This morning I have been on a virtual walk...wandering through the once familiar lanes and alleyways of the internet...stumbling upon long forgotten but one time regular haunts.
It's too easy to be distracted by the very present, shiny, social media stuff. Twitter and Facebook dangle baubles that catch the light and sparkle brightly but oh-so-fleetingly. But of course as one glittering tweet fades the light bounces off to light up another. They are like fairground candy floss...satisfying for a second but with no substance. Blog posts and writers websites on the other hand glow with a constant, gentle luminescence that can be overlooked as we dash from shiny to shiny. So today I have revisited and indulged in a few old favourites.
One in particular I stayed at for a while - it kindleakindle a little spark which brought me back here to my own stagnant blog, searching for a piece of my own writing...I didn't find it and so I am posting here today, six years after it appeared on Richard Hearn's Geowriting site as part of the Brighton Digital Festival.
If I remember rightly, the prompt was a boy in a yellow T-Shirt ...
This is what I wrote:
I made my way from the station. Keeping to the narrow back lanes and side streets. Off the beaten tracks, away from prying eyes. I couldn't risk being spotted. That would raise too many questions, too many puzzled looks, the risk of discovery and repatriation. The last thing I wanted!
A movement at the end of the alley caught my attention.
A sudden breeze lifted the rubbish causing a mini maelstrom of old newspapers and Pizza Place fliers. I squinted against the tornado of dust and grit and saw beyond it, a small human crouching by the bins. He seemed as keen as I not to be spotted, and I couldn't help feeling that a less glaring choice of shirt might have helped him.
We looked at each other, warily.
Separated for an instant by the storm of paper until, as suddenly as it had begun, the wind dropped and the papers fluttered to the ground. One sheet came to rest in front of me. I looked down and saw my own face staring back. And underneath, the hideous human name.
I shuddered in disgust and shame. By the bins the boy stared at me. His eyes flickered to the paper at my feet and back up to meet my gaze. He nodded, the slightest, barely perceptable movement of his head and then stood and jogged quietly past.
Thankful of his understanding, I continued my journey leaving behind the poster offering a reward for my safe return. I hoped the human boy was as successful in his own bid for freedom.
You can find out about the project and read the other contributions from writers across the country here
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