Reflection

One.
It was five in the morning.

It had felt like five in the morning for far too long.

He was not yet aware of the crack in his living.

Tomas Klaassens had taken to his bed early the previous evening for a precise reason, that he should allow himself the opportunity for a more than reasonable nights sleep. However as he stared up at the plain ceiling he wished that he hadn’t. He lay uncomfortably and thought that he had probably suffered one of the worst nights sleep that he could remember.
It comes to many this most awkward of afflictions. Sleep is the lifeblood of living. His work at the Western street office had been nothing short of hectic recently. Insurance had definitely become more of a cut throat business during the six years he had suffered being part of it. Offices had sprung up all over the place and now there were hundreds of clerks all frantically scrambling for what little scraps there were on offer. He had been under great pressure from the regional head to triple the amount of policies that he logged every month. This had left him working every hour possible just so that he could make the new average and thus save his job, which he felt by now was under constant threat. The worry and stress of such an advance in the average had already done for several of the more established workers at the office. There had been a large cull some weeks ago. Gregor Littenkov, the senior office clerk, had asked for anyone who did not think that they could possibly meet the new targets to hand in their notice while they still had the opportunity to go with dignity, rather than wait till the end of the month and find that their desks had been cleared for them.

It was a sad sight as two of the eldest clerks struggled to their feet. Henk polous and Frank Arnst collected together the little that they had gathered on their desks over the past twenty years, the office was deadly silent. As they left they scuffed their worn shoes into the thin carpet as if this last protest might bring something to their salvation, but it did not.
The two weeks that followed the departure of these two saw policies rise by forty percent and so Gregor Littenkov had regularly paced the main floor of the office looking very pleased with himself.
Tomas felt sure that he had done enough to cope with the enforced increase. Although he did not particularly like the work that he did, he felt it too impersonal, too deceitful, he was actually quite good at it. He had been lucky enough that when he first started at the office another clerk by the name of Jan Giesseman had taken it upon himself to show the ropes and this had more than stood him in good stead. He and Jan had become friendly and a decent friendship had grown between the two. Jan was some four years older, and it was more than possible that he had taken pity on this young fresh faced boy straight out of schooling and dumped into his first job. However over the past six years they had built quite a bond and it was possible to say that the two were as close as they had been to any other. They had also built quite a formidable team between them. They had long since promised to help one another out. They had arranged their desks so that they backed onto each other and this enabled them to work together so that they could maximise their abilities in order to keep ahead of the competition. However this latest rise in their targets had stretched even them. They had been forced to spend great lengths of time trawling the streets. They had even been forced to stop people in the streets and attempt to persuade them that they needed insurance as a matter of greatest need, their lives dependent on it.
This had left Tomas feeling very uneasy. He had never thought that he would be forced to stoop to such a level. The look on the faces of the ordinary people who he accosted as they went about their daily lives sent great pangs of depression through him. He felt that he had lowered himself beyond a level that is acceptable. Jan on the other hand seemed to revel in the experience. He skipped and threw his arms in the air as he darted from one side of the street to the other. If the truth is to be known he pulled Tomas through this last month. His exuberance on the streets had more than covered Tomas’ poor efforts. He however didn’t feel to greatly indebted to his friend because only the previous month he had covered for Jan when he had failed to show for work three days consecutively. He had lied so very commendably when Gregor Littenkov had noticed that he was absent, telling his senior clerk that Jan had been called South to mediate on a highly sensitive policy. Gregor Littenkov at first had seemed not to fully believe what he said, however when it was mentioned that it would most probably pull in several lucrative policies, he soon became happy at Jan’s non appearance. This did however provide him with further problems because it now meant that he had to somehow produce such policies in the coming weeks so as not to cause greater suspicion. However as always when Jan did finally return to work the two of them pulled out all the stops and more than covered themselves.

So these past months had proven to be so very tough and Tomas felt completely drained of his energies.

And the crack seeped ever more.

As he tossed and turned within his small wooden bed he felt that his mind was far to active. It swam with all the noise of his work. He felt as though he was still rushing around the office, copying and sending papers, phoning clients potential and real, scanning through rows and rows of fine print trying to find clauses that might gain further profit. Once again looking over at the clock that sat upon his bedside table he waited for his eyes to focus fully,

Five!

How could it still be five o’clock.
His mouth filled with an awful taste. His lips were dried and ripped at the corners, his heavy tongue poked at them. Resting his head back upon the pillow he once again stared up at the ceiling. His room was still dark, the light had been fading for a few weeks now although he had not noticed it. Autumn was now here, it had been a long summer and he thought to himself that he should be thankful that those torturous days spent in the oven that is his office are over for now at least. He was sure that even circus animals were not subjected to such a hostile atmosphere as he and the other workers were. The small window to the right of his bed was covered by the thick curtains that had hung there ever since he had taken the room. He hadn’t much liked them when he had first seen them but he had little inclination to take them down or change them. They performed a function and although he was not happy with them ascetically he worried not about them since.
The lady who let him the room, Mrs. Alberts had offered to change them and as far as he could remember he had taken her up on that offer, yet she had not done so to this point. The rest of the room was simple and much too his liking. He had taken the room some five years previously before which he had lived with his mother and father in the house which he grew up in. However his father had grown quite ill and after a short spell in which he was bedridden he died, this had an adverse effect on his mother who had take to nursing for him in his final weeks. She struggled on for a week and then suddenly she too died, the doctors saying that her heart simply gave out probably because of the fact that she no longer saw that she had a role or a duty to continue. He had taken the shock of his parents death quite well. He had seemed happy that they both went near enough at the same time and that they would be happy at that notion. He did however decide that it would be right to sell the house and move somewhere smaller and more suitable to his needs.
Once again he rolled over and stared at the clock. The time didn’t seem to have moved on at all. He thought about stretching his arm out from the warmth of his thick covers and shaking the damned clock, thinking now that it might have been broken. Focusing again he saw the impossibly thin seconds hand move. His head felt uncomfortable upon the pillow. It felt as though something static was pricking him. Sitting up he brushed at the worst effected areas and felt sure that he was not going to be able to fall asleep. He once again thought of Henk Polous and Frank Arnst, it would be unlikely that they were suffering from the same torment as him. They were most probably by now enjoying their retirement. Lounging in a warm chair, reading a worn leather bound book about some past war or failed campaign no doubt. It was true to say that he had not known the two men well at all, however on the odd occasion that he had spoken to either of them he got the impression that insurance had taken its toll on them and that they had indeed been ready for the company of retirement long ago.

