Update

When Gerald opened his eyes, he found himself staring out of the window of the train, watching himself in the distance, leaning against the bus, protesting the inevitable. Sally sat next to him on a small aluminium stool, a large panel of knobs and buttons in front of her. She wore a sky-blue shirt and navy trousers.
'Jesus Gerald!' Her exclamation made him jump. She looked over to him, panic in her eyes. 'I can't stop it in time,' she held her hands up to her trembling mouth. 'Oh Jesus,' she moaned.
Gerald put his hand on her shoulder, 'It's going to be okay.'
'How can you say that? Look!' She pointed through the windscreen, 'Somebody's on the tracks too!'
'Come here,' Gerald said, putting his arm across her back. She instinctively wrapped her arms around him, sobbing into his chest. 'It's okay, I'll stop it.'
She sniffed and pulled away, her eyes red with tears. 'How?' Her confusion was overwhelming. The question sent waves of doubt through Gerald.
'I,' he began. 'I just will.' He added, 'Right?'
Sally turned her head towards the windscreen, wiping tears from her eyes. She squinted then turned back to Gerald. 'Is that you?'
'Yeah,' Gerald said. 'Or,' he added, 'A part of me.'
She sniffed again and grabbed at Gerald's shirt, 'Can you do it?'
'You told me I could,' Gerald countered.
'You can't stop a train!' Her eyes began to well up again, 'You'll be killed!'
Gerald felt a momentary sense of failure and he couldn't tell why. 'But you told me,' he stammered.
She didn't speak, just looked up at him, her eyes red and wild.
'You told me,' Gerald repeated. 'Sally, come on,' he leant down and pulled her close. 'You said I could save the children.'
She simply shook her head in disbelief before whispering, 'You'll be killed.'
Gerald turned around, clasping his head in his hands. 'Come on!' The frustration finally boiling over. 'What the fuck is going on?' Gerald questioned nobody in particular. He turned back to Sally who looked traumatised. 'Fuck it, I'm going!'
Gerald stepped towards the windscreen when he heard Sally whisper, 'Don't.'
'And why shouldn't I? Huh?' Gerald leant over her, yelling into her face. 'I've had enough of this shit!'
'Don't kill yourself,' she whispered, looking through the window.
'Why not?' Gerald screamed at the back wall of the train cabin. He turned to Sally, 'You're in here,' he said tapping his temple, 'Give me a reason why not!'
Sally looked up at him, her eyes big and frightened. 'What about your family?'
'Wrong!' Gerald screamed, 'I don't have a family, remember?' He tapped his temple again, 'You'll have to do better than that.'
'Friends?' Sally questioned.
Gerald pulled back, placing his hands over his face and laughing. 'I don't have any friends.'
'What about me?' She said it with a sense of desperate hope in her voice.
'You?' Gerald pulled his hands from his face. 'You?' He repeated this quietly, stepping over to Sally. He leant in close to her face and whispered, 'But you're not real,' his hand stroking her cheek.
'I am real,' she pulled back, offended. She placed her hand on his cheek, 'I am real, and I'm your friend Gerald.'
Gerald shook his head in disbelief. 'No. The only time we were friends was a dream,' Gerald tapped his temple again, trying to get the point across. 'When I went to your house, you slammed the door on me. That was real!'
'I don't remember that,' Sally looked down at her lap.
'Because it wasn't you!' Gerald cried. 'It was the real Sally!'
'I am the real Sally,' she murmured, almost inaudible.
'No! No, you're not. The real Sally studies at uni.' Gerald began counting on his fingers, one, 'She isn't my girlfriend!' Two, 'She isn't a prostitute!' Three, 'And she isn't a fucking train driver!'
Sally's eyes widened at the last sentence and before Gerald could add something about how he meant train conductor, she had vanished.
'Fuck,' Gerald sighed. When he looked through the windscreen, he could see two of himself talking to each other at the bus. One of them stepped over and merged with the other. Gerald moved through the front of the speeding train and flew into himself. His two bodies blending into one, just as the train hit.

