Saturday, 29 January 2011

A Soldier's Message

Chapter 2.

"Dan, Dan", "you've got to get up", a shutter, like a butchers canopy shielded out the half light from an elongated moon fading behind day break. A rustle of movement filtered behind eyelids and somewhere in the far distance, mountain goats 'baahhed' as they scaled the sheer peaks of 'Beherad Mountain'.  Peace flowed like a stream, the body incognito, non compliant. "Dan"!  

Samantha was smiling right down at him, from what seemed to be a high place, in mind and in spirit.
 In and out of the sun's warmth, he cradled her.  "Are ya gonna' come down here and give me a cuddle?" he could feel the lightness of her touch. she was laughing now, as he held out his arms, her high pitched laugh she always gave whenever she felt unsure.  'She was cheeky', he thought now,  as he remembered the first time he had asked her out.  She eyed him flashly with those bluey eyes, darting over his face to see if he was nice looking.  She was'nt anything like the girls he went for usually, with her quiet, serious ways.  In fact sometimes he felt as if he had the disaproval of the 'hardened Carr's' generations before him, with all their prejudicisms.  This time he wasn't about to let his family bother him, there was something about Samantha that made him feel different, special.  Her reddish blond hair fell over her face in a messy pile. 

Daniel had heard just about every four letter word shouted at him by the time he was six.  His Uncle Ian , on his Dad's side had made sure of that, six weeks after his father's burial, he moved in, lock, stock and barrel.  Every square inch of their once neat, ordered home was transformed in to a shrine to his fishing travels. Photographs hung on the wall in testimony to is conquests.  Massive Pike with their ugly faces and sharp teeth and trout big enough to win trophies.... he bragged incessantly that he had slain a Great White.... Daniel shuddered at the memory as  he remembered the first day he spied his Uncle sitting in his Dad's old favourite chair, with the television remote in one hand and a pint of Newcastle Brown Ale in the other.  There was  smug satisfaction on his weathered face, which he reckoned was 'red' because he worked outdoors on construction, not Fishing.  It was always only a matter of time before Daniel 'got the hell out of there', despite his Mam's protestation twelve years later he did.  Not a single regret marred his 'Passing out Parade', only triumph, yes that's exactly what it felt like, triumph over 'the Shite that had kept him back all those years'.

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