Hope Leaves

Autumn leaves pour forth
Like blood from an open wound
Lie down on the road and
Let the wind take you

Fiction Friday: Parliament.

He’d done everything he could to execute his job to the best of his capabilities. After all, he was more than just a man now, he represented the people. Okay, he might not represent them the way he wanted to, but he still thought he took the loss quite admirably and adapted to this unexpected change of his future with great enthusiasm.

The restraining order was completely unexpected.

He’d only had a few days after the results of the election came in. He’d not know beforehand which position he’d get and it wasn’t easy to prepare on such short notice. The most difficult thing was definitely getting rid of his beard. It was probably worth it, he mused, because in the grand scheme of things, beards were trivial matters. Still, his had been a good one. It’d taken him years to grow and he’d almost gotten to the point that he could finally braid it. Because really, it’s only stubble until you can properly braid it. It’d been so weird to have a cleanly shaven face again after all these years.

Why were they keeping him from doing his job?

He’d taken great pains and gone to great lengths to fulfill the role assigned to him by the people. Well, really, it was decided within the party who’d get what spot, so it wasn’t directly the people. But, you know, people voted. The people. So it was really unfair they were making it so difficult for him to do his job. He’d found out which suit to buy, two shades darker than the original, of course. He’d shaven a bald spot in to his hair and dyed his hair two shades darker. He’d bought the coat, looked up the address. For crying out loud, he’d even managed to find the exact same bicycle and painted it two shades darker. Okay, so that might have been a rush job and it could have been executed better, but they couldn’t seriously be holding that against him? It was nothing short of a miracle for him to find the exact same bicycle on that short a notice anyway.

He’d been fired.

He'd become the exact replica of the Secretary of State for Defence, only two shades darker. He could see his failure now, of course. He'd missed the eyecolour and the car, and his wife looked nothing like the Defence Secretary's wife. He'd failed to obtain two children on such short notice, but really, where would you get those anyway? No, those would have been long term issues, no one would notice their absence for the first few weeks. He'd been a great member of the shadow cabinet, or so he thought, but the party thought differently. So where did it go wrong? It must have been the fact that he'd only gone two shades darker, he should have gone for at least four shades, but he was worried they wouldn't be able to distinguish between his clothes then, because everything would look black. It might also have been the fact that he hadn't been exactly on time, outside the Defence Secretary's door, to shadow him on his way to Parliament. He'd never forget those humiliating five minutes on the corner of that street. When the Defence Secretary finally showed, he'd issued a little wave. A wave. A WAVE. What an idiot he was. He should stop with the self-pitying, because he clearly lacked in all the necessary qualifications required of politicians. He'd had his chance but he blew it. He wasn't committed enough and they were right to question his sanity. He wasn't cut out to be in politics. 

He considered his forced admission to the mental hospital to be a bit excessive.

Fiction Friday: Autumn Leaves.

Running, keep running, faster now, go faster. One foot, the next always a step ahead. Go, keep going, around the corner now, faster still, can she go faster? Adrenaline coursing through her veins, still faster, still farther, keep going, keep running. Run away little girl, run away from here. Go where? Go when? Go ahead, go faster! One foot, another step, just one more. Impact. Silence. Touch down.


Where is she? Big eyes looking up from the ground into the eyes of a guy, studying him, silence is the answer. He doesn't seem to be angry, considering she just ran into him at full speed. In fact, he's smiling down on her, his eyes joining in with his mouth, little auburn curls dancing in the wind. The wind messing with his hair. It's mesmerising, she cannot look away yet. Autumn leaves on his jacket as he reaches out her hand to help her up. "I'm sorry" - should she say  more or walk away now? She stares at her feet, moves her sneakers on the pavement. Her feet would know the answer, but they seem intent on pushing leaves across the street. Autumn weather, it's so cold -

"... could happen to anyone, what's your name? Are you ok?" - he asks. Her sneaker on the leaf, pushing left, pushing right, keep moving or answer? She looks up, "Elena," "Tom," - shudders, her feet want to keep moving. Regain momentum, keep pushing forward, go faster, keep running, don't ever stand still. "Coffee?" Again the doubts, keep running or stay? Her voice betrays her feet. They'll have to be content with the way to the coffeehouse.