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The train screamed at it surged through the dark tunnel. Choking coal smoke billowed from its dual funnels and quickly rose onto the bridge, enclosing me in smog. I inhaled deeply and smiled as the thick smoke filled my lungs and led to a short fit of spluttering. As the grey cloud lifted my gaze followed it up into the sky, rising almost majestically and dissolving amongst the blueness. What intrigued me most was the illusion that the sky was blue, despite all of the black smoke and steam that is released into the air. The sky puts on a brave face and doesn’t show its weaknesses. The same, I think, can be said of people. Despite all of their troubles and negative aspects of their life, they will still put on a happy guise and smile. I know not if this is a good thing, or perhaps merely an inbuilt automatic human function, but is something my observations of humanity have proven to be true.
As I walked slowly across the bridge back towards the village I spied Mr and Mrs Green engaging in polite conversation about the weather with Mr Faherty, the local butcher. Mr Green knew that Mr Faherty was the father of his daughter, though never confronted his wife about it. Partly, I suspected, because he didn’t want anyone to know of his impotency, but mostly due to the fact that the illusion he was happily married to a faithful wife with a beautiful daughter was much better than living a lonely single life. Mrs Green smiled lustfully at Mr Faherty as the couple bade him good day and continued home. Mr Faherty, on the other hand, was fighting a somewhat different battle. He was a stout man in his early forties though had never married; something of an oddity in these times. The reason he never tied the knot with one of the numerous pretty local girls was that he was a homosexual who engaged in weekly sessions with Reverend Pith of St Marks parish. He convinced himself that if he slept with a woman from time to time it would counterbalance his homosexuality and stop him living sinfully in the eyes of God. Though if he had listened at church instead of gazing longingly at Reverend Pith, he would realise that adultery is addressed in one of the Ten Commandments whilst homosexually isn’t. Whether Mr Faherty was trying to convince the town, or his self, he was heterosexual was a different matter.
I continued in strides up the small hill towards St Marks and took a left towards my cottage. As I opened the door I was greeted by the pleasant smell of my wife. I followed the scent through the empty kitchen and up the stairs into our bedroom where the bedcovers shrouded an obvious lump in the centre. I slowly peeled back the covers to reveal my wife’s elegant skeletal face, her voluptuous rotting breasts and her cavernous stomach that had recently become a maggot’s nest. Her yellowing skin was delicately torn away around yawning flesh wounds and her head lolled back against the mattress, her pupils rolled up into her skull. “You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you darling” I said softly, before stripping and sliding into bed next to her cold body. “Ooh you’re icy dear, let me warm you up.”
The townsfolk probably knew of my wife’s fate and the fact I hadn’t quite come to terms with losing her yet. Though they got on with their everyday business without mentioning anything, blinded by their own smoke. Living harmoniously with each other in our quiet little village.
As I walked slowly across the bridge back towards the village I spied Mr and Mrs Green engaging in polite conversation about the weather with Mr Faherty, the local butcher. Mr Green knew that Mr Faherty was the father of his daughter, though never confronted his wife about it. Partly, I suspected, because he didn’t want anyone to know of his impotency, but mostly due to the fact that the illusion he was happily married to a faithful wife with a beautiful daughter was much better than living a lonely single life. Mrs Green smiled lustfully at Mr Faherty as the couple bade him good day and continued home. Mr Faherty, on the other hand, was fighting a somewhat different battle. He was a stout man in his early forties though had never married; something of an oddity in these times. The reason he never tied the knot with one of the numerous pretty local girls was that he was a homosexual who engaged in weekly sessions with Reverend Pith of St Marks parish. He convinced himself that if he slept with a woman from time to time it would counterbalance his homosexuality and stop him living sinfully in the eyes of God. Though if he had listened at church instead of gazing longingly at Reverend Pith, he would realise that adultery is addressed in one of the Ten Commandments whilst homosexually isn’t. Whether Mr Faherty was trying to convince the town, or his self, he was heterosexual was a different matter.
I continued in strides up the small hill towards St Marks and took a left towards my cottage. As I opened the door I was greeted by the pleasant smell of my wife. I followed the scent through the empty kitchen and up the stairs into our bedroom where the bedcovers shrouded an obvious lump in the centre. I slowly peeled back the covers to reveal my wife’s elegant skeletal face, her voluptuous rotting breasts and her cavernous stomach that had recently become a maggot’s nest. Her yellowing skin was delicately torn away around yawning flesh wounds and her head lolled back against the mattress, her pupils rolled up into her skull. “You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you darling” I said softly, before stripping and sliding into bed next to her cold body. “Ooh you’re icy dear, let me warm you up.”
The townsfolk probably knew of my wife’s fate and the fact I hadn’t quite come to terms with losing her yet. Though they got on with their everyday business without mentioning anything, blinded by their own smoke. Living harmoniously with each other in our quiet little village.
