How to Hide From Humans ~ by Craig Stone

I’ve just read a little book called How to Hide from Humans. It’s written by a sheep, telling other sheep how to hide from humans.

If you enjoy surreal thought-provoking humour, then this book will please you. Considering you can’t even buy a cup of coffee for the price, give it a shot. It made me laugh out loud, and brought me up short the very next page. There’s some deep stuff there, and it doesn’t take much to find it.  It may also haunt you with the ideas.

USA: http://www.amazon.com/How-Hide-Humans-ebook/dp/B00AZOSBYS/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1367519204&sr=1-5&keywords=Craig+Stone

UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/How-Hide-Humans-ebook/dp/B00AZOSBYS/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1367519204&sr=1-5&keywords=Craig+Stone

Pain Woke Us ~ a triple-part poem for sleepy sheep

What makes a person wake up and start to become aware?

What sends them back to sleep?

I wrote the following poem initially with only one of the stanzas and then played around by changing the voice speaking from first to second then to third person.

Pain woke you

 

 

Pain woke you,

Prodded you from sleep.

From the first aches of discomfort

To the full blown agony of awareness

It stopped your slumber dead.

You tried to mask it

Tried to distract yourself

With whatever came to hand.

Anything to sleep again

Dreaming the soft safe dreams

That fill the sleeping world

With pastels colours and smooth shapes

And are void of any meaning.

So, the pain is gone,

You tell me without words

Life feels good, you say.

Sweet dreams, I say, resigned.

I’ll see you in the morning;

I’ll take the night-shift

And watch over your sleep.

Someone has to guard the sleepers,

It might as well be me.

 

Pain woke me,

Prodded me from sleep.

From the first aches of discomfort

To the full blown agony of awareness

It stopped my slumber dead.

I tried to mask it

Tried to distract myself

With whatever came to hand.

Anything to sleep again

Dreaming the soft safe dreams

That fill the sleeping world

With pastels colours and smooth shapes

And are void of any meaning.

So, the pain is gone,

I tell you without words

Life feels good, I say.

Sweet dreams, you say, resigned.

I’ll see you in the morning;

You take the night-shift

And watch over my sleep.

Someone has to guard the sleepers,

It might as well be you.

 

 

 

Pain woke them,

Prodded them from sleep.

From the first aches of discomfort

To the full blown agony of awareness

It stopped their slumber dead.

They tried to mask it

Tried to distract themselves

With whatever came to hand.

Anything to sleep again

Dreaming the soft safe dreams

That fill the sleeping world

With pastels colours and smooth shapes

And are void of any meaning.

So, the pain is gone,

They tell me without words

Life feels good, they say.

Sweet dreams, I say, resigned.

I’ll see you in the morning;

I’ll take the night-shift

And watch over your sleep.

Someone has to guard the sleepers,

It might as well be me.

 

 

 

Snip

 

Snip

Tethered to machinery in a high dependency unit was probably not the best place to review the last couple of days, but what options did he have? It wasn’t as if he could even get out of bed unaided and go somewhere else. His mouth felt so dry; he could use a pint but all they did was give him sips of metallic tasting water. He had spent a few blank hours watching the level on his IV drip go down slowly, bringing him closer to someone coming in and changing it for a fresh full one and the chance for some human company. Once he might have despised the nurses here as not worth a second glance but now they had begun to look like angels to him and that, almost more than anything else, had begun to worry him.

Oh, he’d sent a few texts when he’d first become ill, but while his mates had replied with the usual ribald responses he’d expected, no one had actually rung. No one had visited. His so-called girlfriend had left him fresh clothes in a case at reception but hadn’t come in. The nurses said she seemed too upset and he’d been asleep anyway. That was three days ago. There was a row of brightly coloured cards on the window sill, and even a big bouquet of flowers. They’d started to fade and wilt now. Bit like him, really.

He had been glad when he’d found he was too weak to get out of bed to go to the bathroom because he hadn’t liked to look in the mirror. While the designer stubble look was one he cultivated anyway, the big black circles under his eyes and the rapid hollowing of cheekbones and the yellowing of both eye whites and his complexion made him reluctant to do what he usually did in front of a mirror. Right now, there wasn’t much to admire. Even he was forced to admit that. And not eating at all meant he was losing muscle mass; the six pack would take a lot of getting back.