Gerald's story update

Gerald sat at the kitchen table chewing an a piece of toast. He had showered and dressed, and for about an hour he had sat in bed pinching his arms and occasionally slapping his face. This was real, this wasn't another dream. Gerald was sure of it.
'Save the children,' Gerald scoffed, dropping his toast on the plate. He put his head in his hands. 'Fuck.'
He grabbed his jacket and went out for a walk. The early sun shone bright through the closing clouds. Gerald walked past Sally's house, paused, and kept walking. She wasn't real, he thought. Well, at least the Sally he knew wasn't real. He strolled past the local primary school, still too early for any kids. If he had to save the children, whatever that meant, this was a good place to start looking.
Gerald looked in on the play equipment and remembered breaking Tommy Johnson's arm. He tried to remember if he ever saw Tommy after that day. Maybe his parents moved him to another school. Strangely, he couldn't remember seeing Tommy before that day either. His only memory of this boy was the day he hurt him.
Gerald chuckled to himself and shook his head. It's strange how the mind focusses on bad things, he thought. He wandered past the oval and tried to remember his junior football days. He was only on the team for a few weeks. He didn't know the kid that he tackled to the ground. He just knew that he did it.
After walking past the school, Gerald crossed the train tracks and sat at the bus stop. He didn't want to catch a bus, he just needed somewhere to think. The school bus drove past, not stopping. Gerald looked up at the laughing, giggling kids.
A shuddering thump came from under the bus and Gerald already knew what was going to happen. The bus shuddered again and the engine died.
'Perfect,' Gerald sighed, looking up along the train tracks that the bus had stalled on. He stood up and walked over to the side of the bus, standing on the train tracks. None of the kids noticed him, and he heard the driver furiously trying to re-start the engine.
'Naturally,' Gerald sighed again, watching the train come roaring up the tracks towards him. He rested his back against the side of the bus to brace himself and raised his arms towards the train.
The horn sounded and Gerald heard the gasps and cries of the children, muffled by the glass windows of the bus. As the train rushed closer, Gerald closed his eyes.

'Think you know what's going on?'
Gerald raised his eyes and saw the man in the grey jumper sitting next to him at the bus stop. 'Not at all,' he replied.
'Good,' the man chuckled and slapped Gerald's shoulder. 'Best way to be.'
'Maybe,' Gerald sighed and looked over to the stalled bus on the tracks. He saw himself, wedged up against the side of the bus, his hands raised to stop the inevitable.
'The man looked over and chuckled, he pulled a crumpled packet of peanut m&m's from his pocket and began munching on one. 'Reckon that kid'll save 'em,' he said, looking at Gerald up against the bus.
'Hope so,' Gerald replied.
The man looked over to Gerald and did a double-take, 'Well. That's you? Ain't it?'
Gerald nodded, slouching over, his elbows resting on his knees watching himself against the bus.
'Good luck,' the man said and slipped another m&m into his mouth.
'Thanks.' Gerald stretched out on the bus stop bench and got a good look at the man in the hooded jumper. The gash was there, everything was the same as when he last vanished. 'Can I ask you something?'
'Sure,' the man said, offering Gerald an m&m.
Gerald shook his head. 'Who are you?'
'Me?' The man put the packet back in his pocket. 'Oh, I'm just nobody,' he said it with a sly grin.
'Come on, man. Give me something.'
'Okay, Gerald. I'm one of your creations.'
Gerald put his head in his hands. 'What does that mean?' He asked through his fingers.
'You want an explanation, or not? Like I said, best to not know what's going on.'
'Fine,' Gerald said. 'I don't care anyway.'
The man chuckled and looked back over to the bus. 'You'd better hurry up now, kid.'
Gerald sighed and stood up, making his way towards himself.
'Don't kill yourself,' the man called out, before breaking into a fit of laughter.
'Fuck you,' Gerald muttered. He went over to himself, sliding next to him. 'Hey,' he said to his double.
'Hey,' he said back, his arms still raised.
'Reckon you can stop the train?' Gerald asked.
'Hope so,' his double replied, his eyes fixed on the looming mechanical death approaching them.
'Here, let me just get in there,' Gerald said to his double and he took a step closer, finding his body merging with the double.
'Sure,' the double said as Gerald slid into his place. 'Good luck.'
'Yeah,' Gerald sighed to himself.

