Paul Andrew Sneddon

The Edge of the Volcano

Sometimes I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a volcano.

The silence of the night. Weighs you down. Sometimes it makes it hard to breathe.

I felt like if you whispered then the whole world would hear.

But you knew it couldn’t be true. Could it?

I watched the cold, steady rain fall through the early hours.

The light reflected on the puddles and cracked pavements as daylight bled in.

The streets were empty, the silence broken by an occasional ambulance as it sped up the street . Its lights flashing, siren howling at the crossroads.

Life and death.
In a moment.

I sat by the window.
I’d been up most of the night.

Sleep had become like a fugitive lover you could no longer depend on. Here and then gone, with no guarantees when it would be back.

My brain was running ragged, worrying about everything and nothing all at once. In an exhausting battle with itself.

I’d given up trying to sleep and got myself a coffee. It sat untouched on the window frame. That smell used to give me comfort.

Now, like so much of life, it just drifted past.

A little mountain of silver packaging sat next to the coffee cup, my constant companions. Pills to slow a racing heart, antidepressants, and sleeping pills. The doctor had scared me off the sleeping pills. They were very addictive, so I should take one or two and then stop.

How bad could it be?

Bad.

It felt like I was back at the volcano’s edge again.

I was already hung up on insomnia and everything else. I really didn’t want an addiction to pills to go with it. But I’m not a doctor. Maybe I should have just gone for it.

The room was cold, and I noticed my breath in front of me.

I picked up my notebook. The page screamed back at me. Empty. Line after line. A song unwritten.

Words unsaid.

I looked out the window and saw a milk float making its way up the street.

Had I slipped some gap in time? Who gets milk delivered these days? It made its way up the street but didn’t stop at any houses.

Just kept going.

Was I dreaming?

I caught my reflection in the window. My beard was a little greyer. A few more lines on my face. But I didn’t recognise my eyes.

The brilliant blue was gone. Just dulled and faded.

A scream built up inside me.
My heart raced.

I opened my mouth but no sound came.

Silence.

I drew in a deep breath, closed my eyes, and tried again.
There was a small rumble, which quickly evaporated to nothing as the breath escaped my lungs.

Emptiness.
Everywhere.

I wanted to dial 999.
Call an ambulance.
Call a doctor.
Call someone. Anyone.

My words choked me as I looked around desperately, my hands at my throat.

I watched as the number 22 bus made its way up the street.
I saw the lights.
People setting about their day.
Travelling into work.

I tapped on the window.
I hit the window as hard as I could, but no one noticed.

I slumped back in my seat, exhausted.
My arms fell heavy to my sides as I felt the sweat rolling down my forehead.
It felt like my head was melting as I looked into the window.
It seemed like the world was shrinking and my face was disappearing.

Into nothing.

I looked around the room.

My guitar stretched out, losing its shape, melting before my eyes.

The room began to bend and stretch, losing all shape. An endless emptiness stretching as far as I could see . In every direction. Forward and back.

The future and the past.

I woke up on the floor.

7 a.m.

I had slept for 15 minutes.

My mouth was dry.
My head ached.

I looked up , and there was no roof.

Just rain.

Bring Your Ghost to the Fire

Part 3 of Rock and Roll is Dead

“It felt like they wanted to end music with that one—brass, choirs, the whole cathedral job. It kind of did.”

Deak laughed. “You take this so seriously, mate. It’s just music. It’s practically free. Hell, brother, the streaming services own music now.”

“Ach, that just shows you. It isn’t dead. If people want to sell it, it must be worth something.”

“It’s just nostalgia, mate.”

“Ah, mate, that’s an old trap. It’s the moment. It’s the here and now. Somewhere in this town, someone is sitting with a notebook and a guitar, and they’ve got to get something off their chest, something they can’t just say. They’re going to bleed it onto the page. They’re going to shout it into the darkness and, for a moment, even feel the pulse of the universe, feel alive.”

“Shit, brother, I think you just need to have some fucking sex. Go pick up a nice girl.”

“Ha, fuck off, pal. I had a hot time last night with your maw.”

“That’s interesting. She’s been dead for ten years, and we scattered her ashes on some thorn bushes.”

They both burst out laughing.

Even Bring Your Ghost to the Fire couldn’t keep it going, Frankie thought. First album was a classic, but I don’t like their recent stuff. But it sells.

When did Hubie stop giving a shit and write “Boogie Pants”?

There was a burst of static, and Lauren’s voice came over the speakers. “Here’s a song for first kisses.”

The unmistakable sound of Idlewild blasted out across the bar.

They both looked over to the bar, and Lauren gave them a thumbs-up and a smile.

They both grinned back.

“I like her, she’s got the passion, eh?” said Frankie.

“Ach she’s a bit much eh and she’ll not give up that punk band name though,” laughed Frankie.

“You going to the open mic tonight?”

“Aye, maybes,” said Deak.

