http://slow.writerscafe.org/Terry%20Collett The original writings of author Terry Collett en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775984186 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 A detective came on to the locked ward accompanied by the shrink. You were called into the shrink’s office with the large nurse. Take a seat, Molly, the shrink said. You sat opposite his desk and the detective sat next to the shrink and the nurse stood by the door. The detective had a Zapata m.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2961627/ She said nothing to her sister about his kiss in the porch way of the church before choir practice that evening. He and she had stolen a few minutes to hug and kiss then followed others into the choir. She had felt a glow inside as she.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2961604/ You began to put away the shopping we had bought from town. She eyed you quite a lot, you said pausing by the larder door. Who? I said. That cashier at the checkout, you said. I didn’t notice, I said. Well she did, you .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2961602/ The bus was crowded but he found a seat next to a plump woman who smelt of fish. It was a cold morning and the pavements were white with frost and people outside walked carefully along. He lit a cigarette and his smoke joined other smoke in the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2961599/ The weather decided to be fine. Blue the nurse and the other nurse escorted you outside in the grounds. Fresh air if a little cold was welcomed. Being out of the locked ward was promised and now provided. The shrink recommended it at your last meeting with him. You walked with hands in the borrowed .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2960844/ All you didwas askthe German soldierwhy?and he shot you in the headand walked awayas if he had swatted a flyand didn't even waitto see you falland die.Moments beforeyou whispered to methat after all thiswe would meet againand try to recreatethe times before the invasionand talk about our tomorrow.Bu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2960448/ Geoffrey sits at the backof the coffee houseas there are no free tablesat the front.He has puthis walking frameout of the way of others.He has orderedlatte and a croissant.The barista saidshe will bring his order.A crowded tablein the middle is noisywith chatter and laughter.It disturbs his peace.Hi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2960445/ All that is gone now,at least time.The church and the cemeteryare still there,but you are not,just shadows of youwhere we once stoodand looked at the headstonesand legends and dates.The afternoon sun setsamong the gravesand over the church.Time passes,shadows remain,memories open,and for a momentyou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2960444/ It snowed before school,the familiar pavementwas hiddenby the cold whiteness.Ellen was wrapped upwith buttons up raincoatand scarfand wooly gloves.I braved the morningwhiteness and coldto meet herby the railway bridge,wearing an old overcoatdug out of the closet,with a cousin'shanded down scarf.We w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2960441/ The fool'sa complete imbecile,Gran saidor I heard her say,moving the wordsaround my young boy head,trying to make senseof the words said.I stood in the sitting roomas a conversations were exchanged.A fire blazed in the fireplace,coal turning red and yellow.Old photos peered at mein sepia and black a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2960440/ AuschwitzJust the wordis disturbing,its smell lingersin nightmares,smellsandtastes(like Proust's madeleinessoaked in tea)brings back memories,often onesthatwe try to forget.Even a whisper of Auschwitzbrings back sightsandsoundsandthese smells.Each of ushashaddreamsofheavenandeach of ushashadnightmar.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2960439/ Which side of death are you from? the old man said. Take no notice, the nursing assistant said in whispered words, he's got dementia. I ignored her and she walked on to attend to other visitors.This side of death, I told the old man. Shame,&nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2959480/ When two elderly women enter the lounge of the Lodge Bill turns and gazes at them as they sit next to each otherin old armchairs. He acknowledges them with a slight inclination of his head then turns his head and gaze to the scene outside the window and i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2959479/ Each Sunday that year we walked this narrow lane to the church and after the service we would go back down again and walk the road to the bus stop to get the bus back home I think of summer Sundays, the ancient church smell, the hymns sung,&nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2959478/ He sat most days in the silence of the Chapel of Mary, as it was called, while the mass was celebrated in English by the young parish priest.The old man sat ignoring the mass, focusing on his quietly murmured prayers, his eyes downcast, his.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2959473/ The last time I walked down that country laneit felt momentarily as if I were young again,the small running stream rushing in over stones, the high hedgerows either side, the rooks still up in the tall trees, but you are not here, there is a empty space&n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2959472/ I think of you both on summer days and winter evenings, remember us both back then, the first of kisses, embraces and promises. Now I am old and you captured by death, but where you are laid I do not know I'm afraid, but I have memories of .