I come to amid a tumult of sensations, chiefly a loud buzzing in my ears, blurred vision (all I see right now are indistinct white shapes), a shrill whistling wind against my body, and a throbbing headache.

In my line of work I'm as likely to 'come to' as wake up and I can tell you, I much prefer the latter. I guess you could call me a private eye, but I'm more of a garbage collector of humanity. I get paid to dig up dirt on people; anybody, anywhere, anytime, and for any reason, few of them good.

This job involved getting the dirt on one Mr. Richard S. Hanson, owner and C.E.O. of the southeast’s biggest chain of furniture stores. My client, who is running against Mr. Hanson for a local office, is of the opinion that his oppositions' net worth is more than can be explained by dealing in bedroom suites alone. A money-tracking job, easy enough.

One thing I learned about Mr. Hanson is that he likes fast, expensive toys; fast planes, fast cars, and fast boats, one of which I seem to be on. I try to sit up but I'm still groggy from the blow to the head delivered by his Goon Squad, and every movement I make hits me with a new wave of nausea. I feel like I'm flopping around on a waterbed.

As I lay there, I think of what else I learned about my mark. He's sporting, to an extent. For instance, he's been known to hold impromptu target shooting contests on his boats, betting on how many seagull feathers land on the deck. I expect he'll dump me in the drink far from land, but at least he seems to have strapped a floatation device to my back. Nice.

He's also very protective of his teenage daughter, which, coupled with faulty floor plan reconnaissance, is how I ended up here. I was in the middle of rooting through what turned out to be a drawer full of little Ms. Hanson's unmentionables when I was discovered. I had no sooner turned around when my head met the blunt end of a shotgun.

I'm still trying to clear my head when something hits me in the back, hard. I see what appears to be a seagull being whipped away on the wind. One of the goons must have thrown it at me. Man, that guy's got an arm.

I've never seen a brown seagull, though. And something's not right about its trajectory, either; it should have hit the water by now, but it's still receding from view.

The pain from the impact clears my head a bit more and now I notice something up in the sky, an ugly turquoise thing, getting smaller and smaller. I recognize the object, thanks mainly to that hideous color.

It's one of Hanson's planes.

With the horror of my situation dawning on me, ripping the remaining cobwebs from my brain, I flop and twist around like a fish out of water only to see the ground below me in startling detail, not far enough away and closing fast.

The thing strapped to my back isn't a flotation device, it's a parachute.

Without a moments hesitation, I pull the ripcord...

"Last one alive's a sissy!"
"See you on the other side!"
These were the battle cries of the Outdoor Pursuits group, usually followed by variations of "ow!", "oof!" and "argh!". We were all in our late teens, most attended the same college and in later years those of us who survived would be diagnosed with bipolar disorder or depression. Not that bipolar disorder had been invented back then or that it could have been distinguished from "being 17" but we all coped by self-medicating with adrenalin. Sometimes you need to look over the edge to remind yourself of life's alternative.

Graham was the man in charge. Employed by the college, he was the organizer of the expeditions and source of the wildest suggestions and we covered for him. Bill once hid his broken arm until he could get home and "fall down the stairs" after he was out of Graham's duty of care. Traversing the ladies' lavatory, running down rivers and climbing onto the roof of churches to kiss the statue were all his ad-hoc ideas and we relished them, even knowing there was a hidden catch somewhere. (In hindsight, what gender would you expect the statue to be on the roof of the church of Saint Joseph?).

