R.I.P. Off! by Ken West

Author:Ken West
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 781783068821
Publisher: Matador

Chapter Nineteen

Girl Power

Above the gate, the Victorian clock face marked time; but for whom? It suddenly struck her as so odd; the face looked into the grounds, staring at those for whom time had no meaning. Was it for people going to funerals, or even staff waiting for funerals, people who could not afford a timepiece? She watched the terminal time tick, and more importantly, watched the gate from her spot secreted in a grove of conifers. The notice board had told her what to expect, and, sure enough, at ten minutes to eight a van drew up and a fair haired man closed and locked the gates. Content, she was now the only human alive inside. She walked, crossing the murmuring beck, to the plantation of young oak trees. Looking east and, framing the trees, she could see what she knew were the Pennines, rounded bluish mounds now the world was closing down. Two bats, pipistrelles, she was sure, suddenly appeared and flitted between the young oaks and she blessed their movement and vitality; the manic and insane desire to exist. As she walked to the trees she had considered where to sit, and the banks of the beck had seemed most promising. She walked slowly in that direction and, reaching the beck, turned left along the bank. Off the path, the lawns felt soft, as if carpeted in moss and not grass at all. She realised her sensory powers were awakening as her vision was denied light. The blind, she thought, would feel these mossy lawns through their shoes.

She had to take care because old memorials stood out of the grass here and there, some so small that they could be fallen over. They were all decrepit in this area, there were no signs of the graves being visited; it was not a place for people. It amused her, the human world had moved on but the natural world simply didn’t care.

She finally settled on a lush grassy bank, between bushes, a few feet above the beck and within sight of a small footbridge. The morning light would illuminate her spot to any passing walker. She sat and took some time to nestle into a neat recess between the tussocks. She was warm, wrapped up against the chill evening air. It was so quiet, yet the silence was a cacophony of night sounds. There was an occasional light breeze in the trees and leaves rustled. There was movement everywhere, not least in the long grass on the beck banks, and she made out a hedgehog dragged by its snout seeking food. The beck tinkled intermittingly, not consistently, as water passed around some impediment she could not see. A tawny owl called and its partner answered; she knew they knew an interloper was present; not just a human but a live human. Were they calling her? She had never before felt this calm.

Now settled, she mulled over the time; what time was right and why did time matter anyway? She settled on midnight, it seemed appropriate, a new day and a new start.

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