important; water.
He attempted to shield his eyes and look about but the brightness reflected glaringly off the sand and assaulted his eyes, and the sand stretched for more miles than he cared to think of. Again with the questions; he felt irritated with his brain because rather than work out a logical plan of escape from the god forsaken hell-hole, it was instead bombarding him with futile questions; where am I? What is this place? Why is there nothing but sand? Absolutely none of these questions were of any help and would drive him mad with the lack of answers.
He thought of just walking in one direction until he came to something; his theory being if he walked long enough and never veered from the straight line he was bound to come across something. But he didn’t. All he encountered even after what felt like a hundred miles of walking all he saw was; more sand.
After a while he told his brain to shut up and went to sit down, his vague plan of just giving up and laying down to die right here in the sand was thwarted by the jolt of being back in his bedroom.
At some point, he figured, he was going to have to sit down and have a proper think about all of this. It was all very unnerving and completely unnatural; how in the hell could he ask for help with this one? Oh ermm by the way Doctor I keep slipping in and out of reality, well this reality. Did you know there were a thousand other realities? No? Guess it’s just me then. He sighed deeply, some how Jack could not see himself as having this conversation with anyone, ever.
He came to the conclusion he needed a stiff drink and maybe even the jolly atmosphere of a pub on a Saturday night. Nothing beats an attack of feathery edged surrealism mixed with a problem of not knowing which reality you’re in like a Saturday night fight at the local watering hole. He felt quite sure that a few drunken rambling conversations about how badly the local football team were performing would sort out all those little niggles he kept having about other universes being just around the corner, or in his front room.
The loudness and the smell of sweating bodies and the confusion of everyone talking at once and no one listening, each word sprayed over the other drunken conversationalist with excess alcohol and glazed eyes, each inebriated conversation going nowhere and making no sense yet expounded as loudly as possible at anyone who would listen and each conversation growing louder and louder but no one ever realising no would listen, no one was capable.
He staggered to the men’s room happy in the knowledge he had successfully reminded himself of what life was really all about. He had just had a most interesting alcohol fuelled conversation on exactly that; what life was really all about, and he couldn’t quite remember what the finer points of the discussion were but he was quite sure his new friend would be there when he got back ready to discuss some other deep and meaningful topic, just as soon as he could concentrate on only seeing one toilet and aiming for that and not the wall, or even the door. It was at this point when he realised there was no urinals and therefore he was probably in the women’s toilet and he really should go, but it was amazing just how comfortable a cold hard floor and the hard edge of a toilet seat can be when completely drunk and thus he was snoring within minutes.
Quite a lot of his days passed by this way and he was happy stumbling through this part of his life in a drunken haze, not really admitting to himself that he was avoiding being sober for any length of time because each time he was sober the damn universe started playing him up.
So he wandered down to the pub again this fine afternoon and his plans were to start with getting drunk and end with not knowing where he was, and these plans were in fact going quite well, until he noticed the haze.
At this point he should have recognised the warning signs; he wasn’t actually very drunk for a start, there was a nasty stabbing pain in his head just over his left eye for a second and thirdly; one should never be curious about hazes, they never brought anything good.
He had tried not looking at it but it lingered and was working on drawing him in, he knew this but he could not, or would not? Fight against it, he could still see it out of the corner of his eye over by the bushes. He slowly took another gulp of his drink and lazily swiped away a fly buzzing round his head; the heat of the day had brought out more than just flies and the sounds of young giggling girls filled the air and his face screwed up in disgust; he hated the high pitched screeching laugh of the young scantily clad girls, looking not even as old as eighteen and therefore way out of bounds no matter how hard they tried to look older.
Their drunkenness was aptly displayed by the bouts of squealing laughter and staggering around falling into each other, it was disgusting to Jack and not wanting to be anywhere near them he edged away, his phrase for such creatures at best was ‘giggly tarts’ but was often a lot more colourful title than that. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing it but he walked over and began to investigate the strange hazy look of the area near the bushes.
The pleasant open area he was heading towards in his ill advised investigation of the haze was a small public park featuring non descript bushes and generic blooms in a well-meaning effort at being a lovely ornamental display mixed with foliage and flowers and overall the park was well kept, it was quite small but pretty with all manner of flowers in full bloom at the height of this season so it was obviously the proud handiwork of some unknown park keeper who probably felt unappreciated, his work undiscovered and never complimented, his grumblings woven into the background noise of every day life; as regular as bad weather predictions that were as correct as the Mayan end of the world announcements.
