Every image has a story
We arrived late at night, the process was simple, we all knew how to put it together and it was not long until we were out of the sun and the food was on the table.
I looked around at the faces of those that I loved and wondered about what was enough. What was needed or what was wanted. I looked back at my plate the flavour was the same, the same as always, but the smiles were there too, same as always.
The pace of the afternoon was slow, but the heat made slow the only possible choice. As with all times like these the second hand did it’s best impersonation of the minute hand and the mind began to race.
Jamie stood there staring at the group of his fellow climbers and wished his mind would stop, I suppose the constant inputs from the boredom machines, the social sites and the constant comparisons had trained the mind to move fast. Removed the ability of the mind to go slow or encouraged the mind to constantly evaluate. He shook his body like a dog shaking his fur after being told off by his master, literally shaking the anxiety from his body.
‘So what do you do for money?’ The tall blonde man said to Jamie, surprising him. Jamie looked around the cliff checking that the question was directed at him.
‘Ummm…’ Jamie stuttered, not entirely sure how to answer. ‘I have an apartment I rent.’
‘Perfect’ the tall blonde man replied ‘That’s great, I mean that’s all you need’.
‘Yea… But it won’t last forever. I mean at some point I will have to do something else.’
The blonde man smiled at Jamie and stood up. ‘Well when you need to you will. And at that point you will be rich, rich in rocks.’
It sounded like he was going to continue, but he didn’t, he just walked away clasping the hand of his daughter. Jamie stared at the back of the couple confused but finally the second hand slowed, his shoulders relaxed, the race was run.
They are everywhere, they have their own thoughts, their own opinions, they tell stories about their lives and try to get you to see the world like they do.
But how many of their opinions are actually theirs, how many times do they actually stop to think and ask the question of themselves, what do I think?
Joe paused and looked up and down the beach, looked at the crowds hiding the sand, he took a deep breath and looked his girlfriend in the eye, swallowed and forced the words out. ‘One of the top five beaches in Greece? Really, do you really think that this is beautiful?’
And that was it, he knew it was over, she had tried hard, tried to make an effort and make the holiday nice, but this was too much for him. They were just different. She walked off and he tried to sit down and look out to the sea, but he was too close to the fat German couple for comfort. He walked off in the opposite direction from his girlfriend.
Fuck it, he thought to himself, at least I can say I was there.
Winter was his time. The leaves had fallen leaving branches to hop along everywhere. The air was clear and the gentle winds picked him up and carried him through the gardens. But more interesting than the cold weather were the people. It was so different from the summer, when crowds of children and merry makers strolled through the parks, with footballs or bikes. Dogs racing around barking or hunting cats, the summer seemed too complicated, everyone was distracted or drunk on the sunshine, but the people in Winter, Robin seemed to see them and they saw him.
Robin would be taking his shortcut through the woods heading to the bird feeder on Westgrove Lane, but before he got there he saw the old man in the garden starring down into the pond. He banked left below the wall, landed and then hopped along and into the bush that covered left hand-side of the pond. A perfect entry point to say hello, but still be able to fly away.
Robin popped his head out and the man stopped, paused and then slowly sat back on his haunches. Robin hopped back into the bush, but the man stayed still and a smile grew across his face, so Robin confidently bounced forward.
‘Any digging in the garden today?’ The Robin asked
It was hard to describe, it spread fast, captured the attention, but still maintained its secrets. Perhaps people in love should follow its example, show everything, but hide something.
Anyway it was effective and after several years it had a strangle hold on the people’s lives. The population needed the blossom to survive, petals provided protection from the sun, pollen the support for the immune system and the nuts, nourishment for life. It hadn’t taken long for all the farmers to dig up their fields and plant the blossom once its value had been proved and it meant that the landscape was now, well it was pink.
The landscape looked amazing, beautiful, a sea of pink, but people did not realise that the plants that grew were sucking the life from the earth. The secret to the humans survival was actually what would kill them in the end. I guess that is the danger of beauty.
‘Watch them closely… and listen it’s a very interesting form of communication’
Jeremy was teaching his favourite class showing footage from the beginning of the digital age, it was a time when the power of internal conflict was not fully understood but was being used very effectively.
‘But it doesn’t make us any money’ Sasha demanded while pointing adamantly at the pool of ideas spread out across the table. ‘We need to focus on the sales in the bar.’
‘But it draws people into the bar in the first place, without the events we don’t attract as many people’
‘We do, the climbing attracts the people and we don’t have to have any investment in that, it’s here already’
Elizabeth laughed, but it was a sarcastic laugh, meant to impose her intellect. ‘We have invested thousands in the climbing’
‘And made money back’ Bernard added smartly.