Gerald Update

Starting to set up some action here. The plot is coming together in my mind now so it's a little less wander-ish... At least in my mind. Enjoy.

The therapist's office was small, modern and smelt a little like oranges. Gerald sat on a reasonably comfortable chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his chin balancing in his hands. The therapist sat back in her chair, her notepad on her lap.
The two stared aimlessly at each other until she spoke. 'So how was your week?'
'Good.'
She let out a laugh and leant forward, 'I'm going to need more than that.' She scribbled the word “good” on her notepad and showed it to Gerald. 'My boss'll kill me if I let you leave with just this.'
Gerald smiled. She was right, the word looked a little lonely on her pad. 'Well I had a few weird dreams this week.'
'Great! That's always a good place to start.' She smiled wide, 'We'll just jump straight into your subconscious then.'
Gerald let out a slight laugh, 'Okay then.'
'So tell me about your “weird” dreams.'
'Well I dreamt about a man who was like, floating, outside my window.' Gerald leant back, resting his hands in his lap.
'Floating man, hey? Did he do anything? Say anything to you?'
'No, he disappeared.'
'Like, “poof”?' She made a mock magician motion with her hands, 'he vanished?'
'Yeah. I saw him again later and he did it again.'
'Sounds like you've got a case of disappearing man syndrome.'
'What's the cure, doc?' Gerald leant forward again, resting his chin in his hands.
She smiled, 'Find a nice boy Gerald.'
'Why does everyone keep telling me that?' Gerald frowned.
'I'm just kidding. No, but seriously, it could be a deeper anxiety. Separation maybe? Fear of abandonment? I mean, I know all about your family Gerald. You've been through a lot.' She leant forward and rested her hand on Gerald's shoulder.
Gerald smiled, the warmth of her touch was all he needed. It didn't help him understand anything, it didn't make his problems go away, it just felt normal. Gerald only wanted to feel normal.
'I treated your mother, you know?'
'I didn't know that,' Gerald frowned.
'She was like you,' she smiled. Gerald smiled back, knowing he would never fully understand his mother. 'Well time's up kid,' she put the cap on her pen and stood up.
'Already?'
'Yeah, you've got a busy day ahead of you.' She leant forward, her lips close to Gerald's ear. 'After all, you're the only one who can save them.' She kissed his forehead.
'Save who?'
'Save the children Gerald.' She walked over to the door and held it open for him to leave.
'Sorry. What?' Gerald stood, not quite sure what he had heard.
'Time's up buddy. Time to wake up.'