Apart from getting trapped in underground sump holes and barely making an 80' climb with a badly tied harness, the closest call was another of Graham's ideas - diving from a 50' cliff on a kayaking expedition. Ignoring the fact that this was twice as high as I had ever dived before I literally took the plunge. Down at 25', I had rotated to vertical and was at the right angle to enter the water which still looked no closer than when I was standing at the top. The wind grew louder in my ears as I saw the rocks on the bottom, the base of the cliff and finally the sky.
"Oh sh-"
The water hammered into my spine as if it were concrete and I lost all feeling and movement in my body.
"-it! I've been paralyzed!"
I floated in the water aware of the bubbles and light streaming from above. I'd known the risks and there was no point in complaining about them now. I broke the surface and a dull pins and needles spread to every nerve in my body. I still couldn't move. I was going to drown. I gave a mental shrug. It was not my favored method of dying but perhaps better than spending the rest of my life in a wheelchair. I just hoped I could get on with it before somebody went and rescued me, the b*****ds! Surprised that I was not sinking, I managed to move my eyes and see that my arms treading water. I wondered how I was managing this amazing trick. Feeling returned and I managed to drape my arm over the back of Phil's kayak and have him tow me to shore.

We returned the next day with the cameras. I got it right that time, as did the others.

During the breaks, we would do our own thing, usually solo. Bill broke his kayak on a Welsh descent, I almost froze to death on Ben Nevis and yet somehow we all made it through our teens by reaching an equilibrium. In the absence of anything to live for, we would find something worth dying for and when, much to our surprise, this proved equally difficult we would hang around to see which turned up first.

For most of us, neither one came along. Phil and Mark died in two separate climbing accidents, Bill drowned kayaking and Steve drowned in a caving accident. Caroline "retired" early and died at 21 of an overdose of alcohol and barbiturates - not enough for suicide, just recklessness. Finally, Georgina was paralyzed in a para-gliding accident in her late 20s and took her wheelchair-ridden body for one last flight from the roof of the hospital. None of us would have blamed her - we would have done the same thing in her place.

I've lost contact with two but, so far as I know, I'm the last. I've crashed motorbikes, snorkeled with sharks, surfed onto rocks, run class 5 floods, dived wrecks and caves and solo-climbed cliffs and mountains. I've faced quick deaths sliding into glaciers and slow, freezing deaths. I've traveled thousands of miles, built and dropped careers and lifestyles as each of them fell by the wayside. There's no tragedy in this - it's what we do. Everybody dies but, no matter how soon the end came, we were the ones who truly lived.

I'm the only one left who might reach the age of 40. What a sissy!

The Visit

The hospital room looked dreary when I was moved into it. Something about that hospital bed and old T.V. bolted to the wall just didn’t remind me of my bedroom or a decent motel room.

I had just come in from the Emergency Room. I had another heart attack. My second in as many years. The heart catheter showed damage to a graft, the heart doctors would look at the pictures and then decide if it would be a stent or major surgery. My wife wasn’t there, I had sent her home. Her overly tired body needed a rest.

We had turned in my medication list and had let them know that I had just taken my nightly pills in the ER, fat lot of good that did.
Within the hour the nurse in charge brought me all my meds, again.
She would not listen to me when I told her I had already taken them earlier. She insisted that the doctors had ordered them and I was to take them, period.
So I took another 80 mgs.of Oxycontin and a Flexeril and just went into la la land.

When I next awoke I was in another place and another time. I was back in the Army and healthy and it sure wasn’t 1999. I didn’t have time to think about that, it looked like a devil of a battle had occured and we were just hanging by the edge of our teeth.
Suddenly a concussion grenade landed not far from us and boom I was out like a light.
When I awoke, I saw these strange uniforms and heads behind blackened helmets. There was what looked to be a medic walking around all of us and hitting us with some strange kind of needle. When it was my turn, I saw an ugly reptile type head in that helmet, I tried to run away but I couldn’t move.
Bam! That needle went in and all I could feel was a hot searing pain! Then I blacked out and when I awoke again I was fighting humanoids with a rage I had never felt as a human.
Somehow I had been twisted with their DNA and was now a soldier for them. No, I wasn’t tripping, I could hear all these voices and no one was talking to me. It seemed that when we got that shot it awoke an area of our brain allowing telepathy.
Lucky Me.

“Wake up, mister wake up,”“ he’s not responding hit him with some narcanon and find that Nurse.”
“Wake Up, Wake UP! He’s still here I just can’t get him out of it, Where is that idiot Nurse at?”
“This man’s screwed up and we don’t even know what the devil she gave him, where the devil is she?”

