Back and forth...

I did promise to submit some of my work, so here's a short story I'm particularly fond of... It's a first draft, so all critique is welcome...

Back and forth he paced. Back and forth. Stopping each time only to check the clock.
3:13.
Always 3:13. He knew it was broken, had been for weeks, but it was a habit and somehow felt comforting. A little tiny oasis of normality in a maelstrom of emotional upheaval. It didn't last.

'Yes, I'll buy the batteries. If you would only remember on your way home to check your phone it would've been ticking by now, though.'
'Thanks. And remember to enjoy yourself, okay? It's been a while since you last went out for lunch.'
'You're so patronising sometimes, why do I put up with you?'
'Somebody has to. You're just lucky, I guess'
'Oh, go away!'
'I love you too'

That was the last conversation he'd had with her. The last thing they had spoken about was batteries! He kept replaying it over in his head; at least he'd remembered to say he loved her.
He glanced up. 3:13 again.
'Well, one thing is certain, it's not 3:13.' He announced to the empty room.
He checked his pocket. Another habit; he knew his phone was now in pieces, embedded in their new tv. How long had it been since he heard the news? An hour? Half an hour? Five minutes? He had no way to be sure.

'Breaking news from Sunderland: The Lambton Worm today became the latest in a series of arson attacks on pubs in and around the city centre. Emergency services are currently at the scene, but the fire still rages on. It is unknown as of yet how many survivors there are, but an estimated 70 people were in the building at the time. We now go live to...'

Everything after that became a blur. He remembered trying to call her, but getting an answerphone. Not surprising, she drained her battery most days playing candy crush. He tried again, and again, and after the fifth time he lost it; threw the phone at the wall and missed, effectively cutting off all communication with the world.
He'd considered going out, but they'd only just moved here. Where would he go? Who could he see? It had all seemed so perfect this morning and now everything was chaos.
3:13.
He wanted to scream, to hit something, to charge off. But instead, all he did was pace. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Okay, I know it's shite, but I can't yet find the original which was much better, when I do I shall edit this to include that, combine the two and maybe finally have a story, but for now what are your thoughts?

Life in the wide world goes on, much as it has this past Age...

The only man who is truly happy is blissfully unaware of the existence of women...

With an opening line like that I'm aware I may get comments... But at least that means somebody is reading this.

After a week of what should've been rest, relaxation and no stress I think I need a holiday. I certainly enjoyed myself, but I actually feel drained... Back to work tomorrow and nothing will have changed really, which is why you cannot run from your problems, they're always waiting when you get back. The really persistent ones follow you.

Anyway, today I want to rant about the train blocking Netflix and even YouTube on their Wi-Fi, despite this being first class and the only carriage with bloody Wi-Fi in it... And why am I complaining about that? Simple: I forgot to bring a book... Actually, I didn't really forget, but the book I'm reading is currently lying at the bottom of a bag in the far wardrobe, which is blocked (ironically) by a hundred boxes of books.

I have a certain inability to organise, which can be charming, but leads to some frustrating flaws in my plans. I'm aware, too, of the fact that I may be the only person who doesn't own any ebooks, audio books, or anything to play/ read them on, but I love books. The smell of a new book, or an older book that just brings memories flooding back (scent invokes the most powerful memory connections), the awkward way you have to balance something between the pages perfectly so you can read hands free, tilting to find the tiny bit of light that barely covers a word, the whole experience is just amazing. And I understand most of these things are not good, but they make it memorable.. Who hasn't held a torch in their mouth to read the last chapter of a book during a powercut?

Anyway, nostalgia aside, books are worth more than a 5 grand tablet with no personality to it... And I will continue to believe that.