Flash in the Pan

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Caring and Sharing

Molly sat in front of the therapist and stared blankly ahead.

"I understand your daughter was killed," said the therapist in her best caring voice.

No response.

"Maybe you could share with me what happened."

The therapist beamed empathy into the long silence. She was eventually rewarded by a slow nod. Molly cleared her throat.

"Yes," she said in a croaky, underused voice. "Yes ... I'd like that. That's so helpful."

So saying, and without further ado, Molly arose and left the room. The therapist looked with professional, mild surprise at the unclosed door. She marked down in her desk diary the full hour's fees for the brief session.

Some hours later the therapy room door opened. Molly stepped into the room pursued by a flapping but ineffectual receptionist. Molly's manner was brisk and purposeful, and her demeanour transformed. The therapist, mid-session and a little annoyed, drew on her training to remain calm and in control. She turned her mask of caring concern towards Molly. Even the dishevelled and stained clothing did not break her composure.

Not waiting for a prompt Molly announced that she had been able to share the experience and was now really ready to talk about it.

"I'm sorry I was away so long, but it took me a while to find your house. Your daughter wasn't quite the right age. Do you think that will matter?"

The therapist felt unable to respond and stared blankly ahead.

Sunday, November 06, 2005

Relief

The car hit the bank as it skidded to a halt. Pete sat gripping the wheel, his knuckles steadily turning white. She'd stepped out of the twilight right in front of him. He had no chance to brake. Pete could not understand why there had been no sickening thud.

Minutes passed before Pete dared check outside. The homely smell of wood smoke greeted him as he opened the car door. Breathing in deeply the autumn air his panic started to subside as he saw another pale form cross into the passing headlights, fresh from the smouldering bonfire.

Looking for a ... date

Looking for … a date

"Who are you looking at?" Their gaze met as she belligerantly looked him in the eye.

"You."

Taking his courage in both hands he continued, "I've fancied you for ages." Nothing to loose he decided. "You are incredible - so attractive and full of life."

"You want to fuck me you mean. I've seen you leering." She continued to look him straight in the eye. She thought he was rather dishy, in an antique way.

He looked down sheepishly and muttered, "Actually, I was rather hoping we could do a bit more than just that."

The Hangover

"There'll be hell to pay again - literally," Michael said as he looked at the mess.

A remote voice was screaming to an aghast crowd, working them up with vivid images of the end of days. "I have seen this with my own eyes, and felt it in my heart. And I saw the seven angels which stood before God ..."

"Every time - and we are the one's who have to clean up the mess. Those two have a drinking session, and its Armageddon down on Earth."

A Small Wager

"Would you consider a small wager?"

"You know you will always lose - why bother?"

"It amuses me. Well?"

"What had you in mind this time?"

"Mingle with your people. Speak to them, face to face. I bet more will follow my ways than yours in the end."

On his way back home he laughed fit to explode. His gambling partner could never resist a challenge.

"Well that will ensure a few more millenia of torture, cruelty, abuse and intolerance."

"Roll on the first Christmas," said Satan (toying with an anagram) as he settled himself before a nice roaring fire.

Stains

"Oh Lord, that will take some cleaning – what a stain."

Leonora fetched her bucket, scrubbing brush and rubber gloves. So many times she had cleaned up Pete’s messes: spilled beer, vomit and worse.

"Well, you old slob, that will be your last mess," she said as she knelt down to work on the carpet.

"But I have to admit, you made a fine job of sharpening the carving knife."