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Overground, the debut novel by Jackson Fife (Excerpt)
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Transcript of Overground, the debut novel by Jackson Fife (Excerpt)
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Jackson Fife
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Copyright
2013
by Jackson Fife All rights reserved.
copyright
Book design by Jackson Fife
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Chapter 1
One
You need treatment barked Charlotte from behind her
clenched fist, breath heavy and teeth exposed like a
silverback warning me to submit to the demand. I sighed,
not so much in acceptance as in apathy. I was not the one
with my fists ready for war, I was not the one who had just
threatened to smash your fucking skull in! holding high a
heavy wooden African mask. I was however, the one who
had bitten off more than I could chew.
It started as a child. How was I to know what had set-in then
would lead me here 35 years later, that I would be staring at
the woman I loved, who had again raised her fists to me and
lashed out. It didnt hurt, in fact I was pleased and could
understand if she feltuncomfortably belligerent and scared,
she had punched me and thrown things at me before,smashed things up before, punched me before, all of her
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attacks felt like flies bouncing off my skin, like a bee
accidentally flying into me on a summers day. I was thestrong one, I was in the right, the gentleman, a gentle man,
but my penchant for the basket case had caught me out
again and this time, more than ever before it left me empty, a
different kind of empty to the disgust at her passing fury and
aggression, or the emptiness of the shame and the relief.
This emptiness was defeat, I had been taken for a fool and
that smarted. She had never even heard the whispers, felt
the warmth or appreciated the comforts. Her kisses were
hollow and shallow, she was haunted like an overgrown
alleyway I had once stumbled into and down as a child. I
wanted to ask the angels to grab her and shake her for me, to
tell her to kiss me slow and deep, whisper wisdoms like the
wind carries clouds to arid land and to hold my heat in her
dreams and guild the stars to shine brighter for this time
may be all time, but instead I just stood there, dumbstruck
and righteous.
I stretched out on the grass and gazed at the pills the doctor
had prescribed, Sertraline, 50 milligrams, once a day. They
would help see me through the break-up if that is what was
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happening and enable me to feel less emotional. The irony
was not lost on my GP, but on my insistence we werereferred for relationship counselling and I matterof-factly
informed her that I could not guarantee Charlotte would
calm down and agree to it. I knew I would try to salvage
what reputation Charlotte had, but she was belligerent and
headstrong and I could not give any indication of how the
banshee within her would change as I had not seen it this
malicious and vindictive before. I had engineered two jobs
for her since she left University, she was earning a great deal
more than me and I had been second in my life behind her,
tip-toeing through my own world in case the egg shells she
left all over my life woke the banshee. Like the fear of a
looming judgement day in front of the omnipotent I wrestled
with my urges and dutifully bowed my head in awe of the
life maker in front of my eyes. Only, it didnt work out, fuck.
The clouds above me broke the blue of the summer sky like
the sadness bubbling up into my thoughts. I was free of her,
to lie on my back in a field and watch as the beauty played
out its divine dance. A swallow swooshed across and out of
my eye-line and with the sun warming me I closed my eyes
and enjoyed the orange glow I found in the comfort of my
solitude.
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His trance was excruciating, collapsed in the Great Hall he
wilted and wept out what energy he could muster, in the
hope that something would come to his aid. The dust from
the wooden floor mixing with his tears and sweat to coat the
left side of his face. Drifting in and out of consciousness he
was no longer sure what was real and what was forced upon
him by his subconscious to keep him away from the
uncomfortable truth. The tape crackled and squealed
intermittently like it was being chewed by the machine. The
occasional bursts of thirties big band swing that had danced
through the air, echoing from the walls of the building andthe walls of his head, shaking his thoughts from decline to
decadence, ended, with an abrupt squeal and then click.
Momentarily, he was clear, focussed, this was a chance, but
this time it might be his last. As he ascended to the event
horizon, the point where the power he was mustering and
forcing through his tired body became enough to lift him
from the cold hard parquet floor, he was aware not to give
too much away to the beasts that might be watching. He
must not let them see the strength he felt he may have. If he
could disguise his power long enough to push the weight
from him, he might be afforded a chance. His mind gasped
for control and clarity, hopping between strength and waste,
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he could feel the energy returning to his face. He would
have to move quickly once he began, to spring up and dartinto a fierce and powerful stance awaiting the blows, Now!
