Mitchell's Mustard Blog

May 18, 2017

What about Charlie – The Chase

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 9:31 am

Oxygen was burning his lungs, he could feel the heat prickle under the skin on his face. This late at night it was harder to navigate down narrow Trinity Street, it was quiet apart from the sound of rushed footsteps and Charlie panting for air, aggression and revenge kept him running. His vision bouncing past the shops and scattered street lights, desperately trying not to trip on uneven patches of cobbled pavement that hid in the shadows, knowing that would end the chase. Up front he could see the silhouette of the man he was pursuing, plunging in and out of light from the shop windows. He was running on the same amount of energy as Charlie, both men were running on fumes and adrenaline. Charlie was grateful for the lack of tourists out late at night, Trinity Street was a haven for tourists but at this late hour it was only the homeless in doorways that could be counted as a witness and that wouldn’t stand up in any court. The man passed an alleyway full of shops on the left, the overhead lights made him easy to see and Charlie was gaining on him, pushing him harder and giving him an extra boost of energy. He was deafened by his own gasps for air, his vision seemed slightly blurred but he knew he needed to catch up, he needed answers. There was music and light coming from the church on the left as he passed, he hoped that no one had noticed these two men pass in a hurry. The street opened out into a wider road and the man stopped for a split second to make a decision on his route, he could carry on straight forward past Kings College but it was a long and straight road which meant there would be more running to do, he could take the dark passage to the right, or take the road on the left onto the Market Square. To Charlie’s delight the man chose to turn left, he was tired and needed to slow, if not stop soon. Going straight on was not an option for Charlie, his body wouldn’t allow it. Going down the passage on his right would have meant little running but pitch black alley ways to lose the chase. Market Square has an island of market stalls in the middle, to the left of Charlie was a row of shops, following his eyesight clockwise the side of the square opposite was also occupied by shops. To the far right of the square was what looked like a big hall which took up a full side on its own, on the last side of the square was St Mary’s church, it was the one way road next to that which Charlie had followed the man down onto the square. Split second decisions felt like minutes passing as Charlie was close on his tail, they both clambered through the empty market stalls of wood and metal. The stalls left derelict by their owners until the following morning. As tired as they both were they battled their way through, under and over metal framework. The man tipped the occasional stall over to cause more work and frustration for Charlie, he knew he was gaining on him which caused his heart to pound. As one stall led onto the next the tarpaulin roof had breaks in which let in the light from the moon, catching the moments of light in the darkness maze of the frame-work made it harder to see what obstacles were in the dark on the next stall. This caught both men out which slowed them both down, catching their shins and arms on loose metal that were hidden in the dark. Charlie needed to get close to him before they reached the other side of the market stalls or he will manage a huge lead that Charlie feared he wouldn’t make up. Catching sight of a metal pole waist height Charlie managed to jump and land without any obstruction just as his target stumbled out of the last stall, Charlie was right on his tail, he could hear him pant for breath as well as hearing his own. The man’s fear was obvious as he scrambled across the road nearly landing on his knees, no time to make a decision on direction, straight forward was the path taken. He fled down a large path between the buildings at the corner of the square leading onto another road behind the huge hall. Charlie was close on his tail but his legs and chest burnt like never before, he had to fight thoughts of giving up by picturing the deathly expression that this man had left on her face. They went through another alleyway next to a pub to come face to face with a group of girls dressed up standing outside a club having a cigarette, they screamed as they flew between them, Charlie shouting his apologies as one fell over. They went up a few steps taking two at a time, past a raised coffee shop on the right and funnelled into a side entrance of Grand Arcade shopping centre. Charlie knew it would be closed off at this time, as he turned the corner into the building there were bars up to prevent entrance. To his right there is parking ticket machines and a bland wall, to his left there is two lifts. The lift furthest away had its doors closed but the closest ones doors had just started to slide closed, It’s the only place he could have gone Charlie thought as he launched towards it. As he entered the lift just in time for the doors to close the man was standing there with fear over his face, they stood for a few seconds staring at each other, they were thinking what to do next. It was deadly silent in the lift whilst both men seemed to hold their breath, Charlie had never really thought about what he would do once he had caught him. Suddenly the lift beeped to say it was heading up, Charlie glanced at the buttons and notice they were going to the top floor. Every wall in the lift was covered in mirrors so it was hard for Charlie to not notice how worn out and old he looked, he could hear his breathing again. Charlie breathed in and it felt like fire, he pictured her smile then launched forward and punched the man in the face.

