Beech Wood Embers

  Five past ten, five minutes after curfew, and I was miles from home. The night had hold of the streets under the watchful lamps. It skulked in alleys and behind trees and houses. I felt the gentle caress of the rain turn to nails. A disgusting night, cold and dead. I had to get back to my pit, back to my unmade bed, to my crummy carpet, to my sink filled with grimy pans and tea stained cups, to the stained stainless steel spoon.   I could take the long walk beside the leaden canal or the short walk through town. The rain made the decision for me. I wanted to get out of the cold, it always feels colder when you are wet through. The rain stopped as quickly as it began.     I made my way across the empty street. I could hear the sound of my worn shoes clap the concrete, clap-clap-clap the concrete, breaking the silence of night. I ducked into an alley. Moments after I sheltered in the dark, a yellow and black armored personnel carrier drove by. The electric company thugs were ou

  The band played to the smoky dark of The Baskin Shark Bar and Grill. A double bass swung round in the hands of a man who danced his instrument like a woman. The drummer kept a steady beat, crashing out the moments between movements. The guitarist hung in there with pain, barely keeping up. A tall woman dressed in red sung a sorrowful harmony which seduced the ears of the bar. Rose was magnificent for the first three numbers, then she began to fade. Her vocals had been weakened by the tragedy of living. It was the pianist who drew the crowd. He fell over the keys with a stylish ferocity. He turned his average band into talent. He brought forth all their oppressed ability, his hands awoke in them the hidden music they had buried.             When Rose’s voice faltered, George sang along with her, and took over for a few numbers allowing her to break mid set. Then he burned a fire of harmony under her and she returned to the stage with power, her chords could bring the hardest knuckle

The orchestra played the finale and the audience ejaculated their applause. The solo violinist smiled and bowed. Her music matched her beauty. But there was another woman in the string section who had coveted her spot. She had the music to match the soloist, but her looks weren’t as alluring. She was not ugly, but compared to the fire red hair and classical statue smile of the woman bowing in front of her, she looked plain. She sat in the string section every night, her heart growing evermore jealous, she knew her command of the violin was superior the big star, but the world didn’t have enough places to give everyone a spot under the light.      The conductor named Carol the backup should Megan take ill before a concert.      ‘You should practice Megan’s parts as well as the string section backing. I know you are more than capable. You can really burn with your bow. Do you accept?’      ‘Yes Seb, I will be the backup. I already know it off by heart. I have a personal connection to Bee

  A hot wind shook the edge of the wild. The lawns were parched. The washing line bowed under the weight of the week. A robin pecked at the mill worms Sandra left him when she hung the clothes. Her kids had escaped the nest, they had grown and had kids of their own. She lived with Frank. He sat inside watching T.V. It was a gorgeous afternoon, right there on the edge of the wild. The wind shook the beeches at the boundary of the fields. To shut yourself up on an afternoon like this was wrong. She knew it was wrong but remained loyal to her husband.             Inside was stale. The brown curtains cast a brown light over everything. The carpets were lost under years of filth. The arm rests were blackened with cigarette ash. Frank sat in his chair a meter from the T.V screen. Sandra sat on a two seater to the right of Frank and she had to crane her neck to watch the T.V. There they spent their days. When he was hungry she cooked his meals. When he was dirty she washed his clothes, and