“It’s been two days now, we know what’s up and we just can’t get him back all the way. The, wait a minute, was that an eye flutter? Good lord man wake up.”
I’d been hearing this crap for days now so I decided to follow the voices and kill them all, reptile or human.

I awoke again to some strange person shaking me and asking me if I was alright. Of course I was, why were they all in my room? I was asked all the dumb questions like the date, the President and even my wifes name.
I was back!
That is when I was told the nurse had left her job when she found out what had happened. I was also moved into a private room with my own nurse.
Lawsuit!
Then my wife told me the other news. I had another heart attack while I was blacked out and I would be going into surgery as soon as the heart doctor cleared me.
Lucky me!

This all happened to me in 1999 as stated. We settled a lawsuit for 1.5 million and change. We also have a lifetime private room at that hospital along with free medical care for the family.

Now if I could only get these damn voices to shut up!
I have learned of some others who hear the same voices, we visit and talk about what happened and how the voices came to be.
We are also aware that we are the only ones who have been to this other time and place. So we keep our mouths shut and only use our “talents”to alert each other if something big is going to happen.

So far so good.

Jim sat silently atop a large rock as the sun began to fade, revealing the majesty of the moon. The wind blew softly, singing its peaceful hymns. Just behind Jim were the remnants of a now dormant volcano. Volcanic ash blended beautifully with the sand.

Jim was the only one on the island. However, this was how he wanted it. He wanted to escape from society, to get away from man’s consumption with being rich, always trying to be the best at everything. He was sick of it. As he saw it, society was digging a deep hole leading to its end through materialism, and he wanted to get away from it. If he couldn’t, he felt he would go insane. But Jim didn’t always feel this way.
_____

When Jim was only sixteen years old, his father had taken a trip to Boston from the small town in which they had lived. The purpose of this trip was to be interviewed for a job at a major company based in Boston. However, Jim’s mother was not too fond of this idea.

“Honey, we’re just fine as it is!” Jim’s mother had said.

“Sure, we’re getting by, but it’s not enough; I want something better for us.” His father had replied. That was the end of their conversation; Jim’s father was going.

Later that night, Jim had walked into the kitchen to find his mother sobbing uncontrollably. He had attempted to calm her down, then asked what was wrong.

“It’s…It’s your father. He’s dead. His plane crashed,” she replied with a great deal of difficulty.

Jim’s reaction had been similar to his mother’s. He had fallen down to his hands and knees, sobbing ruthlessly.
______

Jim focused his attention to the ocean in front of him. The waves sweetly caressed the sand as the tide began to come farther ashore. Suddenly, Jim was struck with hunger.

Being an intelligent human being, Jim had brought enough food to last him for a month, as well as his boat, which was his method of transportation to the island and was intended to be his ride to the nearest grocery store (which was 227 miles away) when his food supply was depleted. Jim walked over to a small grotto where he had stored the food. After a few minutes of examining the supplies he had with him, he realized he had only taken two weeks worth of supplies off the boat and needed to go back to get the rest. He walked to the other side of the island where he left the boat (he didn’t want to be near it, as it reminded him too much of exactly what he was trying to escape).

As he approached the shore on which he had left his boat, Jim was shot with despair. His boat wasn’t where he had left it; it was far out in the sea, just below the horizon. He had forgotten to tie it down. Jim could swim fairly well, but not near as well as he would have to be to swim to the boat.

“Well,” Jim thought, “I guess I’ve got two weeks to live.” Jim said to himself, instantly regretting his decision to live in solitude.

As the week progressed, Jim’s food supply decreased rapidly and the rational part of his mind began to decay. He rarely thought as to the consequences of his actions, desperate in search for sustenance that would last him longer than the few more days for which he had food. For some time he killed the small birds that inhabited the island with his bare hands, but later he developed a primitive weapon involving a rock, a stick, and a pliable piece of bark. As the sun set on Jim’s eighth day on the island, Jim went to sleep.
______

When Jim opened his eyes, he was in a strange room, and there was a woman in front of him. It was his mother.