It wasn’t as if any of this was his fault. He’d only been doing the responsible thing, after all.

Listen, babe,” he’d said. “The world is overcrowded enough as it is. If you want kids later, we can adopt an orphan from somewhere. You can have your pick of babies. And no stretch marks and saggy boobs, eh?”

She’d cried of course but it hadn’t really been her he’d been concerned about. It was the other three. He’d not told any of them about it, of course. And since he couldn’t have risked them turning up while she was here, he’d not sent any of them a text about what had happened. Only texts cancelling their dates. Treat ’em mean and keep ’em keen, he thought, but had a slight pang of concern about how long it might take him to recover his looks and his mojo enough to get them back on the hook. After all, he’d turned thirty and everyone knew it was downhill all the way if you didn’t watch it. A lengthy hospital stay for a severe post operative infection wasn’t going to do him any good whatsoever. Maybe it was worth cultivating one or two of the better looking nurses for a possible bit of bed-bath fun when he was on the mend. It didn’t do to lose the knack for too long.

Mind you, his consultant was a bit of all right if you liked that very severe blonde bombshell look. She had weird name too.

Atropos?” he asked. “Is that Polish, then?”

It might explain the very, very slight accent but then so many of the quacks and nurses weren’t British born.

Greek,” she’d replied quickly.

You don’t look Greek to me,” he’d said, expecting to hear her say it was her husband’s family.

Very old family,” she’d said. “True Hellenes. All the original families were my colouring. Cleopatra’s family too.”

She was Egyptian,” he’d said.

Queen of Egypt, certainly but the Ptolemies were Hellenes.”

He’d shaken his head at her ignorance. Everyone knew Cleopatra was Egyptian. Mind you, she might be ignorant of history but she knew her stuff here. He’d not been in pain at all. Uncomfortable certainly, but not in pain. She was due again soon and he relished the thought of seeing her again, even if he couldn’t do anything but try and look down her fitted blouse.

Drifting in an out of a light sleep, he wondered how much he might be able to claim in compensation when he threatened to sue the hospital. Might make a decent amount; enough for a good holiday at least. Shocking that you couldn’t have a simple routine operation without something going wrong these days; day surgery was meant to be just that. But by the time he’d got home that evening he was already feverish and the infection was clear. By midnight he’d called an ambulance and was back in a hospital gown and dosed to the eyeballs with morphine. It had been downhill from then on.

He opened his eyes and found the consultant was sitting there. He blinked at her but she didn’t seem to notice he’d woken up; she continued to study his chart and wrote a note here and there. After a second or two, she got up and went to inspect the level in the catheter bag. She frowned.

I am awake, you know,” he said, his voice sounding querulous and rough.

Oh good,” she said, but without enthusiasm.

She came and sat down on the bed and to his surprise, she took his hand. Hey, my luck is in, he thought.

Do you have any family we can contact?” she asked, her voice kind.

To his own surprise, he felt his eyes well up with tears at this.

No,” he said. “Plenty of mates but no family.”

She glanced at the row of bright cards and the wilting flowers.

Your girlfriend?” she asked.

Can’t stand seeing me like this,” he said. “I texted her to come when I’m feeling a bit better.”

The woman swallowed.

I’ve got some hard news for you to deal with alone,” she said. “The infection has spread and it’s causing a serious reaction in your whole body. Your kidneys appear to be shutting down. We’ve been giving you IV antibiotics but they have barely slowed the infection. I think it’d be fair to call it a super-bug.”

He gave her his cocky smile, the one he saved for the special ladies.

But I will be all right, won’t I, doc?” he said.

She shook her head.

That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” she said. “One by one, your organs are going to fail.”

But you can do something about that, can’t you?”

She shook her head again.

I’m so very, very sorry,” she said and took his other hand too. “You may not realise it because of the morphine, but you’re clinging to life by a tiny, tiny thread.”

He struggled to take in what she was saying.

You mean I’m going to die?” he said eventually. “All because of a stupid vasectomy? I’m going to die because of the snip?”

His voice rose with anger and outrage.

I’m afraid so,” she said gently. “It’s a million to one chance this has happened but it has. I am so sorry.”

