Amidst the falling dust (The Green and Pleasant Land) by Oliver Kennedy Read Free Book Online

stand in front of the bookshelf and run my fingers over the dusty volumes that I will never read again, Salingers Catcher in the Rye, Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbord, Lucello's Dance by R. Winthrop, an old Italian book about the giant slaying folk hero. But, the power and beauty of the words was gone, it existed as it turns out only within the imagination, its effects on the real world were minimal. Imagined good was as effective against real evil as anything else we'd manufactured.
    The bathroom is a sea of mould and mirror shards. I look around. I draw in the despair, I suck woe from the decayed remnants of all that I loved. My hand shakes as I turn the handle to the master bedroom. It is with great trepidation I walk into the room. It is empty. I know not what I expected to find, I think I am foolish enough to have believed that there may have been a body here, there are no more bodies anywhere. The bodies are walking around just like the rest of us.
    The room has the same dank smell as the rest of civilisation. But the bed is still neatly made. I kneel down at the end of it. I weep into the mouldy bedsheets that were once so fresh, I think of all the times I laid here with her in my arms. I think of all the plans we made together and the one dream which came true.
    A rage takes hold of me, I crash my fists down on the bed over and over again, not for the first time I look upwards, through the ceiling, through the roof and the sky above, I look directly to heaven and I scream a curse at any gods who are still there.
    I weep as I stagger through the house. A part of my mind is looking for a way to end this pain, this grief which I have been building for myself ever since that call. I stagger into the garden. The flowers are dead and gone, the weeds rule now. In the middle of the garden is a dry fountain with a statue of a seraph in the middle. I sit on the stone steps which surround the water feature. I cry tears over the picture of Wendy which I procured from the bedside table.
    I continue to feel sorry for myself, I am building the will to do it. I draw the hunting knife from its sheath. Reflected in the blade I see moonlight, dark scudding clouds and sad eyes which have stared too long into the abyss. I lift the knife and envision the act. I bring it closer, daring it, tempting it to tear its own way into the bulging veins on my wrist.
    CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK.
    I pause my task. I look up and about. I cannot see the source of the sound. I wait a while imagining that I imagined it until...
    CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK.
    I stand and hold the blade away from me. I search the shadows of the garden, the overgrown bushes and the dying trees. I see nothing, but I wonder, does something see me? I walk down the fountain steps.
    CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK. It sounds like the drumming of nails on a hard surface. Impatient nails. The fear rises again as I hear the noise several times in quick succession. There is nothing quite like fear for rolling back the woe, for storing it up until a later date. As my eyes scan the dark they settle on the outhouse, a pair of eyes stares back. My legs tremble in terror, the eyes move forward, to reveal a nose, and ears, covered in deep black fur. The terror turns to fascination for this is a face I recognise.
    “Vincent?” I whisper. Vincent, a gorgeous black Labrador, a faithful hound who accompanied me on many sly Sunday afternoon trips to the pub. Vincent, who would keep my feet warm on cold winter mornings, Vincent who would bring me the remnants of the Sunday paper with a wagging tail. How? How could he be here still?
    “Vincent” I whisper again, beckoning him to come forward out of the shadows. As I walk towards the outhouse my mind tells me something is wrong. I stop. Why is he so tall? Vincent's head is level with my own. Then I hear it. CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK. Then I hear the growl. Not the growl of a small dog. Not the growl of a Labrador. I take a step back. He takes a step forward.