I started this blog on August 20, 2008. The first entry did nothing more than refer and link back to a blog which is now defunct, so new readers will have little or no idea as to what it is that I’m writing about. I’ve written a book, which I’m trying to get published, and I’m currently in the process of writing a second. My original blog had as it’s first entry the very first page, so it seems only right that I post it here too.
With His Head In The Clouds
Ben shouldn’t be here; it’s half three in the morning and he’s, well, he doesn’t know where he is. He’d been out with his friends for the night and has now found himself in a girl’s house with her naked and sound asleep on the bed. Still coping with the effects of far too much vodka, he dresses and leaves. Wherever he is there’s no mobile coverage, so a taxi is out of the question. With, as he sees it, no choice, he starts the walk home. Clearly in the sticks it takes him a few minutes to get accustomed to the total lack of light. Stumbling into a roadside hedge, it’s going to be a long time before he’s at home in bed. Using the light from his mobile phone to read the first road sign he comes across, it takes him a little while to realize how far away from home he actually is.
“Fuck. That’s got to be about seven miles…”
With no one to react to what he’d just said out loud he turns right and stumbles on. The walk home from town usually isn’t too difficult for Ben, in fact he thinks that his body switches to auto-pilot and plots a course back to his house, allowing his mind to try and work out who he talked to; did he really say ‘that’ whilst trying to chat up the barmaid? How much money had he spent? And, where did he leave all of his friends? But here, in the dark, with no recognisable landmarks, Ben is struggling to find his sense of humour.
“Don’t worry, it’s not that far.”
Ben turns round to see his house mate Ethan, casually walking just behind him. “What? Where have you come from? What are you doing all the way out here?”
Ethan answers quickly, but to a totally different question. “We should get a move on, I’ve still got to go and help Sam.”
“Who’s Sam?” Feeling his feet start to hit the verge, Ben concentrates again on the road ahead, but when he doesn’t get an answer he turns back to find that Ethan’s no longer following him. “Ethan?” In fact, he couldn’t see any sign of him whatsoever. “Ethan?” Starting to retrace his steps, he calls out again, “Ethan?” but still doesn’t get a reply, “ETHAN.” No matter how many times he shouts his friend’s name, “ETHAN,” he never gets an answer.
After five minutes of frantic searching and calling he decides that he really should head back, so carries on with the long journey home. “I couldn’t have imagined that, could I?” Ben had a habit of talking to himself when drunk. “I can’t just be seeing and hearing things that aren’t there…” Ben pauses for a moment; if you could see his face you’d see that he had just had an idea. “Hearing things…” he repeats, and with that he searches around his collar for the headphones of his iPod and puts them in his ears. He delves into his left trouser pocket and presses enough buttons to get some music to start playing at a loud enough volume to keep him awake. Drums kick in, he smiles to himself, and trudges on in the darkness.