He let the tears of self pity spill over and down his face, unconcerned for once about appearing unmanly.

It’s not fair,” he said at last.

She nodded.

Sometimes life simply isn’t fair,” she said. “You know this. Your girlfriend told me she did want children, you know.”

You’ve talked to her?” he asked astonished. “She’s been here and she didn’t come to see me? The bitch.”

No,” she said. “She’s not a bitch. She was just mistaken in you. She still cares but she can’t bear to see you this way because this was your choice. You denied her something important to her. She feels this is her fault entirely, that if she’d stood up to you, this wouldn’t have happened.”

What can I do?” he said, suddenly helpless. “I don’t want to die.”

Nothing you can do,” the consultant said. “It may take a few days or it may be a few hours. But you will die.”

Don’t let me die in pain, then,” he said.

That’s all I can do, now,” she said.

*

He lay very still, seeming deflated by death as he had been inflated by life. The consultant stood at one side of the bed, and watched the pale young woman rubbing her eyes with a scrap of tissue as she looked at him.

Was it peaceful?” she asked. “He didn’t suffer?”

No, it was very peaceful. I stayed with him to the end. He had plenty of pain relief and he just drifted off at the end.”

The girl sniffed and touched the whitening forehead.

He’d have hated how this made him look,” she said. “He was so vain, you know.”

She picked at a loose thread on the sheet that was pulled up to the dead man’s chin and broke it.

He never got to know he was going to be a daddy, either,” she said. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell him you know. But at least I have something of him now to remember him by.”

She kissed the cold face and got up to leave.

What a senseless way to go, though,” she said as she slipped passed the consultant.

Miss Atropos patted the grieving girl on the shoulder.

I’m sure your baby will be a great comfort to you in the days to come,” she said.

The girl gave her a watery, red-eyed smile.

I’m sure he’d have got used to being a daddy very quickly,” she said. “He’d have made a great dad after all.”

Miss Atropos smiled. It was what they’d all said.

© Vivienne Tuffnell 14th June 2010

The Parable of the Goldpanner

 

The parable of the goldpanner

 

Once upon a time there was a young man who ran away to seek his fortune.

 He had heard that men could get rich by mining for gold and so he travelled to the gold fields only to be told that the mines were all but exhausted of gold but he could still find gold by panning for it in the streams that flowed from the mountain.

Much gold still remained inside the mountain; indeed, far more remained than had ever been taken out but it had become too dangerous and expensive to go any deeper into the mountain and dig for gold and so men contented themselves with the gold that washed from the heart of the mountain. Indeed, this gold was known to be purer and need less processing before it could be used. In ancient times, the nuggets were simply taken and washed before being skilfully beaten and shaped into rings and cups of astonishing beauty. Now, gold that had been mined had to be crushed and heated and treated with dreadful chemicals to extract the pure gold and by the time the finished product was ready it had cost almost as much to produce as it was now worth.

On his first day the young man stood knee deep in the icy waters that rushed from the heart of the mountain and panned and panned till his back ached and his feet and legs became numb with the cold. All the while he squinted into his pan and every so often he would shout out with excitement and pick out something and stuff it swiftly into his leather pouch. At the end of the day, he ran, tired and cold as he was to the Valuer’s tent and poured out his day’s finds expecting to go home to his family that day, rich beyond belief. A long silence followed that was followed by a low rumble of laughter, first from one man and then from all the men present.

Why are you laughing?” he asked, bewildered and angry that they should mock him so.

Because all you have found here is Fool’s Gold,” said the Valuer, wiping his eyes of tears of mirth. “Every man here did this on his first day. Until you know what gold really looks like, you will think that this mineral here is it. Let me show you.”

The older man pulled from his pocket a small leather bag and extracted from it a small rough lump that shone like the morning sun rising above the hills. It was brighter and somehow purer in colour than the iron pyrites that he had shown the Valuer, and instantly the young man knew what it was he was actually looking for.

The old man who taught me gave me that lump so I would know what I was looking for and not be misled by fakes and forgeries. And now I am giving it to you because sometimes when the winter sun fails to shine and you are cold and miserable, you will need to look at the true gold so you can remember what you are seeking,” said the older man. “And one day, you will pass this nugget onto someone else so they too know what they seek.”

