No Regrets by Dave

I'd been thinking of her, even dreamt of her, that's what's weird about it. I was walking by the harbour when someone came up behind and overtook me. I thought it was a young girl, but as she passed, I caught a glimpse and knew it was her. Anita. Tight black jeans on thin skinny legs lead to a pert gate. Time, gravity and estrogen had been kind on her arse too. It'd been seven years since I'd gazed upon it, but it was exactly the same, she was the same, or at least looked it...My back was killing me, that's me main excuse, and she was wearing large headphones so I couldn't call out. I might've tried to get her attention but part of me wondered if she'd already recognised me and decided not to say anything, so I thought fuck it, and buried me resentment in anger. This trail of thought cemented and my bitterness grew. Hate is not a strong enough word for what me heart-mind felt, but fuck it, it'll have to do... Hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate...

What a cold bitch, I knew she never liked me. Who is she to blank me though? Dosey slag! 

She turned off before Gibbon Rd. It stung.

It'd been seven years since I'd walked the hill but Gibbon Rd was the same, knew it would be. 

I saw a squirrel sparring with a jackdaw as a woman emerged from one of the anonymous red brick boxes and tried to shoo off a terradactyl, which looked a like a sea gull, that'd landed on her car. Kiddies ran past in rowdy groups, giddy with post-school energy. I thought back to school, to my friends, to the memory of Anita as she was, now spoilt by the familiar stranger she'd just become.

My back caught and I cried out, a group of school girls laughed at me. I felt old. The sharp shock reluctantly subsided and I shifted my posture before shuffling forward embarrassingly, with a stiff pose and short steps, just like the old men I'd known in me younger days.

I wasn't that old, but looked and felt it. Basically the opposite of Anita, who at a push, could've passed for a school leaver.

I approached the top, went by the newsagents and the gloomy house where that other girl used to live. It was seven years since I'd passed this way but the house was the same; silent, morose. I remembered the howling that day, and that other, indescribable sound which seemed to summon the strange.

A grey squirrel, don't think it was the same one, scurried for a bush that grew through an old iron fence as I made me laboured approach. Another winged dinosaur screeched above.

I guess I could've called to her, maybe hobbled after her, but it'd been seven years no contact. Nah, leave it in the past where it belongs, no regrets, but... I never went after Timbo did I? that was seven years ago and no one's seen him since...