of nurture’s wildness—a novella (ch. 1)

by Tom Stuckey

I

Looking out of the café’s window, James awakened to the sudden effects of spring; people almost overnight had begun to wear less, the men had anyway, women seemed to be wearing more clothes than in previous springs. The trees, however, had continued in their tradition; changing from grey Xray’s, to colourful and bright. James shifted his eyes to the birds who seemed to be calling from the trees, like alarms, to let everyone know of this sudden change. In the top of one tree, a little bird was calling for its mother so persistently that it started to hurt his ears. This evaporated into the background when a waitress appeared with his coffee, her eyes still had the look of winter in them, pale and smoky. “Is it OK?” She asked in broken English. “Yes, thank you.” James replied, forcing a smile and taking out his phone to begin scrolling through social media; the first was a tweet by Prime Minister Tate that read:

"You can hate me all you want, but I will improve your life.

No one in the UK political establishment is prepared to do the difficult things that need to be done.

They are more concerned with being seen as a nice person.

But a bad guy will do whatever needs to be done.”

Bruv Party

The information seemed to make no sense as James tried to reason with it, pushing down the confusion and persisting he continued to read another monolog:

    “In fact, calculus would be tons more fun than any club.

         See baby s = x

        Now we just gotta find e

         You plus me plus your friend makes three

        A +”

But, still, nothing other than confusion mixed in with a feeling of hate was discernible. It was a strange mix, a distant emotion that was ready and waiting to be brought up on the mind’s demand. Closing his phone, James looked back out of the window to see that the bird had gone, and only the tree remained slightly proud and swaying with its new petals.

The coffee smelt good, often better than it tasted, but he liked the burning sensation it gave whilst hot, and the heightened sensations it gave, like it was giving a catch up for what the world was trying to tell him. Looking at his watch, it was past 10 o’clock, where was Gloria, she had said 10 hadn’t she? He was not sure, things like this happened often, lost time and space; had he even made the appointment? He wondered hard, recalling the information from what the mind could recall and verify. Yes he had, he was sure now, recalling what she had said, 'You might experience confusion and doubt, this is why there is an initial period of stay before the decision, to make sure it is what you really wish.’ 'Wish' was a strange term but he knew what she meant. Gloria had seemed pleasant on the phone, warm and caring, to the point where he thought he could picture her. So when a brown-haired woman wearing a long coat walked in, pretty behind a pair of sunglasses, he knew it was her. Some people just shined whatever was happening, naturally, and Gloria was one of those people. She had obviously done the same and walked over to James immediately, sitting down on the chair next to him. She smelt of jasmine and a fresh cool air and put out her hand that James took in his, it was slight and cold and seemed to bury itself into James’s which was large and warm. “Hi James, I’m Gloria, you got here OK?” Taking off her glasses and putting them down onto the table, revealing her eyes that were two emerald jewels inset in a delicate pretty face, she looked like an alien or angel, one or the other, but both really the same. “Yes thank you, I landed yesterday and stayed in a hotel nearby.” James looked down at his coffee like he did not believe anything he said anymore. “Good, I’m glad, the journey up to the centre should be an OK drive too, but there is still a lot of snow left from winter.” This, along with meeting Gloria, had given James a sense of well-being that he had not experienced in a long time. It was slightly un-nerving given what he intended to do, but that was what the cool off period was about. Gloria and the mountains in the snow were something, something that would materialise as they continued no doubt, the start of something anyway. “OK I’ll get a coffee to go, and we can leave.” She smiled again, not forced, she seemed genuinely alive on the inside and it could not be denied by the outside, she seemed to be winning the greatest prize of them all. James immediately took out his phone when Gloria stood up and walked away. Opening up social media, the algos doing their thing, it was Tate again this time the tweet read:

I am sick and tired of every hot girl in the world

coming up to me begging to be human trafficked

•••

I HAVE RETIRED!!!!!!!!!!

Again the feelings of hate and confusion rushed up in James. It was like Tate had sat down next to him and pounded his fists on the table, but this time he caught it early and pushed the phone back into his pocket. Instead he looked out of the window at the mountains beyond the trees and waited for Gloria to come back so they could begin their journey up the mountain together.

*Read Tom Stuckey’s next installment of Of Nurture’s Wildness on May 15, 2025, at 6PM CST.

Photo of Tom Stuckey

BIO: Tom is a writer from Devon in England.  His work can be found at A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Bristol Noir, Nut House Press, and Pulp Magazine. He is the author of The Canary in the Dream is Dead and The Sun Marches upon Us All. Learn more about Tom Stuckey at www.tomstuckey.com.