‘Yea but times are changing.’ A row was simmering.
Jeremy stopped the tape and turned back to the class. ‘Okay can anyone tell me what what’s going on?’
Lucy raised her hand, ‘Yes Lucy’
‘Well the Co-op has made it’s money from the the climbers coming to the village and Elizabeth wants to diversify but Bernard thinks she is just spending the money made from the climbers on her own arts events.’
‘Great that is what’s happening on the face of things, but what is going on internally?’ The class took a collective breath, some bums shuffled in seats the eyes turned away from the professor back to their tablets. ‘Shall I continue?’ The class nodded in unison, Jeremy pressed play.
‘The main reason people keep coming back is not because of the climbing, it’s because of the people.’
‘You mean the climbers’
‘Shut up Bernard, stop being such a pig headed fool. The community is what makes it, you admit yourself that the parties and the bar create a cool atmosphere in the village.’
Bernard was quiet he agreed with her but wasn’t about to admit it. He just wanted more routes.
Elizabeth continued ‘If we want to keep the profits in the bar, we need to keep our audience hungry.’
Jeremy paused the tape again. ‘Okay internal conflict anyone?’
John raised his hand ‘The more they eat in the bar the more money they make?’ The class burst into laughter.
‘Very amusing John, can anyone expand on John’s words of wisdom?’
Joe put up his hand
‘Yes Joe’
‘Elizabeth wants the knowlege of the experiences in the bar to act like the social media frameworks.’
‘Good, quickly explain the social framework’
Joe paused for a moment… ‘You keep your audience by showing ‘the hero avatar’. Posts show your best life, so followers buy into you.’
‘Good so how is that playing out here?’
‘I am not sure if they are doing it digitally yet, but Elizabeth wants the the public to know about parties and art as the hero avatar. Perhaps she believes the diversification is more of a hook than just climbing.’
‘Okay good, that sounds like a hungry audience and what about the internal conflict? Yes Lucy.’
‘There are two, Bernards refusal to believe in Elizabeth’s art community makes her more adamant that it is right, Bernard effectively keeps her hungry. And the people coming to the village see or hear about the parties and climbing and want to be part of it.’
‘Great so what do we call that?’
The class answered in unison, ‘positive internal conflict and negative internal conflict.’
Money was coming into the town, which was good for the villagers, but meant that they had to put up with the habits of the newcomers, some of which were more tolerable than others. But there were some, who lived alone, that were still not accustomed to seeing new faces. They were known in the village as the mountain people for the obvious reason that they lived in small shacks high in the mountains. They farmed the land and kept livestock so the after affects of the blackout had had little effect on them.
The reliance on the blue vein had disabled many people’s ability to think for themselves but these people still had the old skills and their customs hadn’t changed for many years.
As the newcomers grew in numbers so did their interest in the wider countryside.
James stood in the cave that overlooked the valley his eyes fixated on the three men that were moving down the hillside, they slowly traversed down the earthy goat path making sure not to slip on the loose terrain. He had not seen any foreigners in a long time, but he didn’t want them to see him, so he picked up his satchel and made his way back to the hut.
Alex entered the room, the children knew they should still be asleep, but the arrival of their Uncle the night before was too exciting and the anticipation of fun and games too much to keep their eyes closed.
‘What is going on here you little ratbags.’ Uncle Alex teased the children. There was some little giggling coming from under the duvet. ‘Are there two little thieves hiding from their Uncle under there?’ Alex moved towards the bed where two small children were hiding.
‘We not thieves’ came a muffled denial and then a head popped out, ‘you are a thief’ said Sarah
‘Yea you are a thief’ confirmed her younger brother.
‘I am not’ Uncle Alex replied before jumping on the bed to wrestle the two children. After a few minutes of rough and tumble Sarah’s brother pipped up.
‘Why did you call us thieves?’
Uncle Alex pointed to the jar by the side of the bed filled up with fairy lights. ‘Look, there is the evidence’
Sarah and her brother looked at each other puzzled.
‘You two have been stealing the stars’
Darkness was approaching, we had been on the road for 32hours, desperately seeking the sun. The journey had been long and in hindsight not too dramatic, but at that moment the patience levels were low and even the simplest of tasks, which kiosk to buy a celebratory beer from, had sparked conflict. We were tired.
As we took the first sips from the cold cans, a taste that in actual fact neither of us wanted, the smell of a pillow our only desire, the street lamps came on and there, under the yellow light, a child threw a basketball to his father. The ball slipped through his fingers and hit his chin, the child fell backwards laughing and his father raced over to wrestle with him. We were 100m down the road before I could see the outcome, but a smile crept across my face. We had made it.
Life From the Dirt 