Radio Feature Piece

This is a piece I wrote and narrated for the radio recently.

Peaceful Japanese Music

The heavy wood of the door booms as it closes behind me.
Crisp air draws me shivering into the courtyard and nips at my face. This time of morning, you feel you have the world to yourself.

* PAUSE *

Dawn-frosted gravel glitters and grumbles under my boots as I make the long walk to the iron gate. Over the meadow, a damp mist haunts the trees along the river. The rising sun, faint through the haze, gives no warmth, and my skin fancies it can feel the cold of my armour.

My gut feels twisted. The physician's infernal medicine sits in there like a stone.

* PAUSE *

My warhorse, Blade, waits for me outside the gates and I mount, checking my armour and tightening the strap on my helmet. As I lower the faceplate, I look back through the gates and the courtyard to the carved wooden door of my home.
A single question hangs in my mind:
Will I ever see it again?


* PAUSE *

We stop at the edge of my clan's property and I steel myself. I'm facing a lethal battle; a tradition; a rite of passage in our culture.
It is The Great Rush.

* PAUSE *

I direct Blade into the arena and with a flick of my wrist spur him into action. Other riders and chariots outstrip us until we come up to speed. I join the insane throng and we career along in a random, roiling mass; jostling for position.

The charioteers are the most dangerous participants, and they care little for Riders. Some Riders believe they can compete with the chariots on their own terms. My brother believed this, and he paid the ultimate price:
Two seasons ago, the Man in Black killed my brother, and for two seasons since, I have sought him.

* PAUSE *

Today is not a good day.
Twice I am almost knocked from Blade's saddle, and there is no sign of the Man in Black. I weave through the throng until I sense him ahead. I spur Blade on, and we gain on his chariot.

But my vision is blurring. That damned medicine is making my head spin. I can't continue. I almost make it to the edge of the arena, but a chariot clips Blade and I am thrown from his back. He lies on his side snorting, and as my vision narrows to a point, my last thought is “They've killed my horse.”

* PAUSE *

Then I come to, and everything (short pause – music stops) has changed.

* PAUSE *

(Music changes mood to modern sci-fi / techno.)


Lying on my back, I open my eyes to an expanse of blue dotted with clouds. My vision slides into focus and the largest cloud sharpens into metre-high white letters that say 'M11.'
I get to my feet and take off my helmet. My Honda Fireblade is lying on its side at my feet, engine running but undamaged. The rush-hour traffic pelts by, and despite the chill, I am sweating. I reach into my jacket for a handkerchief and a brown plastic bottle falls from my pocket, spilling its contents. The pill-bottle comes to rest against my boot, the label upwards. “Clozapine,” it says. “Anti-Psychotic Medication. Do not operate machinery or drive a vehicle.”

My knees give out.

* PAUSE *



Hundreds of vehicles go by before I have the courage to lift the bike. My eyes flick over the traffic, picking out the black BMWs. Perhaps one of them contains the hit-and-run driver that killed my brother.

Perhaps I'll never know.

I get back on his bike to continue my journey but, for the life of me, I have no idea where I was going.