Henk Polous, a white haired mouse of a man, had once caught him sneaking a look at one of his contact sheets, something which Jan had taught him to be a very potent tool in the insurance business. Tomas froze as the old man stood over him, his hands still continuing to riffle through the papers on his desk. However instead of barracking him for such underhand behaviour he merely took his seat and began to tell of such endeavours when he was a young man. It was out of courtesy for the old man not reporting his acts that Tomas stood a while and listened to what he had to say. Now as he lay back in his bed he thought of the old mans words and how they had made him feel sorry for him. He had been in insurance for thirty five years and he said that it had changed a great deal. That in the beginning it was noble occupation, that people waved to him in the street and asked after his health. Now he had said that it was a bloodthirsty business, in which everyone was out for themselves. That we would sell anyone any policy as long as it brought a reward for ourselves and that we did not care how it effected anyone else. Tomas had often thought that this was a fair assessment of the work that they did in the office. He was under no illusion that their work was at all dignified. The only dignity that it provided was that it fulfilled their role in society. They worked so that they might pay their taxes and contribute adequately to the social machine. He was comfortable with this justification that he had settled on, he could walk the streets and meet anyone’s gaze and feel that if they stopped him and quickly asked him to justify his position he could do without hesitation. He felt that they worked hard for the money that they earned and thought it was by no stretch of the imagination a fortune it did allow him to live comfortably and this comfort was featured by the notions that they were just in their ultimate working actions.

This is why the crack began to appear.

Opening his eyes with a start Tomas felt the heaviness of his head. It thumped as if his heart was about to beat its last. The weekend had not even started for real yet and he was already doubting whether it could be salvaged. The thick weave of his bed sheet rubbed harshly against the tops of his shoulders. How could he enjoy what he had expected to be such a pleasantly relaxing weekend after such a terrible start. There was a tired silence that hung all around the room, his eyes struggled in the poor light. A solitary un-regimented ticking sound shocked him at ever moment when he least expected it. Once again he thought of turning towards the infernal clock. He was again filled with ideas of taking it in his hand and throwing it against the wall. This would be a sweet end to his suffering he believed. Seeing its inner workings broken and bent against the foot of the wall. He allowed a smile momentarily to rise on his lips.
　

Two.Allowing his feet to fall gently onto the rough surface of the wooden floor he tossed aside the remainder of the bed sheet that still clung to his side. As he rose he felt quite strong despite the lack of comfortable sleep. The morning light had only just risen also. He stepped away from the small bed and reached out to the dark curtains that protected him from the outside. A thin layer of dust sprang away as he pulled them apart. Outside the street was empty. He was not surprised, who else would be up at such a time, especially on a Saturday. He stood in front of the window and allowed his eyes to gaze out on their own. The wind had not yet seen fit to join the morning in waking and so everything seemed very still. As he watch the inactivity he held his breath and attempted to listen to any movement that might produce sound within the rest of the house.
He was accustomed to being awoken by the sounds of his landlady Mrs. Alberts early most mornings. She would generally go about her early morning duties with a vigour that belied her advanced age and although he admired her for such an attitude, he did feel that she went about it in such a way as to make it known to all exactly what she did. He listened but no sound was made. Shaking his head he again reiterated to himself that such a poor night he had not suffered before, he was even up before Mrs. Alberts!
Taking hold of the handle he pushed hard and opened the window. He felt little point in listening even further. Water dripped from a tap from the tiny sink that sat in the corner. Moving over towards it he placed his hand on the tap and turned it. The water gushed out after a momentary pause. He allowed the sink to fill until it was nearly full. Plunging his hands into the warm water he threw it over his face. It felt nice as the droplets fell around him. Again he threw the water, this time he let it cover his entire head. Running his fingers through his hair he breathed the damp air and felt his eyes straining to once again open. Removing his night shirt he took a flannel and at first allowing it to float on top of the water he plunged it underneath and then began to run it over his chest, he felt himself awakening as he did so. As he washed he realised that it had been a fair time since he had indulged in such a comfortable act. He was far more accustomed to simply performing such acts as necessity, as part of structure that had to be fulfilled. He again let the flannel sit upon the top of the water, which had now begun to turn dark in colour. Droplets of water hung in front of his eyes from his hair. They were coloured a deep white, he allowed a couple to drop onto his nose, then shaking his head quickly they shoot around in all directions.
Once again taking the flannel he again ran it over his chest and arms. The warmth of the water seemed to draw the tiredness from his body. Looking down he noticed that his bottoms were wet through. Reaching across he took a towel and dried his hair.

Having changed from his damp bottoms he again turned back to the sink. He ran his finger across the drying bowl, a line of sediment built and he blew it towards the floor. Soaping his face he relaxed as the worn bristles swamped his checks. He cleanly took his razor and attentively shaved. As he washed the last of the foam from his face he turned and checked his reflection from the large full length mirror that sat opposite. This mirror had been his mothers and was the single piece that once belonged to his parents that he now owned. It was ornately decorated, with deep carvings along the wooden edges. It was such a big item that he had taken a full afternoon just simply brining it from the street to his room. He had managed to do so all on his own because he had politely refused any help offered. He had felt that he would feel greater if he could manage to do it himself and so it had proved. To some it might have seemed some what grandiose for his small room. However he liked the connection with his past, but saying that now as his eyes moved across it he began to think that his thoughts towards it were not all that correct. He began to realise that maybe it was not such a practical piece after all. He failed to think of a single time when he had actually used it as it was intended. For sure it had proven an able clothes horse. But he never took the time to stand in front of it and asses the image that he presents. Almost automatically he stepped over to the corner of the room. Lifting the several shirts and pairs of trousers that slopped over the edge of the mirror he dropped them onto the unmade bed behind. The gaining sunlight darted across its face. Around the inner edge of the mirror several rusty brown and orange patches had become embedded. Reaching forward he picked at the wooden surround, he felt immediately disappointed at the role the metal tacks had had on the degeneration of the mirror. Some of the dark rust came away as he touched it. It bedded under his nails.
The notion of his mother’s disappointment filled him. Reaching for the flannel he wiped away at the mirror. As he did he caught his own hanging reflection. Now a reflection is a strange thing. It is so very often that one see his own image and all at once disassociates it with his own self. For example dismissing what is in front as merely portrayed in bad light or perhaps disturbed by ones own angle of viewing. However as the lines of moisture thinned upon the glass he held his gaze. For the first time he felt a sense of great pleasure at viewing his own image. Stepping to the side he moved directly in front of the mirror. His entire room was now framed all around him. The light from the window flashed across the cold glass and for a moment he was completely lost.

