- “But man could not cover what God would reveal; ‘Tis the sunset of life that gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadow before.” - Lochiel’s Warning, Thomas Campbell. [The reason for the deletion was purely for the sake of length. At the end of the first draft the book was well over 144000 words. However, because of the nature of this chapter (it would have been chapter 7) it could almost be considered as a stand-alone chapter, making up much of one of the sub-plot's in the story. I feel bad of course, because of the research I did on, not only the chapter itself, but the topic in general...] -- events occurring in late 2008 >>> Chapter (The Quiet Days, a novel by Steven Benjamin) I. Liverpool, England… Ronnie Killian was a veteran third generation seaman who’d once, years ago, captained a fishing trawler moored at Southampton. His love for the sea was absolute, as was his understated enthusiasm toward ships and virtually anything that could float. Almost ten years ago, when he’d been laid off for a small period, a good friend had found him a part-time job at a local shipping magazine. At that time the job had included menial roles around the office and hadn’t comprised of anything significant, until the day he was called into the editor’s office to write up a column on an Oil tanker due to dock soon. The news around the tanker was predominantly targeted around the parent company, which was in the midst of a public court case surrounding an oil spill close to the Canary Islands. Apparently one of the clerks working in the office had mentioned that Ron had spent a term on an oil tanker which had run into some legal issues off the coast of Nigeria. Naturally this fact made Ron the most qualified man in the office on the subject. This was beside the fact that that day they happened to have two employees off sick. It wasn’t a major article with any ground breaking expectations, though Ron had poured his passion for shipping into it – supported by his working knowledge, worldly experience and brusque tone. It resulted in an article, appealing to the avid reader, whilst even engaging the would-be non enthusiasts with his wit and blunt interpretation of events. Killian had integrated the small planned protest to be staged on the dock by a handful of environmental activists, and touched on the hypocritical nature of man protesting the negative effects of Oil companies operating on the seas, whilst neglecting his ‘neighbour’ who worked for said company to feed his own family, because it was the only work available. By no means condoning the avarice nature of these corporations, he cited man’s equal failure to do anything constructive about them – the inability to find suitable alternatives. His conclusion stated that little would change the “juggernautical” status quo, with the valiant but whispered cries of good men swept clean away in the salty spray of the unstoppable corporate storm. His wife and three children had subsequently persuaded him to pursue the somewhat more sedate life as a columnist. He’d soon establish himself within the magazine structures as one of their most reliable, and later senior, writers. On a customary gloomy winter’s day in Southern England, with his collar turned up rubbing against his greying stubble and his woolen cap warming his balding scalp, he turned the digital pages of another international online shipping newspaper. As he glanced over the section detailing any ships recently run aground or sunk, his eyes caught a story of a cargo ship having sunk in the Black Sea. Investigators claimed that the laden ship could not withstand the attentions of an especially heavy storm. (to read more, click here) [The reason for the deletion was purely for the sake of length. At the end of the first draft the book was well over 144000 words. However, because of the nature of this chapter (it would have been chapter 7) it could almost be considered as a stand-alone chapter, making up much of one of the sub-plot's in the story. I feel bad of course, because of the research I did on the, not only the chapter, but the topic in general...] The Quiet Days, a Novel journey... Its been an interesting year thus far, submitting to competitions, editing, some odd jobs, more editing, and on the rare occasion, some far flung adventurous escape. What's interesting about my book writing experience thus far, has been that apart from the re-draft and a couple of niggles here and there, the progress of the entire book basically/currently hinges on a few paragraphs. When I say hinges I mean bridging the divide between good and great, at least in my eyes. One such paragraph has been highlighted in red for the past few months as I try to formulate it and find the right words - its practically in the center of this 125000+ word novel, but it encapsulates so much sentiment and gravity. The timing of this paragraph is also crucial, coming at pivotal moment in the story. But, alas, this is what writing is all about; and so the journey continues...
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Probably the final part of this particular short fiction series on my blog. It does become something of a schlep for those seeing this for the first time, wanting to catch up and having to search through old posts (so just click in the sub menu of the "Short fiction" Tab in the menu above - Short fiction "Awakening" - I'll be posting all updates in there. Going home... and then home again. Short Fiction by Steven Benjamin (2012) The wheels squealed as he turned the car around. Linda stared at every one of his precise movements. He’d grabbed her arm and ushered her to the car. “Where are we going?” She turned as she heard her children rousing. When she calmed them down she turned back to Jeremy. “Well…” “Taking them to your parents. Tell them I need hospitalization and we need some time. Tell them it’s not an emergency, but we need to sort it out now. Like an insect bite or something; it could even be infected.” Linda glanced at the road. Her eyes then fell toward the foot well. She swallowed, tasting only dryness. “Where are we really going?” She whispered. They drove in silence for a while. Eventually he spoke, “Home. We’re going home.” The rest of the drive was in silence. Linda followed her gut, and simply did as she was told… even when it came to dropping off the kids. This man she knew as Jeremy, had sat in the car the whole time, only acknowledging her parents with a glance and a slight but distant wave. It was a strange silence as they made their way home. He seemed to be deep in thought, and not just thought but summations, plans, calculations; as if he was remembering things and cataloging them as he drove. He didn’t say a thing, even as he waited for her to unlock the front door, even while he rifled through his lock box which he’d retrieved from the bottom of his closet. In that box were plenty of papers, a couple of passports, a set of keys and a few trinkets Linda had never seen before. He unpacked them all systematically on their bed until eventually he stopped. He knelt down at the side of the bed, cupping his face in his hands. She heard him taking deep breaths. Linda walked over and sat on the foot of the bed, watching. Eventually his face emerged from behind his hands, his eyes scrutinizing the empty box one more time. For a moment Linda recognized him again and for the first time in what felt like an age, she felt compelled to voice her thoughts. “What is it?” “I’m looking.” His hand then reached toward the underside of the lid. He pulled on a small satin strap embedded in its inner rim. The small strap was like those strips used for book-markers, the type seen in many Bibles. The underside of the lid released from some unseen clip. The only thing in there was a medium sized envelope. He closed his eyes as he opened it. “I need you to look at this. I believe it will all make sense then. For both of us…” He pulled out a simple Polaroid photograph and offered it to her. Linda looked at him briefly before accepting the picture. Before she looked at it she gave him one more glance, as if for reassurance. This glance, that subtle look, would prove to be the last time she saw the man she knew as her husband, for the next three years. Jeremy watched her intently, anticipating something, even though he didn’t know what. She seemed not to recognize the image at first, but then she started pulling it slowly toward her face. Her eyes blinked profusely, and then she shut them tight, clenching the bridge of her nose. When Linda’s eyes opened eventually, they were staring at the wall ahead of her. Her head turned to him, and then her gaze followed. “I have always cherished this time between us Eli; these moments before you leave. You can go now. It is safe.” She nodded to him and smiled. He nodded several times, though it seemed involuntary. He leaned back and stood up in one continuous motion. He took the image from her and repacked the lock-box in the reverse order of how he’d unpacked it. Moments later, he closed the closet, turned and left the room. She heard the front door close. He backed out of the driveway slowly. Just as he put the car in gear, he looked up and paused, catching sight of the house he’d lived in for the past five years, now receding in familiarity. TBC "Happy reading - enjoy your weekend!"
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