Thursday, 8 May 2014

The Miscanthus Triangle
Part Three



All along the way Donald made mental notes about his route, after all he would eventually have to turn back and head home.
Remembering that dogs generally aligned themselves with the magnetic north-south axis whilst passing solids, he carefully paid attention to Dana as she did her ‘business.’ He meticulously paid heed to the course of the sun, albeit mostly through a profusion of clouds. He made a point of keeping the bee-less hives to his left and the abandoned treacle factory to his right.
All very well, but which was home?
He had tried to be too clever too soon. He’d amassed a lot of information and even picked up on many of the compasses nature freely gave him, but didn’t have an inkling how to actually use any of them.
In addition to the odd chair leg, the bodgers of yesteryear left in their legacy a labyrinth of footpaths. A network that was mapped out by later generations and signposted. Great wooden stakes at every intersection, each headed with arrow-shaped boards directing travellers to a choice of here, there or elsewhere.
Maybe, just maybe, he could have taken more notice of those simpler, more observable clues.
But since hearing that voice, the whole idea of heading home suddenly slipped from the forefront of his mind and into murkier recesses. It’s surprising how priorities change so radically in the ravages of time. Even in just a few minutes of ravages.
“Rex, I’m warning you, if you don’t come back here this minute . . !” Kyla persisted in vain.
You know when you’re ascending a mountain and your ears become blocked? And you swallow and you blow your nose and you eventually you achieve a few remote pockets of clearness? They don’t last long, but they’re such a relief when they do fleetingly occur. Well, Kyla’s voice brought a similar clarity to Donald’s ears as though they’d been blocked his whole life and never even realized it.
With one final step and he reached the east corner of the Miscanthus triangle. Just in time to see the silhouette of a girl turning and walking away into the sunset. Shouldn’t they be doing that together? That was the way so many films ended, wasn’t it?
Kyla squinted and under her breath asked herself, “Why do people walk into the sunset? You can’t see a damned thing!”
As he watched her silhouette moving farther away, Donald noticed that the magical white clouds streaking across the sky weren’t clouds at all, but merely aeroplane trails.



Written and conceived by M J Race

Copyright © 2014 M J Race


All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.



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