John Pospisil

I started writing this short story in May last year, and never really quite knew how to finish it. Back in July and August this year I was travelling for a few weeks, and when I got back home, I rediscovered this almost finished story. Those of you who know me personally, will understand this story’s significance, especially considering most of it was written last year.

Chapter 1

This is a very short story I wrote in 2003 somewhere on a train in Europe. It takes place in a European capital some time in the future.

Vaclav had been in hospital for the  three weeks. His doctor assured him he didn’t have long to live, and that everything would soon be fine.

I wrote this short piece in 2002. I thought of it recently, and found it on the backup of the computer I had at the time.

No one told me Paul Lyneham died. I only found out after his widow wrote a book about her life with him - about two years after his death. I heard her interviewed on the radio.

I asked my work colleagues whether they had heard that Paul Lyneham died.