Since the first one got such a superb response...

by Claire (Hindsy)
Sitting up here in the early hours of the morning it’s hard to think we shouldn’t be here. The ones we watch seem to forget the lives they have. The real lives, not the ones they get themselves stressed and worried over. Those are simply moments lost in time, moments no one ever really considers or misses.

Who cares if your credit card bill doesn’t get paid this month? Who cares if that report you were meant to hand in for English is a few days late? Who cares if you arrived at work today wearing two odd socks? A year from now, who would even remember those things? Instead they should be focused on the last time they uttered the words ‘I love you’. They should worry about the disappointed looks they tried to ignore as they left home this morning, rather than hoping they would be met with a fake smile when they arrive at work. I wish I could go back to worrying about those things.

I wish that when I opened my eyes in the morning all I had to think of was what I’d have for breakfast and whether or not my cat had enough water in his dish to last while I went and lost my mind in another twelve hour day at the office. Instead, I get to sit here and watch as everyone else throws away the time they don’t even realise they have.

Everyday it’s the same. You watch as she struggles to catch a taxi on the busy street, fighting against the taller men who have the confidence to venture onto the road rather than stand to the side hoping their desperate look will attract the attention of a passing driver. There’s the Teenager on her way to school, hiding her tie in the same bag she’ll now pull lipstick from, attempting to change who she is for the benefit of someone else. Why don’t they see that none of it matters? For me it was always trying to be the first one in the office. Turn on the coffee pot; make sure the figures from yesterday were ready to hand for when the boss came in. He wouldn’t know it was me that put them there. By the time he arrived the office was full, so any one of his fifty staff members could be responsible. But, should he ask – which he never did – I’d be able to stand up, proud that I’d been there before he’d even gotten out of bed that morning, delivering the numbers which he would scan over quickly without actually reading. Did I really think the world would come to a stop had I lain in my own bed for an extra hour each day and let someone else do this tedious job? Can I really sit now and say leaving my son with a childminder for thirteen hours a day was worth it for my name now to appear on a bench in the office garden?

I know that when I was gone only a handful of people knew who I was. The quiet murmurings throughout the office were more ‘where did she work’ than ‘I’ll really miss her’. I spent more time at my desk than I did in my own home. I once caught my son calling his nanny ‘Mum’. Now, it makes my heart heavy that he would think that way. Then, I almost sacked her for messing with his head. I thought this must have been something she taught him. How did my life get like that? The sky is brightening again. Soon, the streets will be filled with bodies, empty for what they want but filled with what they think they need. Some of them will become like me soon, and it’s sad to say it’s only then they will realise what they missed.

Four hundred and fifty six days ago my mind was so consumed by what was ahead of me that I didn’t see what was in front of me. Literally. The taxi I thought would deliver me to the office, instead ploughed straight on ahead, cutting my life short. I can still see the shock in the drivers face, as well as the dark life that was about to become my future. I saw my son, lost in dark fog, my parents consumed with guilt and misery as they faced a future no parent should.

The city is becoming alive. The Others, like me forever suspended in the nothingness, slowly fade into the darkness. Our watch is over. The daylight is a place we can not watch as the mundane thoughts of the living consume their every waking moment. No matter how much we want to, we have no choice but to sit back and watch as they let their future rush towards them.

Read More

Derelict

Hi all... this is really just a test. The following short story (it's actually a 'flash' which means I was given the title, and had to construct a story in 60 mins, with no editing!) is not really fit for AoZ. However, it's the only story I had saved on my computer. So as a test to this page, I'm uploading it to see if it works... enjoy. Feedback welcomed. The more honest the better!

by Claire (Hindsy)
Callouts to this area were common. Kids thought it funny to watch as we stumbled over the rubble, tripping on the exposed cables and broken bricks that littered the whole area. The tower block had been pulled down over eighteen months ago, but the raw materials were still in the same position as they had been when the explosives went off.

Unfortunately we couldn’t just write the call off as a hoax, so for the second time this month my partner and I are trawling over the broken remains of the tower block. I watched helplessly as she dropped to her knees a few times, the ground shifting beneath her feet unexpectantly.

With a seven month warning of the demolition, families were given what was deemed to be sufficient time to empty their homes of all their personal belongings. Seven months obviously hadn’t been enough for some, as we cut our way through tattered clothing, broken furniture and in most places a stream of pieces from cheap plastic kids toys.

The call had said he was located in the old stairwell. This was a popular hang out for drug users, as the outer shell of a wall still remained around three sides of the first flight, offering them some protection from the elements.

As we made our way through what used to be the lower hallway areas my radio chirped into life. A child had been abducted from a house about a mile away. Officers should be on the look out for anyone carrying a child dressed in a white sleep suit, possibly wrapped in a blue blanket. There was an immediate response, with officers in the surrounding area calling in with locations and confirming the receipt of the report.

She called in our location out of habit. Attending to our own scene, it wasn’t even necessary, but it became second nature to answer the constant voice that issued from the radio. I offered a small nod in appreciation of her response in advance of my own.

As we got nearer the stairs the litter on the ground decreased, masonry becoming the main stumbling block again.

The call had said to expect an old man, in his sixties, wearing tattered clothing and holding a kaki camouflage bag.

Of course we hadn’t expected to find this.

We’d expected an empty stairwell, maybe with syringes and empty beer bottles.

The fact the stairwell contained a body was a surprise enough.

We both scrambled over the remaining rubble, each of us reaching for radios at the same time, each demanding medical assistance. I got to him first, throwing myself onto the ground at his side. I reached instinctively for his neck, trying to find a pulse, shifting my fingers a few millimetres to each side of where I knew it should be.

Nothing.

I lifted the camouflage bag from his knee, and tossed it aside. I pulled him towards me, holding him for a few seconds before placing him on the uneven ground, unzipping his jacket before starting to perform emergency resuscitation on him.

I counted in out loud, each compression on his chest. Inside, I counted each exhalation I made to try and breathe life into him.

It wasn’t until I turned to ask if we had an update on the ambulance that I noticed the look on her face. The obvious horror mixed with confusion.

It was enough to make me stop and sit back.

I turned myself away from the lifeless body before me. I focused on what she was looking at.

The camouflage bag was now lying amongst the rubble. I had tossed it a few feet from where I now crouched. The blue blanket could have been there since the building fell. Or, it could be trying to escape the horror that lay within the kaki coloured package.

One tiny hand, held forever within the soft folds of the blanket, seemed to wave its goodbye in the horror of that scene.

I turned away from it, trying to fight the blackness that was erupting out of my skull and forcing itself upon me. I turned away from the innocence lying before me and was faced with the excruciating horror of the beast who had not only taken his own life, but that of an innocent child and the life of the family he now left behind.

Read More