Despair
by Angus Shoor Caan
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: Stick your thumb out... see how far you get.
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Imagine being driven to despair
Only to find it wasn’t there
Would it matter, would you really care
Would you take another look elsewhere?
Despair has always been the easiest place in the world to get to, no need for signposts yet there it was, forty miles out, brightly daubed with graffiti and riddled with bullet holes. The thought struck me, absurd as it instantly felt, were the bullets meant for the Taggers, or for the signpost alone?
I pondered this for thirty-eight of the forty miles in question, only snapping out of it as I flashed past the two mile post. I’m on the outskirts of Despair, but I feel I’m already there.
Now, the traffic has slowed to a crawl and as I look around I can tell right away we’re all in it together, all being driven to Despair. The driver hasn’t uttered a word, not one word, he might as well not be in the car but then, he seems to know the way. No one cares to look me in the eye and that suits me just fine, I was hoping for such a reaction, distractions are a hindrance on this particular road.
I don’t know how I came to be here. I do but what I mean to say is I don’t want to talk about it...or think about it come to think of it. All I will say is, I was driven to it because that almost helps to shift some of the blame.
The communication lines are closing down fast, and in no particular order. What surprises me most is the lack of parking spaces but then, it’s said there are so many of us in Despair it would have to be one hellova car park. And another thing, if there are so many of us, why do I feel so all alone?
It’s funny, not funny ha-ha, but funny, you know what I mean. I can’t remember the last person I spoke to, the last time I had anything which remotely resembled a conversation.
Was it with you? Did I tell you I was on the road to Despair? Were you sympathetic? Did you even care? Am I being unfair? Is that why I’m in Despair?
Anyway. If you’re ever in Despair call round and see me, I’ll be there. What’s that? How will you recognise me? I’ll make it easy for you, I’ll wear the clown suit, the one I always wear, the one with the painted smile. I mean, who knows what lies behind a painted smile for fuck’s sake?
’Scuse the language but the invitation is still open, it’s right there where I left it.
See you soon.
Yours in Despair.
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: Stick your thumb out... see how far you get.
_____________________________________________________________________
Imagine being driven to despair
Only to find it wasn’t there
Would it matter, would you really care
Would you take another look elsewhere?
Despair has always been the easiest place in the world to get to, no need for signposts yet there it was, forty miles out, brightly daubed with graffiti and riddled with bullet holes. The thought struck me, absurd as it instantly felt, were the bullets meant for the Taggers, or for the signpost alone?
I pondered this for thirty-eight of the forty miles in question, only snapping out of it as I flashed past the two mile post. I’m on the outskirts of Despair, but I feel I’m already there.
Now, the traffic has slowed to a crawl and as I look around I can tell right away we’re all in it together, all being driven to Despair. The driver hasn’t uttered a word, not one word, he might as well not be in the car but then, he seems to know the way. No one cares to look me in the eye and that suits me just fine, I was hoping for such a reaction, distractions are a hindrance on this particular road.
I don’t know how I came to be here. I do but what I mean to say is I don’t want to talk about it...or think about it come to think of it. All I will say is, I was driven to it because that almost helps to shift some of the blame.
The communication lines are closing down fast, and in no particular order. What surprises me most is the lack of parking spaces but then, it’s said there are so many of us in Despair it would have to be one hellova car park. And another thing, if there are so many of us, why do I feel so all alone?
It’s funny, not funny ha-ha, but funny, you know what I mean. I can’t remember the last person I spoke to, the last time I had anything which remotely resembled a conversation.
Was it with you? Did I tell you I was on the road to Despair? Were you sympathetic? Did you even care? Am I being unfair? Is that why I’m in Despair?
Anyway. If you’re ever in Despair call round and see me, I’ll be there. What’s that? How will you recognise me? I’ll make it easy for you, I’ll wear the clown suit, the one I always wear, the one with the painted smile. I mean, who knows what lies behind a painted smile for fuck’s sake?
’Scuse the language but the invitation is still open, it’s right there where I left it.
See you soon.
Yours in Despair.
About the Author
Angus Shoor Caan is in an ex-seaman and rail worker. Born and bred in Saltcoats, he returned to Scotland after many years in England and found the time to begin writing. He has written a poetry collection and several novels, two of which, The Reader and Violet Hiccup have been published by Black Leaf Publishing.