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Page 13

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Pageram by Rob Mumford
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Midnight arrived surprisingly quickly, but once the world became quiet, time began to drag. I should have taken food with me to the bedroom. My leg began to ache and I withdrew it from the switch and stretched. Then I jumped at an unfamiliar noise. It came from close to the gate.

Instead of assuming my toe and finger position, I stood up. What good was that? Well, it was good in that it gave me a clear view of my enemy. He was a familiar figure and he stopped at the edge of the decking, unaware that I had him in my sights. I reached to my left and felt around on the desk. Something cold and metal came to hand. I composed myself, raised my arm and threw the stapler. It missed and landed on the grass. His body tensed. He listened. Nothing. He looked around. Still nothing, and he moved forward.

His eyes glinted green as he stepped on to the flowerbed. He had bowel-movements in mind. I flapped around on the desk and found another missile. I took a more careful aim and flung it. The hole-punch struck the decking with a tremendous smack. It bounced and hit the fence with a bang. The furry shit-machine scrambled vertically with a frenzied sound of claws on wood and then leaped in to the darkness of his own garden.

There was a hush which was followed by some muffled noises to my left. The commotion had roused Cat-woman.  I listened to her go to the window and open it. Was she concerned for her poor little pet? She should be. I leant against the wall that separated us and I imagined what she was doing and what she was wearing. The images I mustered were predictable and rather fun, and I enjoyed them for some time after she’d returned to her bed.

By two o’clock I’d resorted to touching my eyeball to stay awake. With the exception of the distant traffic on the A34, my ears had no company. This was how I imagined loneliness to be. My bladder was filling with the last dregs of the day’s tea-marathon. I distracted myself by compiling a virtual-playlist of songs that have “lonely” in their titles. There are a few. Then I moved on to those with “lonely” in their lyrics. And, when that was exhausted, I moved-on to “afraid”.  

“Rob is afraid of the dark.”
Will

“I am not.”
Rob

“He is a bit.”
Danielle