It was a bluish day in sky and mood. There were no appointments, no stress. There were only the pure green blades of grass, the shadows of the billowing trees and the calls of the distant birds. Pure easiness, pure clearness of mind. Sharp rays of sunshine illuminated the garden so that John had to squint and blink, and shade his eyes with his hand just to watch the sprinkler putter-putter-putter at the other end of the lawn. He was alone with his thoughts, but he had found that he had had to discard most of them upon moving; thought here was encouraged – there was little to do but think. But thoughts of rush, hurry and bustle were taboo and frowned upon by the staff. So he sat deep in his chair, the one with the thick arms and wicker back, like a convalescent.
Category Archives: Short Stories
I was fifteen when I first discovered I was a David Bowie fan. I’d had urges before, of course, but I’d always assumed it was just a normal part of growing up; a phase everyone went through. This was not the case, however, and before I knew it I was having yearnings to listen to the Ziggy Stardust album on an almost constant basis. I’d never actually heard the album before, nor did I really know who David Bowie was, but the craving was still there; ever-present, uncontrollable and shameful. I could never tell my parents. Musically, we were worlds apart. My father listened exclusively to the Beatles and my mother to old LP’s of the soundtrack to Doris Day musicals co-starring Rock Hudson. The fact that no such musical existed only added to my feeling that she would never understand my secret desires; and I swore never to tell her, or indeed, anyone else. I would take my embarrassing, shameful secret to the grave.