A quiet finale

2016-02-12 09.35.39

Earlier this month myself and fellow blogger/writer-in-crime, Sarah Todman, took part in a global collaborative project called The Finale Project.

There was a script, we didn’t follow it very well. But the idea of conversations and how they work intrigued us from the get go so we ran with the idea of conversation and how easily it can become white noise.

We set up camp in a local cafe and talked a lot and drank coffees and wrote.

My results …..

It is opaque, translucent but not, like a spiders web, possibly with the tensile strength of a golden orb spider’s web. If you stop and look down, really stare hard, you can see it below your feet. You think you can see through it to what’s below. You can’t.

This is white noise, the every day, the stories you’ve heard and know so well. But below are the missed things. The words and hints from an expression that with hindsight you will come to wish you heard then. The innuendo, the glimpse of more behind the words. But, at the time you didn’t know you had missed.

Until the miners decide it’s time to dig.

Generally a person won’t give much thought to the missed. But there will be moments when someone will turn, look up from a screen or down at the ground and find it before them, the missed. There is pause for thought while a person may reflect on this new information. There may be regret. An action may take place. Generally it doesn’t.

The miners are smaller than the human eye. Little people in black suits with bowler hats and umbrellas hooked over their left arm. Some have pipes. It’s not clear why they choose a person and their missed.

And this is as it was on Tuesday the 16th. Mr Bartholomew Simpkin was filing his 1D4B68’s into grey folders.

At 2.58 the miners started to dig.

By 3.15 they were done.

They rose silent, industriously through the white noise placing the missed amongst files and sheets of paper on Mr Simpkins desk.

It wasn’t until 3.45 when Mr Simpkins saw what he had missed and it should have been sooner, they were right there in front of him. But when he did he was so shocked he knocked his tea cup causing a small wave to lap over the rim and slide into the saucer. That made him sit up. A bubble of tea escaped from between his lips at the surprise of the knocked cup, or maybe at what had just been found.

Mr Simpkins now had to decide if he should ignore the misheards and miss reads again or listen.

He didn’t know what to do




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