   He stumbled back and fell to the floor of the lift, cupping his nose as blood trickled down his chin.

   “You’ll learn to regret that” the man said with glazed eyes.

   The lift stopped and the doors slid open behind Charlie, in the split second that Charlie took to turn and look out of the lift door the man had produced a gun from his belt line. Charlie knew nothing about guns but his initial thought was the bigger it is the more dangerous it can be and it wasn’t a small gun. He stared at the gun, noticing the chrome reflect the lift lights, indentations down the side of the barrel, maybe a model number. It looked heavy, maybe that was the reason the man’s hand was shaking.

   “Slowly walk backwards out of the lift, keep your hand where I can see them.”

   Charlie did as he was told, backing out of the lift into the open air top floor where it was empty and quiet, looking over his shoulder he could see that the only other exit was across the other side, too far to run. He held his hands above his head. He hadn’t asked him to do so but that’s what you always see in the movies, it seemed the right thing to do.

   “Turn around, walk over to the edge” Charlie obeyed the mans orders.  

 

The Cambridge skyline was beautiful at night, a show of lights from the cluttered heights of surrounding buildings, church steeples and college towers. Each with their own significance, a reason to be lit up. At this height the wind whipped around his body, trying to pick him up and carry him to safer ground. Pulling and tugging at his clothes, distracting his thoughts. Looking out from the edge of this car park, Charlie remembered visiting these lit up buildings with Abigail. She had wanted to visit them, understand the history of these buildings, look at their beauty, but he never really appreciated them until now, too late. He had turned his back on the man, the gun. He stood at the edge of the car park looking out.

   “I loved her, loved her more than you could ever dream of!” The man’s voice came as a surprise as it broke the silence.

   Charlie took a deep breath, controlled his aggression, he didn’t want to sound emotional or in fear.

   “Clearly, there’s no better way to show a women how much you love them than to . . . . .” he still couldn’t say it. “To do what you did”.    

   “She deserved it, that little prick teasing bitch” He replied through gritted teeth.

Charlie could hear his footsteps as he slowly worked his way toward him, felt the cold of the gun as it touched the back of his neck. Charlie felt numb, his body wanted to give up, his mind slowly starting to agree.  

    “Do you want to know what her last words were?” he said laughing. “Ohh Charlie, Charlie I’m sorry” he teased in a high-pitched female voice. “That’s when I cut her throat because I was sick of hearing your name, Charlie this, and Charlie that . . . That all she used to go on about . . . Stupid bitch didn’t see what was right in front of her!”

   He tapped the gun against the back of Charlie’s head a couple of times.

   “Are you listening to me?” He asked.

   Charlie ignored the question. He stared out across the city, controlling his breathing, trying to save his energy. He looked over the edge, down six floors to the concrete, it could be so easy just to end it all now he thought.

   “Hey!” The man smashed the gun against Charlies head again, this time with force. “What’s wrong with you, I’m trying to tell you about how your girlfriend died, are you not interested?” He yelled. “Some boyfriend you are!!” Nudging Charlie with his gun again.

   The more Charlie ignored the man, the more irate he became. He could hear it in the mans voice, his movement, he was starting to pace back and forth behind Charlie. He had started to mutter to himself, Charlie couldn’t make out what he was saying. The more he paced the more distracted he had become. Charlie was feeling calm, his breathing was back to normal. He now just needed to wait for the man to make a mistake, a moment for him to take control of the situation.

