thommyc
The door to the grandfather clock had been closed for years but this morning when Jake woke up it was slightly ajar. He couldn’t understand what had moved it. Peeking inside the door the ripe odour of age came through and he was pulled in clutching at the sides as he tumbled towards a strange new world.
Brian had commissioned a piece on the latest scandal at the police station. The detective inspector had allegedly tampered with evidence on one of the biggest trials of the year. But there was no proof. The proof of his tampering had been tampered with itself. The police commissioner could do nothing but bring in the civilians.
The walls had been stripped and the furniture was taken away. On the floor, balls of lint, hair and dust drifted across his feet. The scent lingered, indescribably. There were definite recollections being parsed but of what he wasn't sure.
Cursed is he who cannot bring the fire down from the mountain said the goat to the little man. How did this goat get so wise thought the man? Not all goats are born equal, unlike man. And yet as he was talking the goat lost his footing and tumbled a thousand steps, bouncing off each rock as he went.
A sheltered existence is all we have to protect us from the harsh realities of the external world. But shelter can be warmth. Especially when it's tarpaulin, set on fire by an angry seagull.