Wednesday, 29 September 2010

The one that got away 4

He stepped through the open gate and was free. It was exhilarating and yet terrifying. He set off down the road, walking faster and faster, trying to speed away from his apprehension at the immensity of it all. Then, with a carefree shake of the head, he gave himself into it. And ran and ran, feeling his muscles stretch, his lungs open, feeling alive.

The sun shone and a light wind caused the leaves to dance in the tall trees, as he made his way into town. He’d not been allowed here before, locked away, regimented in the numbing protection of a sacrosanct routine.

When he reached the High Street, people began to stop and stare at him. He dropped his pace, and pressed on, affording them the occasional sideways glance. He didn’t want to cause offence here, any trouble and his freedom might be rescinded.

People stepped off the pavement in front of him, some smiling, some frowning. Some foolish children ran off yelling or laughing, it was difficult to know which. Everybody seemed to have something to say, so he stopped on a street corner and had a good look round.

The crowd stared back. One or two moved forward in seemed to be a threatening manner, so he moved back into a side alley, to give them time to return to a better mood.

He could hear fast footfalls behind him and gave up propriety and ran like hell, ducking into the nearest break in the wall. It was an open door and he dashed into a room with a pleasantly soapy smell. A fat woman stared at him, mouthing silently, before leaping onto a chair. She punched at something in her hand and then shouted into it.

“Police!” she screamed, “There’s a pig in the laundrette!”


Patricia said...


No One In Particular said...

He should get a good wash before he goes.

The verification word is "tales"

Oscar Grillo said...

Chips. I ain't got more texts.....

Chips said...

Can't think of anything...I'll see if I can lift something out of Chekhov.... with you by end of the week, old friend.

Oscar Grillo said...

Re-write the Chekhov story of the couple that gets married out of an arrangement made by their parents and in their wedding night they discover that they have something in common after all; he loves to do malabarism and she loves malabarists. A masterpiece of comic writing.
Otherwise you can write something about the last days of Norman Wisdom in the old people's home.