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March 4, 2017

Thermometer face

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 1:42 pm

With Captain being a little poorly we had arranged his first ever visit to the vets, The idea of getting this brut into the carrier case made me nervous. So much so, I sat in the garden and smoked two cigarettes planning the execution of such task. He’s very much a mummy’s boy and with Mallory being at work this was down to me. I sold it to him as ‘the adventure of the two furry boys’ in which he just stared at me wondering why I wasn’t stroking his belly. I picked him up, the moment he clocked that we were heading closer to the carrier case all shit broke loose. Half his body was in, I was pushing against his backend to give him no room to escape. He knew he wasn’t going to win this fight but he also wasn’t going down without swinging. Once he was in, I placed him on the table. BB circled him, flitting her tail and tapping away on the table with her twinkle toes. She was either assessing the situation for a quick impromptu escape route or she was teasing him like a sibling would. All the food, cuddles, and toys are now hers. My money’s on the latter. As I left the house I was carrying the case in my arms instead of by the handle hoping that this would calm him, after a few minutes of clinging on claw deep into my wrist he finally calmed down and accepted his journey. When we had arrived at the vets waiting room he had buried himself in his blanket, only his little furry face was visible, his big scared kitten eyes darting from one corner of the room to the other watching all the other animals awaiting their fate. When his eyes met mine I could read his expression ‘Beardy, I don’t like you right now.’ After ignoring another of my reassuring pep talks we were called into the vet’s office. The vet enticed him out of the carrier case and cuddled him for a couple of moments, her pep talks seem to work better than mine. Placing him on a table she weighed him, listened to his heart, all the usual check up itinerary ticked off. There was just one thing left to do, I bent down to hold his eye contact and held his shoulders as instructed. His loving eyes staring into mine as he had finally forgiven me and realised there was nothing to fear. She then took his temperature. His smile disappeared, his eyes widened, a look of panic and confusion splashed across his face. ‘What? . . What are you doing? . . But why?’ All of his pride had just fallen off the table and rolled out of the room. ‘Beardy, I want to go home, now!’ His facial expression could not be mistaken. I didn’t even have an issue getting him back in the carrier case. By the time we made it home he’d had enough, he took his treat, swore at me in his language and slinked off to sleep for a couple of hours.

April 18, 2015

We can’t afford to live like David Gandy

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:28 pm

David_Gandy_by_Conor_Clinch_(2013)_-_cropped

In this day and age, for some unknown reason, most articles in which you read about mens fashion, health, and lifestyle expect us all to have unlimited funds from that rumored tree in the garden, and a constant day off from the sometimes overbearing rat race. I know we’d all love to live a lifestyle similar to Harvey Specter, you’d be crazy not to. But let’s be realistic here. Being a man of 32 years old, I’m one of few in a position of having very little depending on me. Most men at my age, shared with their partner, have a family to feed, bills to pay, larger financial expectations to fulfill. So it’s rare that today, a modern man like yourself, will flick through this months must have gentleman’s magazine and decide to treat yourself to this new seasons blazer that will cost the equivalent to your next months rent. Or maybe your new born baby can go without nappies for a week so you can pick up a pair of socks that apparently best compliment your new Italian leather loafers which last month put you in debt with your utility bills? What I’m asking is, because most of us live a realistic lifestyle, does that mean we can’t be seen as fashionable? If we can’t afford the luxuries of their advice does that mean we will struggle to look after our appearance? Do we have to follow the guidelines of these so called gentleman gurus that lead us to the temptation of being broke yet looking good with it? Of course not!
If you’re not bothered by the label that’s sewn into the garment then you’ll be just fine, sometimes people are more worried about the brand they wear than how the actual item looks. There’s an old and wise saying ‘Money can buy you a suit, but it can’t buy you taste’. We all know that person, whilst out for a pint, they tell you the brand and cost of every item they’re wearing. A man with taste doesn’t need to talk about what he’s wearing, where it’s from, or how much it cost. He’ll let his outfit do the talking.
What I’m trying to say is, don’t be fooled into thinking that the glossy dream on the pages of an over priced magazine are the instructions to a modern day gentleman. You don’t need to spend your annual income just to look good. The sooner we realise that we can’t afford to live a David Gandy lifestyle, the sooner we’ll be comfortable in our own style. Just remember, he gets paid to look that good! We all have our own style, we’re all that little bit different, roll with it.
Whatever you do, don’t let your baby go without nappies, if you do then that’s a clear sign that you have an issue that needs addressing and your dress sense is the least of your worries.

