Fragments

Such is the… well… fragmentary nature of these pieces that it is often hard to decide if they are fiction or non-fiction, or even occasionally poetry or prose, they are both and neither, all and none. Fiction and non-fiction and poetry and prose.

Which is why they are labelled just as 'Fragments'.

Consequently, if there is an ‘I’, a ‘me’ or somesuch in the piece, it should never be assumed that that person is me, or that the people, etc are real and the events depicted ever happened. On the other hand, it may all be true. Or, as is often the case, it may reside somewhere in that no-man’s land between the trenches of truth and fiction where we all seem to wander shell-shocked and confused, no longer knowing which side is which or who is really the enemy.

They are just half-completed semi-thoughts and observations that seemed important enough – for whatever reason – to write down at the time. If then they do have a purpose then it is as signposts, suggestions and ideas on the journey to somewhere, not final destinations, and should be best seen and understood in that spirit.

Paper Boats

What can be made from these moments?

A Handful Of Stars

These things we think of, now and then. On waking suddenly in the coldest, darkest heart of the night I could speak of those things, but not now.

A Head Full Of Songs And Promises

Sometimes the days seem to fall over themselves in their hurry to pass. You look up and notice a week has gone by whilst you were otherwise engaged.
Cherry

Like a Life put on Hold

There are things unsaid, left there like some invisible object we know is there, but cannot touch for fear of some sharp hot shock.

The Lure Of Stories

I told you the stories you wanted to hear, and now here you are in this warm bed with the sheets thrown back, lying on my chest listening to the beat of my heat. It seems so real to you.

Sometimes You Can See Another Life

If you look long down the road to where the rest of your life is waiting, near the crossroads, you can see only so much of what lies beyond.

Sleep Upon The Moon

Now, look into the distances you hold cupped in your hands. Look into the world you can wave into being with a mere gesture of impatience with the imperfection that surrounds you.

Things That Are Named

I have seen the names given to this world by those others, and the names they give themselves. It gives a solidity to the world, knowing that it is named and given a place within a scheme of things.

What Is Glimpsed

Here we have nothing to detain us. There is only a place: a place without significance. It is somewhere we pass through on the way to somewhere else.
Cherry

Words

Words do not like to be caught. Poised, frozen on the sheer plain whiteness of the page.

Unfolding

She knew, even before she touched it, what it would be. Once she opened the padded plain envelope and tipped out the small gift-wrapped box into her hand, she knew.

The Lake

The water looked deep and cold, inviting, on such a hot day. She wanted to step out of her dress and wade into the water.

Take Away

I remember her name, and how she laughed easily, chatting like the rice frying in the back kitchen. I was not used to it - the attention, I mean.
Cherry

Remained Always Here

Look out across these wide-open spaces to where the horizon blurs the land into the sky. It is as far as seeing can ever go; to see the place where the earth meets the sky.

The End Of Summer

Even under such a heavy sky as this, I can recall another time, another day, when you walked along these beaches beside me, days when you saw these places in the same way as I saw them.

The Morning On Your Tongue

There are times when it all seems to be held within the stillness of a moment. Times when it seems the whole world can be taken into one hand and held.

Stories and Promises

It is time to move on. I have lived long enough amongst these people. I have told them all the stories I know, and, in return, they have told me all their stories.
Cherry

Out Of The Mists Of Dreaming

She came not out of the golden skies of the mornings, but out of the heavy mists that haunted our dreams.

Spending Time

So, what do we expect?

How Long Before

So how long is it before we find the things we have been seeking? How long before the search is over and we discover those things that we know we have been lacking for so long?

The Best Way?

To begin at the beginning is always the best way. However, sometimes it is hard to know where the beginning was.

Every Word has a Story

Here is the place to begin. We tip these words out across the page, hoping they will land where we can make shapes of meaning from them, from where they heap and fall.

The Hand Encloses Empty Air

This becomes a distance that holds us apart, as though we are on the opposite banks of a raging river: unable to cross, unable to meet, unable to touch.

She Brings the Morning

It becomes something. We are still on the edge of things, still waiting for a beginning to form itself out of these mists. The day is heavy and slow, bearing the weight of so much rain and darkness.

Some New Language

How can we form the words that need to be spoken, when so many of the words we know are old and tired, stretching back far beyond memory to places only history knows?
Cherry

Skin Against The Rough World

There is a place, not too far from here, where we go when the night closes this all down. There is a place there where we can hide under sheets and keep each other living.

Sometimes the Words are not There

Sometimes the words are not there, waiting as usual for you to stumble out of the morning to meet them.

And so it Begins

Sometimes it looks as though something like this is not going to get off to a very good start. There is a lack of action, a lack of drama in the...
Cherry

The Desert of Her Dreams

There are dreams buried under these rocks and stones. The desert is dry, bare, desolate. But there was life here once, I can feel it. Of the many...

No Stranger

We spent our last night together in that chamber above the main room of the inn. Downstairs we could hear all the others drinking, singing, carousing and having a good time. Up here, though, in a room lit only by a few small candles and the fire in the stone fireplace, we knew we only had these few hours together. Jenny knew that come the dawn, I would be gone.

One from Shelter 15

Everyone said those from shelter 15 were the best. I’d worked hard, got my promotions and saved every single penny from working as many extra shifts as I could. I knew I deserved the best, so only one from Shelter 15 would be good enough for me.

Here be Dragons… Possibly

‘We're here.’ ‘What?’ Sir Gawain stared around the damp misty valley, then turned to his squire. ‘Are you sure?’ ‘Yes, look.’ His squire held up the sat-nav. Sir Gawain clunked across to her. He was sure the constant drizzle was making his armour rusty, seizing it up slowly. His squire showed him the sat-nav screen. ‘Here be Dragons!’ It said.

The Birthday Present

Then – suddenly – there it was! ‘Oh,’ she said as the smoke cleared. ‘Is that all you can say?’ I was a bit put out, especially after all the trouble I’d gone to. Eye of newt is not that easy to come by, not around here.

When She Sang

First, she sang me the song of mornings, giving the sun a tune to rise to. Weaving the words of the day around the early hours as the trees, hills and the day grew out of the morning mists. Then she sang us a love song, using up a few hours of the morning as each verse wrapped itself around us while we lay together, joined in the chorus of skin against skin.