Brighton Lanes

A sea side covered in buildings. An intricate system of lanes ridden with shops, restaurants and bars. The gulls scream from above and avert your attention from the bazaar around you. The sky appears as a column of light, the air is fresher and the sky is cleaner up there. But down here in the hot lanes the air is close and humid. The sea will always await you, as long as you can find your way out of the maze.

The Ripple And The Duck

A ripple in the water. A splash of refracted light. A gentle pulsation flowing in all directions. A painting could capture only one beautiful glance. A duck at the centre of the canvas, oblivious to these imaginative notions.

The Hill

A hot splash of day-long sunlight shone down on The Hill. It was a pleasant, warm green Hill, nothing more. But not as green as the rain would want it, for water had not quenched this dry grass for days. The Hill was perfect around this time of year. At the summit a cluster of once naked trees all lightly swayed against the bluest sky. A soft breeze made it's way up and down the valley beneath The Hill, the only solace for barers of the heat. The plants that had not caught a glimpse of sunlight for whole seasons now erupted into the air. The fluffy white seeds carried by the breeze offered a distant dream of a snowy winter. But nothing made a sound. None of these events on The Hill made a single noise. All of the animals were busy searching for shade, far too exhausted to converse with one another. And so everything was quiet, just as The Hill intended it.

Boarding Pass

The old man plotted himself firmly at the front of what he thought was the queue. The flight wouldn't start boarding for another hour and a half. He checked his brown watch and stretched his shoulders before setting down his suitcase. Over to his left and through the large leaning windows he could see the airstrip. He almost twisted his ankle trying to look behind the desk. He checked his watch once again and muttered fustratedly to himself. His suitcase looked like it had seen some serious travel. The old man's face was cracked and beaded with sweat as he stood stagnant, reluctant to take off his jacket.
As the flight drew nearer more and more travellers arrived behind him. A slight smirk appeared on his face as a member of staff appeared behind the desk. Modern travel had changed so much since he was youthful and tanned like the fellows he met on the bus. But the old man knew he would be the first on the plane that had just docked outside the big window.
"Any speedy boarders? Please come forward" said the worker in strained English.
A swarm of tanned, youthful adults rose from their seats a full ten metres away from the queue and immediately boarded.
Instead of blood boiling in the old man's veins, his hatred toward modern life had now departed.
He felt a pang of youth and accepted his frustrations and let them fly away and within moments he was on his way home.

Foul Water

A diamond shaped hole in the ground. Rapid water churned and splashed inside that hole. Evidence of something foul underfoot. The Foul Water was not known to many, only those who stopped at its front door and pondered the hideous scene of filth and liquid that lay inches beneath. The Foul Water.

The Familiar Creak Of Old Wood

The sky as cold and blue as the sea. 

Decaying wood standing strong in the air. 

Years pass and fragments drop. 

No vegetation has graced its structure for a lifetime. 

Wind blows through cracked grain.

The familiar creak of old wood.