A Winter's Night / Short Prose

A distant line of white light traversed the horizon, piercing the clouds in mid-afternoon suggesting the sun would set within the hour. The clouds were heavy with a tired mist which the cold winter air seemed to freeze in space, the dome this created gave all creatures under its gaze a quiet sense of duty: eat and seek warmth. Under this cloudy dome stood skeletal trees, a few of which still had dying yellow leaves clutching for dear life, whilst all their compatriots lay dead on the ground, an orange carpet which was welcomed by the mud-loathing walkers of the winter season. No wind, branches stood as still as the air that fed them, the only movement one could see was the silent hop of an unidentifiable bird pecking the ground for seeds, disturbed only by the rapid shuffle of a hungry squirrel. A mist was forming from the water behind the trees, enveloping the trunks in a dense haze that suggested the clouds were hungry for the bark. A deer retreated deeper into the foliage somewhere to the left, one could only ever see it from out the corner of the eye. This particular eye belonged to a somewhat grumpy man in his late forties, who had decided he would enjoy the end of the day sitting outside listening to nature; typical then for nature to be so quiet at this time of year. The white light had now turned blue and he expected the sun (wherever it was) to steal away the remaining clarity the day in about half an hour. He was a lumberjack, a hard working contributor to the local villagers’ warmth. An axe lay to his side, its head buried in a log for safety. He enjoyed the cool air and as the sky turned light blue to the west he felt a sense of utter peace enter his mind. He closed his eyes, shutting out the view from his hilltop property and breathed in as he dozed off. The village was also resting, about five miles from the lumberjack it consisted of little less than 500 people scattered over a fairly wide area. While he was in the North end, most of the people were centred along the High Street, farmer Chipperfield resided to the east, farmer Johnson to the south and Mr. Percy owned the watermill to the west. Within these boundaries lived the people of Lupton. The light faded over the gloomy country and silence took complete hold of the landscape, not even the smallest of birds made a sound, the trees stood still, frost began to consume the grass, that’s when the lumberjack woke up. He didn’t know how or why, but something about the quiet deafened him enough to wake him. It was dark, pitch black, the darkest night of the winter so far engulfed the trees into the distance while the clouds retained some light, suggesting the moon was somewhere above. He gazed over the tree tops and his vision eventually adjusted. Something moved about on hundred feet away. He sat still, held his breath, ignored his heartbeat and listened as hard as he could. It weighed as much as a large dog, if not more, it moved carefully. A light step meant it had caught his smell. A wolf? He spotted motion, too short to be a deer. Another step, it was walking in a semi-circle, not directly at him, but testing the situation before moving in. One hand slowly lifted off the arm rest onto the axe beside him; he yanked it carefully, not wanting to look alarmed. The axe was embedded too deeply in the wood so he estimated the distance to the door: 3 steps, the handle was on the far side. He stared at it with such intensity that he felt he perceived it’s every move and thought. As his hand let go of the axe, it brushed again a cold glass bottle. Another step signalled the lumberjack’s last chance to make a move, he grabbed the bottle and threw it high, not aiming to hit the animal but when it landed, he would take advantage of the split second of the animal’s distraction to leap up and close himself safely in his home. And sure enough, before he could think of where the beast was, he had locked himself safely inside. Taking his first breath since hatching his plan, he heard it on the other side on the door. He’d seen some large predators in the area before, but this beast sounded enormous. With confidence he stood up, relaxed, and peered out the window. He caught a glimpse of the animal just as it rounded the corner of his house. The doors were closed, locked. He was safe, this peaceful winter’s night would be spoilt by his murder.

Still Unemployed

Despite many people saying they spent near 9 months looking for a job after university, I feel I am still at square one. On the other hand I have applied successfully to the London School of Journalism, which would be square two. After the News Journalism course I will send applications to news papers, websites, magazines and so on to see if anyone out there would employ me as a columnist or journalist.

I may be unemployed, but I am not giving up!

It's a new dawn, it's a new day

Today, Monday 17th of January, is the most miserable and depressing day of the year. How this came about I don't know but I do know it gives us the chance to make today a good one. I've just bought a new coffee table and am enjoying it with, surprise, a coffee and my laptop. Unemployment isn't hitting me as badly as many people in this country; my girlfriend was lucky enough to walk into a job, obviously doing a science at university was a good idea, I instead went for an Arts degree. I learned to write, somewhat well I think, and I learned to think for myself, hence this blog. See, we can think positive today.

It is raining, cloudy, windy. So much so that Radio 1 was commenting on the weather as I drove through it, giving me the impression they were nearby, which is what I like about England. We are all close to each other; this blog post probably doesn't make much sense, and I've probably lost many readers by this stage. A positive way of looking at this ramble of paragraph after paragraph is that I now know I need to work on my writing structure.

Saying I have always written is one thing, but actually writing will help you improve dramatically. Yes I know, maybe my earlier posts are better, but I am trying to find my flair, my muse, my style. Should I write about the news? or myself? does anyone really care? What about wit? or linguistic aptitude? Should I put a capital letter after a question mark? or not?

A bloke on the news said that on this miserable day we should try breaking our routine, baking a cake, reading our favorite book, cleaning the house REALLY well... instead I am going to go about my day as usual, I'm not saying I enjoy unemployment, but I'm practicing my writing skills to one day make a living out of them.

Here's a cheery note from Africa: the South Sudanese leader, Salva Kiir, has urged his people to forgive North Sudan for the war which ruined his people's lives in decades of war. I'm not going to say he's a saint just yet, but I would vote in favor of him getting a Nobel Peace Prize.

Staying positive isn't that difficult.

Up and On

Many months have passed and times have moved on at a quickened pace since my graduation, we've had the royal announcement, the movie 'Inception', and a very entertaining coalition government using every economic excuse to ignore the greater issues of today's society. On the other hand I have been unemployed and enjoying living the tumultuous life of a 'grown-up' graduate on the British job market. From rented accommodation in Slough I now write with a profound desire to KEEP writing; not only that, I am going so far as looking for jobs in writing, publishing and journalism. The kind people at the London School of Journalism have what seems to be the perfect course, an attractive price tag and a highly regarded reputation. My application is pending and with it a great opportunity for me.

Fingers are crossed as usual and I am readying myself for a lot of work; at the same time however I am furthering my interests in research. Ancestry.co.uk is a fantastic source of information and with the right amount of patience family history is a never ending crusade. When I say 'crusade' I mean the kind where I am on the winning side!

For those looking into Lancashire families I highly recommend http://www.lan-opc.org.uk/ which contains vast amounts of information linked to parishes of the county. I've been using it myself to find information about my mother's family, the Holts were coal miners from Hindley, near Wigan. Thanks to the website I've discovered 4 more generations including my great-great-great grandfather Peter Holt who died November 14th 1871 when working in a coal mine during its explosion at Hindley Green, killing 60 men. He left a wife, Ellen, and 11 children who all went into either coal mining of servitude. One of them married my great-great grandmother, the terrifically named Ann Entwistle. Today my mother's middle name is 'Ann' and mine is 'Peter', a connection to the past which I strongly believe should be preserved.

I will continue to write and provide tips on research; hopefully syntax and wit will nip into my writing with time.