Sitting on the bench, a cool Wednesday morning. Tony could hear the traffic from there. Up and down Dundonald Road, all day long, the world going about its business.
Here he was, just like every other day.
The smell of flowers and cut grass drifted on the air.
Sandwiches wrapped in cling film beside him, next to his dominoes.
A bottle of Irn Bru by his feet.
The tombstones before him.
And one in particular.
Words like a prisoner, locked inside. But he was here this morning with his notebook, as always. He had pages and pages unwritten.
He had walked along the gravel path, seen dates born on, died on. Some stretched between centuries, some in weeks, days, hours.
He had gone down to the day centre again, but Wally wasn’t there. Just a crowd of unfamiliar faces watching the news. Wally’s seat empty. No one else liked playing dominoes.
The scores were still up on the wall.
Wally 123 — Tony 122.
Fuck’s sake. Cheeky git.
It didn’t feel right being there without him.
So he’d come back here.
In the silence it felt like he was closer to his friend. He reached a hand out in front of him, like it was reaching out across the great divide.
He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes.
He jumped as a school kid raced down the gravel track, disrupting the stones and shouting, “Ehoooooooooooo!”
And in a moment, he was gone.
Tony sighed.
He eyes drifted to the tombstone:
Wallace Douglas
02/03/1984 to 16/05/2024
Beloved son, brother, and husband.
He opened his notebook, held the pen in his hand.
He looked up at the sky as a great cloud rolled in front of the sun. He shivered a little.
He took a domino from the packet.
Just held it.
Or it held him.
He wasn’t sure.
Like an anchor.
A connection.
To a life lived. All those games. Defeats. Triumphs. But mostly,
The chat.
He held the domino in his hand.
They’d played in the pub till he had given up the sauce.
Then, when Wally got ill, the day centre. Then the hospital.
He sat on the bench, in the cemetery with the silence and the stone before him.
He smiled. He knew that there would always be a piece missing from this pack. It had gone with Wally. In his suit pocket. As he lay there in the open casket.
A parting gift from a friend.
He picked up his pen. He wrote:
‘Do the dead see us?
See us in our grief?
Like the other side of a glass partition?
Screaming at us,
“You’ve still got what I’ve lost.
Get up.
Get up.
Get living.
Now.
While you can.
Don’t waste this.”
Or do they place their hand against the glass,
Smile.
Or would it be
You again mate. C’mon to fuck, should you not be playing dominoes ‘
The notebook open, he picked up his bottle of juice, the gas had built up and as he opened the lid it poured out over the top.
He looked up to the sky.
He’d buy a new set of dominoes on the way home today.
Midnight. Midnight is gone. Deep into the heart of the night. Just speeding through the nighttime, past where the streetlights end. The road is quiet.
Got to get home.
Police cars burling past me down the dual carriageway. Lights flashing as I slow down a little.
Stop at the petrol station and fill up. The lady behind the screen is reading the paper, she looks tired but offers a smile. The air is cold and clean; the silence of the night is weighing down the world.
Smell of petrol.
Advertisement for a new radio station on the back of the paper.
I can’t go the radio these days, man. There are no gospel stations singing tired travellers home tonight. No local stations at all. It’s just a voice beamed in from the home of empire, reading out the latest catastrophes.
Or a 100-sound alike stations.
Same songs from Ayrshire to Aberdeen to London to Paris to Kansas fucking city. I can’t tell if that’s a real human voice anymore.
This is my resistance. While I’m still breathing. You can get yourself to fuck.
I can hear the ghosts of late-night Ayrshire.
I’ve got a coffee, got some kind of microwave food. Is it a burger? Is it a pie? It’s something in between. I can’t decide if it smells of death or heaven.
I’m back on the road. Sun coming up in the rearview mirror, calling my missus. I’m coming home.
They got me working late. Night shift, late shift, midnight ramble.
The world gives you nothing. It will strip away everything that matters if it can.
⚠️ Trigger Warning:This is a story of survival, but it includes themes of depression, suicidal thoughts, self-harm, and emotional distress. Please read with care. If these topics affect you deeply, know that you are not alone.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (U.S.) Contact: Call or text 988 Website: 988lifeline.org Details: Available 24/7 for free, confidential support for mental health crises, substance use issues, or emotional distress. Offers chat services and support in Spanish (press 2 when calling or text AYUDA to 988).
Crisis Text Line (U.S., Canada, UK) Contact: U.S. & Canada: Text HOME to 741741 UK: Text SHOUT to 85258 Website: crisistextline.org (U.S.), shout85258.org.uk (UK) Details: Provides 24/7 free, confidential text-based support. The U.S. website covers Canada; the UK service is operated by Shout. Note different numbers for UK vs. U.S./Canada.
Samaritans (UK & Ireland) Contact: Call 116 123 (free, 24/7) Website: samaritans.org Details: Offers 24/7 emotional support for anyone in distress. Also provides email support ([jo@samaritans.org]) and a Welsh Language Line (0808 164 0123, 7 p.m.–11 p.m. daily).
Lifeline (Australia) Contact: Call 13 11 14 Website: lifeline.org.au Details: 24/7 crisis support and suicide prevention services. Text and online chat available (check website for hours).
Crisis Services Canada Contact: Call 1-833-456-4566 (24/7) or text 45645 (4 p.m.–midnight ET) Website: 988.ca Details: Nationwide 24/7 support via phone; texting available evenings. The previous website (crisisservicescanada.ca) is outdated; 988.ca is the current hub for Canada’s suicide prevention services. Also, call or text 9-8-8 for immediate crisis support.