Each sinew cracked taut, his head swung, at first heavy until
the spring from his shoulders and triceps engaged his
balance and he flung himself up and around, ducking and
spinning, legs bent and his weight centred, arms up like a
prize fighter, he hopped back scanning the room for any
immediate threats, anything that could have been pinning
him down for so long, any thing that could have been the
stinking mass with the heavy breath which had been for so
long panting hot foul stench slowly into his ear and over the
side of his face, forcing his eyes closed for their protection
from the rancour and leaving him sure that to not see his
own final breath being chased down and consumed was
better.
Where has it gone? His mind frantically buzzed. The room
was empty, the sunlight shone through the tall multi-pane
windows onto the dark old wooden floor, dust gently cutting
the smell receptors in his nose, the deep pink flock wall
paper and guilt framed tall portraits of former inhabitants
and noblemen, sat in quiet repost, as if in judgement, asking
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for a reason he was so animated when there was, after all,
nothing to be attended to with such venom. His pantingquickened anticipating an attack from behind, his breath and
swift foot movements were the only noise, the room was
warm with the afternoon sun and the wooden panelling and
the extensive grounds surrounding deafened those inside to
the world beyond. He spun from left to right, jutting
backwards, eyes wide. In the lower east corner was a tall
glass paned French door, the light fabric which had been
strung across the top to afford some privacy within, was
billowing gently and he could see a bright crack running the
length of the frame, it was open. Swiftly and making as little
noise as he could, Markus set his sights on this bright alley,
he could see the lush green hue of the Surrey fields outside,
in the distance he could see the church steeple and the A3
rolling like a tear across the cheek bone of the greenbelt, he
flew to the door as if carried by some kinaesthetic tsunami,
clasped his wiry fingers around the frame and without
chancing another millisecond to take one more look at the
place he had for so long been held captive, pulled hard, the
gap immediately and without question opened and he was
out like a stow away arrived at port, he ran, his euphoria
dizzying him, he forced himself to focus on the road, hewould not stop until he had reached the road, his steps
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thudding as he ran, down the incline of the garden, through
the copse, his arms flailing, his big lungs burning with everybreath as air scraped down his trachea like wire wool, his
heart beats like steam pistons smashing at their housing as
though on some out of control train, he hurtled, each step on
the uneven ground a stumble towards the freedom of road,
of the cars and their passengers, of their swift help and
deportment to the Police station where he could alert the
authorities to the foul beasts that had held him captive, a
stumble towards his family, his wife Lorraine, and his
children Aloysius and Veronica, their gentle laughter, the
smell of their hair. His head lifted once more, he was almost
there.
He could see the brook, beyond lay the silage, and then the
hedgerow and the road embankment. His steps sinking and
squelching as the sodden mud sucked his feet back, clinging
to him like the hands of the weak and condemned pleading
with him and making each step harder than the last, his
exhausted body rolled on through the bowers until with the
next step a loud snapping noise rung out, and the white heat
and nausea that only accompany a bone break, struck him
like a spear. His left leg spun through the revolution of the
next step, the momentum carrying him onward, his weight
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displaced from the right and all he could do was wait. In
that fearful moment, the cold fresh air, cleansed no moreand was suddenly stark and frozen in diorama around his
jagged gait. He jammed the lolloping foot into the soil and
like a tired horse at The Chair, his leg buckled and his body
bucked and jerked viciously with the pain and the jarring
motion of a bone slicing through the flesh and nerve endings,
of the tendons tearing from their fixings and then of the
now-free-moving-bone through and out of the skin on the
ankle. Out of place, his femur bone forced itself back in to
his hip socket, and in turn he twisted as though gripped by
the force of a hurricane tearing through the pain centres of
his brain. He felt himself lurch violently and lose his place on
the earth. Toppling as he screamed out with the agony. It
was cold when he woke.
He looked at himself in the bedroom mirror, naked from the
waist up, he was out of shape, slightly too large around the
midriff to fasten the waist band of the crisply pressed suit
trousers he had chosen, he pulled his stomach in and puffed
out his chest, teasing his upper arm to recall a time when the
sedentary nature of his adult life was less overbearing, God
honeyIm getting fat! I cant do these trousers up! he
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shouted. A female voice answered with a hurried Come on,
we have go to go! Markus sighed, his face crinkled down theright hand side and he bent down to remove the trousers he
had been wearing I will, Im going to have to put on the
jeans, these trousers are too tight! Are you ready? he stood,
silently awaiting the response but it did not come, he
scooped up his jeans and the polo shirt in his strong left arm
and headed from the mirror to the doorway Are you
ready?
