The Box of Tulips

Silently the rope was slid across the floor and under a door. The clanking sound started, slowly at first then into a steady rhythm. The spine chilling scrape of metal against metal echoed through the stone rooms. I bit my finger nail and eyed the door but my better judgement pulled me back into the shadows. Half way down the hall the knife fell from my hand. The last sound I wanted to hear was the machinery stop -and it did.

* * *

Stephen was alone in his bedroom when he heard a strange sound. He lived in a town house London on Straight Road which is near Royal Albert Way which was very noisy, not to mention the airport. The sound in itself wasn't that odd, but as Stephen tried to explain it afterwards, "It was the sort of sound you hear before you realise you're hearing it. Like Licorice that has an after taste, the order of events in the way it happened were almost though time were going backwards." And this was closer to the truth then Stephen realised.

* * *

Now it's with a sombre and quiet voice that I tell you this. Last Tuesday when I was walking past I never took any notice at the time but number 23's door was open. They found her in the woods last night. But I don't believe it's her body, it's a cover up because I believe she found the secret. Tomorrow we're going to Mr Devonshire.

* * *

Spinning around looking up at the sky, letting the world spin around you in a blur. It's really an amazing experience and afterwards trying to dizzily walk. In a field of long grass and summer flowers, there really is nothing like this.

* * *

He had terrible scars on his arms from what I could see, of cause I didn't feel comfortable asking him about them. His eyes were bright with dilated pupils, indeed I could feel mine dilating as he incoherently told me his story.

* * *

At the time it felt so natural, as simple as pacman munching coins. But it was like coming in halfway through a film and slowly trying to figure out what's happened so far. Most of the time you make up your own story so the film makes sense -even if it's not correct it somehow helps the film make sense. But then again life is so much more complex then pacman.

* * *

I remember the library as such a wonderful place. It was really a second hand book store, but the old man always let me take books home for a borrow. There was a big leather arm chair in the corner that would swallow me up, and the afternoon sun would turn the pages to glimmering gold. I never really talked to the old man, but we'd smile at each other and the twinkle in his eye meant more then all the words I'd just heard after another day at school.

* * *

The old lady who lived next -whose name I never knew- used to bake me chocolate cookies. She had a very small yard with two outside chairs. When I was young I used to go over to visit most afternoons. She'd always have a plate of cookies ready and we'd sit outside and she'd ask about my day and tell me stories. One day she showed me a bag of bulbs and we planted them together in a foam box beside her back door. Two days later she died and my mother helped me carry the box back to our place. One day that spring when I came home from school the bulbs had bloomed, they were the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.

* * *

What is it about being under a bridge? In the city they're always full of graffiti, I never like graffiti but I can understand why people need to leave their mark under a bridge, the scent of rebellion always lingers. There's always people who stop and kiss under a bridge. A park bench is just casual, in a cafe is just causing a scene but under a bridge seems so meaningful. There's always a musty damp smell. The sound of cars, trains and the general sound of people going about their business while underneath so disconnected and free.

* * *

Feeling thirsty and hot after my long walk, I went into a corner store to get a drink. There was a line up of people, so I squeezed passed and got a bottled mocha out of the fridge and stood in line. The girl in front of me had a ponytail she annoyingly kept swinging so I stepped back to avoid getting flicked. I looked up at the black and white prints of Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe on the walls. I like Elvis but I'm not mad on Marilyn Monroe; I like Audrey Hepburn much more. Someone in the front was having trouble with their credit card so I opened the mocha, it's the best way to drink coffee I think. They should have fans in here it's so stuffy. Jean Arthur has to be the cutest though. And Jimmy Stewart is cute too, I love when they're in the same film. What the hell is taking so long? I have to buy this drink now it's open. I hate life.

* * *

From a far off distance the enchantress watched the young man stumble up the rocky hill side. When he arrived at the stone platform near the top of the mountain he fell to the ground exhausted. The enchantress watched with morbid fascination as some crows pecked at the young man's flesh and and he tried waving them away. She tied her hair back and walked down the stairs to the a large flock of crows flocking over a flailing, bloodied body and shooed them away.

* * *

Susan is five, she lives with Molly the doll and Mr Brown the bear in her house. At the bottom of her garden was is house where her parents live, she loves to visit them.