on boredom

He really didn’t feel all that well. He felt as though he’d been shot, no, yes, shot, by a poison dart. He was weakened but not out. It was the boredom he told himself. Boredom was the enemy. He had to find a way to embrace the boredom; take its energy and use it back against the enemy. Yes that sounded like a plan.

Would collapsing on the bed be a start?

The sun appears below the clouds. I slip on my sandals and step into the garden.

The air is still and thin, until broken by a glass bottle falling over and rolling. A squirrel starts, jumps onto the fence, then runs along it, up the bramble, onto the neighbour’s drainpipe and away. The squirrel must have strong paws; it was traversing sharp terrain. A police siren cries, then another. A man shouts. Someone fires up a drill. The wind distorts the sound; to something more like the throaty rattle of a mechanical frog. I feel jumpy. I retreat indoors. Brakes squeal and lorries rumble.