The Poor Sod

He looked in the mirror and admired his muscular posture, turning round and round. People might call him vain but he disagreed; looking well after oneself, wearing expensive and timeless cloths, had nothing to do with being vain. He was a proud person and showed it to who ever was interested.

   Yes, it was important to him how people looked at him, their thoughts. He demanded respect for who he was and how he lived.
His life had never been easy looking after his dominant parents, fighting all their marriage long. He hated their fights, their voices and the way they treated each other. And him, particularly him, their only son, the one and only product of a night that turned out to be the biggest mistake of their life. Oh, never they failed to rub that in!

   They involved him in every row between them, ever since he was a toddler. He never understood why they stayed together. Well, he did understand because his mother told him more then once that his father would never support them financially, how would she herself and him?
And they continued to destroy everything that could have been labelled 'love' or 'friendship' or...... 'sympathy' maybe?

   It was a relief when they both passed away, shortly after one other. A time he did not want to recall. It happened as he had wished for and he never doubted the strength of his wish. But it made him aware there were forces he could use. And in the years following he also learned how to use them. At least, that is what he thought.

   He was very tidy and soon the house and garden looked nice, he received lots of compliments from his neighbours who - but he did not even questioned this - never entered the house. Peeping through the windows is what they did when he was out.
Punctual he was too, time was important to him and every part of the 24 hours per day, had it's own time limit, was time phased.
   He was not a hermit, he went out quite often. Although an excellent chef, he loved dining out, sitting quietly in a corner, observing the ladies. Carefully, not to upset them.
He loved women, their soft features, their hair, beautiful dresses and excellent manners. He could not believe his good luck when two ladies also showed interest in him.
No doubt it must have been his good manners, his broad and solid shoulders, his trustworthy confidence in life.

   He saw these ladies quite often and when he fell in love, he knew it was from both sides. He did not think of it as complicated. Why should he not be in love with two? Or maybe more if he had the chance? And of course, he was irresistible so why not more then one lady in love with him?
To get to know them better, he invited them (separately of course) for lunch in different places. Invitations they only accepted occasionally but they never accepted his offer to hire a taxi for them; they preferred their own transport. He did not want to argue, he knew too well this could cause fights and he wanted a happy relationship.

   Relationships which developed in his mind, not in real life. In his mind he had two fiancees but he never mentioned them together when he proudly talked about the love of his life. No, he talked about 'my fiancee', the lovely caring beautiful lady that had chosen him to look after her.
He went out to buy them presents, to cook them exquisite dinners, maintained the house and garden immaculate. And never questioned why they never arrived or even excused. In his mind they were faultless. They were caring and loving, always in his favourite. He knew he was always on their mind and in their heart.
Slowly but surely he lived more and more in his own world, his own fantasy. And when the shopkeeper in the village dared to ask him why he bought so much food being on his own, right? He answered his fiancee was coming for dinner.

   With the table set for two, he ate and talked, kept a lovely and amusing conversation going. He smiled and laughed, was the perfect host. Held the tiny hand to kiss it, looked deep into blue or green eyes (depending who was visiting him) and dreamt of cosy nights in the arms of his woman. Dreamt of making love, tender and slowly but soon as the passionate lover he was. He slept with her in his arms, discussing a life together, a marriage even.

   Waking up alone did not bother him, he understood that his beautiful lady left hours before, not to be seen by the neighbours. She fulfilled his dreams which was very satisfying on its own.
And every morning he watched the beautiful brass alarm clock he bought for her. The soft golden glow, the tiny little feet, the bell on top which tingled when he touched it. The elegant clock face set to an appropriate wake up time.

Photo: @beautifully_derelict ©

   He questioned if his ladies ever understood how important this clock was to him. The rhythm of the tic-tac was in pace with his heartbeat. The beat that conquered the long cheerless years with his parents, the loneliness, that kept him alive to dream of what he really wanted: true love. Ensuring him his emotions were not dead. He was still capable to live a good life, to make love, to worship, to give and to receive. The beat which went faster and faster, thriving him to ecstasy, an ecstasy which pumped his blood through his vanes. Which blew his mind, which cramped his body, which silenced him forever.

