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eBook Category: Science Fiction
eBook Description: Amid the lovingly described landscapes of North Wales, our narrator is plagued by illness and mysterious inner timeslips that make a single eyeblink seem half an eternity. Can he convince a sceptical outsider of what's happening?

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Interzone 43, 1991
Fictionwise Release Date: June 2004

13 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [28 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [34 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [14 KB] , Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [63 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [14 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [65 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [87 KB] , hiebook (KML) [40 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [43 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [12 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [16 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [43 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [24 KB]
Words: 3966
Reading time: 11-15 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Portable Document Format (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

2 May

Photography is a vastly over-rated art. I remember thinking that in the first years of seeing the castle at the corner of each eye.

The sunlit scene was so packed with neat compositions, each ready to be clipped from context and expensively framed. Harlech Castle brooded conventionally and forever photogenically on its high rock, the hills behind it littered with ancient settlements which to the uninformed looked exactly like heaps of grey stone. If you liked ironies, there were invading sheep nibbling remorselessly round the castle walls, and bobble-hatted schoolkids fixed in poses of boredom on the battlements. Below, the flatland where a besieging army might once have massed and lit its fires was dotted with paunchy golfers.

When the obvious began to pall, I could pick out abstract patterns inscrutable as the constellations: the curl of yellow-striped caterpillars on one tall weed, or jackdaws strung along phone lines like a frozen message in morse. Infuriating not to be able to flick my eyes left or right, and take a proper look. Instead I had only the dimmest sense that somewhere north, in a direction pointed to by my left ear, were the much-postcarded mountains of Snowdonia.

Of course, in the end, everything palls, even the very small and shapely blonde whose rear elevation I could admire a little way up the road, caught inelegantly in mid-stride. (Eventually I came to think it almost constituted an introduction, having spent all that timeless time peering sidelong at her bum.) It wouldn't have made much ultimate difference if the focal point, along the tunnel of where I happened actually to be looking, had held anything of more interest than parched roadside grass decorated with a shiny bunch of rabbit-droppings.