Rock and Roll

Part 2 of Rock and Roll is Dead

Frankie leaned into the table as Deak said, ‘Rock and Roll is dead.’

“No, it’s not.”

“Aye, it is, Frankie.” Deak took a swig of his beer as he watched the barmaid walk by.
“Look at the charts. It’s all pop princesses and dance hits.”

Frankie snorted. “That’s pish, Deak, and you know it is. Rock and roll has waxed and waned. It survived the eighties, for fuck’s sake, when all the guys had bigger hair than the lassies.”

“Ha, they made a lot of money in the 80s. Flew on their own private jets. Coke parties. Any woman or man they ever wanted,” grinned Deak, warming to the subject.

Frankie moved his beer to the side, his arms getting more animated. “Well, maybe, but so fucking what? It’s music, mate. It’s alive now in the clubs, online,” replied Frankie, his hands open on the table.

“Ooh, online. Were Led Zeppelin online, eh?” laughed Deak.

“Ah, fuck off. Different generation. There are still bands out there, and there are still bands coming up. Bands sell out the Riverside Dome. But the best music I’ve seen has to be in a small club, with sweaty walls, drums so loud the crowd shaking the floor.”

Deak looked up at the ceiling. “You ever just want to put on some music and just peace the fuck out?”

“Aye, course, but a beat, drums, guitars, bass, and a vocalist that can reach right into your soul and just light it up.”

“You sound like you’re off your head. I blame the internet.”

“The internet? Aye, maybe, but you might find a song or band that just changes everything.”
“Changes everything? I just want something playing in the background.”

Frankie rolled his eyes. “In the background? That’s the difference between us, pal. I still love ‘Howl on the Lonesome Road’ by Bring Your Ghost to the Fire. Some songs just stick with you.”
Lauren stopped by the table with a tray of empties. “Here you two, nae falling out tonight. I cannae take any more drama between you two, not after the last time. I’ll be honest with you, I’m tired of your pish. So keep it sweet eh?”

“Aye, sorry about that, hen,” they both mumbled as Frankie’s face turned a little red.
She laughed. “Alright, boys, chill.”
“Here, Lauren,” offered up Deak, “what was the name of that band you used to play in?”
“Howd do yous know about that. That was a long time ago.”

“Alright, greatest rock and roll band of all time?”
She barely hesitated. “Easy. Oasis. Biggest band of the last thirty years. Real Rock and Roll.”
The boys looked at each other. “Oasis…” laughed Frankie.

“What… how… what? Did I say something wrong?” Lauren looked puzzled.

“Were they no’ just a rip-off of The Beatles and Status Quo… plus those haircuts?” laughed Deak.
Lauren playfully swiped him with her cloth. “I happen to quite like those haircuts! Were you at Manchester? Edinburgh? You don’t see many bands doing that these days.”

“Oh aye, here we go,” laughed Deak.

“Here, you two are snobs. See the number of artists and singers that saw Oasis and were inspired to pick up a guitar or take a chance. Plus, you go to one of their shows and everyone is having a good time.”

Frankie interjected, “First two albums were classics, but after that… nae chance.”
“Ha, maybe. I was always into Idlewild anyway. Had my first kiss with a boy to ‘Actually It’s Darkness’.”

“Funny that, so did I,” laughed Deak.

“Anyway you two, go listen to Oasis, Sam Fender, Biffy Clyro, Traquair and the Tranquilizers.”

Someone called her from the bar. “Later, losers, no ripping Morning Glory in my bar again,” she smiled, and she was gone.

Frankie and Deak looked at each other and laughed. Frankie said, “It’s all opinions, eh? That’s what makes the world go round.”

Suddenly, the volume of the music went up, and the unmistakable sound of “All Around the World” by Oasis started up.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Deak.

They looked over at the bar and saw Lauren looking over, her face turning red as she laughed so hard.

“Fuck’s sake.”

Frankie went to the bar for another couple of drinks.

“Tell her to turn it up!” laughed Deak.
The song blasts out across the bar before Frankie returns to the table.

Rock and Roll is Dead

Part One: Hubie

Hubie lay on the bed, strumming absent-mindedly on an acoustic guitar. He wasn’t sure if he even had the energy to write a new song. He almost felt like if he started Terry would be knocking on the door, wanting to know all about it.

He had the door open to the balcony and a cool breeze was flowing through. From his spot on the bed, he could see across the city. He loved this place. He knew the reputation of Glasgow crowds, hell he had played here many times now and it never failed to be a classic.

He looked at his developing beer belly and wished he was in better shape. He sighed.

The pictures on the TV screen.

Bombings, murder, death.

He remembered the peace marches he had gone on. He flicked through his phone at the pictures. He felt he was just another voice to help.

But those days were gone.

He walked out to the balcony and looked over the city.