“Jim, are you awake?! Are you okay?!” She asked.

Jim tried to answer her, but the words wouldn’t come out, it was as if he had lost the ability to talk. Questions built up inside him: ‘Where am I? Why am I here? How did I get here?’ But these questions went unanswered. Jim began to cry.

“Don’t cry, Jim.” His mother said. “It’s going to be okay. I love you.”

Jim forced a smile.

“I’m sorry I have to leave so soon, but I’ve got a very important meeting, and if I don’t go I could lose my job. I’ll come back soon and explain what happened.”

Jim’s mother was escorted out of the room by a lady wearing a light blue gown.

Jim looked around to find that he was in a white room with padded walls, and he was wearing a jacket that didn’t let his arms move.

I always dreamed of a place like this; lots of people, sky scrapers, and malls the size of my entire town – times two! Nobody thought I’d ever leave Guntersville, Alabama. But I did! I made it all the way to the big city!

As I drove along the highway, I envisioned exactly what I’d do; spend a day or two shopping, find a cozy downtown apartment, make some friends, and get a job. This proved to be tougher than I ever reckoned.

Day 1. I drove my truck through the city. It was nice to drive on paved roads for a change. I thought about the dust my friends and I used to kick up rallying down those old dirt roads. Suddenly the semi in front of my slammed on the brakes and *wham!* my truck was totaled.

I tried not to cry as I crawled out the broken drivers-side window. My arms were scratched and bleeding. I could feel the sting of glass scraping my skin. As tried to find money for the pay phone, a short boy who looked about twelve-years-old knocked me to the ground and held a gun to my head. I was more scared than a cow going to the butcher. The streets were packed with cars and the sidewalks packed with people, but no one gave me a moment’s notice. “What the hell?” The boy took my money and ran off.

The sun was setting low, though I couldn’t see it over the buildings, so I grabbed what I could carry from my truck and began walking. “What the heck do I do now,” I wondered as I made my way down the city streets. I figured I’d look for the county sheriff, but he wasn’t in site.

I continued walking until I found a park full of bums. The sign read, Linkin Park. “Idiots,” I thought. “Linkin is spelled L-I-N-C-O-L-N.” I sat down on the only empty bench I could find and took a nap on my duffle bag. I woke up the next morning on the ground. My bag was gone, my boots were gone, and even the bench was gone. Through tears, I could see a fountain a block away. I rushed to it and was shocked when I saw my reflection. My face and arms were covered with dry blood, I had a black eye, and my hair looked like a haystack. I tried to clean myself up with the water from he fountain, but it stung way too much.

Slumping down, I began to cry and reminisce. If I had gotten lost, banged and bruised back home, my momma would have had a search-and-rescue team out to find me. Then she’d welcome me home with a big hug, a glass of sweet tea, and a warm bath. She’d bandage my wounds and give me a kiss on the forehead as she lectured me and told me she loved me.

I opened my eyes and saw a girl, about four-years-old, next to me. She looked up at me with big brown eyes and asked if I had a home. “I used to,” I said. “Where is it?” the little girl asked. Normally, I wouldn’t share my problems with a child, but I was desperate. “I live thousands of miles away in a place where people treat everyone like family. We don’t carry shotguns; we have riffles and shoot animals, not humans. I come from a place where you can actually see the sunrise and sunset. Nobody drives cars; we have trucks and tractors.” I began. The little girl was in awe. “Wow!” she said. “What else is home like? Tell me more!” I told her about mudding in the fields and milking cows. I showed her the secret handshake my friends do. At that, the little girl began to cry. “I want to teach my friends” she said. I asked her why she was crying. “I don’t know where my friends are” she said. “Mommy and me were playing in the sandbox yesterday and she didn’t take me home with her.” “Why not?” I asked. “I wanna go home! I wanna go home!” said the little girl.

