Author: Duncan Spark

When your friends take time to ask what is wrong, what’s going on.

They offer considered advice. A theme emerges amongst your most trusted accomplices… one must take stock.

One must take the time to address the concerns of others.

It is obvious that I have been in a very dark and negative place for some time.

A place where paranoia, conspiracy and resentment take root like black, toxic mould blighting paradise.

The windows have been closed. The curtains dawn, the taps left dripping and the fire is on.

I withdraw. Excited to meet new people for the briefest moment. I only want a few old friends around me.

You must be very pleased with yourself that you caused all of this. Mining the weakness… manipulating me.

Then, when the dust settles, you tell everyone that I took advantage of you.

The irony must not be lost on you.

Let me describe what I see. how the light has gone. How the day is dim.

Last night I read my work in a small room. The jail story. It was well received. It was the first time since I wrote it that I had read it.

Evocative and startling. I had buried it. Exhuming it was a spiteful thing to do.

It’s my birthday tomorrow.