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2959471/ What a lie:Work will set you free.They workeduntil deathset them free.Some like you Annywere trickedinto showersand gassed.The same sun and moonshone on you thenas on me now,but they shoneon you dyingand so young.What lies were told,what a betrayal.When I lookat the afternoon sunor the moon at night.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2958211/ Tell us, Rebecca,where your ashes lie.Have the windscarried themto other climes,or have they beentrampledunderfootor buriedin some pit or holedespite the chimneyswith their roaring smoke?WherecanIfindyour traces?Is your voicecaughtin the airalong with the voicesof the deadwho were gassedor hanged?Re.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2958210/ In some night dreams,my son, I wanderthe hospital corridorsin search of you.No one else walks,just me walkingthe artificial lit corridors,hoping to find you there.But you are not to be found,just the silence of night,and my eyes searchthe dim lit corridors and corners,wanting to see youalive not dea.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2958209/ We lay there onceone summer,carefree and with youthfulsearching for meaning,but more for the keyto a deeper love beyondthe touching and tickles,birds I recall in a summer sky,then the distant motion of trafficgoing to or fromsomewhere beyond,and I recall the swayof tall grass,and us lying therewhisp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2958208/ They came and tooka dozen neighbours,and the old preacherwho used to sit on the landingwith his suitcaseand coat at nightbecause he saidthey come for you at nightnot day, but nonethelessthey took him away,and the old battle-axeon the ground floorwho claimed she knew Leninin 1922,they took her away t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2958207/ We could still hearthe Arab guitaristfrom our sand duneon the beachand the voices of othersenjoying the partywhich we choseto escape from.Moonlight shoneover the Mediterranean seaand webefore making outwatched the scenewe could hear alsothe waves movingonto the shoreand knowingthat the booze was pot.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2958206/ Lizbeth's fatherhas to dealwith his wife's mental instabilityand his thirteen year olddaughter's rebellion.He wants calm and balanceand a smooth ridethrough his day to day,but it seldom is.His daughter he calls his ragazza focosa, Italian,but his wife retains,depending on her mood,his dear, and.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2958205/ She has touched the photographwith her fingerwishing she could touchhis face againcould hear his voice once morehear his soft laughteras she had before.She lifts the photographin its frameand kisses the imageof him there,but it's not the same,cold glass does not respondto warmth of kissing.She puts .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2958204/ After the funeralof an old friendGeoffrey attended the wakein the church hall.He sat at a corner tablewith other friendshe'd not seen in a while.Small talk and soft laughterabout earlier times.But he felt out of it,felt like going hometo his empty houseand sit in his armchairand pour a whiskeyand a .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2958203/ Lizbeth knowsher motherhas foundthe hidden sex bookin her wardrobeby the simple factit was replacedin the wrong place.She wondered why her motherhad stared at her coldlywhen she came infrom school,now she knows.How muchhad she seen?Lizbeth bets her motherwould have turned bright redgazing through th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2958202/ Gerry Mulliganplays on the CD playerin the room downstairs,his baritone saxophonefilling the airdown there.The washingnot movingon the washing line.A lone pigeonwalks the lawnfor outcast bread,but no other birdsin sight.The buddleiais in quiet bloom.The weather is closeand promising heat.That summer.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2958201/ Bill left the dining room after breakfast and went to his room at the Lodge. The loud mouth ex-cop said he would have solved the Jack the Ripper case had he been there in 1888. Bill said nothing just grazed at the idiot with a quiet contempt. In his room he lights a cigarette and gazes out the windo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2958200/ Mingus Jazzplays on the hifiin the next room.Washing sways gentlyin the morning breeze.No birds search the lawnfor cast out breadnor has the young foxtrotted up alongthe garden pathseeking left overs.A trombone playerpumps out a solo.She enters my headand the summer kisshalf century agobeneath a war.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2958197/ What do you thinkabout Madrid?the young Spanish waitressasked after she tookour order at the cafe.I love itMiriam saidand I concurredsmiling at the bright-eyed waitress.She walked awayand I admired her body's sway.Do you have to stare soat other femaleswhen I am with you?Miriam said annoyed.I may ha.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2958195/ I thought youwere saved,my son,but the end was near,dark clouds gathered,and the nurse,bless her soul,did everything she couldto bring you back to us,from the neglectof the previous daysof others less caring.I thought youwere saved,my son,but the clouds darkened,despite the nurse's skillsdeath eased.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2958194/ For me,God is the foundationof my being,the old monk said,his black habithaving stains from lunch,his eyes grey, tired.I sat listening,observing the outer man,stains and all,but maybe,God's holyman,God's fool.That time Sheilameeting me in the school corridorinbetween lessons,eyed me, smiledand blew .