He was lying there in the dark, wide awake, without any idea whatsoever of what had woken him. Hoss looked over towards his digital bedside clock and saw the luminous display inform him that it was in fact three o’clock in the morning and he knew that he was completely wide awake. He continues to lie there in his bed for another minute, but much the same way that a person knows that an argument has occurred in a room just entered, he knew for a fact that he was not about to fall back to sleep.

            He rises from his bed and crosses his bedsitter to the hard backed chair that is holding his dressing gown. He slips into this terry towelled garment to stop the chill of the night and places his feet into his trainers too, which double as slippers when he is at home. He lives alone and so does not have to worry about anyone else in the room, but as he has been a lifelong martial arts fan he pads quietly like a big cat to the window, to see if there is any evidence outside of what disturbance may have roused him.

            As he looks out of the window he finds it quite difficult to believe that it is still the small hours but his bedside clock winked the figures of the hour from across the room to him to prove that it was still night. There was a full moon in the sky and this reflected sunlight seemed to make everywhere appear as if it was actually on the cusp of evening and afternoon. He allows his eyes to wander over the panorama outside his window to see if he can locate anything out of the ordinary when he hears raised voices. There are no clear words though, almost a wailing like sound and then the window implodes inwards at him, showering all in fine snowflakes of glass as the banshee drives him to the floor with its impetus. It is all so fast that Hoss is only vaguely aware of his innards being torn out like the alien bursting forth in that film years ago.

Published by: Carl (I,Scalius) Peters

Got my degree at University of Cumbria (Lancaster) in English Lit and Creative Writing and now find how difficult it really is to make yourself write everyday. Hardest job in the world! Now a few years on I realise just how hard. Wordsworth was right, movement is so important to creativity...So a few years on now and over 50 walking football is seemingly the movement needed!

Categories UncategorizedLeave a comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.