'OneFourZero', by Christopher Jackson. An experimental tale of birds, numbers and voices in the dark. Written on Twitter. Go with me on this...
Cramlington, Northumberland
Joined April 2009
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John listened, following the sound with his eyes. Just another thing he could hear but could not see.
Hearing the sound of a plane crawling by, John looked up. It was buried so far into the grey that it was nowhere to be seen.
A bus swept by the stop. Not his. #401. John would have checked his watch, to see if his bus would be soon, but he wasn't wearing one.
It seemed to be lifting, but only slightly. John looked upwards, anticipating that the mist would soon become a flat grey sky.
Just a short walk to the bus stop. People walked by him, their outlines blurred ever so slightly by the mist.
He was already late, but that didn't matter. It was only a matter of time before his boss fired him, and John no longer cared.
John reached the bottom of the stairs, looking out through the mist. Somewhere out in that mist was his job.
They were the Morning Couple. It was their fights that provided the early background noise, not to mention entertainment, to John's days.
Picking up his bag, John left his flat. An argument from the next floor sounded down the stairs, people waking up on the wrong side of bed.
John stood a minute longer, then began to change into a fresh(er) set of clothes. If there had been anyone at the door, they must have left.
A thin, pathetic mist had replaced the wind. He stood, trying not to look at it, half-listening back towards the door.
Just like last night, he heard nothing. Not even the wind outside, which must have left with the night. John got up and opened the curtains.
"Yeah?"
The word fell out of his dry mouth in pieces. Even he could barely hear it. Sitting up, he cleared his throat.
John's eyes wrenched open. His room was a heavy grey, and his laptop whirred by his head. He wasn't expecting any visitors.