Nagging In My Stomach

The Enigmatic fluid in the stomach - It is better to know yourself than to be unsure of yourself and yet it seem that you are known by all around you. The long road that leads from here to there can be reassuring in it’s hum of people, it’s familiar smells and motley crew of shops and stalls lining the road. Big men with bulky terrier dogs, and kids on bikes or in school uniform clutching McDonald’s cheese burgers in the cold, old ladies with floral trolleys buying vegetables and fish from indoor markets behind the pastry shop. I don’t know any of these people but they are faces I find comforting and familiar as I walk in the cold up to Heaven. I enjoy the buzz of cars and all the voices and words flying about. But I also like hearing them fade away as I follow the path in to the park up to the boating lake. Shouts replaced by kids playing on the swings and slides and climbing frames. The buzzing traffic melts in to the wind as it rustles through the leaves in the trees. I am alone now. I don’t understand how I can feel anymore alone here that I had done on the road. The road held no faces I knew, but in the park, seclusion set in and that’s when it arrived. The nagging in my stomach fizzed about urging me to do something. I ran, I ran and ran up past the boating lake and basket ball courts, I felt like I was going to cough up my lungs but I didn’t stop, I couldn’t, I had to run it was urgent, like a force pushing me further and faster away. I cut across the path and headed across the green I was picking up real speed now. STOP. PAUSE. I slipped PLAY. I was sat like a child grazed knees and muddy hands on the damp muddy grass, which had crashed me to a halt. I peer down at my hands all red and covered in dirt. My lungs still desperately trying to catch up, spluttering flem up in to my throat I held it there in my mouth for a moment and then spat it out on the ground beside me, it stringed off and I felt it spider web on to my lip and chin, I wiped it away with my sleeve. I felt little and young but strong and I recognized the hands I held in front of me. Still breathing heavily I stood and brushed myself down, I decided to walk home, slowly this time tracing the scenery, recording the bark on the sycamore tree I felt like a camera, I felt free but still a faint voice in my head balanced on the beat of my tread, following me, the famous question from Christmas dinner from school and pubs. What are you going to do? What are you going to do?