The desire to win – is it so bad? To have the thrill of potential there, the knowledge that you have achieved something great for a while. And why is it that some are dubious of that? Seem shocked if you profess to that desire?
The howling wind and the rain swirling in night-time vortices along the hard road home, beating wings, thrumming from the major key – all sent to test tired eyes and wary hearts. A more quintessential Cumbrian night you couldn’t have asked for. Leaving the warm hearth behind, well the last dying embers at least, a dark marble fire. Crashing through the aquaplanes, stumbling on headlong, the brief flash of a haunted owl above the road.
One flame. One question. The deliberations of a mind. Nothing resolved. But then perhaps that is how it should be?
- - - - - -
Another nightmare – horrific tale of paranoia and violence in similar circumstances to the one described earlier. Some post- or pre- apocalyptic world, peopled with a pseudo-police force/militia called Nex run by a man looking like Gene Hackman (!?). Nex is closer to the Flying Squad of the ‘70s, more gangster than legal charger and they deal in repression of ‘subversives, immigrants’ etc – the usual rote of motive. Nex are chasing me and two friends – a young tourettes inspired lad with bleached hair and a baseball cap (not Pete from Big Brother surely?) and a woman of similar age with a striking pale face and long, dark hair - through some factory/warehouse location. It is night. We have managed to find a refuge in a familiar part of the factory. The Nex henchmen are trying all the doors to get in but finding they are locked from the inside they rattle and beat them with sticks and boot kicks. A young Asian kid comes up to us, he knows the factory, maybe it was him who let us in, and offers to take the woman’s baby to safety – so she has a baby hidden under her clothes, a silent creature tied into a makeshift papoose, warm and safe. The woman agrees, knowing that it would be for the best if Nex actually find us. She hands her treasure over and the Asian kid – let’s call him Rav - promises to look after her. Nex boss (let’s call him Hackman for now) arrives on the scene, stands outside looking at the facia of the factory, sucking in the details, playing his eyes for clues until he spots movement: a tiny shaft of shadow moving over rhythmically, a hand or, even smaller, a finger playing nervously against a knee. It is Pete’s energy unable to halt, something has to move otherwise he’ll bark out a word. The stress, the agony.
The howling wind and the rain swirling in night-time vortices along the hard road home, beating wings, thrumming from the major key – all sent to test tired eyes and wary hearts. A more quintessential Cumbrian night you couldn’t have asked for. Leaving the warm hearth behind, well the last dying embers at least, a dark marble fire. Crashing through the aquaplanes, stumbling on headlong, the brief flash of a haunted owl above the road.
One flame. One question. The deliberations of a mind. Nothing resolved. But then perhaps that is how it should be?
- - - - - -
Another nightmare – horrific tale of paranoia and violence in similar circumstances to the one described earlier. Some post- or pre- apocalyptic world, peopled with a pseudo-police force/militia called Nex run by a man looking like Gene Hackman (!?). Nex is closer to the Flying Squad of the ‘70s, more gangster than legal charger and they deal in repression of ‘subversives, immigrants’ etc – the usual rote of motive. Nex are chasing me and two friends – a young tourettes inspired lad with bleached hair and a baseball cap (not Pete from Big Brother surely?) and a woman of similar age with a striking pale face and long, dark hair - through some factory/warehouse location. It is night. We have managed to find a refuge in a familiar part of the factory. The Nex henchmen are trying all the doors to get in but finding they are locked from the inside they rattle and beat them with sticks and boot kicks. A young Asian kid comes up to us, he knows the factory, maybe it was him who let us in, and offers to take the woman’s baby to safety – so she has a baby hidden under her clothes, a silent creature tied into a makeshift papoose, warm and safe. The woman agrees, knowing that it would be for the best if Nex actually find us. She hands her treasure over and the Asian kid – let’s call him Rav - promises to look after her. Nex boss (let’s call him Hackman for now) arrives on the scene, stands outside looking at the facia of the factory, sucking in the details, playing his eyes for clues until he spots movement: a tiny shaft of shadow moving over rhythmically, a hand or, even smaller, a finger playing nervously against a knee. It is Pete’s energy unable to halt, something has to move otherwise he’ll bark out a word. The stress, the agony.
Nex swing into action from a nod by Hackman, pincering the door off it’s hinges quietly – no smash and grab, no giveaway. Nex find Rav first, crawling silently over crates with the baby strapped to his back. Rav frozen in torchlight. Rav getting up to run but his legs taken out by a rugby tackle. Rav lifted up from the ground, legs flailing like a lost insect. He’s only a kid. Thrown outside with the garbage. Hackman stands him up then aims a swift flying kick and the baby crashes out of the papoose onto the cold, hard concrete. It doesn’t take much to know death is instant.
The Nex henchmen find the three of us cowering. We are lined up sobbing.
They have a go at Pete first.
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