Writers Abroad Magazine Issue 7 November 2017 | Page 21

WRITERS ABROAD MAGAZINE: THE THIRD SPACE
THE LOSER
BY Lesley Truchet
I’m not much of a looker, a bit shy, considered odd by most folks and still living
with my mother. I’ve always been a loner, enjoying long walks across the
moorland with a book, binoculars and photographic equipment, in preference to
football, pubs and other manly pursuits. Mum calls me William. To everyone else
I’m Bill, with some exceptions. A few refer to me as ‘Willy the Walker,’ inevitably
I am also dubbed as ‘Willy the…,’ need I say more? I pretend it doesn’t bother
me.
I’ve never expected to achieve recognition, until today. I was roaming across
the moors with my backpack well before other people had left their beds. Around
mid-afternoon I stopped to rest, leaning on the tumbled remains of a dry stone
wall. An animal silhouetted against the skyline caught my attention. Sliding
backwards behind a pile of stones, I peered through a convenient opening and
reached in my pocket for my digital camera.
Torn between apprehension and excitement, I took several snapshots as the
graceful beast approached. It halted near my peephole, eyes the colour of liquid
honey flickering in alarm. Heart pounding, I risked a couple more shots praying
the noise of the shutter wouldn’t spook it. It moved closer and stared at me
through the gap. Inhaling its sweet musky aroma and not daring to move, I
suffered an agony of imagined itchiness and with a mixture of relief and
disappointment, I watched the creature wander away.
I sat on the broken wall and looked at my images. Numerous distant and three
close up shots of a majestic large cat. One perfect photograph portrayed the steely
blue hues of its glossy black fur. Fortunately my backpack, lying on the ground,
appeared in the photographs. This clearly defined the size of the animal,
approximately five feet in length and over two foot high. I’ve read a fair amount
of hype about sightings of big wild cats here on the moors. To think I laughed at
the stupidity of people believing such daft tales.
Gathering up my belongings, I set off for home, clutching my camera and
stopped at intervals to enjoy my wonderful pictures. I had irrefutable proof that
large feral cats actually existed and mentally saw the headlines in the local paper.
‘Mysterious Beast Captured on Camera by Local Resident.’ I could see my mug
shot splashed on the front page and hear the newspaper vendor yelling the
caption. I would be in the national newspapers. Maybe I would appear on
television. I might even star in a film. I was going to be famous! I couldn’t wait to
tell my mother.
Hugging myself with delight, I ran along the top of a ridge immersed in my
dreams of glory. Suddenly I was airborne. I landed hard, scraping my knees and
spat out a wad of dust. Cursing the sinuous tree root, I made a frantic grab for
my camera and missed. It rolled over and over down the slope and fell with a
deathly plop into the reservoir.
20 | NOVEMBER 2017