Mitchell's Mustard Blog

October 9, 2015

The Cigar Shack

Filed under: Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 11:44 am

Holding light from times past, and a swirling desire for times to come. This little wooden pocket of memories, It’s filled with love. The kind of love you can’t buy, trade, or surrender. Tucked away in the centre of a city we love, a stone’s throw from the hustle, this little delicate corner always keeps the silence, for when we return. To step in and take a breath, to take a moment, an hour or two. There’s no busy clock hands, no intermittent reminders, all outside communication is sealed away in a bottle and thrown overboard until we decide to return to civilization. A little white china ashtray gripping our addiction as we pick at olives and pistachios. Cigarette smoke rising into a game of kiss chase, converging before dancing along the walls and running off into the night together, no looking back. As the evening starts to turn, the chill creeps in around the corners hungry for its first victim, only to be disappointed by the woolen tartan blankets that we find ourselves nestled up in. The contagious rhythms of Pink Floyd and laughter take over, folding the silence up, and keeping in a safe place for when it’s needed again. These sounds echoing around the walls before they become etched into the night sky. A delicate little spot that never seems to be busy, our own little find, tranquillity. The occasional interruption from the bar staff informing us of the origin and history from which our rum has endured. The ice gently singing a song as it taps the side of the glass, a sweet melody of partnership. Whether it sings for it’s own duet, or for us, we’ll never know. But we can always turn it into whatever we want, we’re both good at that, making any situation a good situation, our own. Eventually it becomes time, time to fold up the blankets, extinguish the cigarettes, let the ice finish it’s last tune. As we step away, we watch the lights fade as the cushions regain their original plump form. We know this little wooden pocket will be there when we return, for as long as we remember why it’s there, for us.

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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.

May 21, 2013

Funny how things turn out

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 7:49 pm

The wind whistled through the marquee to put a little chill on the evenings celebrations, the ladies still sitting at the circular tables, pulling down on their skirts or placing their partner’s suit jackets over their legs for warmth. Not quite ready to call it a night and retire to the house, just in case they miss something. The wind causing the candles on each table to dance and flicker to the rhythm of the band, casting shadows on the marquee ceiling. ‘A live band are always much better than a dj’ he thought to himself. The dance floor was filled with dance moves from different eras, the young robotic upper body movement to the twist from the older generation putting a little wear on the soles of their shoes. Strangely they are two very different dance moves but both seem to be quite fitting for the band that held their attention. He never did like coming to these events, stood at the side he watched her dance in the centre, she seemed to be the centre wave, controlling all the movement around her.
She was good at being the centre of attention, he always did like that about her. She could walk into a situation and make it her own, pull the wool over their eyes and then walk away without a second doubt from the surrounding population. She is amazing, he suddenly missed telling her so. The dance floor slowly started to thin out, the once over excited now choosing to head back to the house for cheese and wine. As she danced she turned and caught his eyes on her, she seemed to stop for a split second, she smiled, one of those adoring smiles. He blushed, felt a pulse under his skin, the hair on his arms stood in unison. She looked around at her surrounding company, looked back in his direction to catch his eye again, she playful stuck her tongue out, smiled and then went back to controlling the dance floor.
Watching her he could still feel her naked skin across the palm of his hands, her warm breath on his neck, her hair tickling his face as she rode above him.
She caught his eye again, signaled for him to come and dance. He felt flustered, he’d join her after finishing his drink he replied. He’d been carrying this drink with him for over an hour already, swirling it around in its glass in hopes it would last a little longer.
‘How bad can one dance be?’ he thought to himself.
His body suddenly ached to be held by her once again, to feel her familiar lips on his neck as they slow dance through till the morning. To out dance all the candles on the tables, to outlive the cheese, wine and warmth from the house, to still be entwined well after the band had packed up and left.
He took the last mouthful of beer from his glass and placed it down on a table, straightening his tie he stepped towards the dance floor to find her. ‘Its only a dance’ he thought to himself.
She appeared in the corner of his eye, her brunette hair cascading down the back of her white dress, the dress she always dreamt of getting married in. She was dancing with her newly announced husband, her familiar lips on his neck.

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