Gerald opened his eyes. He was lying in bed, covered in sweat. There was no note this time, but Gerald remembered most of the dream. He rolled over onto his side and saw Sally lying next to him. She was completely naked, and Gerald looked down to see that he was too. He blinked and looked around the room. The lighting was dim, but Gerald could make out a large mirror against one wall. He looked over and realised he was lying on a double bed, possibly a queen. A glass bowl on the side-table overflowed with wrapped condoms and Gerald looked across the room at the large flat-screen television showing a pretty tame lesbian sex scene. The volume was down.
'So, you've already payed for the hour, but there are a few extra things I can do. But they'll cost you.' Sally's head rested on her hand.
'Sorry, what?'
'Hmm,' Sally looked down at him. 'I'm not sure if you'd be up for the extras anyway.'
'You're not a prostitute.'
'I can be whatever you want, honey.' She smiled devilishly, 'For the hour anyway.'
'This is a dream,' Gerald sat up on the bed.
'Sure it is,' her hand slid down Gerald's stomach. 'Still hung up on your runaway boyfriend?'
'He wasn't my boyfriend. Why does everyone say that?' Gerald inhaled sharply.
'You like that?' Sally smiled at him. Her eyes had a lazy look in them.
'Yes, but,' Gerald inhaled again. 'This isn't real.'
'Just enjoy it, honey. Who cares if it's not real?'
Gerald put his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. 'What does all this mean?'
'Who knows?' She sounded bored.
'Weird dreams, disappearing guys? What's wrong with me.'
She slid closer to Gerald, her body pressing against his. 'There's nothing wrong with you baby.' She kissed his neck causing Gerald to let out a long-held sigh. 'You like that?' She whispered into his ear.
Gerald opened his eyes and turned his head towards her, their noses were almost touching. 'I do like it.' He kissed her on the lips.
'That's normally extra, but I'll let you get away with it.' She smiled, 'You're just too cute.'
Gerald let out a laugh, 'Yeah, sure.'
'Tell me about your dreams Ger.'
'I had a really weird one with my therapist.' Gerald closed his eyes, letting his body relax. Letting Sally do what she wanted.
'Like this one?'
'What?' Gerald opened his eyes looking at her. 'No,' he relaxed again. 'I don't even have a therapist,' Gerald laughed. 'She told me I'm the only one who can save them.'
'Save who, honey?'
'The children.'
'What do you suppose that means?'
'No idea.' Gerald put his hand down over hers, stopping her. He rolled onto his side, kissing her again. She smiled and put her leg over his, their naked bodies pressing together.
'I know what it means,' she said.
'Oh really?' Gerald kissed her again. 'Can you please tell me?'
She smiled and nestled her head into his neck, her mouth near his ear. 'You're so strong,' she rubbed his arms.
'No, tell me about this weird shit. Please.'
'You can see things that haven't happened yet,' she kissed his neck. 'You can outrun any bully.' Gerald felt her tongue lick his collarbone, and he heard her giggle.'You're the only one that can save them.' She pulled away, looking into his eyes. 'Don't let it get you down, honey. You're very special.'
Gerald leant in to kiss her, but she pulled back.
'Time's up kid.'
'Already?'
'Yeah, you've got a busy day ahead of you.' She leant forward, her lips close to Gerald's ear. 'After all, you're the only one who can save them.' She kissed his forehead. 'Time's up honey. Time to wake up.'
'Yeah. I know.'

More weird stuff

Here's a bit more of the "Gerald" story.

Gerald found it hard to sleep that night, his thoughts drifted back to the man in the grey jumper. Why would he vanish like that? Once Gerald managed to sleep, he had another dream. He found himself walking along a street near his house that he knew well. Something told him to stop walking and he did. Looking around Gerald saw a house that he had walked past many times. The old red bricks were faded and moss grew around the base of the house.
A strange sensation flew through Gerald, telling him to go into the house. Although he had walked past it many times, he never knew who lived there. He never found himself paying any attention to any of the houses on his walks.
As he walked up onto the front porch Gerald saw the curtains flutter. The little motion sparked his curiosity and he stepped over to the window. Despite the curtains being heavy and drawn, Gerald leant against the window, trying to see into the house. His hands never made contact with the glass, instead he lurched forward and fell into the living room.
'Gerald? What are you doing here?' Sally said. She sat on a large couch surrounded by piles of books, a notepad in her lap.
'I don't know,' Gerald answered still sprawled out on the floor where he had landed.
'Come here,' Sally tapped the cushion next to her curled up legs. 'I want you to see this.'
Gerald picked himself up from the floor and sat down on the couch next to her. She had a large hard-cover graphic novel open on the floor. Gerald saw the image of a masked hero perched on a menacing gargoyle. His eyes moved to Sally's notepad. She had replicated the image with incredible accuracy.
'I thought you were supposed to be writing an essay on this stuff?' Gerald stretched out and put his arm around her shoulder.
'I know,' she sighed and leant into him. 'I'd rather make it than write about it, you know?'
'I know.' Gerald stroked her hair.
'You hungry?' Sally looked up at him.
'Hmm?'
'I said, are you hungry?' She laughed and patted his stomach.
'Sure Sal.' Gerald watched as she placed her pad down on one of the piles surrounding her, his hand stroking her back as she did.
She got up and walked over to the kitchen, 'Come on. Let's see what we can find.'
Gerald stood and followed her into the kitchen. He sat down at the table next to his mother who was staring out of the window, a cold piece of toast sitting on a plate in front of her.
'Is she always like that?' Sally asked as she dug through the refrigerator.
'Yeah,' Gerald said, picking up his mother's toast and taking a bite. 'I wish I knew what she was thinking.'
'Just ask her, Ger.' Sally found a birthday cake in the fridge and cut two slices.
'Yeah,' Gerald chewed the cold toast. 'Maybe next time.'

