Tom Williams
Bio
Stories (6/0)
Running To The Green Light
'Red to amber to green and I'm off'. I've imagined this moment for as long as I can remember; for years this idea is what has kept me going through the Hell that has been my life. I grew up in a stuck-in-it's-ways, close-minded community with my mother who, having had me at just 20, had always resented the years of youth I took from her. Her husband, and my father, had fled the scene immediately upon learning of the pregnancy; which had entrenched a deep distrust of men in her. Even as a teenager, I was forbidden from speaking to men, let alone allowed to have one round the house. Throughout my childhood, she ruled over me with an iron-fist; my internet access was severely restricted and my every search was monitored, my room was locked from the outside every night from sunset and I was never allowed a mobile phone; only permitted to use the landline in the kitchen - and only permitted to do so under supervision.
By Tom Williams3 years ago in Fiction
A Brush With Death
What does it feel like to die? It’s a question all of us will one day find the answer to, but none of us will live to tell the tale. It’s a question I’ve been pondering lately, not by choice - I hate thinking about death - but because I’m forced to confront it every night when I fall asleep. For the last week, I’ve had the same dream every night; I’m walking aimlessly through the woods; in the bushes I catch a glimpse of the eyes of a mysterious animal staring into my soul. I unthinkingly run to it, but before I reach it I realise I’ve walked onto a frozen pond. I look around and suddenly the animal is gone, as is everything else; the frozen pond is now a frozen lake and there is nothing but miles and miles of ice for as far as the eye can see.
By Tom Williams3 years ago in Fiction
The Hopeless Fight of The Raging Bull
It's been 2 weeks, 3 days, 29 hours and 15 minutes since my best friend Chris died. Or, at least, it's been that long since I found out he was dead. It was quarter-to-midnight when I found this out and, I was laying in bed tossing and turning half asleep when my phone began violently vibrating against the glass of my bedside table. In the darkness, I fumbled around for my phone, picked it up and glanced at it; my eyes struggling to adjust to the brightness of the screen. It was a phone call from an unknown number and I sighed at the prospect of some scam caller waking me up while I was dozing off and I tried in vain to fall back asleep. It vibrated again, same number; I declined almost instantaneously. Then it rang a third time, same number again. Still assuming it was nothing, but eager to put this to rest, I picked up the phone; "Hello" said a solemn voice on the other end.
By Tom Williams3 years ago in Fiction
The Pear Tree
When I’m sad I like to sit under the pear tree - I have ever since I was a kid. The pear tree stands off the beaten path in the public park a few streets away from the house I’ve lived in since I was born; to get to it requires walking up a steep hill, through overgrown grass and wildflowers, and climbing over a barbed wire fence that has slowly been beaten down by repeated spells of furious wind and thunder. The pear tree feels like my secret place; I’ve never gone more than a few weeks since I was a kid without going to the pear tree, often spending hours there at a time, and yet I’ve never seen anyone else there.
By Tom Williams3 years ago in Fiction