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2957076/ The leafless trees swayed in the wind as you gazed at them from the lounge window in the locked ward. You missed the snow, missed how it blanketed all in a uniform of whiteness. Other patients behind you made their usual noise or kept their individual silences. Some pop music played from the ward ra.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2957075/ I can't beginto know how you feltthe day he left youwithout word or hint,just left you to wonderwhere he'd gone and why.No word from him,no phone call or letter,no message to informof why it had to be that wayno warning that morning.All day wondering,mind upset and worried sick,but days came and wen.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2957073/ The white lilies are open.Soon they will all dieAnd sink into death's foul stink. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2957070/ Returning homeafter the death,being driven backin the front of a car,gazing outat the passing scenes,and people goingabout their livesunaware our worldis broken openand the woundtoo fresh to describe,just looking out,emotional turmoil inside,thoughts scrambleseeking a solution;evening skyinnocent of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2957069/ She stands therefor a few minutesand allows the echoof the row with her daughterto fade into a memory.She lets out a deep sighand puts onthe Mozart sonatas recordher husband bought for hersome weeks ago.She lights her third cigaretteof the day and pours a glassof vodka and sips.Mozart is her go towh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2957068/ The road we used to walkis a motorway nowand traffic passes byin an almost endless lineboth ways.But then it seemed less busyand a single roadback and forth.I chased youalong side the roadto tickle youand hold and kisson the way homefrom school.Now I stand and watchthe endless traffic passing,but yo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2957065/ She sits in the small churchwhere they once sat,she talking to himabout the simplicityof the inner church,the plain wooden pews,the small bronze crossat the altar end,and he talking of the cityhe had just left behind,getting all the businessoff his young mind,she sensingher body's awakening,his voic.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2957064/ Nuala‘s body jerked slightly as the bus came to a bus stop, not hers. She gazed out at the Dublin street and wondered if her dead father’s face was there in the crowd. He wasn’t but he had once. Wonder if Una will be at the bus stop waiting? Not seen her in days since Brian’s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2957063/ They said,that the loss of her joband her husband leaving her,possibly led herone morning to leapin front of the speedingexpress train,on its way to somewherewith summer skiesand warm sandy beaches.But to her mindclosed away from that,focused on the platform oppositeand the soundof the approaching t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2956681/ In Deo omnis creatio est,the old monk said,nothing iswhich He did notbring into being.Sunlight camethrough the glass windowsof the refectoryand made patternson the polished wooden floor,and twirling dust mitesseemed like small galaxies.That time after choir practice,Friday evening,we paused Juliet a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2956680/ The darkness was closing in. Death had brought its calling card, black trimmed, red lettering. Eddie didn't see his past life flash before his tired eyes, just the green curtains moving in the breeze from the open window. A dog barked, someone called along the corridor of the nursing home!; a car ba.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2956679/ Mary sits on the sofawhile he goes offto fetch photosof his childhood,after the Sunday dinnerhis mother cooked.She helpedhis mother wash upwhile he satin the lounge smoking.She could smellhis mother's perfumeas she helped dry dishes,his mother's naked neckhow she was temptedto kiss the neck,how she .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2956678/ Lily watches the boyas he kisses herhis lipspressed against hers.She watches as ifshe were an observernot the target of the kiss.There is a greed in the kisssomething deepersomething more he wants.She doesn't responddoesn't even show emotionjust is there watchingas he kisses morelips and cheek and n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2956677/ Nuala‘s body jerked slightly as the bus came to a bus stop, not hers. She gazed out at the Dublin street and wondered if her dead father’s face was there in the crowd. He wasn’t but he had once. Wonder if Una will be at the bus stop waiting? Not seen her in days since Brian’s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2956676/ Sister Martha stood in front of the bench in the refectory awaiting the abbess’s knock for the beginning of grace before lunch. Eyes down looking at her cork-lined shoes. Black shining. Wonder if you could see how you look if they were shiny enough? Not seen myself in years. No vanity here. No.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2956422/ Bill sits in the old public bar in town. He had to get a bit of time away from the Lodge and its dying or brain dead. He sits in a corner away from the talkers at the bar. He sips the beer, dying for a cigarette, but know he can't because of British laws. The beer is cold and has a bitter taste he l.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2956418/ Sometimeswhen it's quietI think I hear himcoming in the front doorfor his evening mealand watch a game of footballwith his brothers,but it's just a memoryadding stuff from the past,or now and thenI feel his hand touch my armto wake mefrom my old man sleep,but I know he is not heredeath claimed from .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Terry-Collett/2956417/