Another grey dawn marked the end of another dark night, marked the start of another dark day. He shuffled awkwardly on the hard cot , his uniform stiff and cold. The meagre woollen blanket felt damp and offered no warmth. The kettle hissed as boiled water splashed into a pot. “Tea, Sir.” He wrapped his hands around the heat of the tin mug. His head was pounding in time to the pounding of the guns. Don’t think. Thinking was a luxury for the living. Existence was his goal. How long? The question pushed back into the recesses of his mind. Sanity was his goal. Gun in hand , he forced one leg then the other to climb the ladder. His body jolted like a marionette as red clouded his eyes and brain. He fell back in the mud grimacing a smile. Wounded, he would survive. He would go home to live. Remember. He would not forget that life chose him. by Philippa Shingleton
Showing posts from January, 2015
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As you set out for Ithaka hope the voyage is a long one, full of adventure, full of discovery. Laistrygonians and Cyclops, angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them: you’ll never find things like that on your way as long as you keep your thoughts raised high, as long as a rare excitement stirs your spirit and your body. Laistrygonians and Cyclops, wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them unless you bring them along inside your soul, unless your soul sets them up in front of you. Hope the voyage is a long one. May there be many a summer morning when, with what pleasure, what joy, you come into harbors seen for the first time; may you stop at Phoenician trading stations to buy fine things, mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony, sensual perfume of every kind— as many sensual perfumes as you can; and may you visit many Egyptian cities to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars. Keep Ithaka always in your mind. Arriving there is what you are destined for.
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It had been another fraught morning. Delayed karma, that's what it was and serve him right. Not that it had been all bad. No, at various moments either side of breakfast he'd been flying. A marvellous idea to do something extraordinary next August had popped into his head. It would be something that he would write a book about. He didn't know yet what this something was but such minor details were the stuff of trivia. It'd be something that pushed him to the limits of his physical powers. He'd also pretty much settled on a plan to paint the living room walls a mish mash of vibrant primary colours, possibly implementing some kind of mural on the main wall. Such grand thoughts often came in threes and so it was, while musing on the living room thing on the way home from the cafe, he'd come to the realisation that orange was his favourite colour. It was an unexpected load off his mind but the epiphany had soon delivered its nagging price. Had it been his