Suicide Crisis Helpline (India) Contact: Call iCall: +91 9152987821 Website: icallhelpline.org Details: Operated by TISS, provides mental health support and crisis intervention. Available Monday–Saturday, 10 a.m.–8 p.m. IST.
Mental Health Helpline (New Zealand) Contact: Call or text 1737 (24/7) Website: 1737.org.nz Details: Free, confidential 24/7 support from trained counsellors for mental health and wellbeing concerns
I feel the sweat rolling down my back as I heave the shovel up and back down into the cold, dark earth. I run my hands through my hair and let out a breath as I pick the earth up and add it to the pile.
There is a cold silence around me. The trees are bare, empty. The woods robbed of their life by winter’s cold hand. I can hear the river run on.
I’m six feet down in the earth. Past where the road ends. Down past the old ruins of farms.
I didn’t think I’d end up here.
I left the house this morning before daylight broke. I’ve been driving ever since.
Everywhere. Nowhere. All at once.
I look around me. The shape, the edges of the grave are just right.
There you go. I can do something right.
I kneel down. Tears fall heavy. I can’t stop it. I take out the gun. Cold. Real.
My hand shakes a little. I put it to my head. I breathe. Slow. I close my eyes. A moment.
I pull the trigger.
The river keeps running. The moon peaks through the clouds.
I close my eyes and breathe in hard. I look down at this muddy earth. I put the gun to my head and pull the trigger.
Nothing.
Fuuuuck.
I hold the gun above me, pointing at the sky, and fire. Once. Twice. Three times.
The night explodes in fire and noise as the bullets race into the night.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I throw the gun down into the mud. As I look up, the clouds are clearing. I see stars shining. I howl out into the darkness.
I fall back to my knees and I’m crawling at the bottom of the grave. Where’s the gun, where the gun, where is the gun, I need that.
I can’t find it.
I’m lying flat on the bottom of the grave. Mud sticking to my clothes.
I am of the earth, but not yet the earth.
I turn and I’m looking out from the bottom of the grave. I hear the river. I see the endless darkness. And the stars shining.
My muscles ache. My head aches. I try to lift my arms, but my energy has left me. Has life left me?
I lay there. I don’t know for how long.
I hear the voices of friends, vanished and gone. I see my son’s face , holding him in my arms on the day he was born. I hear my girlfriend call me, somewhere out in the darkness.
Empty pages blow down the street. Lights are going out.
All but one.
The rain starts falling. So I drown.
I close my eyes as I feel the rain fall on me, my clothes sticking to me with the cold mud.
No.
I try to raise my head, but my body is heavier than heaven. I try to move my arms, my legs — but they sink into the mud.
No. I I
I push. I kick. I feel arms reaching from the ground, pulling me back, pulling me in.
I struggle. My arms like dead weight.
As I struggle to my knees, I feel something metallic and mean rising through my stomach, and I’m sick into the earth. Into the grave.
Again. And again.
Until there is nothing left.
I slouch down to the bottom of the grave, breathing in the air. The rancid smell of sick assaults me.
I close my eyes and push myself to my feet, for just a moment , before I tumble down again.
The air escapes my body as I crawl to the side. I’m pulling myself up from the side of the grave. The mud sticks to me.
I slip. I slide. I fall.
But ,
I rise.
Again. Again.
The rain is falling. The mud sticks to me. My arms, my legs empty of energy.
I must. I have to. Rise. Rise.
I feel around the ground at the top, and I grab some roots. I heave, Slowly.
I pull myself from the grave…
Until I’m lying on the ground , Covered in mud and sick and rain, Breathing hard as my lungs burn, My body aches, Tears falling.
But ,
I am alive.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (U.S.) Contact: Call or text 988 Website: 988lifeline.org Details: Available 24/7 for free, confidential support for mental health crises, substance use issues, or emotional distress. Offers chat services and support in Spanish (press 2 when calling or text AYUDA to 988).
Crisis Text Line (U.S., Canada, UK) Contact: U.S. & Canada: Text HOME to 741741 UK: Text SHOUT to 85258 Website: crisistextline.org (U.S.), shout85258.org.uk (UK) Details: Provides 24/7 free, confidential text-based support. The U.S. website covers Canada; the UK service is operated by Shout. Note different numbers for UK vs. U.S./Canada.
Samaritans (UK & Ireland) Contact: Call 116 123 (free, 24/7) Website: samaritans.org Details: Offers 24/7 emotional support for anyone in distress. Also provides email support ([jo@samaritans.org]) and a Welsh Language Line (0808 164 0123, 7 p.m.–11 p.m. daily).
Lifeline (Australia) Contact: Call 13 11 14 Website: lifeline.org.au Details: 24/7 crisis support and suicide prevention services. Text and online chat available (check website for hours).
Crisis Services Canada Contact: Call 1-833-456-4566 (24/7) or text 45645 (4 p.m.–midnight ET) Website: 988.ca Details: Nationwide 24/7 support via phone; texting available evenings. The previous website (crisisservicescanada.ca) is outdated; 988.ca is the current hub for Canada’s suicide prevention services. Also, call or text 9-8-8 for immediate crisis support.
Suicide Crisis Helpline (India) Contact: Call iCall: +91 9152987821 Website: icallhelpline.org Details: Operated by TISS, provides mental health support and crisis intervention. Available Monday–Saturday, 10 a.m.–8 p.m. IST.
Mental Health Helpline (New Zealand) Contact: Call or text 1737 (24/7) Website: 1737.org.nz Details: Free, confidential 24/7 support from trained counsellors for mental health and wellbeing concerns
Paul Andrew Sneddon 