Stuart's Writing Projects

 They say the worst thing for a parent to do is bury their children.  I think they meant while they were still children, not when they are 82 and died of old age in a care home, and yet here I am.  The warm oak interior of the crematorium is supposed to make you feel relaxed, it doesn't.  As I looked around at the sea of faces who were here to see Peter off, I hardly recognised anyone.  Emma and Vicky were there, obviously, looking suitably upset at losing their father.  If they only knew their grandfather was stood at the back of the room, I’m not sure what they would think. We filed out passed the curtains where Peters body lay awaiting the inevitable to the little garden at the back, passed an array of flowers and wreaths from people I had no way of knowing.  Peter had been a popular chap.  It made me smile. ‘Did you know him well?’  a voice behind me broke through my thoughts.  I turned to see an elderly man with a walking stick....

  Heading out mid-afternoon, because no one gets up early on furlough, took me on a journey through the past and along a path I hadn’t been before.   With the sun high in the sky and a chorus of nature to help me along I set out along the lane and across a field.   As you clamber over the rickety style you are faced with two choices.   Do you stick with convention, follow the path across the middle of a ploughed field and head down to the road or do you veer off to the right and follow the path of wonder? Blue pill, red pill.   My innate sense of wonderment took me down the path less trodden, into the unknown.   The way forward is much flatter, and you feel the earth either side rising up and holding you in its grasp as you head into a tunnel of trees.   The high banks and flat path should give you a clue as to what was once here, despite nature doing its best to reclaim the land after Dr Beeching had his way.   A mile further on and the disused...

  The moon slipped out from behind a cloud bathing the garden in its eerie glow.   Dexter held his breath. A rustle from a bush startled him.   He inched closer to the fence, melting into the shadows.   The rustle came again.   Dexter’s heart began to race.   A hedgehog shuffled into the pool of moonlight searching for a midnight snack.   Dexter’s heart rate slowed.   As the moon hid itself once more Dexter let out a long slow breath and waited a few seconds before creeping towards the backdoor.   Locked.   He took a screwdriver from his pocket, slipped it between the door and the jamb and pushed.   Easiest thing in the world, why do people bother with locks anyway.   Seconds later he was standing in the kitchen looking around for anything worth taking.   Biscuit jars were always a good bet and he wasn’t disappointed.   Working his way methodically through the house his pockets were soon full, and his rucksack was hea...

  “Steve, why haven’t you finished the spreadsheet I asked for? I need it” Trevor’s voice echoed through the virtually empty building.   Steve spun around and saw his boss standing in the doorway, looking both angry and bored at the same time. “I’m working on something for Ian, he said it was priority for a meeting tomorrow?”   “You don’t work for Ian; you work for me.   Next time he asks for something you send him to me.” “Umm, OK” Steve could just imagine how well that would go down.   “I’ve almost finished now; I’ll stay late and finish your spreadsheet before I go.” “Good, you can lock up can’t you, I have a dinner date” Trevor pulled his coat on and left the building.   Another late night then, fantastic.   That was the third time in a month he had been home after dark, and it was getting to be a habit.   Not that Steve really minded, he enjoyed his work and being alone in the office allowed him to get on with things without interrupt...