And So It Does

One
The day fades out like a bleeding man. All oranges and reds behind the tree line. Last gasps of light.
Last breathe.
Before night.
A dog barks in the distance, but otherwise silence.
I can’t even hear the main road now. Rush hour must be over. The shift change at the prison must be past now.
Not too many have reason to be out this way.
The road only runs past Mackie’s and Mackie’s will be shut by now. The staff home, everything backed up before they open for breakfast in the morning.
You ever tried finding a late-night diner around here?
You’ll be lucky.
It’s never been a thing. I guess this town likes its late-night eating deep fried and dripping rather than eggs over easy or some apple pie.
I’m sitting here, I can see the streetlights flow like a river back into town. The streets will be quiet now. The regulars at graces will be watching the football, moaning about the council or the young ones.
No doubt.
A week ago, that would have been me.
And I’d have been perfectly happy.
But a lot can change in a week.
Hell, a lot can change in a day.
And so
It does

Two
The car door open
The car, in the middle of the street.
Engine running. The door open. Lights flashing.
Sirens
The body. The body. No longer a person, no longer a life.
Just a body.
Not moving. Not breathing.
Ami.
Shopping bags down at her side. Eggs smashed. Milk all over the road.
The people, standing, watching.
The ambulance got here quick, but it seems to me that they are moving in slow motion.
The policemen, holding me back.
‘Mr Douglas, let them work….’
Looking at the paramedic. The shake of the head.
Everything changed.

Three
The abyss. The void.
The day we met, in the warm sunshine, her voice, her laugh, her perfume.
The house. Our house.
A home.
Light, laughter, music.
Her playing guitar like Jimi Hendrix.
The bad movies that made us laugh.
The bench out back that we never got fixed.
I sat out there, yesterday.
I couldn’t sleep in the bed. Couldn’t sleep on the couch.
So, I went outside.
I was there when the sun came up.
Just me, the leaves falling from the trees and the birds trying to start a chorus.
I put my headphones on, couldn’t tell you what it played.
Just silence.
Like ear plugs.
Home isn’t home.
I had to touch the wall, to make sure it was real.
I phoned her mum; she was living in a retirement home on the coast.
She didn’t remember me.
She couldn’t remember much.
Alzheimer’s.

Four
They tell me it’s hit and run.
The police took a statement. The detective was all business.
Looking tired, drawn. I guess this is just one of his cases.
Not much I could say.
They had forms for me to sign. They could get me a liaison. Was there anyone I could talk to?
I asked them who it was.
They didn’t know. There’s CCTV all over this town but it didn’t bring any clues.
No witnesses came forward.
They would keep looking.
They would keep me informed.
They left and I was alone.
In our house.
I walked to the window and watched them go. In the kitchen I boiled the kettle and made a cup of tea.
I sat on the couch.
I sat on the floor.
Heard the old clock ticking. Your picture on the wall.
The silence.
Pushing down on me.
The unbearable silence.

Five
I went to town this morning. My brother is coming down from the city. Stay a few days before the funeral.
All I’ve got is out of date chicken.
I just walked into town.
Shades on in in the weak morning sun.
Hoody up till I got to the shop.
Sympathetic looks, but no-one said much.
No-one said much of anything at all.
What was there to say? I’m sorry.
Not your fault.
I planned to buy something for a stew.
Comfort food
But there’s no comfort food for this.
I just got milk, tea and those biscuits mum used to buy when we were kids.
As I walked home, I hoped it would rain.
Slow
and soft
and steady.
But the sun shone.

Six
I woke up in the middle of the night. Sheets soaked with sweat.
I called.
Ami
Before I realised
Before I remembered
The house just creaked.
I thought about going to the fridge.
having a beer.

But I didn’t trust myself.
So, I sat. on the bench.
I watched the day I had feared, dreaded drift in.
Funeral.

Seven
The whole day was numb.
I welcomed it.
I knew it wouldn’t last forever.
But maybe it could get me through today.
I got the plot like we had chatted when all this seemed like some faraway problem.
Now here it is.
Half the town was there. Your friends from college and work. Your mum came with a carer and your little brother.
They were all so kind to me.
They played your favourite song.
Thunder road
in the church
Out in the graveyard
The earth was open.
We laid your body down.

Eight
The reception passed.
I bought a round of drinks.
Spoke to everyone.
Don’t remember a thing.
What was said?
Who I met.
Sat out the back of the hotel.
Flipping through my phone.
Pictures.
Your messages.

Nine
Everyone started leaving.
There were babysitters to pay.
Work tomorrow.
I didn’t want to go home.
Me and Eddie went to the pub.
I drank.
To you
To us
I said too little.
I said too much.
I didn’t say anything.
I sat.
In silence.
The words.
Escaping me.

Ten
So I’m back here.
The sun bleeding out.
The light escaping.
The silence descending.
One more time.
The TV is on at home.
The lights shine.
But the house is empty.
I look out to the tree line.
And watch a fox dart between the trees