There was a time and a place for conversations such as this

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Retribution of Dying Hope.

There was a time and a place for conversations such as this. This time and this place were not it. Standing on a crowded platform, silent strangers dared not speak because impersonal relationships seem the way forward in this society. Seeing but not speaking. Watching someone drown is better than diving in to help, because it’s personal, no one helps anyone else anymore. And this is what will ruin us.  

His voice rose above silence, drifted on the breeze around the crowds and resounded to the opposite platform.

“But NO! It wasn’t my fault they left!” There was a pause for the reply of the other member of this untimely conversation. The man continued.

“No! It wasn’t me! … Jacob, it was Jacob- ask him!” The man’s voice was rich and deep, full of strong character, yet evidently frightened. His pupils small, surrounded by bright aquamarine irises, were hidden beneath a frown. Eyes fixed dead ahead, staring at nothing in particular. Channelling whatever the emotions he was feeling into this one point. Dead ahead. He thought he was angry. But he was vulnerable and scared and betrayed and guilty and so, so unhappy. How many people know how they feel, or at least admit to what they are feeling? His large nose created a shadow over his pursed lips. His muscular shoulders were hunched over, on arm down by his side, hand holding an old Tesco bag, full of various reminders of his family. The other hand shaking with fright and maybe rage, he couldn’t differentiate really. It wasn’t his fault, and yet no one believed him. Not even God. How often have you had proof that God believes you?  

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“Don’t tell me to do this. Stop blaming me!” His whole body now rocking back and forth. He liked this rocking; memories of rocking his darling baby daughter to sleep were brought to life and made him feel safe. But of course Emily was gone now. And so was Daniel. And so was Mary. His life had seemingly walked out on him some time ago. Although, time didn’t seem to fit with his agenda, and so had no sense of it whatsoever.  Returning from work all he found was a note, in Mary’s hand writing. It read:

 

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