February 15, 2015

The red dress . . . a snippet of a crime story I’m toying with.

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 8:47 pm

The smell of freshly ground coffee beans, the sound of distant chatter from the passing by shoppers, the occasional glance and smile from the male customers of the open air
coffee shop in the Grand Arcade, that’s what made her feel special. Only if it was for a moment or two, but it was that moment that gave her the butterflies that she missed so much. The flush of her skin and her chocolate brown hair that entwined with her fingers while she felt nervous, as she turned, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror, she looked good today. Not that today she had made a conscious effort to dress up, but the little red number that won the bedroom fashion show in earlier hours was proving to be worth the price tag. From across the room she looked unapproachable, pillar box red lipstick to match the dress, slim features that complimented the loose curling of her treated hair, heels that showed confidence as well as money. She had caught his attention while he bought his coffee, as he made his approach the last thought on his mind was how emotionally damaged she was going to be.
“Hey, I hope you don’t mind me saying but a lady like you should never be sitting on her own.” he said as he gestured towards a seat at her table.
“A lady like me?” she replied and let him hover
“Yes, you should be in company, laughing and smiling.” He replied still hovering by the chair waiting for her to accept his own invitation.
“And I guess you’re the man for the job?” she said with a sarcastic tone,
“Not necessarily, I’m just trying to be polite, maybe start a conversation with you?” he said whilst getting the feeling that his usual chat up line wasn’t working.
“Oh right, well I’m not in the mood to talk so you can un-invite yourself and if you could please be kind enough to fuck off!” she said with a straight face.
“Oh, yeah, sorry to bother you” he said whilst suddenly finding her very unattractive.
He slowly turned on his heels and made his way across the coffee shop to find another seat whilst she took a sip from her coffee and considered ringing Charlie, she had been considering contacting him every hour of everyday since she left that note on their bed but knew it wasn’t a good idea. If he was to find out the real reason why she had left, he would give her all the time and space in the world, and probably all her stuff back from the apartment in exchange for the key.

Calming red tint to the walls from the beige and red light shades that pull you in from the hustle and bustle of the shopping complex, the smell of coffee and what could be fresh bread keeps it inviting. Soft flowing sounds of jazz that’s occasionally drowned out by laughter in this first floor coffee shop, a young couple ironing out their problems on the table next door. They keep their discussions under hats or close to their chests, a steady stare around the room before starting another sentence just in case someone may be listening in to their master plan. Two young lads a couple of tables down laughing and joking about girls and past times, experiencing that moment in life when it feels hard just thinking of asking out their soon to be sweethearts. Sitting on the table at the edge of the coffee shop looking out over the ground floor shoppers is a man, a man waiting. It was never an unusual thing to see a man waiting in a coffee shop, but there was something quite different about this man, he had a certain urgency about him which is what made it seem strange. He came across as a man who didn’t spend much of his time on hold, a man of business, of importance. The constant tapping of his fingers on the table showed his agitation, but it didn’t pass the time quicker. It made him feel like he was doing something instead of just waiting, he had control. He sat and watched her, waiting for her to leave the coffee shop situated across from him on the lower level of the Grand Arcade.

February 1, 2015

The murder scene . . a snippet of a crime story I’m toying with.