We’re jumping through the cracks all the time!

Suddenly he lost his bearings. At first, for a minute or two he simply rejected any thoughts that tried to enter his mind. He believed it to be merely a trick of the light or his imagination highlighting the fact that he was very much still tired. However as much as he tried to move away or dismiss what he saw he very much remained stood in front of the mirror.
But then again. There it was!
He felt his breath catch and beat against his neck. His hands throbbed. His eyes grew wide, far beyond there normal capacity!
Something unexplainable had occurred!
He had at first not noticed any difference between what he had always thought as his own image and that which he saw in the mirror. However as he stood and stared at his reflection he bore witness to something horrific! He felt sweat pour from him.
He felt his stomach boil and contort. The images became quick, they flashed and shone at him for what seemed like a great age. Exactly half of him wanted to turn away and disregard what he saw, the other wished to remain and find the defining points that separated the reflection from his own self in order to exactly prove no link existed. However the more he looked the worse the images grew and as he did the more certain that it was him. That this image was his own reflection. He felt his arms move from his sides, they flailed about attempting to break it all.

The screams that filled the entire house he had not even come to realise were his own, however suddenly he turned to see Mrs. Alberts and one of the other lodgers standing burnt faced just opposite, having barged his door wide open. He felt unable to speak. He could see that they were very distressed, however he had completely lost himself.
Without turning his head back to the mirror he felt for the bed sheet, pulling it from the bed he placed it over the mirror. The words that he offered in his defence he knew were accepted very suspiciously. The face of Mrs. Alberts allowed for very little sympathy. What is the meaning of this?’ these words, barked with false care, rattled from her unkempt face.
‘What in Gods name has got you shouting the entire house down like this at such an hour?’ he spoke in such a tone that it seemed as if she was intent on alerting all and any to the incidents that were occurring.
The torment of what he had seen blew him to pieces. The light from the day seemed to disappear instantly. He again heard Mrs. Alberts loudly chastising him. ‘This is not what I would expect in my house! If my husband was still alive… well I tell you this sort of thing would not be tolerated!’ He felt little need in replying to any of the things that she said. He could see from her failing stance that soon she would accept it as all being to much for her and so return to her room to recover. He also couldn’t find the words inside of him to be able to stand and argue his case. For he was not at all sure how he could explain what had happened. Instead he simply pulled the small wooden chair from under his desk and sat down. He waited silently as they gradually gave up their inquiring and finally left him alone and when he was he returned to his small basin and threw up all that was contained in his stomach.
　

Three.Its gonna knock you round the face, its gonna break your stance!

Its gonna get you! Better recognise it soon!

The warm glowing sun was a grateful companion as he walked slowly along the banks of the river. It had been some three hours since the incident in his room and he had thought of nothing else. Once again he lifted his head out of the neck of his thick woollen coat and breathed in a large amount of the air around him. A thin layer of mist hung low over the water and occasionally he stopped to look out over it. When he had left his room he had done so with the intention of going about his day as he had previously planned. However now that he was out, he could not truly commit to those plans with all that had happened.
He was planning to catch the tram to the lake and spend the day relaxing in the old shack owned by Brendan Ashivsky. This little shack was the perfect place to waste away the hours on a warm Saturday. He had known Brendan Ashivsky for some months now. It had been during a new policy finding trip that Jan and he had stumbled upon this little run down shack. They had been travelling far and wide trying to gain new clients, when tired one evening, they pulled in on the off chance of some rest. At first they had believed the place to be run down and deserted however on closer inspection they came upon Brendan Ashivsky who immediately offered them food and a place to stay, an invitation they took up and stayed for four days. He now saw this shack as the perfect idyll. All of a sudden he was desperate to get out of the city.
Wondering painfully he was drunk on this image. It seemed to him like such a great life, to be so free, spending days fishing on your own boat, living just for your own means. Not chasing and demanding all the time like everyone else. Checking his watch he noticed that it was still very early for a Saturday. He could not possibly turn up at the shack at this time. Although Brendan Ashivsky would most probably be up, he very seldom seemed to sleep, it wouldn’t be appropriate to simply arrive at such an hour unannounced. He already knew that the tram did not leave until half past ten at the earliest. Passing by a newsstand he felt obliged to purchase a paper. He traded pleasantries with the seller, both of them shared a glazed stare momentarily acknowledging the earliness of their encounter. Then tucking the paper under his arm continued on his way. Ahead of him a few birds fought over scraps that had been dropped and to his left some debris struggled along the calm flowing river.

An ease filled the morning air. This time of day held grace. A grace that was all too quickly forgotten the greater the time past and the greater the numbers polluted the streets. Taking a heavy breath, that filled his lungs above their capacity, he walked slowly across the grainy path towards a bench opposite, trying to subdue the coughing as his over filled lungs struggled.
Time passed by with him sat pinned to the far end of this bench. The paper lay next to him, but as yet he still did not want to read it. The day had started to grow into itself. Although still adolescent it was beginning to show signs of maturity. The sun had risen above the large trees that lined the opposite bank of the river. It seemed to herald the awakening of the rest of the city. Soon the roads began to flow with vehicles and the pavements trickled with rushing bodies. Today he felt very unattractive. He pulled hard at his clothes, trying to hide away. Nothing seemed real to him. He had been conscious of this feeling ever since he had stepped out. His gaze watered about ahead of him. Nothing was really filtering into him. The images he had seen still fought for supremacy deep within.

