Sunday 29 March 2020

THE DUST

A story about an apocalypse I wrote a few years back.  Nothing to do with the current virus.




The second last thing the man on the TV had said was that the Dust would arrive in Sally’s village in less than an hour.  Sally sighed and glanced around her living room. Writing her name on the dust that had gathered on her chair’s arm, she wondered, and not for the first time, why was it that the TV was always behind the times. 
Of course the man hadn’t actually mentioned Sally’s village by name, not with Edinburgh only ten minutes up the dual carriageway. That was without the traffic of course bumper to bumper.
Today you could have made it in ten minutes, Sally reckoned. Maybe less.
How ironic Sally thought. The Dust had done what years of planning couldn’t. 
No Sally’s village hadn’t been mentioned just lumped in with Edinburgh as usual.
This annoyed her as it always did.  Her village had just as much right to get a mention as any city.
She started to cough and could only stop herself when she stood up, stretched her neck, as tight as its sixty seven years would stretch, and coughed out a cloud of dust.  Then she pressed her lips as tight as she could manage, but she felt the dust gather and wait until she breathed, or climb up towards her nose.
Grit scratched at the back of her throat. The feeling of having to cough or choke was overwhelming.
She coughed, thought again of what was the last thing the man on the TV had said.  
‘If anyone is left. Get out now.’
Silly man. 
It was the last thing the man had said for right after the TV had crackled and died.
Sally had smiled at that. Better off without it anyway. 
She’d pulled the Hoover out of the cupboard then and back and forth she’d gone, first the living room; then into her own room; and then the hall. 
When she’d switched the Hoover off and glanced around she’d sighed, and choked, and had had to sit down in her favourite chair.
She was fighting a losing battle. Then she’d thought of her mother and how when Sally had been a young girl everything had been spic and span.  Sally too: not a hair out of place, or a crease anywhere to be seen on her school uniform.  Sally thought of some of the other houses she’d been in.  Places a tip. How could anyone live like that, clothes all over the places, dished left and unwashed? 
Busy or not you have to have pride in your own little place.  In yourself.  You never knew who was going to pop in.  That’s why she reckoned she had never married. Imagine the mess a man would make.  She had only to think of her father trailing through their house with his mud splattered boots.  It had made her mother weep.
Sally stood now in her own living room, and for the first time since it all started, she felt the tears.  She wiped them away. Her mother would have been ashamed of her.  Her mother would have hovered and hovered until every bit of dust was obliterated and wouldn’t dare come back again.
Sally flicked the Hoover back on, but instantly the socket crackled, choked, smothered to death.
Sally coughed and choked back the rise in her throat.   Then it came again. This time it spilled out over her lips and down her chin.
Sally took out the hankie from up her cardigan sleep and wiped her lips and chin.
 The hankie was saturated a flowing red that dripped onto her wrist.
Sally walked slowly into the bathroom and discarding the hankie down the toilet she washed her mouth and face and hands. She watched the blood swirl pale when mixed with the water. She watched it even paler and grainy as it mixed with the dust that covered the sink.
Sally muttered. 
‘ An hour indeed.’
Then she made her way through to the kitchen and put on the kettle, filled a cup with a spoonful of instant coffee, and then just a touch of semi skimmed milk.
She paused at the sugar. No she had promised herself. No more sugar.
Just like the living room, TV, and the bathroom sink, the kitchen was covered with a fine, almost invisible layer of silver looking dust. 
The kettle died but Sally poured the lukewarm water into the cup anyway and drank.
She choked spraying the coffee all over the work surface. The liquid cut patterns in the dust. The cup, the coffee, the milk gleamed silver in the sun blurring the kitchen window.
The whole kitchen gleamed and Sally for a moment thought that it was exactly the shade she had been looking for.  Now if only there was more time she could gut the place.  New cupboards. She was always looking for more space.
Still, maybe not.  She liked her old kitchen.  And she had all the space she needed.
Sally choked and threw up a rainbow of red and silver onto the kitchen floor.
This time her eyes watered and she couldn’t stop them.
She liked her old kitchen and it was no longer hers.
 Searching underneath the sink she found the cleaner and she scrubbed and scrubbed but all she did was move the dust to another place. And then more replaced it.
Her kitchen was gone.
Like a Saturday night drunk she staggered through to the living room, bouncing off the walls, coughing up more and more silvery red as she went.
The living room glittered and shone as Sally straightened and walked as steadily as she could manage to her favourite chair.
With an effort and her chest racking she picked up her book, wiped the dust the best she could, and settled her self, like she always did this time in the evening.  She read half a sentence and then glanced out the living room window. It was covered in the silvery mist.  Like early morning, thought Sally, as she could just make out a huge cloud rise above the hills less than half a mile from her house.
She went back to her book, realised that she had already read it before once upon a time.
She knew the ending. Still she read on, and waited.


