FLIGHT

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YOU KNOW IT’S THE WRITE WAY

FLIGHT

He ran. The streets seemed a blur around him. The dark had descended some time ago, and he had no idea where he was going. Not in this physical reality of running, or in the recesses of his mind.
He never dreamt the panic that can come through such a flight. Maybe it rhymes with fright for a reason?

The chain of events had been set in motion by himself.

And in his mind’s eyes he saw the person, as if in shadows, undefined. Why had he done it? And why, now, was he so afraid?
Certainly, if he went back, felt compelled to finish the task, his life could never be the same again. If caught, as was inevitable if he went back, it was a new life awaiting him – a life confined.
Slowly, the streets seemed to slow down. This seemed strange, for it was as if it was not him slowing down, but reality taking a grip on his mind, and pulling him up. And as so often happens when we flee, he found himself stopping where he began, outside the restaurant.
Life is like that – sending us in circles of indecision. He saw her sat at the table, as invited. Swallowing hard, he entered, walked up to her, went down on one knee, and said: ‘Will you marry me?’

© Anthony North, April 2008

PARANOID

He sat in silence, his life so fickle,
his mind so confused and brittle;
Who was the skunk who’d got him annoyed,
taking his picture with that Polaroid,
making his life so null and void?

Life from now on was a conspiracy,
forever wondering if it was him or he;
The future wasn’t worth a pinch of salt,
everything coming to such a halt,
his mind now going with a sudden jolt

So for ever after he was paranoid,
leaving the life he had so enjoyed;
They were out to get him, no matter what the toil,
taking his fears right to the boil,
and upon his head, aluminium foil

(c) Anthony North, April 2008

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CHANCE ENCOUNTER

What do we mean when we say we have had a chance encounter? Do we mean that something has occurred, totally unexpected, and totally out of our control? This is the implication, but can such an event really be so random?
By ‘chance’ we mean an element of the universe where things simply happen. Statistically, we try to devise odds on such happenings, and when they occur, we usually class them as coincidences. But I’m not satisfied it is as simple as that.
Okay, it can be. A car can come out of nowhere and kill you. A person can enter your world out of the blue, and fall in love. But so many elements of life are more complicated that mere chance.
We have ancient sciences such as Astrology to place order upon the chaos of chance, as if there is some predestination in our lives. And whilst I don’t accept this simple system of destiny, such a ‘system’ can be found in our psychology.
We are the result of our genetics and our experiences. Slowly, life shapes us into the people we are. And along that path, we make specific choices, devise specific ideas, and these influences play their part in our lives.
Hence, when we suddenly find ourselves in this place, with that attitude, and a chance encounter occurs, we should remember that it is OUR lives that led to that point, our own mentality tinkering with the possibilities of chance.
So for better or worse, ‘chance’ is a bit of a cop-out. The thing that destined us to be there was ourselves.

© Anthony North, April 2008

THE FEARLESS ENVELOPE

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What’s on today: An essay inspired by a Sunday Scribblings prompt … PLUS … A poem via Totally Optional Prompts and a Cass Nova story for Inspire Me Thursday. Have you had a go yet? Click Eye On the World for my current affairs.
YOU KNOW IT’S THE WRITE WAY

FEARLESS

Fearless is a ridiculous word. It implies that a person can exist without fear. Certainly we can carry out acts that appear fearless, but if the person carrying out such an act really was fearless, they’d have been dead long ago.
Fear, you see, is an essential part of our make-up. It is a safety mechanism, essential for our survival. It is an impulse that keeps us safe, stops us from crossing that road. Reminds us of our limitations.

Sometimes fear can become too much.

When this happens, we have phobias, irrational feelings associated with something animate or inanimate. Phobias can totally overtake our life, and a phobia truly is something to fear.
Maybe we need to all have a phobia about phobias.
Fear can also be life-enhancing. It is a natural by-product of putting our life at risk. The daredevil often lives for moments like this – moments when he feels truly alive. But after the adrenalin rush?
Boredom – which is perhaps what the adrenalin junkie truly fears.
This inborn requirement in the daredevil exists in most of us, although watered-down. One expression of this is the love of horror fiction. Whether a book or film, we love to be scared to death in an otherwise safe environment.
Does such fiction have a real purpose in life? I think so. To keep our body trim, we exercise. And I think we need a similar form of exercise for the mind, and all its ideosyncracies. Approaching fear is essential exercise for the mind.
But next time you hear of someone doing an act ‘fearlessly’, don’t demean them by thinking they really are fearless. They are almost certainly scared to death. Yet still they do it. Which does, I suppose, make them even more heroic.

© Anthony North, April 2008

MYTHOLOGY

The sage, he writes from antiquity,
leaving myths for you and me;
Of tricksters, of wonders and Heroes, too,
to inspire, always, me and you;
The greatest stories ever told,
as adventures and miracles, do unfold;
Defining their world, making it real,
offering customs that will entail,
taboos that if broken, are beyond the pale,
so heed this glorious,
wondrous tale

But from where does the splendour of myth come from;
To whom do the tricksters and Heroes belong?
The greatest minds have fathomed deep,
reliving the myths even in their sleep;
The characters are similar from myths worldwide,
is this a hint to which we confide?
The story of the Hero is so like real life,
confusing youth, a mission, amid trouble and strife;
The trickster, that little Devil, the imp,
so similar to the voice that makes morals limp;
So maybe the Sage knew how to unwind,
the intricacies deep within that bind,
our beautiful,
wondrous,
mischievous mind

(c) Anthony North, April 2008

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THE ENVELOPE

A Cass Nova Detective Thriller

DI Cass Nova sat at the table in the café. To his left, Jim Myers, a young constable, just joined CID. And to his right, Pete Bass was drawing on the back of an envelope.
‘So the van will arrive here,’ said Bass, ‘and the armed gang will enter the bank through this door.’
Nova made only quick glances to the envelope. It was Bass’s eyes he was most interested in. He had been an informer for years and never let him down, but Nova knew eyes better than most.
Taking the envelope, he departed. Outside, Myers said: ‘So that’s wrapped up. Pretty easy this detective game, ain’t it Guv?’
Nova smiled. ‘Maybe, maybe not.’ And at that, the two of them jumped into the car and headed off to the scene of the up-coming armed robbery. The bank was on a corner, a yard to its side. Nova spent long minutes looking at each building facing the yard in turn – their doors, the gaps inbetween. ‘You look troubled, Guv.’ Said Myers.
He passed the young copper the envelope. ‘It’s all in the envelope,’ he said. But Myers could see it was empty.
The following morning, Nova positioned his team around the yard, he and Myers taking up position down an alleyway leading from the scene. Myers was troubled by this. It seemed away from the action, and he worried about missing out. However, the robbery was soon in progress, the arrests going just as planned.
It was at that moment that a single masked man exited the bank by a side entrance, hidden in the shadow of another building. A bag in hand, he slipped past the police and ran down the alley. Suddenly, a hand shot out, ripped the mask off him and spun him round.
‘Going somewhere, Pete?’ asked Nova.
‘I just don’t get it,’ said Myers, later. Okay, I realize you guessed Bass was double-crossing the gang, using them as a distraction while he escaped with the money, but what the hell has it got to do with the envelope?’
Nova smirked. Taking the envelope off Myers, he said: ‘Work out what’s got to go in, position your boys to allow the contents to slip in nicely, but don’t forget to cover all angles by sealing it with the flap.’
Myers laughed. He’d learnt a lot about policing that day. Especially DI Nova’s particular stamp on it.

© Anthony North, April 2008