Almost answered the voice. He turned to look back at the
room, the small windows and low ceilings, uneven floor and
plasterwork were bathed in the spring sunshine. Thewindow was closed so he grabbed his belt off of the floral
bedcovering and swung himself into the bathroom Ill be
two minutes! Just gonna brush me teef
The bathroom light clicked on the extractor fan and the
steady murmur stuck in Markuss mind as nothing more
than a waste of electricity, pennies being blown out into the
London city air. It was expensive enough to live in London
and as he belted up the jeans he held the vibrating
toothbrush in his mouth and examined his face for further
signs of lethargy and middle age. Markus stood five footeleven and a half, he was very insistent on the half and
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would often follow this up when asked with the assertion
that but in shoes Im six feet. His skin was a pale olivecolour and thankfully the scars from his adolescent acne
proved it had not been too destructive, he showed one or
two scars, pinker and patchier than the ideal complexion, his
nose had largish open pores, which would occasionally
reward his careful mining with rather enjoyable black-
headed worms, treasures from the deep. Today though, he
looked tired and greyer than he liked or expected others
would like. He pulled his Royal blue polo shirt over his mop
of hair careful to not dirty it with toothpaste and opened his
eyes wide to try and coax them into life. It wasnt working,
the sockets where his eyeballs sat were wide, gaunt and
deep today, darkened rings beneath his eyes and reddened
eyelid skin gave the impression Markus had two black eyes.
He looked again and reached for his sunglasses, big
sunglasses.
Are you fucking coming! Im going to go without you!
Charlotte barked up from the front door.
Oh, youre ready, I told you I was just brushing me teeth! I
didnt know what you were up to. Markus spat out the foam
and wiped his mouth, turned off the light and grabbed his
keys before trotting down the stairs.
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Why do you always take so fucking long? Come on! and
with that Charlotte hurried off, leaving Markus to check hehad his phone, wallet, lock up and then catch-up.
The day was bright and beautifully warm. It was all the
comfort anyone would need thought Markus, he slowly
meandered along the cul-de-sac giving the day the respect
and gratitude it deserved for giving him so much already.
After a few steps he noticed Charlotte nearing the corner so
picked up his energy level and jogged to her, wanting to
jump on her back playfully, but refraining for the sake of a
public and humiliating ear-bashing. As he neared her he
wished she would turn around and smile, show some
affection to the world, let them know that there is happiness
to be had in this world. Of course she would never do that, it
was a public display of affection, which she found churlish
and needy. Of course, the discussion of needy was not
worth having, not with Charlotte anyway. Charlotte was one
of those people who claimed everyone who did not meet her
needs and do things her way were needy and over
emotional, failing patently to recognise that her needs were
overpowering others around her and no matter what she
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asserted, the facts spoke loud and clear to those who took
the time to listen.
She was a short and stout woman, fierce in her facial
expressions and with the natural default of her muscles to
resemble someone troubled by some deep impenetrable
fracture. As they walked along the High Street, the smells of
the fresh fish and meat permeated the air and their nasal
cavities. The chorus of busy mothers and fathers, children
and youths wrestled for airspace with the hissing and heavy
mechanical crunching of the busses and the booming shop
music systems blasting Dancehall and Bhangra, Pop and
Reggae. Dodging prams and buses like a hare dodges birds
of prey, Markus darted onto and off of the thin pavement,
hopping up and down with all the agility and playfulness of a
child enjoying a sunny responsibility-free journey, Charlotte,
by contrast was flat-footed and lumbering, appearing to
uncomfortably juggle herself along by the shop doorways,
huffing as she avoided shoppers, barely lifting her head to
see if there was any other path she could take which offered
less resistance. She was like an out-moded ice-breaker
groaning as she did a job which needed doing, but which
gave her a great deal of pain and was no longer easy or ofinterest. Like an old woman overlooked for a promotion,
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her feet still begrudgingly turning up for the same job after
too many years, there was no dancing to be found in her gait.It was clear to all that she was sad, often Markus had
pondered why was she so sad? What could I do to help?
When did it all get so dark I her mind? He had asked, and
teased, but still there was a complete rebuttal. A picture on
the wall read You are here, yet Markus felt somewhat like
here had something missing, something important to him.
Ten years before, Markus had fallen unstoppably and
irreparably in love, she touched me as if she was slipping
away. Ebbing out like a tide with a lifetime and then-some
before it returns to me, if ever it was supposed to. The light
of that August afternoon was the purest light Ive ever seen.