The next morning Gerald found a scribbled note resting on his chest. Red ink ran up his arm, the paper was scratched and torn as if he had tried to write on it while holding it in the air. After turning on the lights Gerald flattened the note out on his desk and tried to decipher what it read.
“Sal's got a (something) happy birth... ask Mum.”
Gerald wondered who Sal was. His birthday was a few days ago, maybe he dreamt about that. He had no idea what he was supposed to ask his mother about, or how he was supposed to do that. Gerald eventually gave up and threw the note into his waste basket.
Chewing a piece of toast at the kitchen table, Gerald stared out of the window. The orange leaves fluttered around the trees, but no men appeared this time. After breakfast Gerald grabbed his jacket and walked out the front door.
He wandered aimlessly around the streets until he spotted a familiar looking red brick house. Gerald made his way up to the front door and rang the bell. After about ten minutes, Gerald rang the bell again. The door opened a fraction and Gerald saw a familiar face peek out at him.
'Hello?'
He had trouble remembering where he had met her before. 'Hi,' he said.
She opened the door wide and a confused look crossed her face, 'Hey.'
Gerald smiled, he didn't know what else to do.
'The guy from uni, right?' She said, her hand resting on the doorknob.
'Yeah, medicine,' Gerald smiled.
'What's up?' She looked bothered.
'Can I come in?'
Her eyebrows pulled together and she tilted her head slightly. 'How did you know where I lived?'
Gerald wondered the same thing. 'I didn't,' he answered truthfully.
She pulled the door closer to herself, and stepped back a fraction into the house. 'You didn't?'
'Is this a bad time?' Gerald asked. 'I could come back later.'
'Why would you come back?'
'Can we talk?'
'I guess so,' she held onto the door. 'What's up?'
Gerald realised he looked like an idiot. He didn't know how he found this house. He had no idea who this girl was, except she studied at the university. 'I'm sorry, this is going to sound weird.'
'Go on,' she said.
'A guy disappeared the other day. I don't know who he was.'
She smirked. 'Yeah, guys around here will do that.'
'No, I mean he was just gone.'
'Happens all the time,' she frowned. 'You need to find yourself a nice guy who won't run off on you, okay honey?'
Gerald didn't understand.
'I hope that helps,' she said and closed the door.
Gerald made his way home, his head spinning.

Updates

More of this week's yarn, also the first bit has been re-edited (it's a work in progress, sue me.)


Clouds hung low over the hospital on the day of Gerald Smith's birth. An excruciatingly long and painful labour by all accounts, one Gerald's late mother never seemed to get over. On his sixteenth birthday, two weeks before she died of a stroke, she smiled and looked through the kitchen window. Her toast went cold with the chill of winter approaching, and the unending thoughts that Gerald would never know.
Gerald's childhood brought back strange memories whenever he let his mind drift back. Accidentally braking Tommy Johnson's arm in the third grade left a scar somewhere in his mind that refused to heal. Since the incident, Gerald always sat quietly by himself and shook his head if asked to come and play. Being dropped from the football team in seventh grade made the scar itch. He never meant for anyone to get hurt, and never expected he could hurt a boy twice his size.
Bullying came from all angles when Gerald made it to high-school. But he never came home with a black-eye or a bloodied nose easily outrunning the punches and kicks, and after enough distance, even the taunts. He knew he could probably win a fight if he had to, but he never tried. Gerald avoided trouble and by the tenth grade, trouble avoided him.
On the day his mother died Gerald went into the principal's office to learn the news. He didn't cry, he simply thanked the principal for letting him have the rest of the day off, taking his time on the long walk home.

