Keep Pencils Hidden
I do declare.
How dare they.
Those people who borrow books
from the library. Despoil them while they read. Are they. Bored. A
closet writer wanting to escape.
Each time I borrow a book the
pages have been marked by previous readers with their initials. At
the beginning. Or at the end. Page numbers have been circled. Or
underlined. A comment about the story written at the end.
There are other readers who edit
the story by crossing out words. A word placed in the wrong place.
Probably put there during the print set up. Or by the author rushing
to meet a deadline. Didn't have time to check. Or the publisher
didn't check the manuscript for errors.
May be those closet writers could
join one of the local writing clubs. Write poetry. Or memoirs
writing. Begin their own stories to see how difficult the work can
be. How many hours the author of the work puts in to write a novel
consisting of over one hundred thousand words.
Leave the books alone. By
scribbling on the work you are spoiling the book for other readers.
Taking away their enjoyment of the story. You are also desecrating an
author's work. Keep your pencils out of reach when reading a library
book.
In The Park
Angie
positioned on the bench in the park, watched the double handful of
gosling waddle behind their mother toward the edge of the lake to go
for a swim. This was the peaceful hour of the early morning. To swim
among the reeds to forage for their breakfast.
Alexander.
Wrapped warmly in a rug sat in his pram. He chuckled. Clapped his
hands. Pleasure sparkled from his bronze coloured eyes. His pleasure
turned to pain when the gosling disappeared from his vision. Tears
dribbled down his toffee coloured cheeks. Angie leaned forward to
lift him from the pram to console him. She wiped away his tears with
the edge of the rug.
Frank
sat on the ground beneath a huge tree watching all the early morning
people commune with nature. He doubled over with pain in his gut.
Pain from the cancer in his body was like a tapeworm making its way
through the cells turning his brain to mush. Frank wished the end
would hurry so there was no more suffering in his life. He tried to
focus his mind to overcome the havoc cancer caused his body. He
leaned back against the tree his thoughts returning to the past when
his body had been clear from pain. Free of cancer.
Cam.
Not wanting to see his father suffer through another day, armed with
a battery of high powered solicitors waving writs, marched up the
steps of the family home. A couple of policemen were with them to
make sure not one of the group took the matter of the law into their
own hands to make Frank go into hospital for treatment. Cam paced the
porch between knocks on the door while he waited for his father to
come to the door.
Trinkle.
Frank's other son didn't possess a legal mind. He lived by his wit.
He'd advised his father to go out before the troops arrived to badger
him into changing his mind. With his mind on other projects, Trinkle,
was never sure where he was suppose to be. Or what he should be
doing. He left the house not long after his father leaving Cam to
cool his heels.
Wind
gushed in from the bay. Sails whipped on the masts of the ships.
Angie listened to the singing noise caused by the wind lulling her
for a moment. The moment of silence was broken by a loud noise.
The
noise approached the park The sound rose in volume from the whining
noise of a motor bike. Chuck revved the engine of the motor bike to
jump the gutter on the edge of the street to reach the park. He
didn't know why he'd picked the park to release his pent-up emotions.
In agony of the words Cole had used, Chuck had to admit his friend
had used hard love to explain how he saw the problem. His boss at the
science lab had voiced the same opinion. Now. The Day of Reckoning
had come. He had put this in action several months ago. His boss had
forced him to take a very long holiday. Everyone had warned him
about, burnout. He hadn't listened. He thought he knew what was best
for him.
Chuck
didn't know his fatal decision would end like that. What had he done
wrong. But that was the way his life would be from now on. The memory
of what had happened would stay with him forever.
The
lack lustre voice of dull, old Seaforth, glided into their minds like
a tide of slow moving molasses. There he stood on his soapbox droning
on about drugs. In verse. To listen to his version about love no one
would attempt to fall in love. The world was a horrible place to live
according to his expressions of love. Death. War. Everyone were
sinners sucking all the energy from life. Seaforth's glazed eyes told
their own story. He was stoned out of his mind taking all the colour
from the universe.
