Today - I fell in love with an egg!

[Longcol]

I wake up, midnight, a day of no special consequence and I sense my mother is in danger and that’s when I first heard the electronic voices outside the backdoor.

 

Dalek, Dalek ......eggsterminate!

[steadiman]

Dalek, Dalek ......eggsterminate!

 

Classic, you beat me to it! LMAO

[miniminch]

I have heard the voices since I was five. Lying in bed at night, watching the lights scrape the ceiling clean and white. I have had the same words in my head, over and over. Sometimes I resist them; other times they seem to pull me in, like I am a moth and they are the campfire! It smolders but shines so bright against such an unholy darkness. I am just game here!

 

The letterbox speaks so loud that it hurts and I can’t shut it out The light finds its way around the curtains.

 

When I was a child, the words did not compute inside my brain. I received them like a sealed envelope. I feel cut off, like Rachel in Manchester, my little epileptic lover, who would just shut down. When laying in the sun on a field just talking about the only thing we knew ‘our love.’ She would suddenly just stare just out of focus. That was my real time with her; when she was cut off and I had her all to myself. Her petit mals were so engaging, so full of life in their stillness.

 

I remember lying there in the long grass of Gatley Hill all alone, with my lover. Her face, a stone cold egg, staring out across the fields and down towards the brook. Just seconds before, we had been lost in our private world; our imaginations ablaze in the wild grasses. Then the laughter; and as it petered out I turned and found her frozen in the air, cold as the stream that passed down at the bottom of the hill before the estate and the world began. Her eyes didn’t flicker, just stone still. She was a doll and the most helpless creature that has ever been. I brushed the hair from her face and watched her carefully as people watch the dead. She lay in my arms beyond the birds singing dementedly and the children rolling down the hill in the distance; screaming and yelping. I touched her lips with my fingers and her eyes slowly refocused.

 

She looked at me quietly for a few seconds in the shade of the long grass. She had come back, quietly, with no fuss.

- I wish we could stay here forever

A lone plane flying from Manchester chalked a line across the sky; slicing us in two. There was a sadness in her voice that I didn’t get; but in later years I recall it as The Knowledge. She had it, I did not.

She lay her head across my chest and we fell silent. The clouds were gathering far out at sea. She knew.

 

I knew Omsk was scared of the voice in the letterbox. I went to comfort her. The lights were coming in from all sides of the flat now, growing brighter, the voice growing louder.

 

Rachel didn’t have long to live but she never told me until the last days. I didn’t even guess. I pay everyday for that mistake. I never even saw how she became thin and quiet and her skin changed too. I wasn’t looking out for anything like that. The beauty of her dazzling eyes robbed me of seeing any illness in her. For all my cleverness, I had nothing.

 

But I do have something. You know that don’t you? My Omsk, frozen in time too, is waiting to be. She is perfect in every dimension. I’m waiting for her to open like a distant eye. I’m waiting for her to change the universe in one breath.

 

Seventeen years old, Rachel told me on the roundabout, on the park at the bottom of the hill. I had made us into a spin and she and I stared inwardly at each other, leaning back and holding on with hands. She, clearly in focus and a smudge of universe behind; gave me a look of a girl watching a boy on a platform growing smaller and smaller. The last of the summer was squeezed out that night.

 

The sky grew pink and chilly. The street lights had come on and the orange lamps picked up two faded figures stood by a swing facing each other, one with a head on the others shoulder. I pull her by the collar and smiling I said.

 

- you can’t. I won’t let you.

 

I needed her petit mal at that moment. I needed her to freeze and stay like that forever; preserved; never changing; never fulfilling anything.

 

I’m sat under the letterbox and the voices are still there. I have Omsk in my hands. Silent. She has given me so much without knowing. The light that shines through the curtains floods the room and I’m back there with Rachel again, feeling like I’m about to be executed.

 

I kiss her and a tear falls down her face and into my mouth. It tastes of glass. Her face is orange as she snorts back the snot and I look in to her eyes and I wait for her to freeze. Nothing.

 

From a crack in the curtains a neighbour spies a boy and a girl at the end of their journey together and as I look down at Omsk on my knee I start to get the same feeling

[Godzilla]

Shouldn't this have been posted under the Writers Group?

 

Poetic and articulate - moving and imaginative. Perhaps I shouldn't have topped up my brandy! But, ahh, tonight there is a clear and starry sky and I can steep myself in the warm chocolaty tale that is the love story of Omsk.

[Longcol]

 

From a crack in the curtains a neighbour spies a boy and a girl at the end of their journey together and as I look down at Omsk on my knee I start to get the same feeling

 

Me too - time to get out the frying pan and the hovis for eggy bread supper.

[pattricia]

Me too - time to get out the frying pan and the hovis for eggy bread supper.

 

:lol: :lol:

[Babooshka]

Are you letting go of Omsk?

[miniminch]

Are you letting go of Omsk?

wait and see:)

[Gangan]

Will either of you go "OFF?"

[pattricia]

wait and see:)

 

Why dont you get on the Writers Section.? Someone could steal your copyright to this.