static culture

Short Stories & Flash Fiction from a London Based Writer/ Film Maker


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Gast

Jacob dreamed vividly of his childhood. It was of his Grandfather and himself, aged eleven, standing silent by the river Ant; one of the many arteries of Norfolk. He looked up at the chiselled features of his elder, seeing the spectre of a lifetime’s experience in his wrinkled face as he cast a fishing line out into the motionless waters. Weary, jaundiced eyes never switching their focus from the task at hand. Time was an abstract here, waxing and waning at its own leisure with little consequence, yet despite this Jacob felt that he had been with his Grandfather for an hour or more and in that hour no conversation had passed their lips, no ponderings or exchanges, just an occasional abrupt instruction here and there. Blunt teaching that had led him to become the skilled angler he was today, having received awards for his expertise, albeit in local tournaments only. The silence between them had continued to grow before his Grandfather spoke and even then it was uncertain whether it was to Jacob or the wilderness at large, a supplication to the old gods who lay buried in the reeds. The words came low and monotonous, holding immeasurable sway to a child’s imagination and holding dominance over all other sound.

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