Every
where was dark. Darkness. Seaforth lived in a black hole. To him. He
had no option but to sink further in the stinking mire till his life
ended. He'd then be at peace. He'd no longer have to try to surface
above a dead man walking.
Angie
stiffened imperceptibly at the words spoken by this man. He didn't
witness this because his sight didn't see much further than the end
of his nose. She felt sorry for him. She prayed another mother
wouldn't have to listen to this man sprout words in the future. Her
son, Alexander, she hoped, would travel along a different brighter
path.
Lily
made her way across the path. No make-up. Only strong black, long
lines where her eyebrows once had been. Her back ridged. Her face
stern. Her body moved gracefully telling of better days. Lily's
countenance cold but quite beautiful even without make-up. She was a
complicated person. Always busy searching for objects to make her
deserted tunnel a home. Was needy for money to pay for her food, and
clothes. She presented more like a onion than a banana. She wore many
layers of clothes so no one could steal them. Her personality also
like an onion but she clammed up tight when people asked about her
past.
Finn,
lay on the grass. He hadn't been home. His stomach rumbled to
reminding him he hadn't eaten since last evening. He had waited in
the lounge room for Joyce, a laden platter of fruit, and cheese,
arrived to be placed on the coffee table. Before his sweet
orange-coloured tea had a chance to cool he'd set to nibbling on the
food. His mind else where. On Joyce in the shower. Finn imagined her
smoothing fragrant soap over her body. The froth, and bubble,
clinging to her skin. He had wanted to be with her in the shower
standing naked beneath the flow of the water. His hands moving over
her slippery curves. Thinking in this vain, Finn remembered the
dark-eyed gypsies he had watched dancing around the camp fires in
Romania. His hands burned with want along with the rest of his body
parts. He'd been bitterly disappointed. And frustrated. Their night
didn't end to his expectations. She came from the shower to tell him
to leave. She showed him to the door. Wished him a good night before
she closed the door.
He
looked introspectively into his mind to find the reason why his night
out with the luscious, hot, Joyce, didn't go to plan.
“Edward.
Are you listening,” Finn grumbled to his friend who sat beside him.
“What did I do wrong? She brushed me off like last week's
breadcrumbs stuck to her jumper.”
“That's
women for you, my friend. I've learned to expect nothing but the
unexpected. That way. You don't take their refusal to heart when the
door is slammed in your face.”
“I
think I'll pass in the future. Women don't know what they want. They
have you panting. Tonguing. Then they cut you off at the knees.”
“I
watched what happened to my father,” moaned Edward. “The poor
bugger. The light went out of his life when mum walked out on us. He
drank whiskey day, and night, to try to forget. But still a hazy
vision of mum floated beyond his reach.”
“How
come we ended the night in the park?” Finn sat, to look around.
“I
always come here when I want to fudge out. Look to see who may be
worse off then me. I haven't seen the woman with the baby here before
today. Wonder who she is.”
Angie
wore a dress the same colour blue of her eyes. This dress reminded
her of the one her father had brought home for her from San
Francisco. She had taken her son to visit his grandfather for the
first time. Her father had disowned her when she had fallen pregnant.
He refused to let either of them enter his home this morning.
She
bundled Alexander into the pram. She stood to walk from the park. She
had waited long enough for her father to change his mind.
“Angie.”
Finn looked puzzled.
“Who
is Angie? Where is she?” Edward searched for a beautiful, young
woman.
Finn
stood. “Angie,” he called louder. He walked faster to catch up
with her. “Angie.”
Angie
stopped walking believing her father had changed his mind. She looked
into Finn's puzzled face.
“Finn.”
She turned the pram away from Finn. Shocked to see him. Angie didn't
believe she'd ever set her eyes on him ever, again. Except in the
features of her son.
“I
thought I recognised you. Are you babysitting?”
“No.
This is my full tine job.”
“You've
become a, nanny?”
“No.
I've become a mother.” She swung the pram to face her son toward
Finn. “Meet Alexander. Our son.”
Finn
stood gasping like a fish out of water. He looked at the son he
didn't know about.
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