Carrot, heaving, staggers, slumps. Stars above, ground below - but which is which? Prostrate, senseless. What a waste; wasted again. Wind-up has control, mouth moving, something emerges. Sceap, welsh drag on. Seen it before; well ahead of the game. Four push pull drop – dead meat. Or not.
Trying hard, for once. No rain. Spoils divided. Porridge whines and wins. The precedent sets. Yet something is stirring. Serious and opinionated stepping on a downward spiral.
– If I can’t then I won’t.
– But what of the past?
– The past is forgotten.
Free fall now. Transmogrified. Almost human. Almost.
Straight up the middle. Swathed in mist which is clinging. Fix is off. Nasty groove, porridge slips.
– You can’t be serious
– But this is.
Round the corner, jumbled blocks, but there must be something. Tag along, why not? Distant voices echo familiar. Grey-white livid below, and shapes have edges. Another bottle.
– It takes a braver man.
– See you at the top.
Hydroromp with spec today. Tumbling in a gust. Try again. Adam and Eve (priorities) slipslime foolishness and blown over, dashed and stove to oozing a crevice. Circling, lost but figures loom. Polybags and bearings. I’ve been here before. Quickly down and wait. Others tremble, where bull is stuck on a vile slap. Skin sits, but porridge acts. Heroically abreast, and home we go.
Fix (inept) leaves with a grin. The gap yawns invitingly, but he seems to have missed the point. The odour is still on his nostrils, tantalisingly, but somehow he can’t quite summon the energy. Tuber had the energy, but not the grace. Biting cold, no direction only a sign. Over the wall.
Rumbling in, through misted glass, it’s mend a friend, but where’s the stuff? The grass is glistening and ears are burning. The road is black. Serious sleeping is called for, answers with a slip. Damaged goods. We wait expectantly – well warned, the hour approaches. A whisper spreads, an idea forms – down and out, humiliation. It’s here, the moment passing, we go to bed.
Heart thumping, the horizon swims and fades with gloom descending. Chockstone failure left me here and plenty more ahead. Another ten, an island paradise where breathing calms and then some more.
– I thought you were dead.
– No
– The summit’s here.
– No
But I am persuaded. A classic day and routes were done. Descent is dire, dark, slow. Surrogate member, carefully poised the truth dawns and feigned contempt heaps high. High up, tottering but it’s taken so long. Slow and careless, silence plods. White and wet it’s treachery, and the valley far below is uninviting. Pinnacles of success, then it’s only down and spectators stand superior and aloof as toes scrabble. And high up in the hills, two hearts beat as one, or would but there’s more and everyone knows.
The flies are buzzing loud. The air is thick, unbreathable and black. Here. But a pace away it is cool and fresh and healthy. They prefer to choke. And yet this flurry of activity is unimportant, a cover for the serious business which is undertaken when other’s backs are turned.
Interlocked, they stand a while but something’s wrong and someone has to leave. The skittle teeters and falls, but leaves no mark. The shell is broken and is left to rest. Nearly back and cries are heard. Is it safe? Not yet, but soon it’s calm and sleep will heal. But not before the men appear – commonsense prevails.
Exclusive this, expensive too. Through the night, with nowhere to go. Sounds well. Wrong again, and no-one knows as time is cunning out. But here we are with fingers screaming and the search is over. Can’t take the pace and left to drag along. Slag heap (memories) but the view improves. A revolting habit, carried to extremes, so why bring him? Happier now, and easy going through blades of ice which shatter. It’s going to clear, but not for us. Someone has built a fence. The sun shines and a challenge is made, but not accepted. We are all being eaten alive from the inside and soon our bodies will fold and the truth will be plain.
Someone’s cheating out here in the green, green field. He chews the cud in an unnatural way, and thinks on his feet. Grovelling for some dirt, some of it sticks To the face. A slug is sleeping, about to be smothered. Laughing from afar, but not so far as to be entirely safe. Another oar goes in, and the rating goes up.
Tempers are frayed, and it’s a messy business. Out into the darkness, ice on the ground. The document is discovered and presented in the usual manner. All is well. Someone is grabbed, heedless. Items are returned. Organic waste. It’s nice to get what you want, but you don’t get what you think. And then here’s a surprise. Pocus on this. Show no mercy, nor moderation. Seriousness is out of the window, and opinion has lost direction.
Here again, and secret mutterings. Everyone has a sniff, most are hooked and here’s something worth fighting for after all. But I thought glassware was fragile, and this stuff is bouncing all over the place.
– What’s the codeword?
– Me to know and you to find out.
So, am I really that concerned? Better not let them know, it’s safer if you keep your distance – might be frustrating, though. Who’s satisfied?
A rarity. But the sky is changing. Perhaps we’ll survive after all. We’ve got to pass time somehow. Sitting cosy, warm it’s raining in the street, but they don’t care so who will? It’s close, almost touching, so I shift. A hit! This game isn’t so bad after all. Numbers depleting – a real man, so we thought, but now revealed a scheming turncoat. Never trust again.
Heritage basking, triumphal arches abound, sheep converging with common purpose. Pride and glory in time-honest tradition in civilisations, cultures past. Fool on form and circling runs at mock offence as back turning on grotesque grandeur amid trees all rustling. Find .html place to sit and talk of nothing.
Our destination final, all for this. Pain now dissipated, solitude is sought by one. Rough, round and good and almost warm. Balance hands as swearing reach step spring. Jumbling grey as bracken rising swirling over sky. Away back here, something lucking, hidden, plain to see. Sooner later found by someone, won’t be very nice. Traditional this, it’s silly to sulk, but have to make the point.
Imbecilic disappointment hanging heavy. Standards up maintained you know. Skittle totters, red, apalled – exhibition beyond redemption. A watching sneer, rampant sublime squid. Child’s play to this for skull beneath the skin he sees. A cry goes up, ignored, for all is not as it should be. There exists concern, but shortlived. Justified no doubt, for responsibility must be taken by the individual.
White flecks flash, and fingers metal freezing, wished anywhere but this. Down and waver, signs of life untouchable. Then up across and sharply wrench as down again to yield. Wishes often unfulfilled. Selfishness is the secret to success, and future so promising for a fortunate few. There lie they, podded peas, a glow of mutual admiration. The floor is hard, but the flesh is soft as lard and when the knife twisting in its edge well felt by all.
Sit and wait, windows steaming up the river of steel, and overwhelming lethargy. Filling up and saturation, a point of no return. But move and break the spell. Implacable, inscrutable, yet standing, then wobbling incompetent and cannot continue. We proceed, silently, and after damp emerging. On up, mite consuming fresh but dull, with leaps and bounds. Sand is skidding, trapped down here and reposed. Apples and oranges.
Descend then, in a while, but boulders wierd and smooth will trap the unwary. After the snow, the ice, but yellow splashes even so, later here than there. A protest made, noted not heeded and winging in the almost black to make a deal for mutual satisfaction. Over now, so scramble back through different rain, and who are you? But truth is dawning that was that and this is this and this is twilight but the sun has already set on that.