Writing for Fun
May 2019
The Proposal - Jan Norman
Sir Robert Latham, councillor and country squire of Great Clacking in the Wold, let out a sigh of deep satisfaction as he stepped through the double doors onto the terrace of his ancient country pile. Life was looking good.
With stick in hand he whistled for his dog, planning to walk through his woods on the eastern edge of his eighty acre parkland. Just visible beyond the treetops was the drilling rig of Draxo Oil – the first company to win a government licence to frack in the United Kingdom.
The noise of the distant rhythmic thuds as the drill punched ever deeper into English soil was a small price to pay for the huge largesse he had been given by Draxo for the rights to drill on his land with an additional bonus. Blood money really, for knowingly accepting a doctored version of the geographical survey on his land, omitting the real risk of earthquakes and then using his not inconsiderable clout and charm to persuade everyone in the council and village to accept the oil companies proposal and give planning permission to extract the shale oil.
With Dixon, his cocker spaniel at his heels he stepped out briskly, down the wide terrace steps leading to the formal garden with flower beds and ornamental fountain, on his way to lower edge field and the woods beyond.
Suddenly the dog stopped dead in his tracks, hackles up. Whining he refused to move. Puzzled Robert called him on, then stopped dead himself as the air was rent with the noise of an invisible express train that was seemingly bearing down on them, louder and louder until the very ground beneath his feet began to shake. Terrified he sank to his knees, hands clapped over his ears. Dixon turned tail and ran for his life.
Suddenly the small ornamental fountain seemed to tilt and the water slid into a huge crack now slithering across the garden.
Scrabbling to his feet Robert snapped around as the rumble of falling masonry added to the cacophony.
In utter disbelief he watched window frames distorting and glass breaking and listened to the tortured screams of roof timbers as they were wrenched apart and flung down, along with a shower of roof tiles and chimney pots, onto the heaving ground below.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, the noise stopped and the ground stilled. Clouds of dust holding hundreds of years of memories rose to take the roof’s place.
Gathering his wits Robert took stock of his surroundings. Scanning the skyline above his village he saw the same tell tale signs of destruction. Plumes of dust were hanging where the church tower had once stood and flames and smoke were beginning to climb ever higher skywards. What about the school?
Running hard back to where he had parked his jeep he staggered as aftershocks followed, even stronger than the first. Dodging gaping holes to the left and right of him he finally reached his 4x4. Standing on the gas he gunned the engine and headed for the village whilst summoning help using his mobile ‘phone.
That day he was a hero. Six months later he was the villain serving time.