Friday 27 March 2020

SOULMATES


A short story from a few years back.  The layout is deliberate and part of the story.

Text of the story below. 

Me reading the story as part of the Eildon Tree magazines 15th Anniversary event at the following link.  I used to co-edit the magazine.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zib_kVAFQgM



MICHAEL
They thought he was scared but he wasn’t.  His screams and screeches were all part of it
                                 but they didn’t know
                                                       they tried to comfort him
                                                                                                   they tried to
calm him down
                  but they didn’t know
he wanted to lie in his own bed in the darkness of the night, and stare up at the skylight, at the shifting stars, at the moon shimmering and vibrating across the window; he wanted to stare and feel his skin tingle at the shadows of the trees whipped by the wind; he wanted his ears to ache with the creak and rattle of the window frame; he wanted his eyes to stretch with the dancing, ghoulish, stretching finger shaped shapes.
He wanted
                   but they didn’t know
and one windy, wild day he jumped off the always bouncing, moving school bus and ran the uphill country mile to his cottage in the wilderness, threw his flapping school bag in the heap of a corner in the hall, and with his mother’s shout of ‘Dooooor Michael ’ whizzing over his head, he leaped, and scrambled up the wooden, creaking stairs to his bedroom, the smile growing with every creak and groan of the stairs, of the house, and into his bedroom he clattered and his eyes smiling upwards
                                 but they didn’t know
and Michael’s smile died
                               for parents being parents
                                                              they had blocked
off the skylight
                 and now
        only
              the dull    square    ordinary   window   in   the   side
wall
     with   a    view
                    to         the        hills              the                    beautifully
                                                                                                   dull                           dreary     hills
they didn’t know.

MARTHA.                              
They thought she was strange but she wasn’t.   Her silent moving lips were all part of it
                        but they didn’t know
                                                                            they tried to get her to
                       speak
                                                                               normally
                                           communicate
                      but they didn’t know
she moved silent lips to whisper wondrous thoughts to fill her mind’s eye, to fly off tall buildings with her arms for wings, to walk the tightrope without a net, to climb the mountain without a rope, to feel her skin tingle with the sight of the hard ground; she wanted to feel her muscles tense and stretch, and her lips dry, and her eyes nip with the cold sweat.
She wanted
                     but they didn’t know
 and they wrapped her tight in the safety of their home, bought her readymade toys, bought her ready made friends, filled her silence with their chatter, screeched and ran when she sat atop the highest tree in their garden, arms outstretched, face smiling upwards, mouth mouthing her own silent words.
                             but they didn’t know
                                      so parents being parents they took an
axe to the tree
                and now
         only
                         the     dull   square   flat       of      the     garden
        for
                       they didn’t know
and Martha’s smile died.

