It's been a tough slog this week. Writing on the train while commuting and every evening after work is exhausting, especially as I've been trying to keep my word count up to a constant level of approx. 1,700 words per day. Even so, I was doing well until this weekend, when I've been at work, with some extremely early starts. I am now dog-tired and falling behind, but my intention is to try to keep to 1,700 words per day during the week and attack my deficit next weekend. I can't be too upset as I do already have over 11,000 words, which is a nice chunk.
Alfie is doing ok. The story is coming along nicely, the world seems to be building itself and I've met a couple of fascinating characters (they may only exist in my head, but they're the ones living the story so I have little control). Only really-wife and my 10-year old niece have read the story so far and both are fans (no bias, I promise). Here is the next scene for you to digest, following on directly from last week's post. It's not very long, but hopefully it'll keep you wanting more. And there is more...
First Aid
‘Alfie! Alfie, wake up! Are you ok?’
Alfie opened his eyes and found himself lying on the grass, his face pressed into the ground. He rolled over and looked up.
His father was kneeling over him, worry etched on his face. His mother was standing behind him, face distraught, holding a crying Polly tightly to her. There were a crowd of people standing around, too, some of whom were genuinely wanting to help and others who just wanted to see what was going on.
‘Alfie, say something. What happened? Did you fall?’ his father asked anxiously. He started to check Alfie for head injuries, broken bones and signs of bleeding.
‘I’m fine, Dad,’ Alfie said, propping himself up on his elbows and trying to smile at his mother. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what happened, but I feel fine.’
‘Did you fall over? Did someone hit you?’ Alfie’s father glared at a group of older boys that had wandered over to see what the fuss was all about.
‘No, Dad,’ said Alfie. ‘Everything went slow when I saw the lights and-’
An old man in a bright fluorescent yellow jacket and a cap suddenly plonked himself next to Alfie and his father, a green first aid bag in his blue-gloved hands.
‘Lights? You were seeing lights?’ the man asked, nodding at his father. ‘Qualified first aider, mind if I…?’ he gestured with his head towards Alfie.
‘Great, thanks,’ said Alfie’s dad, moving back slightly but taking Alfie’s hand.
‘So, you were saying you saw lights.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘Yeah, green ones, coming fro-‘
‘Any history of epilepsy?’ the man asked, prising open one of Alfie’s eyelids and taking a good look. ‘Schizophrenia? Madness?’ He took a look in the other eye.
‘No, nothing like that.’
The man pulled down Alfie’s chin and peered inside. ‘And things got a bit slow?’ He leaned forward and sniffed at Alfie’s mouth, then put his ear to it.
Alfie’s father frowned slightly. ‘’Scuse me, what first aid are you qualified in?’
The man ignored him. ‘What about the grass? Did the grass feel different?’ He looked straight into Alfie’s eyes and at that moment Alfie saw the white hair stuffed under the cap and the fact that the man wasn’t wearing anything on his feet, and knew that this was the man that he’d seen across the circle.
Alfie scuttled backwards, towards his father.
‘What do you mean, did the grass feel different? What kind of a first aid question is that?’ Alfie’s dad grabbed the man by the jacket. ‘Who are you?’
The man just looked at Alfie. ‘The grass?’
Alfie nodded.
‘Thought so.’ The old man stood up, brushing off the hand on his jacket. He pulled the cap more firmly onto his head and shrugged the jacket to the floor. ‘Guess we’d better get started, then.’
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