Gerald Smith spent his eighteenth birthday alone at home, watching television. He bought a beer, and deciding he didn't like the taste, poured it out. Gerald wondered about his father, who he had never known. And he wondered about his mother, deciding he had never really known her either. She would stare into space; blank walls and open windows commanded her attention more than Gerald ever did. He never interrupted her and waited until she shook her head, and blinked her tired eyes, before asking what she was thinking about.
'Nothing dear,' she would always say, giving him a curious look.
'Okay.'
Gerald stared through the kitchen window that intoxicated his mother so often, rubbing the label on the empty beer bottle absent-mindedly with his thumb. The last leaves of autumn clung to the tree branches, fluttering to the ground whenever a sharp gust kicked up. Noise from the television became a faint crackle and Gerald saw a man floating near one of the grey trees.
The man wore a grey jumper with the hood pulled over his head, hiding his face. Gerald watched as he dangled in the air before vanishing. Turning his head away from the window, Gerald saw the shattered remains of the beer bottle he had been clutching so tightly. Green glass shards stuck into his fingers and Gerald went about pulling them out and cleaning up his mess.

That night Gerald dreamt about the floating man. The dream began with Gerald sitting in the kitchen holding his empty beer bottle. When the man appeared near the tree outside the window, Gerald found himself levitating inches above his seat. As it was a dream, Gerald felt no fear about his new-found ability to float and glided comfortably towards the kitchen window to get a better look at the man.
When he reached the window, Gerald just floated through it, still in a sort of sitting position. He hovered now, close to the man, who looked through him as if he wasn't there. Gerald noted the sweat marks on the man's jumper, the distinctive logo printed in blue on the front, and a nasty gash across the man's face which bled profusely.
Droplets of blood fell onto the grey jumper, the man's eyes widened, staring into space as Gerald's mother had done so many times, and then he vanished.
Upon waking, Gerald fetched a scrap of paper from his desk and wrote down everything he saw. He then climbed back into bed and fell asleep.

The hastily scrawled note at first surprised Gerald when he finally found it the next evening. He couldn't recall if the details in the note were from a dream, or if they were something he had seen during the day. The scribbled red ink read; 'Man, mid-twenties, State Uni sweater.' And, that was all. He read the note again and put it in his pocket before grabbing his jacket and stepping out into the cold night air.
The sun was still up enough to cast a pink glow across the sky, burning the jagged clouds a deep purple. Gerald walked along the path behind his house and watched his step, avoiding the dead orange leaves that lined the gravel. Within fifteen minutes he had entered the sprawling State University campus.
Gerald had wanted to go to a University. It didn't necessarily have to be this one, but he had wanted to go. After his mother died, Gerald resigned himself to the fact that he would have to work to support himself. He didn't resent his mother for dying, his only regret was not ever being sure what was happening in her head.
With his hands buried deep in his pockets, Gerald roamed around the campus, stopping to admire the buildings and statues of old scholars. He walked past several students clutching books to their chests and running to make the last bus. Some he recognised from high-school, but knowing they wouldn't recognise him, he walked on.
As Gerald turned the corner of a particularly old-looking building a girl about his age ran into him, falling backwards and dropping her pile of books. Gerald removed his hands from his pockets and walked towards where she had landed. She had already gathered the precious literature before she looked up towards him.
'I'm so sorry,' her voice cracked on the last word.
Gerald held out his hand and helped her up. 'What are you studying?'
'English, oh. You mean this?' She looked down at her books.
Gerald nodded.
'Late eighties graphic novels.'
'Like comics?'
Her eyes glistened pink, mirroring the last of the glowing sky. 'Like, how were America's social fears at the time projected in pop-culture.'
'Are you writing an essay on it?' Gerald watched as her shoulders sagged at the mention of the word “essay.”
'Yeah.' She looked up at him and cocked her head to the side slightly, only for a second. 'What are you studying?'
'Medicine.'
'Oh,' her shoulders sagged again and she looked down at her books before glancing away. Gerald didn't know why he lied, something told him to say medicine. Her eyes flashed up at him, 'do you like it?'
'No. You're not missing out on anything.'
She smiled and blushed, cocking her head to the side again. Gerald returned the smile. Her hands fumbled with the books until they were safely tucked under one arm before she extended her right hand. 'Nice to meet you...?'
'Gerald.'
'Gerald.' She shook his hand. 'Sally.'
'Sally.'
'I have to go Gerald. Don't want to miss the last bus.'
'You won't,' Gerald smiled. She gave him a puzzled look and smiled before shuffling past. Gerald watched as she did a sort of semi-jog and disappeared between two buildings.

