In the dark with no way out

The land that surrounds me was, up until fairly recently, a lifeline to man’s very existence. There was a time when it was a valley of black waste, tall chimneys, steam powered locomotives and the pit head winding gear. Some men worked and some men died for a meagre pittance with which to feed their families. It was a place whose narrow seams crippled the people that produced the wealth for the owners. It was somewhere I used to work, not anymore. I kept telling myself that I’d never return to this hellhole. Since its closure, I find myself once again plodding over this once industrial landscape.

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Mam’s comforting hand

dead colliery horse lies in the dust

Dafydd scanned the dirty, black surroundings as he approached the colliery. Clouds of acrid dusty smoke belched from the tall chimney that covered the hillside. The pit head wheel rotated lowering colliers underground at the beginning of each shift. Dada and Dafydd, wearing their worn corduroy trousers and jackets, arrived promptly at the mine entrance.

       They reported to the office where the manager’s voice called out. “Bring him in Dai. Duw Dafydd, you’re starting work today. Are you looking forward to it?” Nervously he replied yes. Dafydd showed his anxiousness. Dada’s firm and comforting hand calmed him. “Steady bach, you’ll be fine”. They entered the cage and the door shutting unnerved Dafydd. The winding wheel clunked into life. His pulse quickened, his stomach churned, his palms and forehead became sweaty. The cage lowered. They were met below by Emlyn, a well-built giant whose face was covered in black dust.  

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Black Cat

Panther ready to pounce

Afterwards, when Maureen’s body was slumped over the table, Geoff had thought about the cat. For some reason, it was the first thing that had popped into his head. Even before the guilt had begun to wind itself around his insides like ivy.

And now, there it was again: the black cat. It had appeared every morning since she died five days ago, its yellow eyes piercing his soul through the glass. He shivered.

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Un Conte de Noel Noir

Theresa sighed as the carriage clock astride her antique fireplace ticked its fingers around to midnight. Her first post-premiership Christmas was starting as inauspiciously as her career ended: alone with only a glass of malt for company. She downed the whisky and patted the arms of her chair, readying herself for the climb to her bedroom when a shift in the shadows drew her attention. Her hand reached for the panic button.

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