What is living? The crack was becoming to large to hide.

For a second he thought about pulling out the carpet. Reaching down and ripping the pavement from under his feet, just dragging it all down, destroying the river, is it even real!
What’s going on?
Looking up he thought about it all as a game. I could be a puppet, played by strings!

After sometime, he was not sure how long it was, he realised that he was no longer alone on the bench. From the corner of his eye he saw that a young girl had sat down. Instinctively he reached down and moved his paper. He was shocked at himself that he had not done so when she had first sat down. ‘I’m so sorry!’ he offered in the girls direction quickly throwing the paper to the floor. The girl offered a pleasant smile of acknowledgement and rocked the bundle of blankets in her arms. Looking closer he stared into the bundle and saw the gentle round face of a small baby. Once again he smiled but this time to himself.

Leave the carpet alone! He thought, for now.

Leaning back he stretched a little awkwardly against the metal backrest. He was surprised by the age of this girl. She was very young, or at least appeared to be so. He felt a little uneasy. Not merely because she had a baby but more because of the fact that it wasn’t right for a young man to enquire about the health of young mothers and their child, no matter how much he wished to do so. He found himself sitting proudly there with them on the same bench, however. It seemed odd but it made him feel more of a person. More part of the accepted. He thought of what the people who passed by might think. They might think he was a decent young man. Someone who did not mind sharing a bench with a young mother. A very young mother. He straightened his shirt and jacket and picked up the paper. Folding its large pages in two he began to read the headline articles.
He knew now that something was in him. It could be in everyone he tried to reassure, without much success.
His attention however was only half on this. The girl was crying. Hesitating a moment, he glanced at the passers by. ‘Is everything alright?’ he timidly asked, paper semi wavering, under instruction to return to its defensive position if this enquiry turned sour.
‘I’m sorry.’ the girl sniffled pulling at the blankets around the baby’s head. Relived at a growing sense of trust, or at least an air of respect, he half turned his body towards the centre of the bench and offered further ‘Can I help you with anything? Is there someone who I can get for you?’
‘No thank you.’ she replied politely but still the tears rolled steadily down her checks. ‘Everything’s already too late!’ biting her lip hard the words pushed their way rudely onto the seat. Filled with a dreadful sense of pity Tomas edged closer. His real want was too hug the girl. To help her overcome whatever it was that had gotten her so upset. ‘I’m sure whatever it is isn’t really all that bad, if you look at it in the light of day.’ his words ran away as soon as they left his mouth but as they did so wished that he hadn’t. ‘Its probably easy to say that when you have no real troubles of your own!’ the girl strongly rebuked.

He could feel himself sinking.
Pull the carpet up! Prove this all to be nonsense!

‘Look you have a lovely little child, that must offer hope’
He could hear his own words circling around dumbly. He was suddenly aware of his stupidity, he hardly knew anything! The world was not real to him. For sure he could sell policies, he’d proven that, but out here he was stunted! ‘I’m sorry.’ he once again offered. Shuffling uncomfortably he felt out of his depth. He felt capable of offering help but it would seem that various barriers, invisible to his understanding, sat between his reasoning and the general accepted truths.
‘Life’s probably very straight for you. Life’s not so easy for others!’ the girl said between sobs. ‘True indeed’ he agreed ‘I’m sure to many my life is good, but there are always problems, for any of us.’
‘Problems.’ she scoffed. The bench felt like a lonely place, yet it seemed to fit in with the changing in his knowing.
‘Granted one persons problems may seem inconsequential if, say, they were too all be stacked up together.’ he added further.
‘Don’t!’ the girl interrupted, her face now reddened by her agitated state. Pulling at the collar of his shirt he felt a prickling heat spread across his shoulders and over his chest. He knew instinctively without looking that his heat rash would soon be rising up his neck. ‘Ok.’ He offered quietly. He felt now that he should leave. Allow this girl some peace. Perhaps once he had gone she would calm down. Leaning forward he brushed at bottom of his trousers, knocking off the dust that had gathered as he walked earlier.
‘Do you know the time?’ the girl asked through a break in her tears.
Seeing a slight chance of redemption Tomas turned back attentively. ‘Yes, of course.’ he said pulling up the sleeve of his jacket. However in the rush of leaving his room that morning he must have forgotten to wined his watch. Shaking it instinctively he vainly attempted to make it work. ‘It should be over soon.’ she replied touching at her hair. ‘what should?’
‘The funeral.’

The wind got up. It was one of those sudden huge gusts that catches everyone by surprise. To Tomas it was as if the wind was the embodiment of the terror that had shot through him. It had whipped from behind, like a gang of cajoling school boys, bursting with over exuberance not yet knowing the levels of their own growing strength. In a vain attempt he tried to pin down the paper but it was no good the wind dragged it off across the path towards the river. His spring from the bench was hardly instant, in actual fact it was quite slow. As soon as the paper had hit the air he knew where it was headed. His move was powered however by the unease he felt. He did not turn back towards the girl. He really felt that he could not. Gingerly he made his way down the bank to the waters edge. Bending over he saw his reflection in the water. The surface was uneven and it contorted it a little. He saw his tired brow, muddied by the tone of the water. He brushed at his hair and picked at his teeth with his tongue. The remainder of the paper slowly sunk away. Quickly he reached out, but in vain. The cold water froze his fingertips on touch and he recoiled straightaway. This disturbed the top of the water and almost as suddenly as his hand began to warm the rest of his body chilled. The paper was only visible for a few seconds longer then it disappeared. His calves cramped as he stayed crouched, the very toes of his shoes getting wet. He blinked momentarily and then there again it was! His image, but not his image! Him but not him! In the dark water in front of him he once again saw the vicious images that had come to him in his room. This time he felt his body freeze. The first time this morning when he had witnessed it his natural reaction was to rage against it. To try and deny its existence. However this time his body would not move away. It was as if this second sighting confirmed what he wanted to deny before, that what he saw was him! Tears dropped from his nose and spotted into the water. His mind convulsed with every slash and puncture that radiated from what was displayed. Quickly scrambling back up the bank he plunged his hands deep inside his pockets. A fear of their capabilities ran through him. His feet raced along the pavement and he held his head low. He felt as if he would never be able to look anyone in the eye. He felt ashamed.

