Short Story: The Deep End.

This is a ten minute story (had to go back to edit though).

This was like being in the deep end. It was similar to remembering the incident all those years ago when you were in that pool with your Sister and you started to drown because you panicked, and you panicked not because you couldn’t swim very well, but mainly because it was the deep end and this in itself made you flounder – you had never been this far into the pool before and the swift realisation where you were freaked you utterly. So you went under, your mouth silently screaming as the water gushed into your lungs, screaming bubbles, calling and as this incident forces you to remember, it seemed as if you were spiralling out of control, like going down a big plug hole, sucking you under as a whirlpool would, ever down into its chlorine infested depths. Your Sister saved you that time, pulling you back to the surface, whilst you remember seeing your Mother at the side of the pool looking gravely concerned.

What made that memory surface? Present life situation probably; at the stage you were reaching in your life, the feeling of drowning was a very good, correct analogy to use – but this time there was no one to save, no one really to drag you back to the top, to rescue, to resuscitate you, to force you back on your feet. The deep end, several fathoms deep, a murky blackness that defied any illumination lay below the surface, almost as if it was beckoning you to panic again so it could envelop you, to pull you back under.

You break the seal (this one looks expensive, good), you find the corkscrew, you rinse the glass clean, removing the sediment from the previous nights occupant whose body now lay in the dustbin (should recycle) and pour. A glass of release – take deep breaths, count to ten and – relax –the first sip slides agreeably down your throat and into your system, your mind is now at peace. A temporary peace. All the ‘natives’ brandishing sharp spears towards you, all the wolves that lay outside your door vanish for several hours, or at least for this evening as the nectar of the gods works its magic on you, as the deep end and its terror become shallower.


A short story…

It started to snow quite heavy. She was wrapped in her long black coat, huddled into her scarf with her hair tied into a bun, the odd loose strand floating around her face which greatly added to her appeal. She struggled onwards through the snow, head down, determined not to let the worst, and yet the most beautiful, of the elements beat her. The snow beat down and quite soon the ground was covered in a fine layer. The street lamps gave it a most seasonal appearance, their glow creating a magical look and feel to the ground and surrounding objects. It was quite spectacular timing in all consideration, mainly because of the fact that it was a seasonal time of year (it being December), and also the fact it was happening, this snowfall, as she was on her way to meet <i>him</i>.

This was another of their secret rendezvous’. Since their meeting in the park a few weeks ago, even though he had promised to consider doing something about his predicament, this time seemingly with more hope than on other occasions, still nothing had come from it; he was still as unhappy as ever, his brief moments of contentment were only when they were together, but then that would almost always be marred with a fall into a deep solemn mood which took all her effort to bring him back. Which ever way she looked at it, he was getting worse; his mood swings were becoming increasingly more frequent and deeper, his passion becoming less and less, he was becoming more fragile. Red wine seemed to help, to offer solace, to break the barriers holding him down, to release good feelings. But that was no solution. However, she still loved him deeply; she was one of the few that understood what he was going through, who recognized his moods, his struggle. She also knew who the culprit was, and who and what was making him feel this way.

She sighed as she continued on her way. The snowfall had not abated and by now an even greater amount of snow had covered the ground. She saw him in the distance, under the gloomy halo of a streetlight, blurred against the relentless downfall of snow, a solitary figure stood underneath the light, which looked like it was trying to illume him, to make him stand out against the depth of this cold night.

“I guess this is the time to say Happy Christmas and all that, no?” she stated when she had reached him.

“Happy Christmas and all that then” and he gave her a kiss on her cheek.

“Yup” she said and just stared at him.

He looked away at the intense scrutiny she was putting him under, an age old shyness resurfacing, something he could never beat even though he tried hard to overcome it. It was a part of him, even though he found it debilitating at times, well in fact most of his life. And when people did show him attention, he always would shy away. It was something he could not deal with. It was just the way he was.

‘Your place then?’ he asked, wide eyed in anticipation.

‘Mmm, I guess, well, unless you want to undress me and screw me in the snow?’

‘Too cold!’

‘My place it is! Oh, and I have something to show you….’.