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.


5 comments:

  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 :)

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

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  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.

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

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