Flight

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It’s a Sunday, and I’m not thirty-two, but eight. My parents are in the back garden. Dad’s manning the barbeque while Mum’s playing with Monty dog and I’m jumping down the stairs three at a time then I’m running back up and sliding down on my belly and even though there are monsters in the spare bedroom they only come out at night so it’s no big deal. There’s Coke in the fridge and wasps in the air and on the TV some old repeat of the cartoon version of Ghostbusters. In my young mind, I can’t understand how it’s always night time in space, nor where babies come from. One evening, I crept downstairs and spied on my dad watching a dirty film, and the sight of those body parts colliding was enough to turn me off girls forever. Well, not forever, but for a week or so. I couldn’t understand what the point was. I’m still not sure even now. In the garden, the day knows no time and the sun is God but not in a religious way, no, it’s spiritual. It’s part of my soul soul soul in the same way the trees are my friends and the animals know my innocent heart. In the evening, we’ll watch Flight of the Navigator, that film about the kid in a spaceship. Years later, like, fifteen years, I’ll find myself stood in a bar looking at some girl imagining what her pussy looks like while thinking about how similar she looks to the little boy in the film. It’s a strange world, I know, and as the years fall, it keeps getting stranger. At the front of the house, there are hills and trees and streets that lead to more streets. There’s a sense of calm I will never again taste in my life. There’s a sense of perfection in this childish bubble I will only come close to finding again in the smile of a lover but only while she sleeps. In later life, everything becomes broken, but between half-shut eyes and doggy kisses, there is a light that always keeps me safe. The sun, it keeps shining even when it gets late and I’m full of burgers and sausages and ice cream. My parents are inside watching TV, but out in the garden, Monty and I are chasing fireflies for hours on end until it’s time to go to bed. Through my window, I see the stars. I see so many things I keep hidden until the day comes when it’s time to share what I am with others.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com

23 replies »

  1. “…and even though there are monsters in the spare bedroom they only come out at night so it’s no big deal.”

    Just when I think it can’t get better, it does. Please stop writing for 5 minutes so I can have a break from blowing sunshine up your arse. I’m beginning to embarrass myself. 😉

    • I wish I could promise you that I’ll take a break, but I don’t think I can 😉

      Thank you, though, and I really do mean it. That you continue to enjoy my words brings great satisfaction to me, and it gives me the self belief to continue.

      • I hope you know that I would never want you to take a break? I feel a thrill when I see that you have written something…truly. I can’t stop writing and I don’t want to. You and others have inspired me. I’m grateful as hell. ❤

  2. Reblogged this on Brave and Reckless and commented:
    Two of my favorite WP writers wrote two very different pieces this week that left me with very evocative images of fireflies. This one is from S.K. Nicholas and captures a beautiful moment of childhood innocence and the joy of living in the moment.

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