Charles Heath's writing blog

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: I had hoped by the time I was promoted to assistant manager it might mean something other than long hours and an increase in pay. It didn't. But unlike others who had taken the job, and eventually become jaded and left, I stayed.  Something I realized that others seemed to either ignore or just didn't understand, this was a company that rewarded loyalty. It was why there were quite a few who had served 30 years or more.  They might not reach the top job, but they certainly well looked after. I had a long way to go, having been there only 8 years, and according to some, on a fast track.  I was not sure how I would describe this so-called 'fast track' other than being in the right place at the right time and making a judicial selection.  When it was my turn to be promoted, I had a choice of a plum department, or one most of my contemporaries had passed over.  At t

Here’s the thing... Every time I close my eyes, I see something different. I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox. But these dreams are nothing to laugh about. Once again there's a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt. Life for me returned to something like normal when I was back in the warehouse, surrounded by endless shelves filled with all manner of items. It was the central repository for all the spare parts that were needed for the factory’s machinery in one section, a large variety of stationery, and office, items in another, and groceries for the cafeteria in another. My in-tray was filled with requisition form received from the previous day, that hadn’t been processed by Roger, the morning shift clerk who inhabited my desk when I wasn’t there.  As usual, he had managed to idle away most of his shift by doing absolutely nothing, which I guess w

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: I walked slowly out of the VIP lounge and joined the throng of passengers heading towards the disembarkation point. That it lacked organization and that there were a number of Chinese all trying to get off as quickly as possible, causing a degree of orderly panic helped. As a Chinese lady towing her son brushed past me abruptly, I saw Nancy out of the corner of my eye, allowing the throng to push her towards me. Plan c, of a dozen.  In the unlikely event of a search, pass off the USB to her.  She had, as far as I was aware, several avenues for getting the USB ashore, or anywhere given a situation like this. I had moved suddenly sideways and backward, in anticipation of someone getting too close using the crowded semi-panic conditions to pick my pocket, just thwarting a hand as it reached out, not of the woman but the child. It elicited a glare from the child when he

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way. Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war. And, so, it continues... It was about a mile by foot to the old church.  Carlo was waiting for us, and then led the way because I wasn’t sure where it was, even though I’d been there once, and hadn’t really been taking any notice. It was enough time to ask Blinky a few questions about how things were going because he would have a better overall view of the war being involved in the operational side of things.  Thompson’s group of which I was a part, only had our part in a much larger war effort involving a numb

Our hero knows he's in serious trouble. The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn't look or sound or act like the enemy. Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission. I was not sure how the Congo commander was going to react when four cars with people who looked more like mercenaries than a film crew turned up at the front gate. Not that we had the film equipment to use as a cover.  I guess that was the reason the kidnappers had removed it from our cars.  One less reason to believe our story.  I would have been curious to hear just how the commander had described us to his Congo counterpart. Or what sort of treatment we were going to get.  I don’t think the hostages were going to like the idea of becoming hostag

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: I had once said that Grand Central Station, in New York, was large enough you could get lost in it.  Especially if you were from out of town. I know, I was from out of town, and though I didn't quite get lost, back then I had to ask directions to go where I needed to. It was also an awe-inspiring place, and whenever I had a spare moment, usually at lunchtime, I would go there and just soak in the atmosphere. It was large enough to make a list of places to visit, or find, or get a photograph from some of the more obscure places. Today, I was just there to work off a temper. Things had gone badly at work, and even though I hadn't done anything wrong, I still felt bad about it. I came in the 42nd street entrance and went up to the balcony that overlooked the main concourse. A steady stream of people was coming and going, most purposefully, a few were loitering, and seve