Wednesday, 16 June 2010

To be hidden

He looked back in my direction, but his gaze seemed to hit the back of the room. I could see him fairly clearly through the flyscreen on the window. I felt as if he knew I was there, but didn't need to see me; he was just making me aware that he knew. He knew where I was. He knew I had come to tear down his life's work- to destroy his family, take his empire and make sure everyone hated his very name. Why would he think that? How could I remove myself from his vicinity? The other members of his group talked quietly, but playfully, while he gazed into the hut.

It was just me in there. I was afraid that if he spotted me staring at him, he'd cut me down where I stood. How could I let him know that I meant him no harm? I needed to make light of the situation.

“Hurr-- H'llo...”

Shit. I couldn't speak. If he heard the faint sounds coming from inside, he'd think I was hiding. I was hiding. Why was I hiding?

I strode out the side door. He looked at me. It felt like the world was growing up around me, like I was falling from a trapeze into the netting below, watching the walls of the circus tent shoot higher, until I was cradled on the ground. His face loomed above me.

I passed out.


The sun wouldn't be up much longer. Dusk made the sand on the beach look like it could just as easily have been concrete; the seaweed and shells were chains, nuts and bolts on a factory floor. The movement of the waves became more obvious as my eyes adjusted, and the scene came into focus. In the low light of the evening a pillar rose up from the water; it was the only thing that broke the endless stretch of shoreline. Beside the pillar was a smaller one. The pair appeared as a column that had jumped free of its plinth.

The column shifted slightly to one side, then bent in half. I froze. It was a fisherman reaching into the bucket beside him.

How did I wind up here? If I made a run for it, the fisherman would notice. I lay flat, aware that I would still appear as a dark shape silhouetted against the pale sand.

I edged the fifteen or so feet towards the tall native grass and tried not to make a sound. I slid backwards between two tufts. Flat on my back, looking up at the sky, I struggled to control my breathing.

The clouds hid any stars. I closed my eyes and prayed that I might disappear. If God could hide all the stars in the sky, then surely He could conceal one man among the dunes.


  1. wow...what's going to happen? Is this a story you're writing, or is this a symbolic metaphor for something that happened to you? (I know I've done that with my Odysseus poems)

    Good to hear from you. Missed your blog postings.

    Oh, and I hope everything is going well for you and your beloved :)

  2. I was just writing down some images from nightmares that I had. Look at me; I even steal inspiration from my subconscious.

  3. No, no...I use my dreams for inspiration in writing, and as for using your nightmares, so did Robert Louis Stevenson, Bram Stoker, and Mary Shelley.

  4. Nah. It's not. But I can deal with that :).