Some time later he found himself seated in a small café. He had wanted to sit outside, but felt exposed. Instead he took a tiny seat by the back wall. To one side the sunroom was not yet open, it sat cold, yet it still seemed welcoming. The glass wall was dirty, some mould had seeped into the joins.
Keep playing the game! The crack was sore and exposed. Play on!
He had ordered a coffee and sat nursing it, it was still some time before he could catch the tram. He tried to look through the papers but found little to occupy him. During the time he was there several men came and went, they were all drifting to work. They were the sort of men who had to work at weekends. He felt guilty sitting with them. He could feel them gazing unflatteringly towards him. Judging by their thick trousers and heavy boots they were builders and labourers. He thought of their family’s at home, spending hot Saturdays abandoned by their fathers. Why was everything like this, why were certain things set out to deprive some. Here he was alone, free, unburdened, surely he should be working weekends, saving these guys from the torment. At one point one of them actually came and cleared his empty cup, he most probably knew the owner well and often did this sort of thing, however Tomas felt even worse by it. ‘How’s your family?’ he spluttered to break the unease of master and servant he was feeling. The man looked at him oddly for a second, it was obvious he was searching his memory to see if the two knew one another. ‘Fine’ he said moving back towards the counter. ‘It’s ok, we don’t know each other’ Tomas tried to explain. ‘You want another coffee?’ he said leaning to place the cup in the sink. ‘Yes, why not, the weathers fine and I’m off to the lake’ the words trickled from his lips like gold from a kings pocket before he could realise what an insensitive thing it was to say. The workman turned his back to him and told the café owner of his order. He sat huddled in his own shell of stupidity. When the coffee came he drank it quickly and left, leaving an overly large tip.

After leaving the café he walked for a little bit. He couldn’t believe how early it still was. It felt as if he had done so much already. He walked through some of the small back streets. All the shops were opening, the pavements were becoming filled with goods and trinkets. He wanted to get a gift for Brendan Ashivsky, something to show his gratitude but nothing really seemed appropriate. He stood at a few stalls and looked politely, yet felt compelled to hurry along as soon as the owners showed him any attention. Moving from one market area he turned down a long street. Ahead a grouping of people stood half in a building and half in the street. As he got closer he noticed they were all dressed in black. Apart from the crowd a tall man stood smoking a pitiful cigarette. His suit looked worn and over used, which struck him as odd.
‘What‘s going on?’ he asked stopping by him. ‘A funeral obviously!’ the man said between drags. ‘Of course, sorry’ apologising had become his trait today.
‘Another poor young sod hounded to death!’ the man said after some time. ‘Sorry!’ the heat was growing and Tomas thought they must all be feeling tired in their suits. He stood awkwardly on the curb, almost as if he was looking after the man. ‘Sorry indeed!’ the man said from the last cloud of smoke. ‘How many more are to be dragged down by such bloody stupid pointless things!’
A few more people had left the building and were huddled together, they looked as if they didn’t know what to do next. Tomas noticed an order of service sticking out of the man’s pocket. ‘What’s happened to him?’ he said half nodding towards it. ‘The bloody money got him! Like its gonna get all of us!’
‘Money?’ Tomas said hesitantly.
‘Some swine of an insurance company got him paying to the hilt for some half baked policy!’ Tomas felt the heat rash grab hold of his stomach. He wanted to be sick. ‘Insurance?’ he mumbled.
‘I tell you I’d bloody love to get my hands on those bastard’s who killed that boy!’
‘How did he…?’ he stumbled.
‘He jumped in front of a train!’ Looking at the anger in the man’s face he had little explanation. He felt pathetic. Some more people came out and the man left to join them. Turning his back he wanted to get away from them. He didn’t wish to see the coffin. As he did he noticed the waif like figure of the girl. She was stood facing the building, baby in her arms.

He spat at his own timeline.


Four. Brendan Ashivsky’s shack sat on the south side of the lake. The mattresses that lay on the floor seldom offered a decent nights sleep, it was mainly dependent upon the sleeper having consumed enough alcohol previous to induce a near comatose state, to achieve such luxury. Tomas had not given much thought to sleeping. His mind very much felt in a whirl. He hadn’t even given much thought to drinking. His stomach still felt unwell. It oozed with bubbling sounds. The air around the lake was hostile. He had thought that it would prove cooling however it seemed that a storm was on its way and that much of the troubled air was being dragged up from the shores of the lake.
Brendan Ashivsky had as always been happy to see him. The two had gone straight out in his little boat to catch fish for dinner almost as soon as he had arrived. And when they had got back Jan too had come up from the city. The three of them sat on the edge of the decking that ran along the side of the shack and ate. Tomas picking at his and making excuses about the heat and lacking an appetite. The three proved a very solid little group as always. It was however as it grew late and the wind began to twirl small bunches of sand that Tomas felt alone from the others. They drank and laughed, enjoying the simple nature of the evening. Yet his mind was very much still caught upon all that had happened.
He hated it all! The ideas popped and burst inside him. What had he been doing all this time, what was he!

Crack, crack, crack!

The sand around the lake was of a poor quality. It was mixed with stones and debris and everywhere seemed to be covered with green algae. This made laying by the waters edge uncomfortable. Having woken much earlier than the others Tomas walked the edge of the lake. The storm had yet to materialise. You could feel it in the air though. He wished to be free like his two friends. Free to enjoy the weekend, free to accept things as they were. But the knot in his stomach would not allow it. The knot in his head he dare not attempt to challenge openly. Turning back towards the shack he saw slow waves of smoke climbing into the morning sky. Kicking at the sand and pebbles around him he cleared a little space and laid out his shirt. He settled down and laid staring up at the sky. The clouds were certainly gathering. He felt his eyes slip shut. He felt a wave of relaxation. It was true he needed some sleep. He knew this and as the air ran over his bare chest he slipped off, still thinking of his two friends in the shack and the breakfast that they would be cooking. He very quickly began to dream. However he felt trapped within this dream.
Imprisoned! The dream sucked the air from his body. Do you have to be like everybody else. There must be routes of change, identity.