Leaves crunching under his feet, mud oozing around the previously white soles of his trainers, which were now more happy in their place in the order of things- as being white is just wrong for a pair of trainers; its just too stressful and nothing can settle until some muck has stained the glaringly bright white trainers, only woefully misguided men ever consider white trainers as suitable feet coverings and they show a certain lack of clothing direction, either they sadly thought they looked good or as in Jacks case they threw on the nearest thing they could find, and as luck would have it, it usually is the case that lady luck would be having a mean streak in her sense of humour and so always made sure the first thing to hand is something bought for you by a well meaning mum and the words ‘good value’ or ‘last you a life time’ will be involved, these words alone should have bright red flags waving frantically around and sirens that go off whenever they are mentioned, there ought to be a rule in life; do not make fashion choices based on the length of time something promises to haunt you from the bottom of a cupboard for, or is heartily recommended by any relative over fifty on the grounds of its ‘good value’ remember fashion is frivolous and as such should be far too expensive and last not more than one or two showings, it should fall apart or at least swoon if it is brought out of the wardrobe a third time. Jack was not known for his sense of fashion, his wardrobe would make a grown woman cry in anguish and promptly take him shopping.
As Jack approached the bushes his face became more scrunched as the puzzlement became obvious; he could not understand what it was, somehow the bushes and shrubs looked, thin, not thin as in having few leaves but thin as in vaguely transparent, of having little substance or more worryingly- thin as in if you looked hard enough you would see right through them to the next dimension, more than that they looked as if they were fading from view, the closer he got the more transparent they became; in fact now he was right up next to them and the sharp intake of breath that came from Jack was not enough to indicate the level of the actual shock he got as he walked right through them into what was clearly a desert, in which he noticed with a sinking heart there featured an incredible amount of sand, again, sand, nothing but sand for miles, which was totally impossibly as he had been in a park, a pretty little flower filled park in England the sort of park England is famous for, often featuring prominently on picture postcards of quaint little English villages and which clearly did not have any desert anywhere near it for like around five thousand miles, give or take a thousand.
So where in the hell did this desert come from and come to think of it where in the hell was he? He stood and scratched his head a little, turned around and saw nothing but sand in all directions, and he remembered then what he had been avoiding and groaned because really if all these realities existed and he kept popping in and out of them; then why the hell did he have to end up back in the most boring one of all? Why did he have to keep coming to the one with all the sand? He sighed and sat down, the sand was so hot he jumped straight back up again and cursed loudly kicking up some of the cursed sand as he did so.
He was stumped, he didn’t have a clue what to do or how to start comprehending this situation, his head hurt; not all over just the same sharp stabbing pain he kept having at irregular times since the accident. He slumped down again, after he had placed his top over the scorching sand, in some vague hope of protecting himself from sand burn, and so he sat for a while.
After about ten minutes he figured this was getting him nowhere and pretty soon he would be hungry and thirsty and then a worry set in and if he wasn’t careful this worry could easily turn into a panic, he was lost in a desert and soon it wouldn’t matter how he had got there because soon all he would care about was water.
He started to methodically walk; travelling in what he hoped was the direction he had come in on and hoped he would somehow just walk right back through and see the park and the pub. He had never in his life wanted to hear tarty girls that were not very well dressed screech at him, but strangely right now the sound would be welcome, for all of about five minutes, enough to show he was home and then he could remove himself to a better place; like his house.
No such luck; nothing happening, just sand and his grumbling curses which were starting to become little more than mumbles and his attempt to kick the sand was a complete fail; as it was sand and therefore not really kickable, the resulting flurry of sand all over his legs served only to make him more annoyed.
The total absence of England was not helping either, walking in this desert did start to give him time to think, there was not much else he could do really. So he started to think about the stabbing pains and tried to remember what the doctors had said but he saw no connection, yet he somehow had this niggling thought that this desert and his damaged brain were connected.
He felt a judder jerk through his body and a really strange sensation he could not fathom; it felt odd like a cold fresh breeze had literally gone right through him instead of around him, except he didn’t feel it come through the other side of him; it entered through his front but did not leave through his back and the front of him still felt cold. He shrugged and decided he was obviously not noticing the desert must have had a breeze. Surely deserts got breezes too. Though there hadn’t been any before and now that he was noticing there didn’t seem to be any others. He kept walking and he wondered how long the sun would remain this sharply bright; it was hurting the eyes even to look at the sand, the rays hit the sand hard and harsh then bounced back up and assaulted the eyes, it felt as if it was twelve noon and had been twelve noon the whole time he had been here yet he was sure he had been walking for hours.
He did not like the absence of sound here, even in a desert back home, as he had took to calling it, there would be a rush of wind or a bird flapping or calling in the air, insects would skitter across the floor, but here there was nothing, no life at all, only sand. It was unnatural and he felt uncomfortable not to mention parched and annoyed.
He was so fed up he decided another sit down and possibly a session of moping would be the best thing right now and as he went to slump down he noticed a shining on the surface of the sand just a few feet over and above it the air seemed odd as if it had a slight shimmer to it and looked wavy, like when you looked at a hot air heater at home and the air was wavy in the heat coming out, he rushed trying to go fast as he could and he almost ran over to it and fell right through to a very busy road and cars swerved to avoid him blasting their horns furiously at him.
