All stories

Fuck. The plastic gave underneath my foot, a Harry Potter scar trickled down the left lens and that was the end of my Ray Bans. I’d have to go down and get a knock off pair from Roy Bunn Ravi, who also sold elephant bags, pashminas and bags of greying curry powder.

I pushed open the door into the hotel garden and the heat hit me in a blast as if I’d opened an oven door followed by the usual wave of noise. The beeping, the shouting, the screech and clatter of roller shutters, the roar of engines, the call to prayer brought the street to life around me. Clive dangled in a hammock, reading Cujo, stoned already. He raised a dozy hand to me as I stomped off bad temperedly into the midday sun.

The sun was blisteringly hot. Dazzling. The road was lined with watchful, filthy dogs sprawling underneath rusting rabies vans with pictures of happy pets painted on the side. We eyed each other warily as I picked my way along a path brimming with tuk tuks, garlands of brilliant orange flowers, cows, people and streams of open sewers that threaded their way along the gutters, sometimes breaching them, like an overflowing bath of crap. The air smelled of incense and spices, of smoke and excrement and jasmine and petrol.

I batted away offers of chai, cheap scarves, strings of colourful elephant beads and tuk tuk rides as I entered the bazaar. They fell upon me immediately - ‘come and look at my shop,’ ‘nice pashminas, good price’, ‘looking is free!’ and I navigated my way past them all until I found Ravi’s stand. He was there, as always, drinking his tiny paper cup of coffee.

“Hi Ravi”

“Good morning!” A brilliant grin “what do you need? Some toothpaste? Maybe chocolate?” He brandished a soggy bar of Cadbury’s at least a year out of date. If you needed something here, Ravi was the man who could get it for you. It might be broken, or fake, or melted, or rotten, but he was a man of his word and he would, given time, produce almost exactly what you had asked for.

“I need some sunglasses - what have you got?”

We got the obligatory business of haggling out of the way and when I left I could hide comfortably behind the fake designer shades Ravi had dug out for me.

Perhaps it was because I wasn’t used to the darkness of the fake shades, or perhaps it was because I felt protected behind them that I didn’t notice quite how close the dog was. And so I fell over it. I landed on my hands in the dust and was so concerned about not cutting myself there in the street filth that it wasn’t until I felt its teeth sink into the flesh of my leg that I realised I had made a terrible mistake. Fuck.

I love this time of day. It is my time. Every evening I walk down the remote lane at the back of the village. During the day it is a local cut through for the tractors hopping from farm to farm. This evening, it is just me; dusk is falling and the birds are calling out their good nights to each other. I can hear the faint sound of cows snorting and scuffling in the barns that line the lane. Heavy snorts of breath letting their neighbours know they are there. My route is the same every night – takes the same turnings past the same wisened trees that hover over the lane, offering sporadic havens of shade from the summer sun. The only thing that changes in this scene are the colours.

The summer has been a hot one so far. Temperatures have been reaching all-time highs and pounding the colour from the usually luscious fields. I pause by a bar gate to breathe in the view which spreads out over three farms land. The day had been busy so the tranquil evening brought a welcome relief. I could always rely on nature to settle me down. This view had helped me through some tricky times – helped me reach painful decisions and kept me rational when I had been on the verge of raging.

Looking back down the lane, I can see the village over the hedgerows. Inhabitants will be settling down for the evening; regulars heading to the pub; parents bathing children; my own partner would be pottering round the kitchen getting dinner ready for my return – frozen schnitzel tonight. I feel a knot in my guts in anticipation of the indigestion. I can hear the awful strains of trumpet from the band of cadets that march around the school playground after hours to the yells of their leader.

It was a quaint, museum like place to live. If it was a more affluent area it was be a tourist hotspot but there was not even that going for it. I moved here 10 years ago. It was a perfect bolt hole from the city which had battered me relentlessly for most of my working life.

Despite the predictability of the scene, tonight was different. Tonight was the night I knew everything would change. It had taken a summer of evening walks, of ruminating and contemplating. Was I ready to rock the boat? To turn my life – our lives – upsidedown? I breathed in deeply and gave a quiet thanks to the tranquility of nature. It somehow strengthened my resolve as I turned away from the gate and headed back down the lane. Back towards the village and home. Arriving at the front door of our cottage, I performed the usual routine of kicking off my boots, hanging up my keys and slipping on a pair of moccasins. Pausing by the mirror, I searched my reflection for encouragement and headed into the kitchen where Mark was setting the table.