Crack! He slipped under a heavy weight!

Crack! He was pinned to the city, the job, the nothingness!

Crack! Life was cracked!


‘Are you ok?’ floating in the sun before him a beautiful round faced girl stood. ‘Did I scare you?’ her shoulders shimmered in the blue of the sky. The storm must have moved over again, because the sun was shinning brightly. Feeling at his forehead he guest he must have been asleep for some time. The skin felt tight, like it was burnt.
‘I was just sleeping, that’s all’ he said sitting up. He felt the thick sweat deep within his pores.
‘I saw you from over there, I didn’t want to disturb you, its just I didn’t know if you were ok or not!’ she buried her toes coyly into the sand. ‘Silly really!’
‘No not all, thank you’ he said rubbing at his hair ‘that’s very kind of you’
‘Your staying at that shack aren’t you?’ she said as he got to his feet.
‘Yes a friend of mine invited me down’
‘It looks pretty shabby!’
‘Its basic I suppose, but it does us.’
There was a quiet pause, both smitten by the air attraction.
‘Your from the city then?’ her blossoming lips said.
‘Yes, just down for a couple of days.’
‘Horrible place!’
‘Hey?’
‘The city I hate it!’

Crack, crack, crack!

The two walked around the lake until they reached the shack. Tomas offered her a drink but she declined. He got the feeling she didn’t trust anything that came out of the place. They stood out the front and stared back at the lake. Brendan came rushing out with a frying pan, it was spitting flames. He dumped in into the dirt and stamped waves of muck onto it until it died down. The three of them laughed, the girl more nervously then them. Brendan announced that they were having a party that evening and invited her along. She said she would think about it, once more peering worryingly at the shack. She left soon after that and Tomas sat out on the decking.
Maybe all life is viewed from within a crack?
This place was less suffocating then the city. The movement of the water and the air so much more natural. A little later on he greedily drank two beers and stretched his neck, craning it out into the open. It was as if he wanted to join the great openness, become free amongst it. The other two clattered about inside. He could hear them cooing at one another, building their hopes for the party later on. The talk was of the girls, it flirted between the vague and the obscene. Through it all he sat and gazed out into the distance. He watched a boat meandering out. How nice it would be to have a boat of his own, he thought. How freeing. The more he sat and the more he saw, the greater his desire to break free from the constraints of his life grew. Growing up always consisted of becoming some form of tool. It had lost its idea of proper growth. Why was it so important to work in a place like he did. He didn’t really enjoy any of the trappings it brought. It was like a fisherman going out day after day even though he hated fish, he doubted that would happen. He tossed the cap from the bottle in the air. It span glinting in the sun.
‘Its just a job!’ Some time after the others joined him. Their attempts to pretty the shack had dragged too much boredom into the growing excitement. The three of them sat drinking in the uncomplicated sun.
‘Can you say that, just a job. I’m still a person, I think, act, move, I can’t hide behind facile statements!’ Tomas had let his thinking become freed by the alcohol.
‘It’s simple, we need money, you have to have it to exist!’ Jan, spitting with the same drunken sunrise sat opposite, his face made blank by alcohol, drifting slowly in his direction.
‘Rubbish!’ Tomas exploded. ‘We don’t need anything, its just layers of rubbish!’
‘Is that true!’ Leaning hard Jan made the trellis that ran around the decking sway back and forth.
‘Yes!’ Tomas said with force.
‘Nonsense!’ Jan spat back, rocking the trellis even more. The argument spat along for some time until the first crate of beer was finished.
Your desperate to be! But afraid to stand for it!
You can’t handle it little boy!
‘What do you know of capabilities?’
Lost between the two sides of the crack.
‘What are we capable of?’ his mind was spinning, the images flowed, they dragged him under, swamping his grip. ‘We’re just a mix of chemicals, all bundled up together after all!’
‘Its hardly all bundled together!’ Brendan sat further along the decking, his body almost completely turned away. ‘You might be doing the human race a disservice!’ His feet rested against the solid hand rail only every now and again entering into the discussion.
‘Well am I?’ Tomas galloped further, swigging his beer. ‘Things are out of our span! Some things must be uncontrollable, don’t you think?’
‘How so?’ Brendan lazily asked, his voice tinged with mischief.
‘I don’t know! But they must be, cos I’ve seen things that don’t relate to my nature! Things must grow, they must move without our knowing, without our willing! Do you not see!’
‘For sure I see!’ Brendan’s laughter bounded on down towards the water.
‘Who knows what we even are!’

Failed! Crack!

Resigned? Crack!

Lost! Crack!


Five.From within the crack the night dragged long into the distance.
Several more crates of beer were found and before long the girls arrived. The previous talk had hurried the night along at a slow pace and the new arrivals were a kind tonic. They all sat around a fire that Brendan had started on a patch of grass between the shack and the sand. Tomas sat opposite the girl he had met earlier. Her name was Stef, she wore a shawl that slipped off one shoulder. He wanted to get closer to her, she held his attention fully, her image dancing in the flames. She talked at length with Jan and the beer made him envious. There were three other girls, Julie, Maz and Tina. It was cosy by the fire, they all laughed and drank. Someone suggested a game of French cricket and they all struggled to their feet. During the game Tomas tried to hit Jan in the head. He wanted to make a fool of him. At this time he really disliked him. The game did give him a chance to get closer to Stef. They laughed in the bushes as they searched for the ball and he felt better. When the game was over he made sure that he was sitting close to her. As they talked he discovered that she drew pictures. He could tell this by the delicate way her hands gripped the glass. He shuffled closer and felt the cold in the air. Her legs stretched out embracing the heat from the fire. She wore slight black leggings that travelled teasingly towards her buttocks. He liked her a lot.
‘They make me draw such awful things!’ she said, her voice broken by a hiccup. ‘it’s really not fair! Posters for paint pots! Bags of raisins!’

