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The Road

Posted by Kitten
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on Friday, 05 October 2007
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I wake to find myself on a very dark road. It is both strange and familiar, as though I have been here once before. There is something sitting next to me with coal-red eyes and an all-consuming presence. It seems as though it has been waiting for me to arrive. Perhaps it knew that this was where I would end up. It points wordlessly to the road and somehow I know I am expected to walk down it.
 
I stumble along aware now that I am not alone in this place. I can hear the echoes of others who have passed this way. Invisible eyes bore into and through me, willing me to hurry along.
 
The road is well worn with many smaller roads leading off it. I stop at a sign post and reach out to wipe away the thick grey dust that covers the words. But there are no words on it and I move on confused. Where am I exactly?
 
There is something blocking the road now. It is an alien creature and I slow down, afraid and cautious. It reaches me and wraps itself around me like a sticky spider’s web. I fight to get out but it is stronger than me and threads me up into a tight cocoon.
 
I fall asleep again and wake with a start. I feel different somehow and glance down at my hands. I reel back in horror at the mangled claws that were once my hands. I try to scream but my voice has been removed. How long have I been here, I wonder? And what kind of monstrous creature will I become once the metamorphosis is complete? 
 
When I was younger I used to have a recurring nightmare. It was the kind of dream where although you know that something is coming for you, you are unable to shake yourself awake. In the dream I am moving along on a type of road and it feels like I am trying to get to something that is both beyond my control and out of my reach.  
 
The dream suddenly reminds me of where I am now on the dark road. But then I realise that this is not the dream from my childhood.
 
It is real.
 
And I am dead.
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Rabbit Hole

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on Friday, 05 October 2007
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Cat Out Of Hell

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on Thursday, 04 October 2007
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Either Way

Posted by Kitten
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on Monday, 01 October 2007
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I could feel the heavy weight of it in my bag as I crossed the busy road that led to my flat. It was cold and rainy and my feet ached from the walk trying to find the gun shop. The seller had shown me briefly how it worked. How to load it. How to fire it. How to clean it. The safety catch. I had not paid too much attention to his well-rehearsed demonstration. I knew that it had been purchased for one reason only. 
McFurley greeted me with his usual enthusiasm as I entered the flat and I wondered who would look after him after I was gone. Would he sit next to my body until somebody found me or just resume sleeping after his fright from the bang.
I decided to have some tea first. I sat in the kitchen while the kettle boiled, the gun lying on the table in front of me. It represented a way out to all the problems that had plagued me for so long.
My hands shook as I reached for the cold metal. It felt unnatural and foreign in my hands and was almost too heavy for me to even hold.
The kettle had finished boiling and suddenly I had a craving for one of the double chocolate chip muffins that the deli down the road sold. I would go get one before I did it. I might as well have one last treat before I go.
As I left the deli I suddenly felt strangely cheerful. I wasn't sure whether it was the smell of the muffin or the fact that it had stopped raining, but suddenly I wondered whether I should rethink this whole thing. I looked up to see the sun breaking through the clouds on the horizon and was so lost in thought that I never saw the truck coming, never heard the sound of the horn or the people behind me shouting.
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Red

Posted by Kitten
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on Monday, 01 October 2007
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Alice in Weddingland

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on Thursday, 27 September 2007
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Little Girls

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on Wednesday, 19 September 2007
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Our Masks

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on Thursday, 06 September 2007
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Writer's Block

Posted by Kitten
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on Wednesday, 05 September 2007
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Call me old fashioned but I prefer to take my thoughts and my notebook and curl up somewhere comfortable to write. Somehow I can’t imagine Wordsworth or Shakespeare logging on to their computer every night to compile their great works. Not that I am comparing myself to one of them. Hardly. In fact I have not written in a very long time. My thoughts, whilst ever present and busy, have refused to rearrange themselves into meaningful words on a page. In my imagination my words are unfettered by the invisible boundaries that hold me back in reality. Here they are insatiable and ablaze with life, forever pushing and jostling to get into their correct place. But when I awake all I am left with are indecipherable utterings and a white page. My thoughts dance at me in ridicule on the borders between dream and wakefulness. What if my words never come? What if there are no more stories left in my head to tell? Wilbur Smith once said, “Writing is my excuse for living”. Perhaps that is the answer to my question.
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Office Moving Pranks

Posted by Kitten
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on Monday, 27 August 2007
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A few years ago we moved offices. I work for a publishing company so in addition to all the usual office equipment and paraphernalia we also had an enormous quantity of books to pack up. It was a mammoth task and each person was responsible for sorting out their own work station or office. The office was riddled with boxes which turned out to be a bit too tempting for the early committee of pranksters.

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