Story: A Deal with God

He quite clearly hadn’t lived the most comfortable of lives, which I’d observed from the lack of congeniality about his appearance; countless stains and makeshift patchwork were seething across his clothing, adding to his rattled demeanour. I’ve always told myself it’s wrong to be so judgemental of those around us, but it was near impossible to not make the assumption that whoever this being might be, he was most certainly damaged. Some would say beyond repair.

As the last of the September sun bore down upon my back, making the bitter winds slightly more manageable, I’d realised that I had spent a lonesome few hours back at the campsite in which we were residing for the weekend. As boredom began to creep in and I grew increasingly uneasy with my own company, Edgar lapped around the innumerable hills that faced our camp with Pacino, our mercilessly energetic border collie, no doubt wearing themselves out in the process. I envied them for being out there, wherever there was, and enjoying the natural amenities that our weekends abode in the Dales had to offer. However, this didn’t make me any less bitter about the untimely ankle injury I had sustained just a few days before when galavanting around one of the local nature reserves with the dog.

Despite being confined to the housewife role of the campsite, there wasn’t particularly anything bad about cooking, reading and taking in the fresh air – but that was all that there was here for me. It was mightily unfortunate that I couldn’t explore as I’d wished to, but the surroundings were far too glorious for me to mind all that much. To one side we had rolling hills of various heights and shapes, then the other featured the most gemstone-blue lake I had seen throughout all of my trips here. As if that hadn’t been enough to have me feeling tranquil in my own company, it was swarming with ducks, geese and swans. Unusually so compared to our previous visits, but all the more comforting in such a way. It was refreshing to be solitary for a little while with my book, the birds and even the curious man in the distance failed to unnerve me. Regardless, Edgar adored this place far too much for me to ever consider ruining it for him.

The oddity that was also staying at our campsite continued on, pacing from tree to bush to rock and back again, all whilst mumbling to himself utterances that I had no chance of deciphering from this distance. His unbalanced character made me cautious but a large part of me sensed that he would bring me no harm. I had mused upon how he could’ve got here with nothing but his battered tent considering we were in the middle of nowhere but I suppose that for a man of his nature, then wandering on foot is no real issue. I found myself observing the man for long periods of time, often forgetting what page I had even been reading in my book as I allowed it to close itself up in my lap whilst I stared on. I was so invested in his movements. He didn’t waltz about like he was in distress but almost as though he was meditating—there was an undeniable eloquence about his movements. No matter how deranged he may have been, the man had an enigmatic presence that was hard to ignore. In more ways than one, I began to find myself frustrated and increasingly desperate to know what thoughts must’ve been surging through his mind at that moment as he continued to gracefully pace in such an unusual way.

Failing to wake me up from my trance, Edgar and Pacino had seemed to of approached camp in such a way as though they didn’t want to disturb me or the remarkable company that we had if they had even noticed him down by the lake. I had been so engaged in my observations that I’d failed to even notice them walking towards me until they’d appeared directly besides me. Clumsily, I’d also forgotten to put any food on for the pair too. Edgar didn’t fail to express his dissatisfaction at the fact.

I continued to daydream for a moment, but this time whilst looking over Edgar’s shoulder and amongst the hills again, almost as though he still wasn’t there. It must’ve been around six or seven in the evening by this point as our yellow ball of fire had changed to hues of orange, almost tangerine, that were acceptable to stare at as it continued to sink down and almost seemingly meet the earth. The sky was emblazoned with shades of pink that were as radiant as ripe fruit and once moreover, I was somewhat in awe as I took all of this in – Edgar’s unruly expression disturbing the corner of this image in which I was admiring.

‘Did I disturb you?’ He uttered, almost in annoyance but reigning his displeasure back in.

‘Oh no, don’t be silly, I was just observing our company for the evening.’ I politely remarked, having nodded behind him.

To my relief, Edgar had turned and his back faced me thus allowing me to peer around him so I could continue staring too. Yet, within our momentary exchange, the creature’s demeanour had transformed into that of something completely foreign to what I had been observing prior to Edgar’s return.

His awkward yet innocuous manner before had become that of pure fury and rage. He swung for the branches of the trees violently – disturbing the still scene painted behind him of the sun setting amongst the pomegranate-pink sky – as if they were limbs which he chose to tear from their sockets; running back and forth from the water, kicking it in a frenzy and drowning whatever he’d manage to take. We stared for a while, unsure of how to deal with someone so strange looking and now, strange acting, as he began to curse at the sky and engage in seemingly nonsensical rants. Many could assume this was the product of mental illness or some sort of ritual and attempted to leave him to it, moving themselves as far away from the scene of his crime against nature as much as possible, but before I could even suggest so, Edgar succumbed to his own masculinity, choosing to call the man over and intervene.

It came as a shock to me that this maddened being had stopped in its tracks without hesitation when Edgar called, and what shocked me even more, or perhaps enlightened me, was his response to our query about his anger. The man’s behaviour subdued again as he approached and gentle as ever, petted our dear pup and smiled at us both, revealing the most perfect set of teeth. My facial expression was perhaps more disturbed than it had been throughout the entire trip at this – the care in which his teeth had been granted unnerved me when compared to the state that his clothes were currently in – and I think he caught on to my surprise as he began to explain himself.

