It’s only temporary; this block thing. I’ll think of something clever soon. Something good enough to post that will make people smile and hit the like button. Or even comment. That’ll be nice.
It’s a long drive on the winding mountain road and the rain is coming down heavy now, like my mood. I’m not sure why we bought the place. A lifestyle block with a couple of olive trees and some apricot ones that we chop down every couple of winters for fine smelling firewood. By the beach with a nice view of the city; miles away. Another world.
Inspiration he cries and I reach into the back for some paper; rummaging amongst the dog eared books and running shoes and a nearly empty bottle of vodka. There it is. Now I just need a pen because they’ll like this. In the glove box. I turn up the radio and hear a loud bang and suddenly feel very cold.
Green lights. Red lights. Traffic blocked in both directions. Lots of yellow jackets with POLICE on the back. I watch myself being cut out of my car by firemen as the motor cyclist, still encased in a helmet, slides silently into the back of an ambulance. The truck driver wanders around in circles throwing his arms in the air; in shock.
I tap the pen in my hand, unable to remember what I was going to write down. Perhaps that life is temporary.
© Ash Cheyne 2017