UNTITLED: PART SEVEN

Alex was frozen by fear. Not the type of fear that scares you on the spot, the fear that you shake from, the fear that becomes a memory after the next conversation or the next meal or the next thing to break the spell of fear. This is a dull, long-term fear. Something that continues through the night on to the morning, then the night and then the morning once more. It’s like a steam train travelling across a continent without any warmth and little direction. This train, old, slow and full of uncertainty, is rickety and lacks basic safety. It’s a lonely train, one that stops only after weeks of travel. And Alex has only just boarded this train.

You would think that the stark perspective of death that has been dealt to Bill and passed on to Alex would carry weight amongst the current problems of Sarah running off with another person, but it hasn’t really. Did Alex love Sarah? Well, he didn’t know. But this doesn’t feel too nice yet the phone call had only taken place a few minutes earlier. A burn will hurt worst right after the scald. Maybe this achy pain will go away soon too? Yeah, maybe. Maybe it will! Alex got excited but was soon dragged back to his heavy body by his realistic mind: maybe it won’t get better. Yeah. Maybe it just won’t. Alex once more felt excellently underwhelmed by his subconscious’ ability turn into his consciousness, then to ground him. And what an ability this was. Damn.

Whilst he sat there, thinking of the future, the sky outside was beginning to fall greyer. A wind was picking up. It sounded like a storm was brewing. Was this to be the final disappointment of the week? After all that has come before, was Alex – alone, in his parent’s home – about to be blown away. Picked up and dragged from the ground, just like that guys house from the film ‘Up’. Yet, this wasn’t going to be through choice, to transport Alex to a tropical paradise underneath red balloons. No, this was a vicious, short-tempered wind that would swoop him up because, as we all know, things come in threes and as Sunday night approached, fate was running out of time to shit on his biscuits once more.

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