‘It’s unexplainable. Perhaps… it could be a control thing. Nature leads us to think our surroundings are so poetic, swarming with beauty and mystery. We are misled into thinking nature offers us a distraction and serenity. Yet, all we do is find ourselves tangled within its knots.’ He stared at my ankle now, elevated on the camping chair in front of me, almost as though he knew of the unpleasant fall personally.

‘Nature forces us to relish in our demons, to hate who we are. Yet, no matter how much we rage, nature rages stronger and stronger until… well… that’s it. But I refuse to let it.’ He paused to take a breath and continue pampering our spaniel for a moment.

Me and Edgar exchanged a concerned glance for what might come next as the entire interaction became more unnerving. Perhaps the first mutual feeling we’d had in months. I stifled a giggle at the thought and turned back to the situation at hand that was unfolding. There were no mumbles or fury like before, but well-spoken English and a strong southern accent, yet before we could really try to summon up a reaction to the man himself, he’d beat us to it.

‘We can all be a God if we try hard enough.’

And with that, he had sent dumbfounded looks across our faces as he descended on hurriedly packing up his tent and walking away almost as though we’d disturbed whatever he had been embarking on just moments before. The mood had changed for the evening and the colour of the sky transformed from admirable pink tones to a deep purple, then to a black speckled blanket above us as we continued to sit in silence and wonder what we’d bore witness to that evening. A part of me felt like I certainly could’ve had an encounter with God, with the abnormal sense of awe I had been feeling, but really it had appeared to me that this was nothing but a man with unfinished business.


Story: Desolation

Based on image prompt here.

Everything opposing me was unapologetically urban.

For as far as I could see, there wasn’t a single sign of life that wasn’t human; no trees, no blossoming flowers and no restless weeds attempting to fill the cracks in the pavement. Only monoliths of concrete soaring from each sidewalk in the same, ceaseless arrangement. I enjoyed my nights here because even though there was no chance of me seeing any stars, thanks to the fumes that consumed the sky, the lights that seared from every building acted as a man-made sky that was beautiful enough.

When there are no lights to admire or people to watch through windows, things can be tiresome around here, but I know that I’m not the only one who feels this way. This growing metropolis soon made me it’s first casualty and its inhabitants forgot about beauty and pleasure in exchange for constant, monotonous routines of work. They don’t enjoy life anymore; they just survive.

As a product of this municipality, I doubt there has been any second-thoughts to what I’ve described. In the first line of this dreary, melancholic monologue I said that everything was opposing me. I could’ve said that the cityscape was ahead of me, in front of me or simply just described what I saw without placing it anywhere.

I say opposing because not only was it in front of my eyes – it was against me too.


This morning, in the half-light, everything ahead of me was eerie. The cityscape was fantastic as ever although more frightening than it had been that previous day. I couldn’t quite figure out why things didn’t feel the same as they usually did. Even with the scurry of pedestrians on the streets and the horns of restless drivers, the air didn’t seem to move around me. I almost feel as though the lack of movement in the air was asphyxiating me even though I didn’t breathe anyways. My immediate surroundings seemed bereft of noise, almost as though I was in a bubble. I could only view; I couldn’t interact.

The sun travelled across the sky and hours passed like any normal day; yet, as they did, a feeling of alienation approached me. Despite the people outside, I was entirely alone. Nobody had come to visit me. I am a nocturnal piece and I was aware that I shouldn’t allow myself to venture during light hours, but you know what happened – I couldn’t help myself.

Something wasn’t right, and it couldn’t be shaken from me no matter how many people my vision focused on and false lives I created in my mind. My memory is hazy now. I remember every feeling as vivid and dynamic as though it was only a few minutes ago in which I experienced it but envisioning the scenario itself proves to be a task. I think I might’ve been created with that in mind.

I turned away from the window which I was blessed of being placed by and I can only remember that my soul left me there and then. I don’t know what struck me first but the rest of the room, lit only by the sky itself had been ransacked. Maybe not ransacked by thieves, but a careless team nonetheless. Everything had been taken but me – pages of well-loved books had been torn from their spines and left to wander the stained, glass-penetrated carpet. Amongst the mess, I was unaccompanied. Whilst I recognise that it was selfish, my only thought was my loneliness. I wanted to escape, to run down the street until someone caught me and examined me until I couldn’t handle it anymore but that wasn’t within me. Even if I did find some foreign courage to vacate that property and discover where the rest of my belongings had gone, I was attached to wires.

In my nonchalant state of eulogizing the city, I’d been too obedient to make any attempts at moving away from my position. Now that I did, I found that I couldn’t move far. Whether this was intentional, something more macabre or an attempt at making the modern world connect with me, I couldn’t recall these wires being pinned to me. Nobody knew of my animate state, so why they would want to keep me entrapped in this desolate, newly-diseased skyscraper is unknown. I had many questions but mainly I wondered why.


At the current moment, I scrawl this out onto the only scrap page from some sort of novel, probably Hemingway, that I could reach; I finally know why. The abandoned gallery, the destroyed books and the need to bound me – the disrespect towards what some would once value as treasures wasn’t entirely meaningless. As this city grows, so does technology and the need for instant gratification. Art doesn’t provide that anymore as it once did. My purpose has been served and now I am abandoned, left to be tortured by my surroundings as I watch this city destroy itself and forget about me.

Yet, there is still one question I am left to trouble myself with to pass time here and that’s the reasoning behind my captivity. Who had bound me here and left me? Did they know what I really am?