I noticed the little girl had a little wallet in her pocket. I asked to see it and found a piece of paper with an address. “Is this home?” I asked. The little girl nodded. “Do you know how to get there?” I inquired. The girl pointed. A block later, a woman came rushing toward us, tears in her eyes and a big smile. “My baby!” she whispered. “Thank you! How can I thank you?” I told her my story and, well, let’s just say she took care of things. I called momma, who sent daddy to pick me up.

What is happening to me. I am disappearing into a black hole in my mind; it is consuming me. All that it leaves is this person filled with anger, rage and resentment. My life is slowly disintegrating before my very eyes, and I have lost control.
Depression, it is a scary thing. I have been fighting with it for a year now. I feel as if I were running, running down a road in the middle of nowhere. Everything looks the same to me, I’m not getting anywhere. I see a sign. It says “1 mile to happiness.” I see the sign everyday, but I keep running, and I never get there. Why do I keep running? I want to scream and pull out my hair. I want to give up. I keep running.
Doctors prescribe drugs to me that are supposed to make me happy. Counselors teach me strategies to keep me from giving up when the drugs don’t work. It is an endless cycle, but I keep running. My friends have lost trust in me; they treat me like a child. I am 20 years old and they won’t let me take a bath by myself. Others have left me; they don’t have the patience to deal with it. Relationships are broken, jobs are lost, and grades are dropping like flies, but I keep running.

I hate who I have become, it’s not me, it’s someone else, just using my body to destroy my life. Why me? What did I ever do to them? This person who has taken over is angry all the time. She can’t stop crying; she can’t stop hurting. I want to kill her; I want her to swallow a bottle of pills or slash her wrists, but I want to live. So I keep running.
People tell me they will be there for me. “I NEED HELP!” No one answers. I am all alone with her, just sitting here in the dark. Suddenly I am running; I see the sign, “1 mile to happiness.” I hear a voice. It’s telling me to run faster; it sounds so familiar but I can’t figure it out. Who is it? Who is this person telling me to run faster? Don’t they know that I will never get there? I have been running for a long time and I have never made that last mile. I hear the voice again; it’s telling me to run faster. Now it’s yelling at me; screaming at me. “RUN FASTER! RUN FASTER!” I then recognize the voice; it’s me. It’s been so long that I didn’t even recognize myself. I run faster. I feel the wind on my face as the warm rays of sun shine down on my shoulders. I run faster. I can see something up ahead, but I can’t quite make it out. I run faster. Finally, I see it. It’s a person; she looks familiar. Then I realize, it’s me. I stop running.