The sun beat down on the town fair, seagulls swooped and wheeled, screeching and small children squawked in response, dogs panted in shady spots and ice cream melted into sticky drips that ran down licked fingers. Flowers swooned and wilted in their beds and the heat shimmered up from the tarmac between the legs of ladies pushing prams. Laura passed the crowds, flip flops smacking the soles of her feet as she headed up to the museum steps. Gold gleamed blindingly off the trumpets and trombones of the military band as they marched by. Pop-corn popping filled the air with a buttery sweetness and long hair and laughter jolted by her on jerking rides. She could hear the skateboards scraping across the ground before she saw them. Tom was there shirtless and burnt brown by the sun. He skated by in a wide arc and changed course slightly when he saw Laura. He crossed her path and swiped to grab her as he passed. He narrowly avoided colliding with Billy and they both cackled like a pair of hyenas. Tom glided back over, his hair was ruffled and damp with sweat and she could feel the heat coming off him as he leaned in to give her a salty kiss. Laura smiled, he wasn’t beautiful, but he was so effortlessly cool. The others jeered and she rolled her eyes and went and sat by the pile of rucksacks on the steps. As she passed they all said hi or waved. Tom began a series of skateboard tricks and intermittently exchanged insults with his friends. ‘nice one’ Mark shouted sarcastically, laughing as Tom attempted a complicated flip and rolled down 2 steps. Tom bounced back up, ‘let’s see you try that schnitzel dick’, Mark and Billy laughed, ‘oh ya you love the schnitzel’, Mark called back in a bad German accent whilst grabbing his crotch. Billy laughed harder. ‘what are you laughing at Cho Chang?’ joked Tom as he did an overly dramatic whirl about on Billy and with his hands on his hips. Mark and Tom looked at each other and launched into a vaguely Chinese sounding tune they’d made up to take the piss out of Billy, who was about a quarter Japanese. They all fell about laughing again. Laura smiled, she hated the song, but she she’d seen Mark and Tom chase another guy for half an hour, for making a vaguely derogatory comment about Billy’s mum. Laura leaned back and lounged on the steps. She imagined she was a happy lizard, content in doing nothing but enjoying her surroundings, safe from the seagulls above and the panting dogs, undisturbed by the squawking children and booming brass band, in her own little haven and most importantly, soaking up the sun.

I lay on the grass looking up at the clear blue sky, the occasional fluffy cumulus cloud dotted the view, and a few straggly cirrus drifted higher still. pollution levels had been dropping consistently for the past 2 decades and the air in Lundenwic was now cleaner than it had been at any time since the industrial revolution, or so we were told.

The greasy wrapper from my schnitzel lay on the grass to my left. In the distance I could hear a military band playing Sieg Heil Viktoria, the merry tune almost concealing the sentiments of genocidal patriotism it had helped to spur some 70 years ago. The tune, punctuated by Big Ben striking 1pm, awoke me from my near-slumber and reminded me that my cloud-spotting lunch-hour was at an end and i should be heading back to work.

I hauled myself back to sitting, rubbing my eyes. I hadn't realised how sleepy I'd been until I'd tried to move. Ah well - only another 4 hours and the day would be done and the weekend upon me. I stood, and walked across the lush green park to the war museum in which I worked. Farewell sunshine - i would see you again after four hours of cataloging in the basement. Mustn't moan though. From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs, I reminded myself as I entered the stairwell leading to my dark and dingy workstation. I was good at this, and it was a job that needed doing.

Two hours later, which felt like an eternity, I leant back in my chair, stretched my arms to the ceiling, and gently arched my back. The documents I was currently working with were fascinating - records of the several thousand Jewish women and children found hidden here in what was then London, when the German army had marched victoriously through the streets. Many had fled, of course, but it's hard to escape an island and few had been successful. I'd been archiving and cataloging these records for the last 3 months, and left work each day overwhelmed by my knowledge of the brutality of the collection and disposal of these Jews. I'd walk into the beautiful park outside in one of the most technologically advanced and environmentally sustainable cities in the world, breathing fresh clean air and surrounded by a healthy populous sharing equitable resources - poverty a thing of the distant past, and wonder just how it was that such evil had spawned such greatness. And more, how much longer my contribution to society must be its concealment.

I snapped out of my reverie to a crashing sound above. I pushed back my chair and ran towards the doorway, just as it burst open and 3 of my colleagues from upstairs were bundled in. ‘Lie-mongers!’ Yelled the balaclava clad figure who pushed them in. ‘Communism is not freedom, victory was not earned, and you cannot hide history from us any longer. Die like rats!’. The door slammed, the lights went out, and our grating, hacking, blood-spattering coughs filled the dark room.