Reflections on the puddle of life

Yikes! How did it happen? Perhaps it is a side effect of sliding down the slippery path towards 40, but I've decided to pick up my studies again. My daughter is now 6, and I feel I have both the time and the inclination to bury my nose in a study book, and so I'm doing it. I've registered myself with the Open University and am starting with their short course in Creative Writing. It's both a reintroduction to formal study and a bit of a springboard to reinvigorate the writing habit. I'm hoping, once I've finished this first course, to kick off study towards a Literature degree, although as the OU are cancelling this from 2014 I might not have time to finish it. I don't mind. It's just nice getting back into the habit of expanding my learning, and it sets a really good example to the kids. And, ultimately, I'm doing it because I want to. Everyone's a winner. Yipee.

Speaking of writing, I've been, over the past few weeks, resetting my head and my word count and I've actually been getting my head down and writing. The great thing about starting writing is that once I start I don't want to stop, and ideas are tumbling around in my head almost constantly. I've been having some wicked dreams too, and there's some material in there which could be finding itself on the page over the next few weeks.

This sudden flush of writing is the main reason I've been somewhat absent from Lit-net recently, much as I love it the forums are a bottomless time sink and when free time is limited, as mine is, I really need to start using it wisely. So it's likely I won't be around a great deal in the future either, although it's doubtful you'll get rid of me entirely. Sorry

As a consequence of this extra writing time, I've been diddling around with some short pieces. Nothing serious, just a bit of fun and a reminder of what it is I enjoy about writing, how it takes us in funny directions and unexpected places. And also how behind each story is another story which is probably as long and as fascinating, and behind that there are more stories still. And it's a privilege to be able to put some of those stories into words. I may need to work on my skill, but I'm heading down the right path towards doing it. And more importantly, I'm happy.

This is me, Fifth, saying:

Wish me luck.

Life is fiction.

Sign on.

Signs

I went for a walk in the city. It was lunchtime; the sky soared, an improbable blue, over the grubby grey stone/metal/glass buildings. No clouds. Just the bounce of sunshine from many windows showering sparks of happiness over the shop-hopping crowds. Statues smiled. A passing tram tipped me a wink. I walked with light in my shoes and my hands in my pockets, humming a nonchalant tune.

I walked without direction or purpose. My feet skipped the pavement. The world span like a carousel and I sailed around on it. People swung past me, but I paid them no attention. Instead I cricked my head towards the sky and let its infinite wisdom guide me where it would. I was free. I didn’t notice the signs gathering around me. Codes, symbols, ideograms: they were outside and beyond me. I walked, and I was carefree.

I walked until I found myself in unfamiliar streets. The grim-faced buildings loomed over me, casting me into their shadows. My friend, the sky, abandoned me. My happy tune threw itself into the unyielding road and died. I hesitated. Then the signs appeared, surrounding me with their demands, their needs, vying for my attention. A hand, angry as a slap, slammed down in front of me. ‘STOP!’ it said. I stopped. Along came a green man. He stopped and kicked the hand out of the way: ‘WALK,’ he said. I walked. A triangle fell from the sky, red-rimmed like a crying eye, and skewered the green man to the ground. He died. ‘GIVE WAY,’ it said. I gave.

The buildings blazed with sudden colour. Dazzling lights hypnotised me. ‘ENTER HERE’, they said. I entered. Advertisements jostled for prominence, offering me girls, good looks, money, power, showing me my best side. ‘BUY ME’ they said, so I emptied my pockets until even the threads were spent and the air in the gaps had been pawned. I gave everything and had nothing. Now everywhere I turned, all I could see was ‘NO ENTRY’. I sank into the street. Signs swooped down from all around me pecking with their bills at my eyes, my hands, my feet. I could not move, I could not see.

A scrap of paper fell onto me. I pulled it from my hair like a louse, catching it between my finger and thumb. The signs tried to tear it from me, but I clung on to it. It whispered: ‘FREEDOM. THIS WAY ->’. I listened, though its voice was as quiet as thought and as fleeting. It said: ‘FOLLOW ME.’ I raised my head and saw a ragged path of shredded brochures, revealing the way. I followed it crawling on my hands and knees, the signs hacking and striking at me. I cried out: “Go…shoo…leave me be!”

I crawled to the end of the street. The trail and the signs were a distant memory. I was alone. I stood and found myself in an enclosed courtyard, boxed in by unblemished concrete and blank, inexpressive buildings. Above me, a stripped sky disappeared into space: neither blue nor grey nor cloudy nor starry, just nothing. The sun existed, and that’s all. There were no signs, no messages, no words nor symbols. There was nothing to prompt nor guide me. I stood here, where I was and where I am standing still. I do not know what to do. Please come and find me.