My story took place some years ago as I was out on the Yorkshire moors wlaking my dog. I was sitting on a hill top admiring the view across the valley when my dog began barking. I called him, but he didn't appear. His barking continued and so I went in search of him.
I found him in a large hole. I couldn't see the bottom, but my dog was on a ledge about four feet down.
I lowered myself down, picked him up and lifted him to safety.That was when the ledge gave way and I tumbled into the darkness below.
I was knocked out for a short time. When I regained conciousness I was looking up at the sunlight far above. There was no way I was getting out of my predicament that way. Looking around I could just make out tunnels on either side of me. I decided to investigate. The one on my left was the larger of the two and so I headed for that one first. Alas it came to an abrupt end after about ten yards.
I retraced my steps and made my way to the opposite tunnel. I felt my way along in the dark for what seemed like days, but was probably only a couple of hours. The passage was rough and after continually tripping, scrapping my arms and hitting my head on the ceiling i had to sit down. I don't know how long i stumbled on like this because, in the darkness. I lost all track of time.
The darkness became very opprssive and frightening. As the time passed I began to hear noise. I also got the feeling there were other creatures there with me. These could have been bats, snakes or any of the thousands of insects. At one point I fell face first into the freezing waters of an underground sream. After picking myself up, soaking wet, I became aware of just how cold it was becoming.
I was beginning to feel weary and began resting more frequently. My eyes though were now beginning to adjust to the darkness. I could now tell I was in a small cave system that followed the stream.
As I travelled further my mind began to imagine larger creatures behind me. I now thought bears and even lions were stalking me.
As I rounded a bend I suddenly saw a small shaft of light ahead. After my time in the darkness even this tiny light hurt my eyes. With renewed hope, I quickened my pace, and headed for the light and possible freedom.
As I come nearer to the light I could see a pile of rocks blocking my way. The light come from a small gap near the top of the pile. This hole was far too small for me to get though. I sat down in dispair and wept.
After regaining my resolve I began pulling at the rocks. I moved several, but for quite a while more kept falling down to take their place.
Eventually my hands were a bloody mass, but the gap was large enough for me to sqeeze myself through.
On the other side I dropped wearily to the ground and as I lay ther I fell asleep.
I awoke in to darkness, the sun had set. Creeping over to the mouth of the cave I looked out into a forest of trees. It was pointless trying to navigate the trees and so I decided to try and light a fire. After gathering twigs and dead leaves I attempted to start a blaze by the old boy scout method of rubbing two sticks together. This failed as did striking stones together to get a spark.
I went back into the cave and crouched down in a crevice in the rocks in an attempt to keep warm. I still felt cold. I spent the night doing exercises and jumping up and down to keep warm.
At the first sign of light, filtering through the trees, I set out once again. I pushed my way through nettles, that stung my lega, and brambles, that scatched my arms. My face was also bleeding from the tangle of branches.Soon every exposed parts of my body was slashed and bloody.
I came out of the trees into a field of corn and the sun on my face gave my renewed hope. I walked for about an hour before I started to recognise various landmarks. Before very long I knew I was safe when I walked through the door into my home.
This is my story of survival, but it was not as dangerous as you might think. It's amazing what a boy of ten with a vivid imagination can dream up whilst playing with a few cardboard boxes in amongst the trees at the end of the garden.

There are times when, even surronded by people, I feel like the only human being on the planet. I feel like im the surivior of some terrible incident that ended the rest of the human race. Maybe thats just something about being a teenager, maybe thats how everyone feels.

Not just me.

I have parents that seem to demand perfection from me. My mom wants me to be sweet, and cultured, while my dad wants me to be able to lift heavy things, do all thats needed, and still be vastly intelligent.

I want to be an actor.

Theres no way around it, I live in my head. To an extent, my mind is the only thing I can talk to. My parents will listen, but I am afraid to talk because they always seemed to be dissapointed by what I say. I try to please them in one way, but always fall short in another. And as an only child, I feel like im the only surviror in my family, stranded on my own solitary island.

Its just me.

Its not that I don’t feel like I belong. I know perfectly well where I belong, I just don’t want to be anywhere else. I belong in theater. On the stage, my mind finally feels comfortable, and I can so easily slip into someonelses head. The only thing that I can never shake on stage is how my hand always shakes. Whether Im hot or cold, my hands always tend to shake, like their nervous.

I always play the villans.

There is a girl I like. Even though I state to be against such a thing. Dating at 13, its just stupid. Its pointless and it can only lead to having one more person hate you in then end. But still, there is this girl I like. She had glimmering blonde hair, that only complimented her equally glimmering personality. She did theater with me, until she left with no explanation. I haven’t seen her sense.

Its just me.

I know, even if just slightly, that I sound stupid. I am just complaining. I’m always complaining. And every day I wake up, and I know that I have no reason to be sad. My parents give me what I need, I have friends, I live a good life. But still, there are those slight annoyances that I can’t say anything about. Otherwise I’m just complaining. Its not that no one understands me, its that I don’t understand myself.

Its only me.

I will admit, the thought has gone through my mind that a gun would be wonderful. To point it at other, and to just pull the trigger and hear that satisfying bang! I can imagine it now, just point the gun at that girl. I can just see her cringing, knowing that I will do it. And I will do it. I can do it. All I have to do is pull that trigger, and shes out of my life.

But I can’t.