“Jesus h and Henry Christ” swore Jack and he nimbly danced his way through several near misses on his life, the horns blared past him, and the scene, if it had not been so downright life threateningly dangerous, would have appeared comical. “Wo wocha gawd almighty” he cursed his way back to the relevant safety of the hard shoulder.
His immediate future now safeguarded he had the minor matter of working out where he was and how to get back home. Not for the first time did he fail to see any possible good side to his new talent and worse than that he could not even talk about it to anyone, his disgruntlement remained and gained in strength.
Mumbling to oneself and wandering down the hard shoulder of a motorway is not a hobby anyone should bother with really, but given that he didn’t have much choice he went with it. Luckily there was some kind turn off happening up ahead and he aimed for that, it turned out to be a services which since the advent of the motorway have served to shock and anger the motorist at regular intervals in their long drive, invented by someone with a particularly well timed and mean sense of humour; strange but they really did think to themselves – ‘I know let’s think of a way I can really annoy motorists and take their money at the same time and also lets make sure they have no alternative and we do it a regular stops designed to hit right when they are at their most tired and irritable’ and thus the motorway services was born and blights our driving to this day.
In his long walk he not only came up with his alternative services plan but in his mind right now was an awful plan he was not proud of, it was in direct reaction to the man stood in front of him and he knew he would be benefitting more than just himself if he went ahead with the plan; he had invented a new and quite sensational way of ridding the world of the services manager whose ‘jobsworth’ attitude was now beginning to bring a red mist descending over Jacks eyes.
“You see sir if we were to help every person who walked in off the road then we would be a charity and not a service station and that wouldn’t do would it” droned the odious man, his false smile and bad sun tan were glaring at Jack and in return Jacks teeth were grinding against each other.
His count to ten brought with it the ability to return the smile and try explaining once more “But I am not just a person who wandered in, I would never choose to just wander aimlessly down motorways looking for friendly and helpful services, of which this falls far short of said category, no, I am stranded here in this godforsaken hell hole of a services with the most incommodious staff I have ever had the misfortune to meet, with no idea where I am and no idea how to get home,” the false politeness with which Jack had just said this confused the hateful man and Jack sighed and drawing up all his reserves of patience his speech through gritted teeth now bore a false sense of calmness “All I am asking is if I could just quickly use your phone then I could get help and be gone”
“Oh no that would be against company policy sir the telephone here is strictly for staff use” the smile stayed false and stayed stuck and stayed on the list of things Jack wanted to punch, but he drew in his breath and spied a notice over the shoulder of the manager, it read ‘staff wanted, ask the manager for details’.
“The job, I want to apply for it please” Jacks quick thinking amazed even himself but he went with it “Oh well why didn’t you say, please accompany me to the office” said the four foot tall, perma-tanned and still smiling manager after which he strode off at such a speed Jack had to keep up a pace he wasn’t used to just to stay within earshot of the tiny orange manager.
Eventually, or in real terms fifteen minutes later, he emerged carrying an old set of overalls and headed straight for the phone. After ringing his mate and arranging his escape from this plastic services hell he had found himself in, he dumped the overalls and headed outside to wait for Jim.
It was on the long journey home and the unsettling quietness surrounded both Jack and Jim, neither man was given to much conversation it was not their habit, so many of their meetings consisted of nothing more than a grunted hello and the usual phrase; ‘weather looks bad don’t it’, and then a half hour of complete silence, but it was this very silence and the gentle thrumming of the car, the warmth of the air conditioning, that all gave Jack Denver the space he needed to come to one very important decision, it was not an immediate or easy decision to arrive at, but now he had finally made it he knew it was right and it was time, the decision he made was to get his thoughts in order.
This was not a simple task, nowhere near as simple as it sounds, most people would have given him a sideways look if he had announced he made a much needed decision and that it was to get his thoughts in order, as decisions go it was not very impressive, but it meant finally confronting everything, from the accident to now, and everything in between. He was not looking forward to it but he figured soon as he hit home he would lock himself in until he had the whole damn shebang worked out and dealt with. He figured a bottle of whiskey would form a major part of this task.
so I hope you enjoyed that little snippet there as always if you want to know what happens next the book is available on amazon but it is only available as a printed book there is no ebook version
there is however a book two in the pipeline Malice is to me a very real place and has played a large part in my life I already built part of it in a virtual 3d platform in second life and I loved it one day I shall devote a whole section of my blog to my second life and the town of malice i had begun building there it all vanished though as one day my first life tapped me on the shoulder and said ey up lass we can’t afford more than one life you know and they were right so second life had to go ahh well tis the stuff of dreams ^_^
love and happy times to all