“Row ye bastards! Row for your lives or we’re all done for,” he screamed in a wonderful rage that bordered on insanity. The boat was rocking violently and The Captain was sure he and his crew would find themselves as dinner for the fishes at any second. He only ever felt truly alive when death was a near certainty. He felt good, he felt like he could really enjoy the chaos and was glad he was The Captain and not one of the poor bastards rowing the boat, sweating, with every sinew in their bodies on the verge of snapping. There was a beauty in the prospect of imminent demise, as there was a beauty in the flashes of lightning that were cracking across the sky. The thunder roared and it excited him to his core. His eyes were wild and the driving rain soaked him to his bones. No woman could bring the excitement he was feeling right now. Thor was angry and The Captain was ready for any fury he could throw at him. Continue reading “The Captain”
Everything that his life had been was reduced to this. Every sinew in his body burned, every joint grated in such a way as to send sharp pains shooting through the very fibre of his being, like glass slicing relentlessly through skin and bone. His mind was fading, just as his body was weakening, but as long as he kept moving towards his goal he knew that he would be fine. His legs had been failing for years and so he had an increasing reliance on his walking canes, which had become like a second pair of legs throughout his daily trip to the shop.
Every day at 12pm he started out on this long, torturous hike. It was only half a mile from his house to the shop but to him, with the effort he had to exert to get there, it could have been Mt Everest. Never could there be an endurance athlete who exercised such willpower as this old man. Such was his focus, that he barely acknowledged the greetings of passersby that saluted him, not that there were many of those these days. Most people he had ever known had already perished in the relentless fires of existence. Many of them had rotted away, forgotten, in front of televisions in old folks homes, drugged up to their eyeballs so as not to be too much of a nuisance to the staff who cared for them; treated like children by these people who knew nothing and cared less about the lives of the empty decaying shells of those who used to be regarded as people. Continue reading “Die Standing”