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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. ...read more.


Returning from work all he found was a note, in Mary's hand writing. It read: Michael, You're dangerous at the moment. Keep your faith in God. It's good you have someone to talk to. I must take Emily and Daniel, they don't deserve this. I hope you understand. I'll call soon to arrange when you can see the children. You know this has been coming for a long time. Mary. She never did call. He stopped rocking and, listening intently to the other voice, but it was drowned out by the 8:50 direct to Manchester, speeding past. He liked the sound of trains and the sound of the woman's voice as she read out the train times in a soothing monotone voice, and the smell of the coffee and cigarettes of the well-to-do city workers waiting on the platform. He liked the feel of the breeze as the trains slowed, stopped or carried on. It's the little things that make us what we are. He breathed in steadily through his nose taking in the smells, and once again focused on the second voice. ...read more.


That hope still prevailed, but of course in vain. He'd annoyed her that day, and sitting on the bridge over the railway, watching his mother seemingly dancing clumsily over the tracks, he knew she was waiting for something, the train came and she went with it. What she'd wanted had come, she'd got away from Michael; he hated himself for it. His father didn't seem to notice, his father made mistakes and Michael knew that, but he disguised his mistakes in goodbyes, as he left each morning for work, not returning until very late, and hours after Michael had cried himself to sleep. Of course nothing was his fault, it was Jacob. It was Jacob who'd pushed his family away as well. And it was Jacob that made Michael tumble backwards into the train. And it was Jacob who left Michael's head, in mid air, as last thoughts of guilt and regret, yet also utter bliss, went round in his mind. He'd found the same escape as his mother. And it worked. Lorna Shuttleworth-Greville. 10FP. ...read more.

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