She said that she had been through art school but now all the work she could get was drawing adverts for mundane everyday objects. She worked for indecent pay at Reflection the biggest and most powerful advertising agency there was. He could see the pain in her face.
‘I want to do something memorable! Something that will last forever!!
Ahhhh!!! What’s the bloody point!’ she screamed out.
Tomas shook his head and offered no answer. He was in awe of her, it was so rare that he actually met someone who fitted into the perfect little idle he had deep inside him. He couldn’t help developing drawn out fantasy’s about the two of them. He thought about being married, taking long contemplative walks, children!
The world is a long line! Its attached at both ends, we’re sliding one way then the other!
Dodging the cracks! Always so!
After some time the two were huddled together. Her hair half blinding him and with her sweet aroma drifting about he felt drawn to say something. ‘I think its perfect,’ he began ‘a free thinking man and a girl who paints, an artist’
At a point in the line an old man laid flowers on the grave of his lover!

‘Your free thinking are you?’ she said tilting her eyes towards him.
‘Yes. I hope , I try!’
‘Your friend said your in insurance! Hardly free thinking is it!’
He swallowed his drink hard, bastard! He thought.

Cracks everywhere!

Sitting in an old flatbed van that stood out the front, Brendan was in his element. To be truthful Tomas suspected he was so very desperate to get everybody up to his shack because he spent so much time here alone. He zipped about the place, making drinks, pulling faces, cajoling everybody into having a good time. The air was soon filled with fast loud music. Brendan hung out the drivers window hollering and chanting along. He was like a dynamo, desperate, afraid almost for anything to die. He honked the horn and rallied everybody together. They all stood and sang some songs, clinking bottles and hugging.
Along the line the old and the young are all lost!
Tomas was now separate from Stef. He had been blown down by what he saw as her belittling of him. He chatted plainly to Maz and Tina, they were pleasant enough but didn’t really hold his attention. They talked of other parties and holidays they had coming up. After a while he climbed into the van next to Brendan and the two sat watching everyone else through the front screen.
‘Still thinking?’ Brendan asked, his feet resting on the dashboard.
‘Always thinking mate!’
‘It’s good’
‘Is it?’
‘Someone’s gotta do it!’
Ahead the girls and Jan swayed slowly in the dark night.
‘I wish it wasn’t me?’ Tomas said.
‘No you don’t fella and you know why?’
‘Why?’
‘Cos it’s who you are! Without it you wouldn’t exist!’
At any point in the line he did!
Tomas half laughed and picked at the label on his bottle.
‘I envy you, you know’
‘Get off!’
‘I do, you don’t believe me but I do! Look at me, this is all I’ve got, its nothing really, it is what it is but its nothing!’
‘This place is great! What you talking about?’
‘Come on we all know its good old Brendan Ashivsky’s shack, lets all get down there and get loaded!’
Tomas felt uncomfortable. He didn’t trust his drunken mouth to speak coherently enough. ‘No its great!’ was all he offered.
‘You should be proud of what you are!’ reaching below the seat he pulled out another beer and popped the top. ‘You should let your thoughts lead you more often, they’ll see you right in the end!’
‘They’ll see me sacked more probably!’
‘It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, everybody could do with getting the sack, the place would be much better off!’
Everything seemed less chaotic inside the van, his head was spinning and he thought that maybe he had had enough to drink. ‘Been good hasn’t it’ he said covering the fact that he was feeling sick.
‘It Passes the time doesn’t it!’ Brendan took a final swig from his bottle and threw it out the window, it bounced a couple of times and disappeared into the darkness. They both listened far too long for a smashing sound that never came. He detected a sense of sadness. Glancing over he saw the deep lines stretching across Brendan’s face. In the half light he looked old, worn.
Off in the distance Stef and Tina were balancing on one leg pulling strange angular shapes.
‘You gonna nail that one, or what?’ Brendan asked, in that strange tone sometimes used between half friends.
‘Who knows’ he answered, not really wanting to enter into the conversation.
‘She seems a good type!’ Reaching forward he honked the horn several times and flashing the head lights he called out to her, ‘Hey you gonna give out to Tomboy tonight?’ seeing Tomas’ discomfort he grabbed him round the neck and patted his head.
‘Get in there son!’ he shouted.

Soon after Tomas got out the van and went to the toilet.
When he returned Brendan had driven the van straight into the side of the shack.

At a curve he knew the strength it took to survive!

The night descended into lunacy.
Life is lunacy!
Brendan driving the van into the side of the shack was the tipping point.
Knowing your on a thread stretching out eternally is also one!
Nobody was really sure if he had done it on purpose or not. However it seemed to bring about a strange craze in all of them. The far side of the shack was hanging perilously, it looked like it would give in at any second. The roof sloped mournfully sending heaps of moss tumbling to the ground. Brendan sat in the truck shaking his head. He then pulled a metal pole from the back and began to attack the frail shelter. At first they all stood back and watched. Jan was the first one to join in. He picked up a splintered plank of wood and smashed it through the front window. This whipped them all up, suddenly it was demanded that they destroy the shack.
They all started.
The girls threw old flower pots and dragging the mattresses out set them alight. The craze moved amongst them. The truth was freedom. They jumped upon this madness like it was free thought, rejecting all that they usually lived by. Each one of them biting back at something they held responsible for their failure. In a fit of unbridled non-thinking Tomas grabbed some flaming rags and ran over to the bushes. Waving them he caught the branches, soon the light moved far off, dancing he thought, as he stood and watched it. The animal was about them all.

Does an animal have a line? If it can think of one, yes!
It would seem the entire gathering was built for this. They group danced revenge against the world.


SixSay you want something different!
Get on your feet and march!
Crack. Crack. Crackkkkkkkkkkkkk.

The air gulped in the flames. Everything burnt hard against his face. All around him Tomas felt the energy of destruction. The shack was raised to the ground. Its pathetic bones laid trampled by fright. In the golden flames his reflection danced the dreaded dance. Pathetic!
Brendan and the truck were long gone, the sound of screeching tyres still howling long into the coming daylight. There was a huge embarrassment amongst those left. Jan stood about kicking at lifeless bits. His head scanning all around, searching for something else to breakdown. He looked fractured in the early light.
Tomas jumped between the two images. He felt his shoulders hunching, there was great frustration within him.

Crack! Act!

Crack! React!

Crack! Do something!