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 1:01 pm

The sweat in the room was heavy enough to soak through his shirt, a smell that he didn’t recognise, but didn’t need an educated guess as to what it was. He thought it was strange how he had never smelt death before, but he knew that’s what it was that caused the aroma that clung to the walls. Knowing that once he left the room, the smell would cling to his jacket, similar to how cigarettes do. What he was about to see would also cling to him, an attachment that couldn’t be removed at 40 degrees.
The beautiful shaggy grey carpet on the bedroom floor would never be the same, Charlie loved the feel of it on his bare feet in the morning. It was expensive, after feeling it between his toes for the first time, he knew it was well worth the money, it had become part of his wake up ritual. The blood was thick and had matted parts of the carpet, it was ruined, once it was cleaned Charlie would still know it had once been there. This blood should still be under her skin, in her veins. This blood had once pumped round every inch of her beautiful body, the blood that had kept her alive was now split, like unwanted wine. She was placed on the floor at the end of the bed, take away the bruises, the blood, and her lifeless body held a pose. Her left leg bent with her foot tucked under her right knee, her toe nails painted in her obsessive manner. Her little black dress had been pulled up to sit at her navel and her underwear torn, nothing covered up to hide the truth. Her left arm down by her side, her right lay across her chest, for a moment Charlie pictured her trying to defend herself. Red sore abrasions on both wrists stood out on her pale skin, finger nails painted to match her toe nails. Her long hair lay to rest across her face and neck, but not enough to cover up the incision on her neck, her skin looked so pale against the bloody wound. Her body looked cold, distant, dead. Her eyes were still open and blood shot, bulging with fear and pain. Seeing all this devastation in the room that the two of them had shared so much love took Charlie’s breath, causing panic, it was the look in her eyes that caused him to freeze, he couldn’t look away, mesmerized. He’d watched enough television to know that touching anything would be a bad idea, the temptation to pick her up, make her comfortable, it was hard to bare. Alarm bells ringing in his head to phone the police, but all his body was willing to do was drop to his knees, a single tear formed in his eye whilst his chin started to quiver.

January 7, 2015

Little teaser of the children’s book I’m working on . . . The B.B.B

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 2:20 pm

One hundred meters from the carriage, behind a tree, his heavy breathing couldn’t be masked. Panic set in, his positive thoughts of escape became sporadic as he watched five men and a woman step from the carriage, one man was pointing as they all starred in his direction. Slowly, he slid his body down the trunk of the tree that shaded him from a future of incarceration. Making as little noise possible as he made his way down to his hands and knees, he knew who these people were, he’d heard the stories, the tales of the Sheriff and his men that tracked people like him, to bring them to justice for not following the laws. If caught, there was no way he could pass as a law abiding citizen, his white shirt was coloured with mud and stains from life, his trousers, once smart and formal, now marked and riddled with holes that interrupted the pinstripe pattern of a previous life, his unkempt long hair and dirty hands told the usual story of a member from the population of shadows, but the biggest problem, the beard that covered half his gaunt face, a beard that he was proud of, and if the tales where true, a beard that the Sheriff would despise and sentence for its removal. He crept forward a little, finding a hidden viewpoint, the four men were making their way towards him slowly, the woman was no where to be seen. He thought of his choices, if he stayed where he was, he would be caught soon enough, he could try and disguise himself in the undergrowth and hope that they would pass by with him unnoticed, the more he thought of this option, the more he realised how unlikely it would be for them to leave without him. The other option, and the most rational in his mind was to run, he knew this forest better than them, he knew the fallen trees and trip hazards like the back of his hand, the dips and holes in the flooring, the direction he would need to take to lose them in the wilderness, making sure he didn’t lead them in the direction he actually needed to take, he didn’t want to lead them to his home. He knew what he needed to do. Picking up a rock, he checked to see how close his hunters were, with great stealth, he through the rock in the opposite direction to which he was going to run, as the rock made contact with a tree, he watched the men all stare in that direction, the perfect distraction. He was just about to leap into action, to run as fast as he could, never looking back. He felt a heavy weight on his ankle, he turned, the first thing he noticed was her beauty, the forest seemed to smudge behind her, the second thing he noticed was the wooden cane she held against his neck as she stood on his ankle to stop him from moving.
“Over here, Sheriff. I’ve got him” Moore called out.

