Wednesday 23 April 2014

Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On...




“Sleep is a marvellous thing.” He smiled at me and waited.

Sleep.
What was that line? ‘To sleep, perchance to dream.’...
Shakespeare was full of sleep...
‘Macbeth doth murder sleep’...
Is that what I should call him, Macbeth? He didn’t look Scottish...
What did that even mean?...
mean...

CRASH! His hand on the table. He smiled at me and waited.

Mean?...
Oh yeah, she could be mean...
’No, Mummy, I’m not tired.’
‘Go on, little man, up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire’...
Lying in bed, stubborn and rebellious, determined to show that I could stay awake all night if I wanted to, and then...
the nod, the shock of waking, realising that you were starting to doze, that your body was slipping out of your control...
But it was always better in the morning light...

LIGHT.
Flashing, burning, right in my eyes. He’d pressed a button. He smiled at me and waited.

Light...
I used to say I was a light sleeper. What a joke...
 Dark sleepers, that’s what we are. The peaceful, sheltering shadows hide us away, until tomorrow...
Tomorrow is another day...
Another day? Without the darkness, when does this day end?...
The gradual, creeping light of a new day, so slow you are not sure it’s happening at all. The first bird of the morning chorus is the start of the day...
Roll out of bed...
Roll...
Roll.......


‘BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE I ROCK AND ROLLED. BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE I DID THE STROLL...’ He’d pressed another button. He smiled at me and waited.

Stroll... Strolling in the park on a Summer day, feed the ducks. Hold her hand. Tell her the old joke...
‘How deep is that water?’
‘How should I know?’
‘Well it can’t be that deep, the ducks are only up to their bums!’
She would roll her eyes and groan, so I’d tickle her, pull her down on the grass... Down on the grass...
Down on the grass...?
Why? Are the ducks moulting? Ha, ha, ha!...

“Ha, ha ha...”
“Do you find this funny?” he said. He wasn’t smiling now. “Or are you trying to avoid the situation? Others have already tried pretending to be mad...”

Mad...
She was mad at me...
‘Let’s sleep on it’ I would say to her. I used to say that a lot towards the end. That and ‘Sorry’...
‘Sorry seems to be the hardest word’...
Hardest...
Hardest? I thought the hardest word would be diamond...
Sparkling like...

WATER! I cough and gasp for air.
“Just answer the questions.” His smile was back in place. “You need to think, Mister.”

Think.
Think about things...
...’like a walk in the park’...
No, not the park...
The orange grove...
Orange, like my jumpsuit...
Picking the low hanging fruit...

“Fruit.”
SMASH! My head lolled back.
“What did you call me, you terrorist Scumbag?” His smile was gone again.
"OK, Sergeant. Take him away. And no more My Nice Guy. Stress position until he talks..."


498 words
@nickjohns999

This story was written for Alissa Leonard's 'Finish That Thought' #42 Flash Fiction Challenge