THOSE AWAKE... 

By Tessa Harvey


Suddenly the phone jangled, and with and apologetic look, Grayson answered. It seemed to be a long technical conversation, so waving discreetly, Imelda gathered her belongings and quietly left. Gray looked a little sad, but returned her wave, concentrating on his call.
    Once outside, Imelda hugged her jacket closer. Night had come quietly and a cold wind had sprung up. Quickly she made her way to her lodgings, glancing occasionally at the beautiful starry sky. She paused, looking at the wonderful majesty of the Southern Cross, then finding her key, opened the door.
    At once, a tread sounded in the passage. "Oh, it's you," grumbled an older woman. She peered around her suspiciously. "Alone are you?" "Yes, Mrs. Clarkson." Imelda kept her voice pleasant and polite and hurried towards the stairs leading to her room.
    "You don't want a hot drink nor nothing?" queried the landlady hopefully. But Imelda was tired and she also was aware of the older lady's propensity for gossip.
    "Maybe next time," she added, unwilling to offend, but needing also to protect her privacy and her health. Her work meant a very early start.
    She prepared for bed, taking a shower in the small ensuite provided. There was a tiny stove, but Imelda just donned her warm flannelette pyjamas and was soon in bed.
    She had always had a problem with sleep. No matter how hard she tried to pray, her mind would wander. A good way to concentrate was to pray for countries, especially those whose animosity towards Christians was well known. When she finally slept, she had the most vivid dream she had ever had.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Image
THOSE AWAKE...   By Tessa Harvey 'Those awake shall soon be silenced.' Gray frowned at the cryptic text. He hovered over a reply, blew out his breath, deleted the message, almost blocked the sender, but the Team Leader was glaring his way. "Time was money," he mocked in his head, but kept his face controlled, interested, intelligent. The team leader droned on and on about profits, inventories....a couple of the women management team surreptitiously rolled their eyes at each other, make-up perfect. Finally, time for new ideas!     Gray leapt into action! This was where he excelled. His ideas were almost always ground-breaking and innovative. Gray, face animated, forgot all about that last link with his father.     Hurrying to the tube station the next morning, impeccably attired as always, Gray leapt for the train's closing doors,  just making it before they shut. Today, his phone rang. Annoyed, almost mistiming his step, he pushed among the other strap-hang...
Read more
Image
THOSE AWAKE...   By Tessa Harvey She was standing in a country she knew very well. It was evening. The heat was oppressive. The dirt was dusty and red. No one was around.     Then a woman slowly made her way to the steps of a nearby building. Imelda recognised it as a small hospital. A young boy was helping the woman who was clearly ill and in great pain. With a shock, Imelda recognised her own mother and older brother, though only part of her face showed through her dark heavy Muslim garments.     She had read about this incident in a book. Now it was being enacted before her very eyes. She longed to move forward, to help, but was held in place. It was her dream.     A group of soldiers came around the corner.     "You, boy, go home. Woman, do not bother this young man with your woman problems." The boy moved away at once, but not very far. He crept into a dark doorway, beyond their vision.     The men beat the woman, knocking her ...
Read more
Image
 THOSE AWAKE... By Tessa Harvey "Well now then," he boomed in what was for him a sonic whisper, "arguing with truck drivers, are you?"      Despite her tension, Yvonne laughed. "I'm not the patient! Err.....Imelda. Sorry, just getting to know her name." She turned to gesture towards the older lady, but then paused in shock. Imelda lay white and still.     Immediately, despite his girth, the doctor was by her side, checking his patient. The twinkle had gone. "Call the ambulance, Grayson," the man called authoritatively.     Imelda awoke to white walls and curtains of a vague cream colour around the bed. Her arm was tightly bound, strapped in a sling. She tried to move her head and felt nauseating pain.     Sickness was despicable. Imelda felt ashamed. The bed was stained, she had been unable to move to the side of the bed. The smell made her feel worse and tears of weakness and pain poured down her cheeks.
Read more