It washed in through the bedroom windows of her terraced
house in Tottenham better than the light on any other
afternoon I have ever known. It seemed to cleanse the
tawdry paintwork and reinvigorate and at once the room
became a lush green field in summers salad times, fresher
than the dew and embracing my body in the comfort of a
placid Mediterranean sea. She smiled and I could not equate
what I felt anymore, my body bubbled within my tightened
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electrified skin, this beautiful time, watching the sea,
unstoppable and so beautiful. Singing Nina Simone we layback on the bed and watched the clouds through the ceiling
and roof. The sky must have been and was definitely so
blue. As easily as that, we were looking right into the
reaches of space, both following the same trajectory to our
home a million miles away. Her smile was broad and with
sparkling mischievous and maternal eyes. Like a joyous
visage of all the facial expressions which I had taken to mean
I was not in any danger, all beaming through one face,
simultaneously, telling my fears to quell and feel at ease.
There is nothing like that. No drugs or joy could ever
recreate the time sat by that sea, nothing can overwrite the
emotional network which fused into absolute in those
moments, the culmination of growing and forming,
crystallising and reflecting into every corner of me, lighting
me up so I would forever be able to see.
Would you like some food, Markus? Or should I call you
Ulysses? Haha! opined Miocetta. Her breath hushed a
shoreline soundtrack through her voice, synced in to her
every word, every utterance, every noise a natural and
beautiful phenomena.
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You are so right, that is a lovely idea, thank you, Id love one
if its not too much trouble. Markus paused for breath, hisbrusque efforts sounded amateurish and uncultured and his
voice sat uncomfortably against the cherishment he was still
feeling within the warm afterglow fusing into his being. Her
cadence had soothed him like calamine. Smooth and soft had
touched his earlobes like a cool summers breeze. He was
burning with thoughts of how this moment could be true,
soothed like camomile afternoons, he sipped on her verse
savouring every last drop and slurp, and its fair to say
Markus was in love.
She wants her Father. whispered Lorraine, Veronica had
awoken from a bad dream and was sobbing.
Okay darling eyes closed and mouth barely moving Markus
edged his ankle out from under the warmth of the 20 tog,
goose down duvet and slipped his right foot into the grey
shark-tooth woollen slippers by the bed. The left foot was
close behind and as Markus rose from the bed he took his
dressing gown from the chair and wrapped his body
glancing reassuringly to Lorraine, all sleepy smile and
sticking-up hair. His quest now, in this moment, was his
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daughter, and he hurried to her, a simple oneness, a planned
philanthropy. Veronica threw herself into daddys arms fora sob and he held her close and carefully, kissing her head
and stroking her hair, Its okay darling, daddy is always
here Markus soothed. Veronica calmed in a moment and
Markus offered her his sleeve to wipe away the snot, which
had transmogrified into some exotic and disgusting face
maskfor a 2 year old with a five oclock shadow. Calmly she
stretched back in her bed and Markus pulled the duvet up
under her chin, stroked the hair from her forehead and
clasped in his left hand the book she loved to have him read,
The Gardeners. Markus sat on the edge of Veronicas bed
and began
Within the pages of this book, a story shall
be told, of a fine young man who loves to cook
and his mum whos really old. Of MrRumble
Bumble too, and of the night watchman Mr
Snoresatnoon. The story goes so listen tight
from day time play to sleep sleepy night, and
is told by a friend of yours and mine, Mr
SlipperyDipperyEarnestKind. He lives in the
reeds of the old ladies garden
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As the story went on, the frog Mr Slipperydippery acquired
hiccups, and the wise old owl takes over narration with thearrival of the invisible Mr Rumblebumble. Before Markus
had finished, Veronica was fast asleep, calm and peaceful.
She resembled an angel, content and safe in the sails of the
boat of her dreams. Markus quietly closed the book and
placed it back on the table by the bed. He took a moment to
drink in the vista and to appreciate the time he had just
spent with his daughter, her trust and love and how quick
those years can fly past if you are not present during them.
Doubling at the waist Markus leaned forward and puckering
his lips gently kissed Veronicas head and ushered softly
Goodnight gorgeous girl, daddy loves you very much, so
does mummy, we are very proud of you, and we will always
love you, sleep well, sweet dreams.