Around the next corner, of the building that Gerald discovered was the library, he saw two young men huddled up against the wall. He turned to leave when he heard one of the men whimper, the noise carried by the wind. Gerald watched as a man in a black jacket shoved a man in a grey hooded jumper against the wall.
The man in the grey jumper whimpered again and Gerald walked over, his hands still in his pockets.
'Fuck off!' The man in the jacket spat at Gerald, sensing his presence. Gerald stepped over and put his arms between the two men, separating them. Gerald realised he had his eyes closed when he heard a loud thump followed by another harsh crash. He opened his eyes and saw the man in the black jacket lying on the ground, his nose dripping blood. The man in the grey jumper was slumped on the ground at Gerald's feet.
'Jesus Christ! You can have his fucking money!' The man in the black jacket scrambled to stand and quickly ran away.
Gerald looked down at the man in the grey jumper, his hood covering his face. Dark blotches of blood began to seep through the back of the hood and Gerald saw a large crack in the brick wall of the library. He leant down and placed his hand inside the hood, feeling warm blood drip onto his fingers.
When Gerald gently titled the man's head towards him, he saw a deep gash across his face that ran from the neck up to the hairline. The man's eyes widened before he vanished. Gerald looked down at where the man had been slumped and wondered why he had disappeared. The crack on the library wall, and the blood on Gerald's fingers were the only evidence that he had ever existed.
Gerald wiped his fingers against the brick wall, leaving long streaks of blood. He then put his hands in his pockets and made his way home.


There is more to come, it doesn't end there! I'm getting a little cliff-hangerish with this one. I'll post more when it exists.

This week's work

Here are the first few hundred words of a short story I'll be working on this week. It doesn't have a title yet, but I have a few ideas about where it is going. Any input would be great. I'm sort of experimenting with the magic-realism style that Gabriel Garcia Marquez used, it's somewhat hard to do, seeing as I normally write very strictly in the realism style but it's very fun to let go of logic and it gives your imagination a work-out.


Clouds hung low over the hospital on the day of Gerald Smith's birth. An excruciatingly long labour by all accounts, one Gerald's late mother never seemed to get over. On his sixteenth birthday, two weeks before she died of a stroke, she smiled and looked out of the kitchen window. Her toast going cold with the chill of winter approaching and unending thoughts that Gerald would never know.
As a young boy Gerald was never the biggest kid, but he had an unnatural strength that frightened him. Since he accidentally broke Tommy Johnson's arm in the third grade, Gerald shook his head whenever he was asked to play. In the seventh grade he was dropped from the local football team after an especially rough tackle that left a boy with concussion.
'You're too rough,' the coach said.
'I'm sorry.'
At high-school Gerald was hardly ever bullied, only because he was too fast. Even for the older boys who chased him around the corridors until they gave up, panting and cursing. He knew he could probably win a fight if he had to, but he never tried. Gerald avoided trouble and by the tenth grade, trouble avoided him.
On the day his mother died Gerald was called into the principal's office to hear the news. He didn't cry, he simply thanked the principal for letting him have the rest of the day off. He took his time walking home that day.