So the young man returned to his icy stream bed and began again. Sometimes he would see a gleam that made his look again but it only took a second before he knew he was once more looking at Fool’s gold and he would sigh and carry on.

Weeks passed and then months and all the time he carried on looking, his small reserve of money dwindling each day that passed until one day he had no money left to buy food. He looked at the gold nugget the Valuer had given him and considered whether he should sell that so he might eat that day, but after looking at it, he realised that he would maybe one day forget what true gold looked like and be led astray once more. So he put the nugget away and carried on swirling the water and sediment in his pan and suddenly, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, he saw first one and then another tiny lump of pure gold. All that day he worked and when he trudged back to camp, he had enough gold to sustain him for weeks.

As the years passed, the young man accumulated gold, and slowly and steadily he grew richer and older until one day, standing knee deep in the water of his stream, his bones started to ache with cold and tiredness like they had never done before and he waded back to the banks of the stream and sat down.

All I have had of this stream, I have spent and enjoyed so very little,” he said to himself. “I have bought food and only the necessaries of life. Maybe it is time I began to enjoy the gold I worked so hard for.”

So packing up his kit he walked back to the camp, which by now had become a small town, and went to the Valuer’s tent to say goodbye to his old friends.

I’m going back home,” he told them. “I have enough now that I can support my parents and maybe even marry my sweetheart and start our own family.”

As he started to leave the tent, a second young man came in. His eyes were filled with feverish excitement that the first young man recognised at once.

I’m rich, I’m rich,” shouted the new arrival, pouring out on the Valuer’s table the spoils of his first day’s work.”

The laughter that had seemed once so mocking now seemed friendly and rueful, the recognition of a mistake the men had all made in the past. The new youngster’s face became red and angry and he seemed almost in tears with frustration.

I’ve never seen gold before,” he admitted, sweeping his pile of Fool’s Gold to the floor in his disappointment. “How am I supposed to know if no one has ever shown me?”

The first young man, no longer so very young or so very foolish, went over to the other man and put his hand out.

Here,” he said. “This might help.”

In his hand was the gold nugget he had once been given to help him know what true gold is.

But don’t you need it any more?” asked the newcomer.

No,” said the first young man. “You see, after all this time, I think I will always know gold when I see it. And I have found enough gold of my own now to be able to be sure I will always know how to find more if I need it.”

And so our not-so-young man walked away, and went home to his family richer and dare I say, wiser than when he had set out years before.

© Vivienne Tuffnell November 15th 2008

 

What are Wild Sheep?

Wild Sheep are sheep who have become aware that there is more to life than the field they live in, winning rosettes at the show and becoming the perfect sheep to end in a perfect shepherd’s pie.

Wild Sheep are people who have begun to ask the awkward questions about life, about what they have accepted for so long and taken as truth.

Wild Sheep are people who wake up one day and see clearly; or slowly wake up over a period of years. Some are born awake and seeing clearly. You usually find wild sheep like this in high and remote places: but there are some who live in our midst and are often the people who have bugged the hell out of us because they won’t just do things the way we think things should be done.

If you watch the ads on TV and ask, “Why do they want me to buy this X?”…

If you question everything in the newspapers and on the TV news…

If you stop in the middle of the working day and ask yourself, “There’s gotta be a better way to do this,”……

If you step out in faith and do something a different way…..

If you stop assuming that They know what they’re doing….

…then you’re probably a wild sheep.

But wild or not, sheep are vulnerable and need a flock for defense. We’re just little woolly bleaters, aren’t we?

Wrong. Did you know that the animal that kills the most humans in Africa is not the lion but the buffalo? Even lions fear buffalo. Predators work with the fear instinct. Divide and feast: if you get the herd/flock in a panicked stampede, you can pick off the weakest member of the community, usually the very young or the very old or sick, and bring them down. The herd won’t stop you. They’re too busy running for their own lives to care about anyone else till later…

That’s why sheep are herd animals: we need each other. Wild sheep stand and fight. They put their weakest members in the middle and stand facing out, horns at the ready. If you’ve ever been kicked by a real, live sheep(I have) it hurts. It can break bones. Just because we don’t have tearing teeth and claws doesn’t mean we can’t defend ourselves.

If you have a wild sheep story, share it here. Together we can be stronger than the predators….