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Chapter 2
Too Young
She did not deserve to die, sure as I roll this cigarette she did
not deserve that fate. I wish to sit and to type, not to sit and
to type, but to say in text my thoughts for I have been of
wonderment beyond my time, seen things before they came
to being and wish you owned my brand of reasoning all to
your hearthside, whether from mistake or falsehood may
you find me, but nonetheless my words are wishes I hope
you can see and understand. It was not the path that was
hers and given the moment to correct it you would have
stepped in to do as such. Corruption and sex, surely it does
not come more honey than that. Coming to ambition late,
the cure might be found, but then vis is in felony. My
sideways is bachelor, with ail and pity and in deed less than
evermore celebrated life. Remember how we lived, based on
that, then, but bastards we are not, moving gifted forwarded,
not youth, but now yours, cleansed in our future not our
past. I will not allow us to make a memory of the mankind
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we once were and could once again be mindful truth, there is
only the future and the oat with its brutality is nothing.Another, another, my child, no more than my other. She
slipped away, yet my ashes did not imagine my calm entire,
no hurtful thought, simply peace. Wishes I know we know.
The crows squawked like a wedding bell awakening. You
are my happiness when you allow the light to bathe you.
Born noble of sorts, Markuss Mothers bloodline were
Knights Hospitallers in the 15th Century; Italian and Spanish
Royal family before that, his father was a direct descendent
of the great Irish King Brian Cenntig, who in the 11th
Century was the only King to have ever held unified rule
over the complete landmass of Ireland, and later continued
to hold a great political significance in the region and wider
with John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the 35th President of the
United States of America also descending from the same
ancestor and with close ties to Markuss Father. Before King
Brian, folklore have that the early Unnatural/Ugly/Woollen
heads were either early rulers in prehistoric Africa, sheep
herders or had even been emplaced on the earth as sentinels
of a higher consciousness. All of this inspired and betrayed
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Markus in equal measure. If he was to accede to his rightful
place he must understand the fruits of this knowledge orrisk a corruption of all that had for so many millennia been
so established. Oh, to rebel, to throw off the shackles of
expectation and to be one of the normal kids, for whom fun
was not some moralistic dutybound exchange based around
the virtues of collective duty and the promotion of the
potential for beauty and quality in the human consciousness.
He ached, like a broke-backed octogenarian who had carried
her family through a lifetime of growth and suffering. His
face lifted and gently smiling as he looked onto the baby in
his arms, Veronica he whispered as he turned to Lorraine
sweaty and with flushes dancing across her body and face,
exhausted and joyful in her hospital bed.
It is a lovely name and I do think you are right, she is a
Veronica. He lifted the tiny ball of warmth and nature and
love to his face and gently kissed her forehead, Hello
Veronica, you are the most beautiful girl in all the world,
apart from your mummy Lorraine glowed. How he loved
her, so much amazement was contained in that woman, that
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amazing woman. Who else could take a moment of joy and
love, shared nine months prior and turn it into this treasureheld in his arms? Markus and Lorraine looked at one
another and somewhere deep within them a part of their
eyes primal as survival connected. Markus gaze was
tranquil and gracefully waltzed to Lorraine, they smiled,
total admiration and love. Everything was illuminated once
more, as though he was visiting the grass roots but with the
cable cars humming like mists in his clear views. This
landmark was shrouded in tranquillity and serendipity, but
was packed and gigantic, hustling in an urgency unquoted.
His dreams of this magnificence had always been pictures
and now, were video, movie, soundtracks of exuberance and
floating all at the same moment coursing and pumping
through him, emitting through his every pore. Within his
arms was a reach into the impossible, a leap with arms
outstretched, unquenched and thirsty and mind racing again
to the fields, the happiness, the laughs and the hoping, the
hopping and the sleeping, the dancing and the graceful sol,
vis a vis as his heart beated like a triumph within mind and
body fused to reality, all its beauty.
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Im Iwas losing it perhaps uttered Markus, Im zombie-
like, trying to keep moving, but my knees are weak and
jarring in their movements, yet pausing, the silence seemed
hopeful and although his breath was quickened and anxious,
he continued No, it doesnt matter, spring has sprung and
Im equally alive as subjected to the environmental
pressures I stalked through, heart racing, you know that
forest was deep, lots of small hills to tumble over Markus
squeezed out a smile and lifted his brow for comic effect,
but eventually I adapted to it and the undulations were
like friends and each leaf fall was no-longed noted, I learned
to not care so much He turned and fixed his stare on the
young lady next to him, she had blue eyes and dark hair
which had been cropped tight to her face, an elegant face.