MARTHA AND MICHAEL
There must be a God, a keeper of ill fitting souls for the day came that out of the east came Michael, no longer a boy, a man now in his thirties with the Fred Perry shirt tight over rounded shoulders, with the ill fitting jeans and trainers and no socks, and looking like all the world as if the monk-like balding circle on the top of his head had been cut to measure; for out of the west came Martha, no longer a girl, a woman now in her mid thirties with the Fred Perry shirt tight over rounded shoulders, with the ill fitting slacks and sandals and no shoes, and looking like all the world as if the bun that held her hair tight against the back of her head had been baked and left to harden a long time since.
Michael and Martha smiled.   
For they knew.
For now after the sun, the rain had come, hard and whipped up, and the trees swung in wild circles as they walked, fast, up, and along the rim of the hill, towards each other, to their place, to the cairn that sat solid at the edge of the slope, that ran down between the sharpest of rocks to the flat safety of the valley below.
They shivered as their skin tingled, as they reached the cairn and spoke together then laughed. 
 They turned to face the edge of the slope. They stood.  Then reached and his left hand took her right; her right hand took his left, and they knew and tilted forward into the slope, felt the gravity push at them and they were away and running, eyes wide, breath caught and held, blood pumping legs to dodge the jagged rocks, to hold tight against the slipping, grassy, moving ground.  And his screams and screeches, and her smiling face held up, were all part of it; and they shuddered and tumbled to a rolling stop against the flat safety of the valley; and they choked with their laughter, and rolled into each other, and smiled at the rips in their ill fitting
                                        and above them a voice
                       shouted
                                              ‘are you okay?’
                                                      and a dog galloped down the hill towards
them
                        and the
                                                                     voice
       on the hill
screeched
                                                                                             ‘here boy come away from them’
for the voice didn’t know.

Friday 20 March 2020

SEE THE SOUND

A short play of mine below, I hope you enjoy.

A bit of context.  I`m completely deaf in my left ear,  and my right is a bit quiet as well!

So if I do meet you and you speak to me, please don`t think I`m ignoring you if I don`t answer, I probably haven`t heard.

More work and information on my website.  https://tmurraytg.wordpress.com/
 SEE THE SOUND   
 Characters.
Male : Both mid-thirties/forties.

Synopsis
Characters are two ears from the same person. One is completely deaf and doesn’t speak but uses movement to communicate with its twin ear. Other ear is going gradually deaf and is afraid of the coming silence.
When the Deaf ear plays the drum, it is silent.
When Good ear plays the drum the sounds he is referring to are heard.

Two ears.
GE-- Ear that can hear. 
DE-- Deaf ear. 
 No set.

