by J Mock

Created on: June 22, 2008   Last Updated: September 26, 2008

A Country Crime

He eased himself slowly down onto the weather worn seat, uneasy as to whether it would take his weight. He paused repeatedly, half expecting the decades old plank to crumble beneath him. Finally, he relaxed and applied his full weight.

The branch above creaked and groaned as he pushed gently with his feet to start himself in motion. How this stirred a thousand memories of his glorious childhood, of summers spent in a seemingly distant world of ease and playful dreams.

He watched his shadow spread under him, dark in the mid-summer light. Back and forth, back and forth, he stared at the earth bemused by his shadow swooping, somewhat devouring the rich green grass.

The gentle breeze brushed his face, the sweet smells of the summer air enveloped his mind, opening long shut rooms within his mind. How he wished to regain those thoughts, to live through them again, not to change a thing. A tear rolled down his beaten face, a tear confused with joys and despair. Joy to be back amongst true harmony, mixed with a fear and longing, a knowing of times elapsed, never to be retrieved again.

But he had to return to this place and a time forgot. That is why he had left the city, traveled 300 miles in the blistering heat, as soon as word had reached. He had to return, to see for himself the crime that had robbed a part of his life.

He raised his gaze, the anger swelling through his veins. Why, why had this happened?. For money no doubt. Greed even. The heat rose deeper, almost boiling. He had the money, a good life, friends, a family. He worked hard for which the rewards were seen. A posh apartment, the latest gadgets, a 50-inch TV, sports car. A diet of finest foods, made by the classiest of chefs. But all that meant nothing now. Nothing compared to the cruelest of fates that had changed his life.

In his field of view lay the deepest cut he could endure. A slash that only he could see, a wound deep inside. For what was once the beauty that had made him, of what had given him his soul was destroyed. Gone forever. He sat still, staring forward with a total disbelief. Forever blinking in hope that when his eyes opened it would reveal a dream. But no, it was still there, in vivid view.

The sounds of engines roaring, men chatting, of foundations being laid. These were the noises that now filled his ears. Not a stream trickling, or grasshoppers singing. No. The sound of development, of modern times. A new housing estate, here, where he had lived. How dare they! Who would

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