THOSE AWAKE 

By Tessa Harvey


He flung the old battered Bible he was still clutching against the characterless chrome and solid steel appliances as soon as he entered his spotless, modernist home. For the first time since childhood and early adolescence, Gray felt unsettled and uneasy.
    Pouring himself a stiff gin and tonic, the young man tried settling himself into a very up-market uncomfortable chair. He tried to evaluate his, to him, wasteful day.
    What had he really achieved? Nothing, so just get on with living, he thought dismally. But he still tried to think why he was so distressed.
    Did he need his dad's money? No, not really. Did he need more property? No, his property portfolio was very healthy - perhaps over healthy, he thought ruefully, if that were possible.
    Did he care about his dad dying? Actually, he admitted to himself that he did.
 He had known the old man was frail, had even felt some dislike and disgust. Did it remind him of his own mortality? Perhaps that was it, he admitted. He had been climbing the corporate ladder for years. Now he was wondering what exactly it would mean if he actually achieved his dreams. Would it all be sawdust?


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