September 17, 2014

To Beard or not to Beard, that is the Question

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 11:56 am

Hi all my lovely followers . . .

As well as posting on here from time to time, I’ve started to guest post on a fellow Mens lifestyle WordPress blog, I haven’t yet worked out how I can link the two so please follow the link below and enjoy . .

To beard or not to beard, that is the question . .

http://carlackerley.wordpress.com/2014/09/11/to-beard-or-not-to-beard-that-is-the-question/

Please leave a comment, let us know what you think, criticism will only make us stronger.

September 2, 2014

Sexually Verbal . .

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 7:08 pm

Hi all my lovely followers . . .

As well as posting on here from time to time, I’ve started to guest post on a fellow Mens lifestyle WordPress blog, I haven’t yet worked out how I can link the two so please follow the link below and enjoy . .

Sexually Verbal . .

http://carlackerley.wordpress.com/2014/09/02/sexually-verbal-by-dan-mitchell/

Please leave a comment, let us know what you think, criticism will only make us stronger.

Much love

May 20, 2014

A little teaser of a love story called ‘Max and Lola’ Continued . . .

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 3:11 pm

“Are you ok Max?” said one of his regular female customers
“I’m good thanks, is there anything else I can get for you?” Max replied with a smile.
He was too proud to let anyone see his discomfort, the distraction he had found in her.
“Women trouble? I recognise the look of a distracted man” She said
“Me, distracted?. . . . Can I be honest with you? He asked
“Of course, we’ve known each other for long enough now Max”
“I see women as a disposable pleasure rather than a meaningful pursuit” he said
“Ohh . . . maybe I shouldn’t have turned back” Lola said standing behind him, a frown across her face.
She started to turn and leave feeling like an idiot, why would he be any different to the rest of the boys she had dated. Feeling her heart in her mouth and a swirling in her stomach, she knew she had made a mistake to come back.
“Wait . . . Lola please wait. You didn’t give me chance to finish what I was saying” he said to her back as she walked away.
“Go after her Max” the customer said.
“Wait . . Lola” Max shouted down the street after her.
She stopped, but didn’t turn around. He caught up to her, faced her, placed his hands on her arms. She looked angrily into his eyes, a look that bore into his soul, a look that he quickly learnt to fear.
“Let me finish what I was saying”
She didn’t answer, she just looked at him.
“I see women as a disposable pleasure rather than a meaningful pursuit, but she is different. I can’t stop thinking about her, she’s under my skin, I want to see her everyday, I want to smell her on my pillow, on my clothes. I’ve relived that morning over and over in my head, wondered why we didn’t exchange numbers. That smile, that contagious smile that makes me smile, smile for no reason. I’ve known her for less than twenty four hours but I miss her, I can’t explain it, I knew I would bump into her at some point and I have rehearsed what I would say over and over, but it means nothing now because the words seem unspeakably lame when face to face with her. I miss her and I don’t even know her. . . . I want to change this, I want to get to know you Lola.”
He was shocked that his feelings had come to the surface, his pride thrown to the wind. But he felt completely vulnerable as her facial expression didn’t change, he knew he had to walk away before he said something else that might ruin it.
“I’ll leave you with that thought” he said letting go of her arms, he smiled and walked back to the restaurant.
“You did good” said the female customer as Max walked up.
“You think? She looked pretty angry”
“You’ll hear from her, I think every women that just heard that speech fell in love with you a little. Even me and I’ve been happily married for years” she smiled.
“Thank you” Max smiled.

