Influenced

     The mud had spattered on my jeans like droplets of brown blood.  The summer rain had eased off, but the shaded woodland path still squelched softly underfoot as we headed in the general direction of my home.

     ‘It’s hardly raining now, man,’ I said, ‘do you fancy heading back to the main road?’

     ‘Don’t know, mate…could see what is just around this bend…no really up for traipsing all the way back eh?’

     ‘Fair enough, man,’ I said, ‘hopefully it brings us out to just behind Coaltown as then we’re only ten minutes from the house.’

     Turning the corner, we stopped and saw an old, ramshackle farm cottage up ahead.  We stood and listened.  The birds chirped periodically and long since forgotten about sheets of rusty, corrugated iron creaked gently in the moist breeze.

     ‘This is the soundtrack of murder, man,’ I said, ‘c’mon mate, let’s no stick about…I don’t like this at all!’

     ‘Eh, what you on about, mate,’ Frank replied, ‘it’s just someone’s house…I bet that road there gets us back home in no time.’

     I stepped back and crushed a faded pink coca cola can with my foot.

     ‘Here, what’s that smell?’ I said as I pulled the neck of my Fred Perry jumper over my mouth and nose.

     ‘I’m guessing that’s the outhouse, mate,’ Frank jokingly replied.

     The wind began to pick up causing the strips of heavy plastic sheeting over the bottom level windows of the cottage to ripple violently at us.  The surrounding barren landscape spread out motionless by our sides.

     ‘Don’t know if I’ve watched one too many horror films, mate,’ I said, ‘but I’m telling you this now, there is no way I’m going any further, man!’

     ‘Couldn’t agree more by the way…looks like they may have dogs as well judging by all this foul excrement lying around,’ Frank said pointing to the ground.

     ‘Right, mate, let’s just get back to the main road and take the long way home,’ I said.

     ‘Sounds like a plan.’

     ‘In fact, scrap that, let’s go back to Milltown for a pint, and then get a taxi.’

    ‘Even better, mate,’ he said nervously.

     We took one last look about before slowly backing away to retrace our steps. 

     A child’s mitt lay half submerged in a pool of stagnant water within an old tyre.

     The birds had stopped chirping.

Tomas Bird - A Meadow Like Path 2018