GE— (To audience.) I’m the ear that can hear! I’m not putting him down or anything. In case that’s what you’re thinking. Just a point of information. (DE curls into a ball.) The silence gets to him every now and again. I try to cajole him out of it. Be the good brother. We sometimes play the sound game.  But truth is, it gets to me. It reminds me you know.  I shouldn’t let it get to me but…I’m glad he’s not up for that today. The way I think of things…Everyone deals with things differently don’t they?  When my silence descends…I’ll… (Indicates brother.)…Not me. It’s just the way things are. I’ll carry on regardless. Down the Eustachian Tube to the nose and up to my… (Indicates DE)…twin. Ear to ear. That’s how things should work.  It’s a sort of talking to each other really.  How we identify sounds. Pinpoint where they`re coming from.  We used to help each other. A bang next to me and I’d warn him. And together we’d turn the noise down a bit and…Save the ears. Us.  Now all the…Bang. Bang. Bang. All on me and I don`t mind saying it’s taking its toll. 
I’ll be glad when it`s all over if the truth be told.  Might as well turn the sound down to zero and to hell with it. (DE sits up and mimics playing the drum. GE TO DE) I’m not in the mood brother. (DE continues to mimic playing the drum frantically this time.  GE reluctantly begins to play the drum slowly.) See what a good brother you’ve got. ( Sound as GE describes what he hears.) The beginning of raindrops, tapping on a window pain.  (DE reacts as if remembering. GE drums progressively faster.) Then the more insistent rap. Huge puddles falling from the sky, the window vibrating sound throughout the house. Can you feel it brother?  (As if GE ear to the window. To audience.) Thunder from the heavens pounding at my ear drums.  It hurts me.  But only a vibration for him.
(GE stops drumming.  DE upset urges to go on.)
GE—(To other ear.) I can’t. It hurts. The sound hurts. (DE doesn’t understand.  GE mimics being in pain.  DE in a huff.) I know you got the raw deal brother.  But not everything’s rosy for me you know. (To audience.) Brother or no brother sometimes…I’ve been the lucky one.  I get that. I’ve had years of sound.  But he can understand more than he lets on. He can be a selfish little...(DE mimics drums. GE to DE, angry.) Okay I hear you. (DE upset, GE tries to calm DE mimics drums angrily. GE bangs drums furiously, it hurts him, but he keeps going.)  See what you made me do. It`s okay for you. I’m the one that can hear, can feel, be hurt.  It’s not all raindrops on windows.  It’s not just about you.  It’s my memories as well. They slapped me around the ear as well you know.  ‘Can you hear now deafy`Well I could.  I had to suffer because of you. I hated school as well you know. We’re stuck with each other in more ways than one.   (GE stops drumming. DE shaking.) Sorry. I didn’t mean…I know you can feel. I know. I know.  (DE drums furiously) I`m sorry okay. (They go in a huff with each other. GE to audience.) Ten years old when he first started to show the symptoms. (DE taps the drum, indicates around them. GE to DE.) Here?  (DE taps drum.) I’m listening. Patience will you! Things are distant sounding.  Like underwater. (GE drums.) The rustle of leaves. I think. Or am I hearing myself?  The rustle of nerve ends. The last hurrah maybe.  (GE stops drumming. DE drums.) Okay I’m sorry for having a moment to myself.  What else, what else? (GE drums.) Mother’s footsteps. Her foot tapping on the floorboards in the hall, as she gets our coat on for school. 
Remember how she used to sing to get us out the door?  The song?  What was the song? (GE remembers.) Got it. 
(Sings own version of. ‘Should I stay or should I go.’)
``Should we stay or should we go.
To school now.
It’s time for us to go now.``
(They both dance and march as if marching out the door to school. DE mouths words.  GE sings.)
GE—
‘To school now.
Time for us to go now.
(They repeat the last two lines and dance then stop suddenly, mood changes to sad.)
(GE plays drums very slowly as if the slow death march of feet.)
GE— The heavy feet on the cold floor of the chapel as they carried her out.  Sometimes I wish I had been the one that had gone deaf. I can still hear the crying.  The whispering so we wouldn’t hear. I did. ‘She was a fighter.’ (Stops playing the drums.) I am frightened of the silence brother. There I’ve said it. (To audience.) I don’t know how he does it. Will we lose our past when the sounds go? They never found out why my twin lost his hearing.  They couldn’t stop it.  They can’t stop mine. The ear that can hear will soon no longer be.  But we’re fighters.  We can survive the silence. Together. No choice. (DE plays drums.) But not silent yet eh brother. (GE taps the drum.) I need a memory to take with me.
(DE stops playing and starts to flap his arms gracefully like a bird. GE taps the drum.)
GE— The sound of the swans rising from the water, the rumbling air caught in their graceful, powerful wings. The flap of their wings like a band of drums. Got their own little Eustachian Tube from one to the other. I play the drum now and it sounds as if packed full of muffled rags. (DE drums furiously.) We need more. Struggling umbrellas.  Sighs and curses. We can hear those.  We won’t miss those. Ducks quaking in joy.  Or maybe the swans have come back.  No, ducks.  Different sound altogether.  But now…Merging? No.  Ducks. The rattling wheel of the ice cream vendor.  We’ll always remember that. Mother sighing. ‘Okay then. Just the one.  And you’d better be fit for your dinner!’ The wind kicking paper and cans along the ground. That used to be so loud.  Chairs getting dragged inside the cafĂ©.  We hate that sound. The metal gates hinges groaning with hands pulling at the cold metal.  The crack of thunder. A baby giggling. We remember our giggle. Can you see the sound?  Can you see it brother?
(GE drums slower and slower gradually going silent. GE tries to hear but is now deaf as well.)
(GE is in despair and curls up into a ball. DE starts to dance/march like they did for the song—‘ Should I stay or should I go.’ GE gets up slowly and reluctantly joins in, and they both sing, and play the drums, in silence.)