Her brain was buzzing, her heart pounding against her ribcage, her hands were shaking. It had started out as anger, furious with herself for thinking that he was different from all the others, a man, not a boy. She didn’t want to stop and give him the chance to explain, she wanted to walk away, walk him out of her life, but something made her stop, there was something different about him. She felt her heart in her throat as he spoke, those kind and wonderful words, but sometimes words are just not enough.

He felt sick to the stomach, his hands shaking, he didn’t regret a word he said, he wished he had said more. He could still see her angry eyes digging into his, he was to blame for her beauty to slip into anger. He looked around in a daze, all his customers had gone, only the messy tables they had left witnessed him slowly falling apart.
“Can I sit anywhere?” Came a voice from behind him
“Lola” he smiled, “Errr . . yeah, sit where you like. What can I get you?”
“A cup of tea and a conversation?” she smiled
“Right, both coming up, back in a minute.”
She took a seat, put her bag on the chair next to her and pulled out packet of Marlboro menthol. He returned holding two cups of tea, sat down and looked at the packet of cigarettes in surprise.
“I didn’t have you down as a smoker?”
“Only when I’m stressed, I used to smoke and I always revert back to them when stressed or angry” she looked at him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to piss you off” he pointed at the cigarettes “Can I?”
“Oh yeah, knock yourself out. You’re not going to get in trouble are you?” She said lighting their cigarettes.
“Na, I took a break so you have me for a good fifteen minutes” he laughed.
She liked his laugh, he had a smile she could sink into, embrace and never get bored with. A smile that suited his face, a smile that looked like it was used a lot.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again, if I’m honest, it scared me a little” he said
“A little?” she said playfully.
“I meant everything I said, you need to know that.”
“It isn’t what you said that made me come back”
“Ohh, then what?”
“It was the look in your eyes as you spoke to me, the fight, the emotion. It was the look in your eyes that made everything real, captivated me. Right there and then I had the feeling you’d fight for me, you believed everything you said which in turn made me believe it”
He smiled, he was tumbling fast. He was excited, nervous, his stomach swirled.
“Yes I’m mad, I know . . . It’s the little things” she laughed.
They sat and talked through his break, the swirling smoke from their cigarettes circled them and bound them together in a cocoon of conversation and laughter. Not once were either of them distracted by what was going on around them. Max had been reminded twice already that his break was over but each goodbye started another conversation.
“Right, I have to go back before they come and remove you” he winked
“Okay, so . . .”
“I want to see you again, All cards on the table, I want to see you again. Here’s my number, use it” he said while writing on a serviette.
“Thank you for the tea” she took his number, picked up her bag, leant in and kissed him on the cheek. He watched her as she walked away, she took a moment to look over her shoulder, smiled and disappeared into the crowds of people.
“Excuse me, can I get a coffee”
“Of course sir, I’ll be right with you” Max replied.

April 1, 2014

A Dozen Suns

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 2:38 pm

A dozen suns, my dear,
A dozen moons.

Don’t say something you’ll regret, dear,
bite your tongue,
we’ve all been here,
remember a time before,
the loneliness spreads, girl,
engulfs, and consumes,
in the distance,
you’ll see the beautiful shore.

A dozen suns, my dear,
remember the times just passing us by,
A dozen moons, girl,
you can fight, you can try.
A dozen suns, my dear.

Regret is a fools game, dear,
pinch that pain,
who knows what’s round that corner,
whatever’s in store,
get off of your knees, girl,
stand so tall,
shake off the pain,
remember the girl that always craved more.

A dozen suns, my dear,
remember the times just passing us by,
A dozen moons, girl,
you can fight, you can try.
A dozen suns, my dear.

Hold your hands up high, dear,
see the strength in side,
control those emotions,
work your way up from the floor,
a dozen suns, a dozen moons, girl,
giving you another chance,
another view,
for you to enjoy and adore.

A dozen suns, my dear,
A dozen moons.
A dozen suns,
A dozen moons, girl.

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