Some of the parallels you made were most impressive, and very involving. The way in which you described the town was in quite an upbeat manner too, which helped in the shocking later stages, which really did provide a surreal twist. It wasn't one of your better pieces, but good all the same, especially for a piece of such short length.
The train screamed at it surged through the dark tunnel. Choking coal smoke billowed from its dual funnels and quickly rose onto the bridge, enclosing me in smog. I inhaled deeply and smiled as the thick smoke filled my lungs and led to a short fit of spluttering. As the grey cloud lifted my gaze followed it up into the sky, rising almost majestically and dissolving amongst the blueness. What intrigued me most was the illusion that the sky was blue, despite all of the black smoke and steam that is released into the air. The sky puts on a brave face and doesn’t show its weaknesses. The same, I think, can be said of people. Despite all of their troubles and negative aspects of their life, they will still put on a happy guise and smile. I know not if this is a good thing, or perhaps merely an inbuilt automatic human function, but is something my observations of humanity have proven to be true.
As I walked slowly across the bridge back towards the village I spied Mr and Mrs Green engaging in polite conversation about the weather with Mr Faherty, the local butcher. Mr Green knew that Mr Faherty was the father of his daughter, though never confronted his wife about it. Partly, I suspected, because he didn’t want anyone to know of his impotency, but mostly due to the fact that the illusion he was happily married to a faithful wife with a beautiful daughter was much better than living a lonely single life. Mrs Green smiled lustfully at Mr Faherty as the couple bade him good day and continued home. Mr Faherty, on the other hand, was fighting a somewhat different battle. He was a stout man in his early forties though had never married; something of an oddity in these times. The reason he never tied the knot with one of the numerous pretty local girls was that he was a homosexual who engaged in weekly sessions with Reverend Pith of St Marks parish. He convinced himself that if he slept with a woman from time to time it would counterbalance his homosexuality and stop him living sinfully in the eyes of God. Though if he had listened at church instead of gazing longingly at Reverend Pith, he would realise that adultery is addressed in one of the Ten Commandments whilst homosexually isn’t. Whether Mr Faherty was trying to convince the town, or his self, he was heterosexual was a different matter.
I continued in strides up the small hill towards St Marks and took a left towards my cottage. As I opened the door I was greeted by the pleasant smell of my wife. I followed the scent through the empty kitchen and up the stairs into our bedroom where the bedcovers shrouded an obvious lump in the centre. I slowly peeled back the covers to reveal my wife’s elegant skeletal face, her voluptuous rotting breasts and her cavernous stomach that had recently become a maggot’s nest. Her yellowing skin was delicately torn away around yawning flesh wounds and her head lolled back against the mattress, her pupils rolled up into her skull. “You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you darling” I said softly, before stripping and sliding into bed next to her cold body. “Ooh you’re icy dear, let me warm you up.”
The townsfolk probably knew of my wife’s fate and the fact I hadn’t quite come to terms with losing her yet. Though they got on with their everyday business without mentioning anything, blinded by their own smoke. Living harmoniously with each other in our quiet little village.
As I walked slowly across the bridge back towards the village I spied Mr and Mrs Green engaging in polite conversation about the weather with Mr Faherty, the local butcher. Mr Green knew that Mr Faherty was the father of his daughter, though never confronted his wife about it. Partly, I suspected, because he didn’t want anyone to know of his impotency, but mostly due to the fact that the illusion he was happily married to a faithful wife with a beautiful daughter was much better than living a lonely single life. Mrs Green smiled lustfully at Mr Faherty as the couple bade him good day and continued home. Mr Faherty, on the other hand, was fighting a somewhat different battle. He was a stout man in his early forties though had never married; something of an oddity in these times. The reason he never tied the knot with one of the numerous pretty local girls was that he was a homosexual who engaged in weekly sessions with Reverend Pith of St Marks parish. He convinced himself that if he slept with a woman from time to time it would counterbalance his homosexuality and stop him living sinfully in the eyes of God. Though if he had listened at church instead of gazing longingly at Reverend Pith, he would realise that adultery is addressed in one of the Ten Commandments whilst homosexually isn’t. Whether Mr Faherty was trying to convince the town, or his self, he was heterosexual was a different matter.
I continued in strides up the small hill towards St Marks and took a left towards my cottage. As I opened the door I was greeted by the pleasant smell of my wife. I followed the scent through the empty kitchen and up the stairs into our bedroom where the bedcovers shrouded an obvious lump in the centre. I slowly peeled back the covers to reveal my wife’s elegant skeletal face, her voluptuous rotting breasts and her cavernous stomach that had recently become a maggot’s nest. Her yellowing skin was delicately torn away around yawning flesh wounds and her head lolled back against the mattress, her pupils rolled up into her skull. “You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you darling” I said softly, before stripping and sliding into bed next to her cold body. “Ooh you’re icy dear, let me warm you up.”
The townsfolk probably knew of my wife’s fate and the fact I hadn’t quite come to terms with losing her yet. Though they got on with their everyday business without mentioning anything, blinded by their own smoke. Living harmoniously with each other in our quiet little village.