crab

I was a fighter, a traveller, sort of migrant, not quite fugitive. In a field of stubble a righteous assault. The back of my hand injured and infected. A parasite growing there. I sought help in a hospital and a small crablike creature, folded on itself, dormant, was removed.

I watched as the creature unfolded and melted away leaving what looked like armoured plates or leaves of a coppery metal. Prodded with a pencil the articulated plates barely hinted at the vanished creature. Having to move on, there wasn't the time to understand or dwell on who made the creature or where it came from.

A fire alarm, evacuating through corridors. A car park, outdoor air, huge concrete pillars and suspended roads. A child grazed by a vehicle in the car park, the irony of an injury provoked by an evacuation drill, at a hospital.

factory

I was a factory worker, though trade was slack and there were fewer and fewer designs coming in those days. Others had been laid off as the orders slowed down, and the lucky few who stayed on had to work harder to make up for all the idle machines still costing money. Looking up from the machine, where once there were rows of co workers, now there were odd arrangements of work stations, walkways cluttered with disused equipment. No-one knew how to operate it; could tell if it was working properly; or even how it was supposed to work.

At break time a walk through buildings, past dusty offices and storerooms, followed by the click and hum of automatic lighting firing up. Not so much for the change of scenery as to service the habit, the comfort of the familiar. A moment sitting on cold steel treads, watched only by the blinking PIR and CCTV. The smell of old cardboard and young pine, pallets and packing cases.

day zero

Some things have a clearly defined beginning. Black, white, off, on; discrete. The first day at a new job. The start of a contract. The start of a story.

Others are harder to pin down, they fade in gradually or you realise they are important some time afterwards. Looking back it's not clear if there is a start or a first that you can remember. When did you start liking a band? When was the start of a love affair? When did the first leaf fall? When did hope fade? When did a trend start?

For so many things that defy analysis there is a coping strategy - we can take a best guess. If we can't say it's right or wrong, definitively, perhaps it's good enough. Call it day zero.