My finger won’t close. The gun doesn’t go off. And the dream just seems to sift away. Only to be replaced by anoter. There is no one but me, with that gun pointed to my head. And my hands don’t shake at all. They stay perfectly stlill, with the tip of the gun resting in my ear. This time I pull the trigger with ease, and I barely hear the bang, before everything goes black.

And I am done.

I wake up, even though my eyes were wide opened the entire time. I was just lost somewhere in my head. How could I think such a thing, shooting myself? What was bad enough in my life, that I would shoot myself. I had no reason. Except for how much I hated myself. I am not as manly as my dad would like, im not as kind as my mom would like, and I am just nothing to everyone else. Even to myself. But I go on, pretending that all is well, because there is no reason for it not to be. I hope that it will pass.

I just have to survive another day.

One summer I was asked if I could make up the numbers for a cricket match being played the next day. This local team had some of their players out sick and couldn't field a full side. The other members of the team said they would put me in as last batsman in the hope that I wouldn't be needed. They also warned me, that if I did bat to watch out for the opposing fast bowler named Graham. warning that if he hit me with the ball I would probably end the game with broken bones.
That night I went to bad early, hoping to wake up refreshed after a good nights sleep. It didn't happen! I lay awake thinking on what I'd been told about Graham. Thay said he was a county standard fast bowler. My only saving grace was that if our side batted second and enough runs had been scored I wouldn't have to face him. I could only hope!
At Nine o'clock one of the team picked me up and we set off for the match. The other players in the car kept talking about Graham. they said that if things didn't go his way he had a tendency to get more and more angry. When we arrived at the ground I was not looking forward to batting. I was terrified!
The two captains went on to the field to toss a coin to see who would bat first. We lost! To my relief the other team won the toss and desided to bat. Maybe I wouldn't have to face Graham after all.
We bowled well and they were standing at fifty three for the loss of five wickets. This is when Graham come to the crease. He hit a quick fire forty eight, hittinh three sixes anf six fours. He was eventually out when his partner hit the ball and called for a run. Graham set of down the pitch, but was sent back. I ran in, picked up the ball and threw it towards the stumps at the bowlers end. To the delight of my team mates the ball nudged off one of the bails. I had run out Graham!
If looks could kill Graham's partner would have been hung, drawn and quartered and his remains fed to the sharks. He then set off back to the pavilion, but as he passed me he said, 'Good throw, but you'll pay for that'.
We had a excellent spell of bowling and we bowled our opponants out for one hundred and twenty five.
After a break our openers put on their pads and went out to the crease. I watched in horror as Graham took six wickets and we had lost nine wickets.
One of our openers was still there when I got to the middle. We still needed twelve runs to win. There was only one ball of the over for me to face. I stood there, visibly shaking, as Graham came running in like a crazed bull elephant. I played a defensive stroke, missed the ball which went harmlessly through to the keeper.
We scored four in the next over, but my partner was trying to score a single so that he would be facing Graham instead of me. He failed!
I stood there once again watching Grahm running towards me with fear in my eyes. I struck out wildly at the ball, and agian it went through to the keeper. The second and third balls were a carbon copy of the first.
The fourth ball was again missed by me. but it was also, However, missed by the wicket keeper. we scampered across for a bye. A single from the last ball kept me away from the bowling.
The next over brought us one run from a no-ball and two more from the bat. This left me yet again facing Graham.
I swung wildly at the ball and failed to connect for a sixth time. I swung at the second ball without success. At this point my partner walked down the pitch and told me to slow dance and watch the ball because I was playing my stroke far too early. Graham ran in again. I could see the frustration in his eyes. He delivered the ball with more venom. remembering what I'd been told I watched the ball and played an erratic stroke. I got a thick outside edgeand I watched with relief as the ball just beat the chasing fielder to the boundary. We had won!
As we approached the pavilion our team mates rushed around and aplauded us from the pitch. Even though I had won my personal battle for survival and I felt great I vowed never to play cricket again. I can still see the rage and frustration in Graham's eyes. He recovered quickly though and he congratulated me, but said he would get his own back the next time. There will be no next time!