   The funeral of the little man that had lived on his own long after his parents died, was sober. His skinny posture was laid to rest at the local cemetery with only a very few people to sing a simple hymn, a few words that did not do his self image of being the tall handsome lover of two women, any justice. But who knew about his dreams?

   With no next of kin, the house stood empty and slowly rotted away. Nobody dared to enter it, gossip went round that the most precious item in the derelict house, the alarm clock, had stopped at the time the little man passed away. And was therefore haunted. Nobody dared to touch it and slowly dust nestled behind the glass, covering the hands in a grey powder, like ash, until the time of death faded together with long forgotten memories.....

Word of thanks: the photo of @beautifully_derelict (Instagram) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use it as an illustration for which I am very grateful. Thank you so much Jules, luv yah X

Links: please visit the beautiful Instagram account of @beautifully_derelict

Note: the story is pure fiction! A figment of my imagination!

Helen

Floating Silence

   The little twigs crushed by his hasty feet, made a cracking noise that did not disturb the wildlife; the inhabitants of the forest were used to this man who lived here most of his life. His smell and posture were as familiar as the trees and large boulders. During the harsh winters there was always food near the red barn of which the white panelling glowed bright in the afternoon sun.

    The deer raised her head; it was unusual to see the man running. Her brown eyes watched him disappearing between the trees before she shook her head to chase the flies and continued eating.

    He did not slow down, he knew there was something wrong. His heartbeat went up, in pace with his breathing. His heart ached and not because of physical strain although it felt like wading through a swamp, facing a nightmare.

He heard stories about people who relived their lives in the last few seconds before they died; flashbacks. Of happy times is what he wanted, reliving the happy times. The face of the woman he loved with his whole heart, suddenly appeared in front of his eyes.

    A bruised face with hollow cheeks and eyes so tired that they remembered him of chased animals. She stood in a corner of his veranda when he woke up to watch the sun rise. She did not move but stood there, her eyes fixed at his face, her chin high, her arms down her side and her back straight. It shocked him and not because he did not expect any human being at his door. No, it shocked him because here was a woman that went through horrible times. Not an accident but brutal violence made her look the way she did.

   At the same time he felt a deep admiration for her courage because there was no fear in her eyes. Her whole body displayed courage and her eyes challenged him not to ask any questions.

   He invited her in and made sure he was not walking behind her and not blocking the doorway. He saw her looking at the breakfast table and in an impulse, licking her lips. His hand invited her to sit down but she remained where she was and stroke her hair. Although she did not say a word, he knew that her pride made her do this and he went to the stove to boil water so she could tidy herself up.

When it boiled, he left his house and walked to the shore of the lake to give her time and space.

    He lost track of time but returned from his deep thoughts about the mysterious woman when he heard footsteps. When he turned his head she stood next to him, dressed in one of his trousers and shirts held together with a string of rope. She carried two cups of hot coffee. He took both so she was able to sit down. She choose the boulder next to him but not close enough for physical contact. He returned one cup of coffee. She folded her hands with the broken nails round the cup and both listened to the sound of the lake, forest and wind.

Like he, she seemed at ease with nature and he wondered where she came from but knew he could not ask.

   In fact he never asked anything about her past after that day. She stayed and did not speak for two weeks. It was only when her bruisings healed that she spoke for the very fist time. Her voice was music to his ears. Not light and high as he expected with a young woman with blond hair and grey, almost transparent eyes that never failed to observe her surroundings, but deep and warm, a voice he could listen to for hours.

    She did not speak much, only when something needed the attention of both which was not often the case as she knew her way around the house perfectly well.

    The first nights of her stay, she slept in his bed and he on the couch. She slept for hours and hours but when she felt better again, she gave him back his bed and insisted to sleep on the couch.

   She was always up early, even before him and he knew she first walked to the lake to sit there taking in the peaceful silence that also healed her mental wounds.

She cooked his meals, washed his clothes, kept the house clean, milked the cow and fed the pigs and chickens while he worked in the forest and sold the timber like he already did for many years.

    He never thought he could live with someone else in his house; he was on his own since he left his parents when he was a young man and this was 20 years ago. He always felt at ease with no other company, he did not need people to entertain him. He was never bored; his hands were always busy.

