Friday, 29 April 2016

Rotten Fish

For audio click here
She held my hand gently and smiled. Her smile gradually reaching her eyes and showing in her crow's feet. Her green-grey eyes and shock of ginger hair tried their hardest to provide colour on this industrial grey day. I loved that smile; fragile but sexual, sensitive but sensual. It melted a little of my heart every time I saw it. Such beauty deserved a place in a museum or gallery, not in a grimy, side alley among the puddles. She touched my arm and tilted her head. Her eyes flickered as she moved closer to me, our lips brushed, the tips of our tongues touching. Drops of water splashed on the ground around us and rotting fish mixed with her Chanel no 5. The ships’ horns sounded as I lost myself in her. Our kiss passionate yet tender. I could stay like this forever, locked together in this embrace. The wind whipped up the alley, covering my head with her hair. My hand touched her cheek and she let out a gentle moan, lifting one leg off the ground. She broke off and looked at her watch. I held her hand hoping she wouldn't say what I knew she was going to say.
"I've got to go," she smiled.
As our kisses were getting more and more passionate, our time together was getting shorter and shorter.
She put her hand on my face and smiled deep into my eyes. Then she straightened her skirt, tied her hair into a pony tail, turned and clip clopped across the cobbles back to the main road. A ship’s horn blasted and rain rattled up the alley. The Chanel had gone, all I was left with was rotten fish.

Thursday, 28 April 2016

The Forest

For audio click here 
This is part five of the postman, for part 1 click here part 2 here part 3 here and part 4 here and part 6 here
But I think it works as a stand alone story too.
The dark trees were silhouetted against the black-blue sky. Karel pulled his collar up and shivered. The empty path stretched into the distance. He’d been walking for about thirty minutes and had no idea where he was. He pricked his ears, trying to listen for clues but the silence enveloped him, scared him; he felt like he was the last man on earth. If he was going in the right direction, he should be close to the border now; maybe he’d even crossed it. Would there be a fence, or deep in the woods would he just be able to walk across it? He wanted to step up the pace, but the shoes he’d been given were pinching his toes and rubbing his heels making it difficult to move quickly. The crack of a twig echoed around the empty sky. He stood still listening to his heart beat before continuing with his long walk to freedom.
Tiredness overwhelmed him, He thought of his bed, his king-size duvet wrapped around him. He had the urge to curl up in a ball and sleep. But there was now duvet out here; he would either freeze to death or get caught, so he had to keep on trucking. He rubbed his eyes, massaged his temples and his neck. The bruise on the top of his spine ached in the cold. The memory of her punching him made him more determined to keep going.
The sky seemed split in half. To the west there was still gothic darkness, but to the east the black was turning blue as the sun contemplated rising. He was heading downhill, a gentle slope. He was still alone in the woods. He wondered what animals were watching him in his lonely trek.
Karel stopped. He heard something. He listened hard in the silence. Yes, there was the sound of a car. He must be close to a road. He started walking again hoping he could flag down a car and get a lift to the nearest town. It was a risk, but he could feel blood in his socks from the blisters. He staggered on and sure enough the path hit a road. It was brighter now, almost dawn. Left or right? It didn’t matter. He chose left. It felt right.
He could have only taken five or so steps before a car came racing towards him. It screeched to a halt before he even had a chance to wave it down. Karel was like a rabbit in the headlights This was not good, not good at all. Karel contemplated running, but his feet were torn to pieces. He had no chance of getting away.
The doors slowly opened and two men the size of mountains unfolded themselves from the car. They held their weapons up ready to fire. Karel knew what was coming next.  
She may have been short, she may have been svelte but she loomed over him like a giant. With that evil smile on her lips, she looked him over obviously amused by his appearance, by the look of disappointment and anger on his face. He wanted to spit in hers. To punch her or kick her. Wipe that smile from her delicious lips. But her henchmen had their guns trained on him and he knew one false move would lead to a bullet in the head.

“Had your fun?” she said, the two men stepped forward and grabbed Karel’s arms and manhandled him into the car.

For part 6 click  here

Wednesday, 27 April 2016

Calon Lân

For audio click here  (worth a listen today me thinks) 

The factory that towered over the town was shrouded in the smog that it had helped to produce. The tyrannical building dominated the skyline like a gothic castle casting a shadow over all of those who lived in the terraced houses below. But the chimney was no longer bellowing smoke across the dark skies. Men no longer worked the machines, women no longer made the teas. An eerie silence hung over the deserted halls. Water dripped from a leaky pipe, a rat scuttled across the grimy floor but otherwise, all was still.
The town was also empty; an old lady taking in washing from her garden was the only sign of life.  Light rain hung in the air, too lazy to fall to the ground.
Like a lullaby the sound of song drifted on the breeze. Nid wy’n gofyn bywyd moethus. Louder and louder it got, deep baritone voices and fragile Sopranos, men; women and children singing beautifully. Calon onest.  Calon lân. The old lady could see them now. All the towns folk in their Sunday best marching up the hill towards the factory. Calon lân yn llawn daioni.  They carried their banners, and their placards demanding justice. They marched with their heads held high and in the middle, the pallbearers took precise measured steps, the coffin proudly on their shoulders. Dim ond calon lân all ganu.
Inside the factory, laughter came from a plush office - at odds with the rest of the grime. Cigar smoke hung in the still air. The voices of the townspeople grew louder and louder, but the laughter grew louder still.
They were at the locked gates now. The people fanned out around the factory walls. Canu’r dydd a chanu’r nos. The voices trailed away as the pallbearers reached the gates. They stooped and lowered the coffin to the floor.
“Comrades,” Carwyn Lewis’s voice boomed.
“We are gathered here to day to celebrate the life of…”
Deep in the bowels of the building the cigar smoker could hear the muffled voice of Lewis and the cheers of the crowd, but he didn’t care. A rowdy rabble couldn’t harm him, not now His laughter became harder still. There was a clink of glass and a glug of liquid.
“Comrades, we must fight this battle and the next and the next.” The crowd cheered. “Together, united, a band of brothers and sisters, we will find strength, we will win our struggle.”
No order was given, no signal made, but as one, the men, women and children charged the gates. The rusted hinges soon gave way and the masses flocked into the courtyard that they’d crossed so many times before. No one really knew what they were going to do, but that didn’t matter, they were doing something.
A fat finger flicked a switch. The factory speakers crackled into life and the haunting laugh rang around the grounds. People froze, stopped to look at the laughing sky. Fear formed on faces. Eyes darted around. Then the fat finger flicked another switch.

The explosion could be heard in Cardiff. Debris rained down on the courtyard. Flames leapt. Children screamed. Laughter cracked and died in the rubble of the factory.  Calon onest.  Calon lân.
To hear the song a lot better than I sang it click here