Okay, firstly – apologies. Whilst I’m sure you’ve not been thumb twiddling in expectation of my return to this blog, I do want to at least acknowledge I’ve been somewhat slack on the old updates. There are many reasons, some of which I may talk about in due course, but all of which point to life and its many varied rollercoasters.

It’s time though, to get my blog back on, and I thought what better way to do that than with a bit of flash fiction. In truth, what follows is a step away from my normal style. I’m waiting on my editors feedback for the latest draft of How To Mend A Broken Heart, from which I had to take a slight break but am now fully back in control of, so whilst I await her thoughts, I asked Twitter for a theme about which to write something. Lovely @gillcooke responded:

early morning workers on the bus, all silent, unspoken connections – unspoken judgements how wrong/how right? common threads

And so, I pondered. And it was fun to write something different to that which you can expect from my debut. Here goes…

I drift: through, between, about, and around them. I surround them. I grit their eyes and fur their teeth. I fog thoughts and subdue feelings. I unite them.

The man that is drawn from his makeshift bed, I cloak as he pulls and pushes against my hold; wanting and rejecting in equal measure. He stumbles, wanders, he eventually climbs aboard, as others have done so before him. Their eyes flick in his direction, then quickly away, pretending they haven’t seen him. Yet they feel, and hear, and sense, and judge as he huddles; drinking in a warmth that comforts, cajoling him back in to my grasp. He curls up, inside of himself. They watch through half eyes, half looks, each allowing a glance to inform their feelings. United? On some level. The same? Never.

It’s not yet day, the sun hasn’t forced its light above the horizon, yet a hot pink sky suggests it’s imminent. Light casts reflected auras over each and every one of them; a glow that – without the benefit of foresight – gives them something like an Angel status. Godly. Otherworldly. Their consciousness lazily greets the day. The fingers of their waking reality release mine as they anticipate the chores ahead. Their day’s mapped out, forging a line from start to end. Day to day. Week to week. Month on month on month. United.

The pink shifts to golden. What’s to come slips over the edge, melting into the skyline then lifting high above it. They each turn to face its peace: him too, his body overruling his heart; like a flower forced to embrace a sun that can singe its dewy petals.

He will stay on this journey, ‘til dusk, maybe longer. They will forget, because there’s no other need. His story is clear; his story is obvious.

As all but one reaches separate destination, the next phase of their monotony begins and I walk away, paling in to a distant memory or feeling, a sensation as they officially start their day.
They’re separate.
But the same.
And later, I will return and unite them once again. Just another symptom to prove a point so frequently and readily forgotten.

The same. United. Or are we?

Thanks, Gill. Where it led me was fascinating… to me at least! 🙂

 Right. Onwards. Back to refreshing my email with baited breath, I go. I may make myself a cuppa first, and grab a biscuit. I hope to have more for you soon……


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