Short Story: Messages
Footsteps stop outside my door. I know who it is. I know what they’re going to say.
Footsteps stop outside my door. I know who it is. I know what they’re going to say.
“Gone eight-thirty, Tommy,” Gail says.
I grunt a reply.
“Don’t want to lose this one. The structure is good for you.”
Gail means well. I know she does. And she’s right. I enjoy the structure. At least I did. Before the messages.
I’m out by nine. Mostly washed. Mostly fed. Don’t need to be awake for my job. Well, I do. It just feels like I don’t. I walk to the depot. Can’t drive. Don’t trust myself. Can’t trust others.
When I walk, I don’t look up. I don’t do people. People are… a mess of lines in my head. Eyes and mouths. Arms and boots. It makes crowds difficult. Dangerous.
There’s a school crossing person who sometimes waits. Helps me cross the road. Doesn’t say anything. I want to say thank you. After that, the fire station. Usually quiet. Like it’s sleeping. Or waiting. Does it stop fires, or watch them?
Leaves piled against walls. Red and orange. Want to kick them. Want to stay away. Wind moves a few in front of me. I close my eyes.
The depot. Noise. Shouts.
“Tommy!”
Vans. My cart is where I le it. No notes on it today.
I put my hood up. Check the brushes. Put my hands on the rail and push. My route is the same. Gail made sure of that. Knows I don’t like change. They think I need to be looked after. The job is good. The structure is good.
I push the cart. The exercise has helped. First day I almost puked. Second day, I did. It’s now day seventy-one. I don’t even breathe hard.
Takes five minutes to reach the start. Then my muscle memory kicks in. Sometimes, I ‘wake up’ and I’m on my way back to the depot. Never had a complaint.
I leave the park till last. It’s not really a park. It’s the site of a friary. It’s not there now. There’s a plaque which talks about it.
It’s a good place to rest. Few people come through. There’s a bench I can sit on and listen to the birds. They drown out everything. This is where I get the messages. Not every day. But most days.
It started when the leaves fell. I didn’t see the patterns at first. Didn’t understand.
I’ve not told anyone. The others know I can’t. That’s why they’re sending them to me.
Tommy ‘no-friends’.
I sit down. The birds are quieter. Gravelled areas define the friary rooms. Sometimes, I walk on the bricks between them. I imagine past conversations. Disagreements. Arguments. I try to forget.
Today, I stay on the bench.
A person walks through with their dog. It sniffs the cart. It sniffs me before they pull it away. I’m aware of them leaving.
Grey clouds parted. Dull sunshine limped through. I wait.
My phone buzzes. It ‘wakes’ me up. Time has moved on. Not dark. But soon.
The phone screen reads ‘Tommy Alarm’. Gail must have set it. I snooze it.
I look up. They have been. Things are different. The leaves make a message – an answer.
What was it I asked?
The phone buzzes again. Gail is calling.
“Hello?”
“Where are you, Tommy?”
“Nowhere.”
“The depot called. You didn’t return.”
“I was going to.”
“I know. But you didn’t. I told them you were here, instead. I told them you still had your cart. Do you still have your cart?”
I checked.
“I do.”
“Good. Let me know where you are, and I’ll come and find you.”
“I’m on my way home.”
“What road?”
“One of the hills. Not far.”
“All right. If you’re not back in ten, I’m coming to find you.”
“I’ll be there.”
I hung up. Put the phone on silent. Le it on the bench.
I paced to the leaves. Was careful not to touch them. What had I asked?
I saw the answer. The answer was very clear. It made me afraid.
The others don’t think like us. They don’t understand us. I’m not sure they want to.
The patterns were complex, at first. They’d taken time to understand. Over time, I began to picture questions in my head, and they answered. Always answered.
But what had I asked today?
The birds were silent. The thin layer of woods around me was silent. Thought I knew what I had wanted. Now, not so sure.
I had to leave. I turned and ran along the path. It sloped up and away from the friary, towards the road.
Now I was breathing heavy. The sky was dark. I was in danger.
A few more steps and I’d be free. Felt like the trees around me were leaning in.
At the mouth of the park the light shone down. It was bright. So bright. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t. I was surrounded in beams.
I couldn’t go back to the park, to the message. Their answer frightened me.
I heard footsteps. I knew the footsteps.
“Stop, Tommy!”
“I can’t. They have me.”
“Stop!”
I saw Gail illuminated. Her eyes, her mouth, her arms reaching for me. Gail who was not a mess of lines. She wanted to help. But I wasn’t going to let her.
The light shone down. I looked up. Gail screamed.
Copyright Simon Birks.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means (except for short extracts for review purposes) without the express permission of Simon Birks.
All names, characters, events, and locales in this publication, except for historical purposes, are entirely fictional. Artworks, images, and character likenesses herein are copyright Simon Birks.
First Edition: April 2024