My fiction. Long and short.

Top of the Tower: A short story (perhaps based on real events, maybe)

I love being up here. This is when I really feel what I have achieved. People say my Daddy helped me, yeah he did. But I made it, God damn it. Look at them, all the small people. Carrying on with their small lives, totally unaware of how things work.

But I can’t look out of the window all day, there is too much to do. Can I really do it? At the start, I honestly thought I could just stir things up. Get some coverage, maybe snag a new show. But I’m still here, amazing. Now it’s getting serious. It’s so close I can almost touch it. I can’t mess this up. 

Most people are so dumb. But I’m not complaining, I’m grateful. Sometimes I wonder just how far I can go, what I can get away with saying. As long as I keep telling people it will be better, they don’t seem to care about the details.

But, just lately? I have to be careful. They can’t realise what I really think of them. What I think of everyone. They are all so small, so weak. Especially women, they are so easy to manipulate. 

I used to wonder if there was something wrong with me. I’ve never felt anything for others. After all, Daddy made it without needing love and gratitude; so why not me. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to snuff one of them out. But that is only a passing fancy. I’m more interested in making them feel worthless, that is the real power.

I have my own children and I think they will follow in their Daddy’s footsteps. They are like something else that I have constructed. I have my trophy too; I am still a man and it makes me feel good to see the way others look at her. And even better, when they look at my daughter. I am so proud of how she looks, my boys too. And they think like me too, it’s almost like I have programmed them. But I suppose that is what you do with your children.

Now it’s time to finish this. But I have to take it one day at a time. The next few days will be tough, I hope no other skeletons appear from my past. But there are some, some that are very old and very scary. What I did doesn’t worry me, just what it could do to me now.

Well, here we go again. Just smile and keep it simple. Can it really be that easy?

© Neil Hayes and neilhayeswriter

Border: A short story

How could it have come to this?

They are so beautiful when they sleep. This is the only time when they look innocent and peaceful now. How could anyone feel at peace in this place? The sun will be rising soon and another day will begin. Another day to hope and survive. Hope for what? That the world will begin to care. It seems like a never ending fight, with very little to win. When the final bell rings, will we be victorious? Or knocked out.

I feel torn inside, when I look at them, and the life they have. We ran from one war, one where death was a real possibility. But now we are in a different type of war. Most people in this place are good, just searching for a better life. But some need to be watched, and these are the ones that scare me. These are the ones that scare the world.

I feel like such a failure. Did I do the right thing? It cost all the money we had to get us here, money we had worked hard for. Now we have nothing and no one wants us. Yes, we are here illegally. But what choice did I have? It is hard to apply for visas or official help when the soldiers are just around the corner. He said it would be OK, he would get us to Britain, for a price. And Britain is a modern, caring country. Right? But we didn’t make it that far and now even Europeans are being looked at with distrust. What hope for people with our skin colour?

The sky is beginning to glow through the skin of our tent, another day. Yaya is stirring; seven years old but with the eyes of one who has seen too much already. She should be carefree and playing with friends, instead she protects her brother like a wolf. I am so proud of her, but wish it was for different reasons. Now, I must be strong and not show how I really feel. They cannot see the hopelessness inside me.

“Good morning my love. Did you sleep well?”, I ask. “Like I was on a bed of feathers”, she says with a smile. But she is not on a feather bed, far from it. But she is always so optimistic, she is strong for us.

Now Abdo begins to grumble, he is more of a complainer. Maybe that is the difference between men and women. Women always seem to get on with things, especially in our culture. But he is so young, all he feels is discomfort and doesn’t have to pretend for the sake of anyone else. He is the youngest, after all. Four years old and already transplanted and transferred so many times. Yaya puts a protective arm around him and welcomes him to another day, with a smile.

These are the loves of my life. Yaya, Abdo and Nadia, my wife, their mother. A beautiful, intelligent woman who also deserves so much better. The children crawl all over her, and she awakes with a smile and a laugh. Even here, there are times to make you smile and feel grateful. But soon we will step outside and join the queues for breakfast. There are good people here, who are trying to help us. But there is only so much they can do. Hopefully there will be some fresh supplies today.

A light rain is falling, this is the worst. The dampness seems to penetrate everything here. There is no escape. I step outside, and make my way to the aid station. Everyone looks unhappy and nervous, something is wrong. There have been rumours that there will be some sort of operation, to clear some of this wasteland. And here they come. I can hear the roar of the vehicles as they approach.

In a panic, I rush back to my family. As I get there, the police are approaching. They herd us into an area, away from the tents and shacks that are our homes. We have so little, how can they take it away?

Here come the machines, on tracks, carrying huge scoops in front. Ready to pile our lives together with all the others who live here. Live, it feels ridiculous to even use that word. We don’t live, we exist. I feel sick, useless. I am supposed to protect my family, that is every father’s job; no? But what can I do, other than wipe away the tears from my wife’s face. And kiss her and pray.

They call this place The Jungle. A jungle may be dangerous, but it is beautiful and diverse. This is no jungle, this is hell.

via Daily Prompt: Border

© Neil Hayes and neilhayeswriter

Jump: A short story

What is this? How did I get here? The panic spreads through me from my fingers to my bones. Breathe, just breathe. Do I know this place? I certainly don’t remember getting here. The bed feels warm, I must have been sleeping. When I sit up my head feels woozy. Then, pain shoots up my neck. I need to think. Thirsty, so thirsty. There is a sink in the corner but I can’t see a glass anywhere. I put my mouth to the tap and gorge myself. Better. There is a desk in the corner of the room. I need to investigate. Who lives here? Do I know them? It’s a mess, papers, dirty plates, a coffee cup with a new life forming in the bottom. Jesus, who does live here? Wait, what’s that? A photograph under one of the plates? It peels off, with a little effort. Laura, it’s Laura. It’s been so long, since she left me, us, the world. What is this doing here….?

What now? It feels like there is no air. And cold, so cold. I am spinning around, trying to keep my balance. I fall, hard. More pain, but this time something warm on my cheek. My head rests on a jagged stone and all I can do is blink, blink the pain away. Until I can finally focus. How did I get outside? My head is not so bad. As the pain subsides, I realise this place is familiar. Ben’s cabin is near here. I have many memories of here. Once happy, but those memories stopped a few years ago. When she left, I could no longer face this place. A sudden surge of guilt. He had lost her too after all. And then we lost each other. But how could I go back now. But maybe it is not too late….

Not again. Is this sickness or madness. Maybe both. I feel lost in reality but so many old feelings are coursing through me. No I don’t want to be here. I haven’t returned since she left. Just the sight of the cold stone, now covered with moss, sends chills through me. When she left, I had to turn a page and not think. But now it seems I have no choice. It was never solved. We just found her sitting there, alone. Silent. I can’t look anymore….

Here again? But something is different. The room has changed. A wallet is lying on the table. I rush to open it, I must know something. This is beyond me. It’s Ben. I see his picture as soon as I open the wallet. How could he live here? How could he descend from his cabin in the woods to this? From idyllic nature to this, this filth. It must have affected him more than I thought. Guilty feelings overpower me. Could I have helped him more? There is a diary next to the wallet. None of this was here before. I open it and…. No, it can’t be. He wouldn’t. How could he….?

On the edge. Looking down. This seems like the perfect spot, for how I feel. I don’t know how I have kept this inside for so long. And now this? One foot hovers and then….

via Daily Prompt: Jump

© Neil Hayes and neilhayeswriter

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