I was too tried to do anything. It had been a long week and the only thing I wanted to do was curl up in bed and go to sleep. However, I couldn’t. There were too many things still left to do. I had to pack for my holiday in Greece, I had to find my passport, print all the tickets and information etc. I stared at the computer screen willing myself to stay awake, but it didn’t happen and I fell sleep.
He liked to make things out of wood. People said he was talented, but it had never brought him money or fame. He lived a humble life on the edge of the woods in the countryside. He looked after an abandoned farm and was a handyman for the town which brought in extra money. His garden was covered by his wooden sculptures which was mostly hidden from the public. So, it wasn’t until his death that he actually became famous, like it seems with every creative person.
It was her favourite thing to do after work. She would sit back, put the headphones over her ears and find some music to suit her mood. Sometimes it would take a few tries, but then she would hit a smooth song that would be sweet to her ears.
She would relax and let the sounds carry her far away. She’d leave everything behind; her troubles, her thoughts, her dreams, her body. She would drift on a cloud of notes, high above everything, where nothing could touch her.
He watches and awaits by the front door, listening as footsteps go up and down the street. He growls as he hears the mailman approach and a shuffling of papers. The letter flap is fluttering and it’s raining inside the house. He jumps, catching white and brown papers which he rips and throws about. He snatches the last few out of a hand he can’t see and tears the letters up.
Afterwards, he sits, tail wagging and tongue lolling, his task of defending his home and family complete.
Gift wasn’t sure how long the town had been abandoned as the records only went back fifty years. Crunching glass and fallen plaster under her boots, she entered what had once been a living room.
Looking through the breathing mask’s visor, she spotted the white flowering plant on the window sill. Smiling, she walked over and picked the plant pot up gingerly.
You’re safe now, she thought, clutching the plant, but you’ve got a big job ahead, flower.
Gift stepped outside and back into the war torn grey landscape. Hurrying towards the safety of the underground city, she hoped that one day she would be able to see the green surface world that she only knew from the legends.
She lay in the hospital bed drifting in and out of conscious. Had she been involved in accident? Had she had a baby? She had no idea. She tried to think, to gather her thoughts as she looked up at the white ceiling and listened to the soft talking voices. A machine beeped somewhere, but she didn’t know if she was attached to it. Her arms and legs were numb, have I lost them? She wondered. She tried to wiggle her fingers and toes and got half a response from both. I seem to be whole, but what happened?
He turned the corner and slowed the boat down to behold the view that was before him. Pine trees lined the way to a small patch of grassy land and raising proudly above was a dark grey mountain half shrouded by low hanging clouds. He brought his oar into the boat and rested for a few moments. The wide river splashed gently around his small wooden vessel and singing birds echoed each other in the trees. He noted the burning colour of the sky and decided that he had finally reached a place that had only been touched by God.
In the evening, James walked home from work. Snow was starting to fall, but as he only lived a few streets away from the office, he didn’t mind. He strolled past an alleyway and from out of the shadows a hunched old man stepped and threw a punch at his jaw. The fist caught him off guard, giving the man time to grab James’ wallet and flee. Turning after him, James saw that the man had a hook instead of a right hand and wondered if he had just been robbed by no other then Captain Hook from Peter Pan.