   But this woman, he did not even know here name, was never in his way. She never disturbed him and never asked questions. She respected him for who he was and also never asked for a favour or for help.

   When he finally realized all this, it was too late for his heart that now not only belonged to him but also to her. It came as a shock that he was in love with her. It turned all his emotions upside down which made him feel slightly uncomfortable in her presence and he did not know how to handle this.

    She did not show any sings of other feelings than taking care of his household and looking after him.

Until the day he came home earlier than usually. He was very restless and wanted to be with her. He wanted to brake the silence regardless what the consequences were going to be. He could not go on like this. At the same time he was very afraid she was going to leave him when he told her about his feelings but it was a risk he had to take. It would brake his heart if she indeed left and his life would never be the same again, still....

   When he arrived home his feet guided him to the lake where she waded through the water, her long blond hair drifting on the surface. He stood still absorbing the view.

She must have felt his presence because she turned her head in his direction. He could only see her naked shoulders which took his breath. She did not move nor did she call him but her eyes showed an emotion he understood.

He did not hesitate, took his boots off and walked in her direction without caring about his clothes.

   When he stood in front of her, she raised her hand and unbuttoned his shirt and trousers. He did nothing to help her. He did not notice his clothes floating away with the hardly visible waves caused by her moves.

Then he lifted her in his arms until she folded her legs around his waist.

    All this crossed his mind when he ran even faster. Four years passed by, four years of love and intimacy. Years that were so very precious that he could not believe her when she said she knew she was going to die. Of course he noticed she lost weight but she never complained and when she finally mentioned it, it was too late. And now he was so afraid, so very afraid of coming home too late.

    He found her near the lake at their favourite spot. He noticed her smile but also saw how much energy this took of her. He kneeled behind her and held her in his arms. She leaned against his warm strong body, her lips touched the soft skin just under his ear and he felt more than he heard “I love you so much....”.

He continued where she stopped: “....beyond my life”.

  His cry of grief was answered by a crow and bounced against the trees, floated above the lake until it died at the shore at the other side.

He raised with her closely in his arms and walked to the lake. He did not stop but walked and walked until the last wave disappeared, leaving a perfectly smooth surface.

Photo: @pekamkinen (Instagram)

The visitor of this forgotten forest stood near the lake and watched the water reflecting the sky, wondering why someone abandoned the wooden cottage behind him. It was obvious it stood empty for a long time but it was left as if the owners could return any moment.

   Suddenly a cloud appeared above the water surface and stayed there. He did not know where it came from and could not take his eyes of it.

His heartbeat changed by the loud desperate scream of a crow and he watched the cloud coming down to be dissolved by the lake.

Word of thanks: the photo of @pekamkinen (Instagram) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use the photo as an illustration for which I am very grateful. Thank you Pekka!

Links: please visit the Instagram account of Pekka Mäkinen to view his beautiful black and white photo's!

Note: the story is pure fiction! A figment of my imagination!

Helen

The Search (short story)

   She was old and lonely.
Many years ago her husband left her for another woman, nothing new here. It happens all the time and causes very good reasons to feel desperate and betrayed.

   She laughed, her good sense of humour helped her to survive and to live her own life.
Of course back then she was angry at him and yes there were a few betrayed feelings; the roses all of a sudden should have warned her. But how could she be very angry? She knew that some men in their 50's exchanged their wives for a much younger and above all more beautiful example of the female race. An example without wrinkles, a wasp waist and with other parts that were not sagging. Brains seemed not important anymore.
   But her husband fell in love with one of the most ugliest women she ever met. Also without brains! A woman that always smiled, even when the subject wasn't funny or nice. A stupid laugh and not an intelligent word at all. Big and round, far beyond voluptuous with an old fashioned perm in her hair. A woman who preferred slippers instead of shoes; filthy slippers with holes where her large toes touched the ground. How on earth could she be jealous??

   After the first shock she wished him good luck, she did not even want to know what the attraction of her 'rivale' was. No, she choose to get on in live although easier said than done. She received a little financial support from her now ex husband and in those days there was no Social Service. She had to earn her own living and set her creative mind to work. Always very clever with needle and thread she made beautiful flowers from cloth in all different colours and sizes.
   To her own astonishment, people loved them and she even received orders. Soon she had enough savings to start her own shop in real and artistic flowers. And she flourished;  she lost weight, could afford a good hairdresser, bought new cloths instead of making them.