Gerald Smith spent his eighteenth birthday alone at home, watching television. He bought a beer and deciding he didn't like the taste, poured the rest out. Gerald wondered about his father, who he had never known. And he wondered about his mother, deciding he had never really known her either. She would stare into space, blank walls and open windows demanded her attention more than Gerald ever did. He never interrupted her and waited until she shook her head and blinked her tired eyes before asking what she was thinking about.
'Nothing dear.'
'Okay.'
Gerald stared out through the kitchen window, his thumb rubbing the label on the empty beer bottle. The last leaves of autumn clung to the tree branches, fluttering to the ground whenever a sharp gust kicked up. Noise from the television became a faint crackle and Gerald saw a man floating near one of the grey trees.
The man wore a navy hooded jumper, obscuring his face. Gerald watched as he dangled in the air before vanishing. Once the man was gone, Gerald looked down to find that he had shattered the beer bottle. Green glass shards stuck into his fingers and Gerald went about pulling them out and cleaning up his mess.

Fresh "content."

With uni over I have some free time to continue my writing. I'm aiming to have one fresh short each week, and maybe more if I am feeling up to it. Hope you enjoy.

Buffalo
By Tim Harvey

The floorboards creaked under Anthony's heavy boots and he paused in the dim light. Did he hear that? No, he didn't. Anthony held his position in the barely lit hallway, sweat soaking through the navy wool balaclava covering his face. It must be in this room, he thought as he lifted one foot and tested the boards. They groaned again, but quieter than before, giving Anthony the confidence to take another step.
He slid up against the wall and tested the door handle to his left. It whined quietly and Anthony's gloved hand muffled most of the mechanical clicking of the old relic. He pushed the door open a fraction and leant over, peering into the darkness. This was the room, Anthony knew it. The window let in enough of the moon's shadowed glow to illuminate the ancient armoire in the corner. It must be in there, it has to be.
Anthony crept into the room and eased the door shut behind him. As he walked over to the armoire he was struck by the sickening feeling that he had been caught. His pace faltered and he stood, almost crouched in the centre of the room. Although he couldn't see who it was, he knew there were eyes on him from across the room.
Surely he would say something. Completely exposed, Anthony considered fleeing. He would have a gun on me. He must.
'What now?' The mumbled words were barely audible, even to Anthony. He waited. No reply.
Slowly turning his head, Anthony saw the glistening eyes watching him from the corner. He turned back to the armoire and continued his stealthy trip across the room. The heavy wooden doors opened easily, and without a sound. The prize was there on the top shelf.
'Did this get you too?' Anthony asked towards the eyes as he took the wooden box down from the shelf. After unlatching the small brass lock Anthony slid the top open and took a moment to observe what lie there.
The gold embellishments of the long-barrelled Colt shone in the moonlight. The glistening varnish of the heavy wooden grip, and the immaculately polished steel of the gun took Anthony's breath away. He lifted it out of its velvet-lined coffin and held it up to his eyes. Running his fingers along the barrel felt like bliss. One-hundred and fifty years old, history in his hands.
The barrel rotated easily, well-oiled and ready for war. Anthony eased the hammer back, watching the chambers revolve with military precision.
'Did this get you too?' He asked the eyes again, raising the heavy pistol towards them. 'How old are you?'
The great white buffalo head eyed him with disdain. Mounted and stuffed, the last of his kind to ever roam the Earth. History, hanging on a wooden board.
'You're all locked away in here,' Anthony said to the pistol in his hand, pulling it close to his face. 'Hidden from view.'
He remembered the first time he saw the gun, at the shooting range. The old man had brought it in to show off to his buddies. They marvelled and asked if he would ever fire it. No, he replied. It's too old. Anthony swore if he ever had such a firm grasp on the past he would use it. He followed the old man to his house and hid outside until late at night. He would have that gun. He would use it.
Now, with the pistol in his hand, Anthony faltered. The drive to use this gun, this pistol that had probably killed, was gone. Who knew how many Southerners this gun had wiped from existence, in the name of the Union? Who knew which officer carried this piece into battle, or if it even saw combat?
'What am I doing?' The words were dry, and the buffalo watched on, asking the same question. What are you doing? Anthony slid the gun back into its navy-velvet home and eased the lid of the case shut. He placed it back on the top shelf and closed the doors of the armoire.
'Did that gun get you too?' He asked the buffalo once more. There was no reply, no answer. Anthony sighed, realising he would never know.
He crept down the hallway and climbed out of the window that he had entered by. There was no answer, there was no explanation. Anthony would have to make his own truth.