She was familiar in the way that family seem to resemble
each other. I am sure that nature runs out of faces, addicted
in a way to the same faces, the recognisable normalities; tied
to them, observing souls, thoughtful. As she tightened her
lids around her eyes forcing the skin next to her eyes to
crease, Markus went on Once you raise the question of even
the good being bad, what really do you have left to think
about? Each thought becomes gun fire, tearing through with
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a sonic boom, deafening to the next thought. Mad as art, only
a thought clever-enough will learn to jump beyond the noiseand be there waiting for when head and inner ear clears, it
was hard in there but I was strong like disease and silent like
light, I know it sounds mad, it does to me too, but I really
went the whole hog and bizarrely found it strengthening, it
was only really scary dangerous at the point of comparison
compared. Worrying about worrying! That was never gonna
be a good idea. It felt normal to be this alert but, really, who
would want this? Perhaps just because of threat of attack, of
internal battles, where the shutting down and over-running
of the safe-zone of the mind, would be just enough to carry
me through like grass to hay, I know it is dramatic, but I
thought I knew these people, and I wonder if they knew me
at all, and if they did or do, what dont I know about me?
The attractive lady, tilted her head slightly to the left and
took a long slow intake of breath, pursing her lips so they
opened a small amount, she examined the space Markus was
leaving, before she had a chance to interject Markus
continued his diatribe Why was I making them so worried?
Im always mindful to examine my life, moment-to-moment,
day-to-day, month-to-month and year-to-year. I am safe and
well, with you, swimming, climbing, I worry about me and Iknow Im safe with you and reassuring as life is, you are safe
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25
with me, I intend like Ginsburg to cut the swathe through the
forest to make the clearing Markus sank back in his chair,the room fell silent again and Markus and the young dark
haired lady were alone.
He glanced down at her breasts, she had upon her chest a
badge Dr Henderson, again she fastened her eyeline on
Markus face,How are you getting on with the Sertraline? Is
it helpful still? Markus turned to look out of the window,
the sunset was lotus flower orange. Its fine, yeah, perhaps
not as effective as it was, but I am trying to downdose now,
and I think that maybe I dont need it so much anymore as
the worst is over, I hope I am having crackin mood swings,
I feel like I have my head in the clouds and goes from not
really being emotional at all, to wanting to sob and sob and
totally breakdown he paused, Dr Henderson was pretty, her
face read freely that she was concerned, Ive never felt like
this before and really want to try and pinpoint the cause, I
want to get back to normal routines quickly, thats probably
the thing I miss the most Markus raised his head but at the
same time looked earnestly at his lap, his hands were still
and sitting neatly on his brown rabbit fur gloves. Doctor
Henderson smiled in agreement Yes, to get back to work
and normal routine would be beneficial, the worst, it haspassed, that is as long as you feel that the worst has passed?
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If there is anything, anything at all, just pop in and make a
sooner appointment, Im happy to refer you on if you wantme to. Markus smiled and thanked her, took to his feet in a
resolved and determined posture and declared Onward and
upward before shaking her hand and setting off through the
doorway.
As he drove his black Ford Capri along the A40, comfortably
ensconced in the generous bucket seats, the rainy weather
was the only problem, that and Cliff Richard on the radio, he
knew he had made a change, a small one, but nonetheless a
change. The children were in the back looking out at the
other cars; smiling gleefully out of the window willing and
daring other drivers to care enough to risk a smile to stretch
across their faces. Smiling big and pulling their mouths with
index fingers into all sorts of contortions one lady did
submit to the game but instead of a smile she illustrated an
amazingly convincing sad face, low at the corners of the
mouth which resulted in the kids falling about in hysterical
laughter, dismay and faux invalidation. It was then it struck
him again, like a freight train smashing through the happy
family car, a feeling of loss so colossal it was as though he
was a bottle which had been dropped from the window ofhis car at that exact moment on that motorway, at that exact
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speed a lifetime ago, a life that fractured into a million
shards and thump one of a million shards of his bottle, hisseeds of discomfort strewn through the distance travelled
had just lodged again in his mind and he was once more
standing in the middle of his broken heart, with the tatters
all around where once was a huge weather balloon bubble of
a heart, now there was only the stark light, the unprotected
sadness of the world, the echo of the explosion and the
afterimage burned into his eyes of the happiness now
diaspora and shredded.
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Chapter 3
Charlotte