   One day her ex husband entered the shop to buy flowers for his wife but did not know it was the shop of his ex. As soon as he looked at her, his eyes grew large and then he blinked a few times. His brains worked hard to digest what he saw and he stuttered when he wanted to say hello.
She did nothing to help him, she smiled with a twinkle in her eye end knew she lost all the hard feelings for him.
   His throat felt very dry so he scraped a few times and than squeezed: "Well....uuhhm... how are you?" She did not answer but waved her hand to tell him 'look for your self'. "Uhm, this is all yours??" She nodded and then asked if he wanted to buy flowers.
Yes, he wished roses for his wife and while he said this, he did not dare to look her in the eyes and blushed all over. She grinned, winked at him to let him know she knew exactly that he had a guilty conscious, why else would he buy roses?
   He paid and left the shop in a great hurry, she knew he was not going to return.

   Although she looked years younger and of course more attractive and although men loved to visit her shop, there was no one she felt attracted to. Not that she was looking for a man, lover, husband, what ever but in the back of her head was this little voice that told her she was not going to be younger and one day she was too old to run her shop and what if she was still on her own?
No one to laugh with, no one to cuddle, to keep her warm during the night, to share the good ánd the bad moments in life with?

   Then came the day that she sold the shop. Her legs started to ache and the long hours caused a serious fatigue. She sold it for a very good price and did not have to worry about money anymore. She earned her own pension and she was very proud of it. She was not going to spend much, never liked travelling and loved being at home with an occasional visit to the local Pub. And eating her favourite brand of peanuts.
   Unfortunately she had to spend money on the dentist; one of the disadvantages of growing old. There was so much wrong with her teeth in her upper jaw that they decided to extract them all; a very painful time. But she looked forward to her new teeth and since she had a choice, she wanted white ones. The dentist disagreed, telling her it did not suit her age. But it was her money and thus new sparkling white teeth, like a film star. Three months later she was the happy owner of a neat pink denture. She treasured it, kept it clean and during the night it sat in a glass of water next to her bed.

   Se was aware of the fact that men were most likely not going to like her denture, they wanted pure and original. Stupid really because at this age not many men still walked around with their original teeth!
After all the hustle and bustle around the visits to the dentist, her life seemed empty. Her already occasional visits to the local Pub became less frequent since they started Bingo nights which she hated.
She loved reading but her books were not satisfying enough and the news papers kept repeating doom and gloom.
   Yet it were the little ads in the newspaper that drew her attention, especially the ones where people were looking for marriage. To her surprise there were more ads than she ever knew; why had she never seen them before? Probably because she was not interested.
   For a few weeks she read and read and seriously thought about placing one too but she wanted a very original text, one that would attract everybody's attention. One that people were going to talk about. But that only needed the serious attention of one man: humorous and not put off by her false teeth.......

    The visitor of the abandoned house walked with respect amongst the silent witnesses of a life that came to a halt a long time ago. Or maybe even two lives although there was little evidence.
A grime dust, typical for this part of the city back in the 60's and 70's, covered all the belongings of the lady that lived here. The visitor knew it was a lady, there was a very feminine touch to the house.

Real flowers, now dry and faded. Roses made of old cloth but beautifully done. Romantic books probably not bought by a man.

Photo: @my_urbex (Instagram)

And much more. Though one of the most odd things she found was a tin with a complete denture. Curiously she studied the teeth and noticed the upper ones being slightly whiter than the lower ones. Maybe of a younger date? Did the owner first had her lower teeth extracted? There was no one around to tell her, it remained a puzzle for ever she thought.

   But she was wrong, if she had found the one and only and carefully folded newspaper that was left in the house, she would have read the following ad:

   "Single woman with upper denture, seeks single man with lower denture to chew peanuts together".


Word of thanks: the photo of @my_urbex  (Instagram) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use the photo as an illustration for which I am very grateful. Thank you Sandra!

Link: please visit the beautiful Instagram account of @my_urbex

Note: the story is pure fiction! A figment of my imagination!

Helen