With all his strength he dragged him into the water. Strength can be found from anywhere. Its all about the will. Plunging him under, he held him tight. The struggle was easy, it had to be done. Time passed and it was over. He stood in the shallows, watching the dark body bobbing about. He thought about pulling him out, no point really. He had to get the others.
The girls were much easier .
Nothing matters on the line! You can always chance it all again.
The sound of the screeching tyres still ran through his veins. One side of his body was cold, the other hot. Without Brendan about he was in charge. Looking back at the smouldering shack he was glad it was gone. Maybe everything should be destroyed the minute it finds its use. Nothing should outlive that initial exuberance of use. The cracks made his vision splintered, through fractured layers he saw all the others dancing amongst flaming bushes. The gold and orange, warm and healthy. He could feel himself dancing too. His was a dance of singularity.
The taste of salt and smoke lay heavy on Step’s lips. Was this a way to choose a partner! Was this living in the wisp of life! The revolution grew, he was back inside his room. The old mirror sat holding him tight to the bed. Which is the point in life when you give in! What is the time when you accept the outside view as yours. What must others think of him, who must they think he is!
Arrogance swims a natural channel.
Why should he be ready to be that ghost! He once again destroyed the shack, this time alone, in the middle of the day.

In the sand there was a thick dark line. Tomas woke up one side of it. Next to him Stef’s body lay tight to his. The morning had just skimmed across the still water. The light lay resting, pawing out a golden blanket, ever growing towards the land. The threads on her top were still wet. They drooped heavily, matted with sand. Close to her he felt uncomfortable. It was a discomfort built from his own failings. He wrestled a little further away, why was he such a mess.
Why did actions always ride along a troubled thought out line for him. He was stuck!
The worse knowledge is that he was all too aware of it.
Through the cracks he could see the others still floating in the water. He could see them dancing in the flames. They were chatting in the dark. Dancing to the music. Life is all of these things, he thought.
Life is living, life is not living. Its nothing to be tailored to it. There is no perfect form!
Yet why did he struggle so. Why could he not be happy selling insurance policies. Why could he not be happy coming to the lake and living for the moment?
Crack! His own form lay sullen in the sand below him. The lake sat in a growing light. His head a mess of light gay fusion spun and gobbled up the entirety of the view. His own body looked pathetic down there. So inconsequential, did anything really matter!


Crack! I exist

Crack! I don’t exist!

Crack! We’re all just chemicals in the wheel.


Seven.Days and weeks slipped by. The events of the lake dripped into various coloured stories as his breeze addled tan faded.
He had seen a few of them since he got back. Obviously he and Jan still worked in the same office, however they had begun work on separate schemes now and they saw much less of one another. Their contact moved from regular catch up chats in the corridor to brief hello’s and then simple nods of the head.
Brendan was obviously still down at the shack living the life only he could. The invitation had been offered again to go down and stay but Tomas made his excuses.
Oddly he saw the most of Tina, he had not really given her any time at the shack but he had bumped into her a few times and he had grown to appreciate her simple form. She was uncomplicated and honest and he admired this so much. They had been out to dinner, ate normal things like seafood and stew and drank red wine. They laughed together and although the initial attraction was muted he had grown to realise that attraction was not all about image.
She had mentioned a few times that Stef was doing well for herself. They were still friends but had only managed to meet up the odd time since they had got back.
He had actually seen Stef once himself. She was hurriedly ordering a take away coffee, he stood and stared at her as she stood impatiently waiting for her order. She constantly scanned her phone, and plucked at her make-up. She looked so different from the image he still carried of her.
Still everything would be different away from the lake he reasoned, just take his relationship with Tina. Looking down at his old shoes and suit he presumed she wouldn’t think much of him either.
He didn’t go over and say hello, just watched for a few minutes, took in the sight of her rapid movements and then slipped on by. Just as he moved by he turned back to catch sight of her slipping onto a waiting car, with blacked out windows and he thought that Tina must have been right she was doing well for herself now.

Crack! Nothing

Crack! Its just me living!!!

Crack! We’re all just swimming the same stream.

The cracks of living had gone it seemed!
That’s mainly because he had been consumed by the largest one of them all LIFE!
He knew his own faults, the faults of life never surprised him any more, yet he was powerless to do anything about it.
Some days later he was standing at the station on his way to secure some more policies. He was due to spend the weekend with Tina at her place, a small apartment near the high street, so he wanted to get his work done quickly and get back to her. He breathed into the congestion. The warmth was inconsistent and as was his norm he huddled himself up inside his coat, hands buried deep, face tucked inside the collar.
The drab life of the station was only broken by the odd sign or advert. Staring down at his feet he kicked at the odd piece of dust, or swirling air. Yet something stung at his temple. Granted he always felt odd, out of place in open public places. It always made him feel so small and stupid. But this was strong. He felt as though he was being watched. Gradually he scanned around, peering up intermittently.

The poster sat rigid to the brick wall of the station. It was huge, stretching across several normal sized poster boards.
He immediately knew this was the source of his discomfort.
It hung on the opposite platform from him, he knew he would have to get closer to see it fully.
The colours glued themselves to his vision as he moved through the underpass towards the other side.
His pulse ached. Suddenly the coat became a nuisance.
Out onto the other platform he emerged, sweating so much his skin pricked painfully. He pushed through the bodies until he was stood directly in front of it.
And then a weird calm came over him. He felt suddenly stupid, much like a child who had out grown a fear without realising it until they had once more been faced with it, and he laughed.
You see here it was all laid out in front of him.
There it all was, the entire scene. The lake, the burning shack in the background. The bodies, even the bodies!
The lifeless black logs hanging in the glistening water.
And him. Moving closer he ran his fingertips across the perfect sheen finish. Staring back at him was his own image, a manically smiling fool ridden version of himself, but definitely him.
There he was in the sand, feet buried deep, eyes gleaming, tan burning!
He took a few steps back to take it all in.
This couldn’t be surely! But then again why not! He laughed some more.
This was just as if someone had photographed the entire scene. All around the people continued in the whirl of the day. Busy, far too busy, to even connect with the laughing fool.
And at the very top in huge scribed lettering the slogan

The lake, the perfect place to shake off the frustration of you’re 9-5!
And there at the bottom in the far corner was the single word Reflection.