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    Hiding from Time
    Hiding from Time
    Hiding from Time
    Ebook46 pages41 minutes

    Hiding from Time

    By Noel Gray

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    About this ebook

    A child’s fledgling imagination comes to his aid in making sense of the world he inhabits.

    Hiding From Time is the author’s third publication in the recent genre, Sotto Realism: subterranean realities that inhabit the imagination, fading away to little more than a whisper at the birth of each ordered, rational thought.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNoel Gray
    Release dateApr 10, 2016
    ISBN9788892592926
    Hiding from Time

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      Book preview

      Hiding from Time - Noel Gray

      THINGS

      LEARNING TO HIDE

      The first time I hid in my imagination was when I heard my parents arguing. I was three years old. They were on the run from the police. It all seems so senseless now, after so many years. It was real and terrifying enough then.

      We were hiding in a remote part of the country. It was in the outskirts of a town; on a mountain; in a dilapidated house, a desolate place. In the town, workers were laying asphalt for the first on what was then the only street. The air was thick with the smell of melting tar. There were two other things in the air, curiosity and fear. They arrived together.

      The children of the town were warned not to wave to several WWII bombers being relocated from some nearby pacific island. The children were curious so they waved. Airborne with the bombers was a plague of hornets. The waving caught the attention of the hornets. The fear came with their hidden stings.

      The smell of progress, the drone of tarnished-grey air planes and the curiosity such monsters invoked even without their lethal cargo whistling their songs of death; and the whine of red and yellow hornets who were members of the oldest air force; and the waving that stung: these were the smells, the sounds, the sights, the fear, and the pain of a town growing - five memories that formed part of the town's history, but not part of the one that would later be written.

      The town eventually became a city, became a tropical resort. It was part of a new nation. New nations made a great deal of fuss about their history because they were still inventing it. Although this town had even less history than its new nation, for some reason, in its case, editing was thought to be essential. So, smells, bombers, and stings disappeared, replaced by records of gifted visionaries who had seen the city hidden in the town while everyone else was waving and being stung.

      The city became a tourist legend, a natural progression in the age of the modern. Modernity, among all the children of civilization, was the most narcissistic: from its very outset it saw itself as a monument - a fact it never tried to hide.

      The tourists did not come to see the city’s memories. They did not come to gawk at the place where hornets once stung children, or where man-made, metal hornets landed. They did not come to smell tar. And they certainly did not come to find the place where a child hid in his imagination. The histories of growth and progress were much more sanitized than that.

      They came for other things, for a kind of hiding, but in different things, and for different reasons: a hiding from their relentless selves and the monotony of their everyday activities. Eventually, of course, their selves relentlessly turned up. That was how tourists knew it was time to go home. The lucky ones arrived home before their relentless selves; the afterglow of a memorable holiday they called this hiatus. The mind had many such gaps, although not all of them were holidays, and many did not glow.

      When I first hid in my imagination, I was not a tourist holidaying in some inner resort. Nor, at the age of three, was I hiding from exhaustion with the self; and certainly I was

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