David Moody - Trust

Once I get outside Im fine.

All the nervousness, the trepidation and the apprehension disappears in seconds. You just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

People ask me why I run but I never give them a straight answer. I never give them an honest answer. I give them all the usual bullshit about keeping fit and healthy and I might tell them that I run because its good to get out and find all those places you cant get to by car. When youre running, I sometimes tell them, youre everything and youre nothing. You dont matter to anyone but yourself. You can run past a hundred people and none of them know how far youve run or how much youre hurting. I tell people that I like to run because I like the quiet. I tell them I like to be on my own. I sometimes tell them that I like to think, but I never tell anyone what I think about.

I left home just under half an hour ago. There were a few grey clouds on the horizon. Now the entire sky is almost completely black and I know that in a couple of seconds the sun will disappear. Theres a lone pocket of blue sky above me which is about to be swallowed up by dark clouds attacking it from all directions. Ive seen this happen before when a storms been brewing. The clouds suddenly stop following each other and start to criss-cross the sky at different heights and different speeds. Unpredictable and unstoppable.

My legs are aching and my head is pounding. The atmosphere is heavy and oppressive and theres a cold wind suddenly gusting all around me.

Christ, here it comes. Ive done almost four miles and Im soaked with sweat and now here comes the rain to make the last mile and a half home even more difficult. Ive run down sheltered streets lined with buildings and footpaths covered by a canopy of trees but its only now that Im out here with no protection that the rain is really beginning to pour down.

Theres nothing I can do but keep on running. The harder I push myself, the sooner Ill be home.

Bloody hell. Now this is the real reason why I run.

I must have followed this dirt track a hundred times but it still takes my breath away. The rains ice-cold and its crashing down all around me now but it doesnt seem to matter. The view here is incredible. The muddy path is never more than a couple of feet across even at its widest point and its hard going - boggy and uneven - but its worth it when I reach the top of the hill. Im out on the edge when I reach the top of the hills, following the line of the cliffs. A two hundred foot drop and nothing to see but the ocean.

The rains so heavy now that its almost like a mist. Theres the first growl of thunder - a low, ominous rumble that I can feel through the ground. I can feel it in my legs and my belly.

Exhilarating and humbling. A sudden split-second flash of electric blue light and another crack of thunder and now Im beginning to wonder whether Im in trouble here. Im out on my own with no protection. Im cold and wet and I feel as exposed as an electricity pylon. I might as well be playing golf as running.

Theres another flash of light. This time Im looking in the right direction, straight out over the ocean. The lightning seemed to hit the water just past the first rocks of the Devils Peak. If I close my eyes I can still see it in negative. But closing my eyes is the last thing I want to do up here. Shit, almost lost my footing.

Ive got to concentrate. One slip and Ive had it. It was a bloody stupid idea to come up this way today.

I never stop when Im running. Its hard to get going again once youve slowed down. But somethings not right. I cant put my finger on it. The rains even colder now Im standing still but thats not important. I can hear something over the noise of the sea and the storm. I can hear a new sound. A different sound.

Theres a jet.

No, wait. Theres more than one.

They dont usually fly much at this time of day, and certainly not in this weather unless theres a damn good reason. There are five of them flying in an arrowhead formation. When they fly along the valley theyre a hundred times faster and nowhere near as loud as this. Theyre never usually this close to each other.

There are even more of them.

I can see seven jets now, sleek and dark, still flying in formation but theyre getting lower. One by one theyre emerging from the heavy cloud cover. Theyre well away from the land now and out over the ocean.

Theres something else behind them.

Theyre leading it out of the clouds.

Jesus Christ.

Whatever this thing is its huge. Its black and its fucking enormous. Fucking hell, Ive never seen anything like it. Its silent. All I can hear are the jets surrounding it. This thing is immense and its not making a bloody sound. It seems to be going on forever - hundreds and hundreds of metres of Christ knows what stretching down through the clouds and out over the ocean. It looks and moves like a fucking submarine carving its way through the turbulent air. Its vast belly is black, smooth and featureless but for a few bright pinpricks of light towards the front. I cant even begin to estimate the size of this thing.

There are jets surrounding the entire machine. They look so small that theyre like the shadows of scavenging birds against it.

I can see the back end of it now - theres a huge brilliant ball of blue-white light behind the ship. That must be whats powering it. How can it be so quiet? Christ, how can something so big move without making a sound? All I can hear are the jets and the storm.

I cant look at the light. Its so bright and powerful. Jesus, I can feel my skin beginning to prickle and tighten with the heat.

The rain and sweat is evaporating and theres steam snaking up from my skin.

The distance is deceptive. The whole convoy is moving at speed.

Just a couple of minutes since the first jet appeared and the last one is now disappearing from view. All I can see is the ball of light moving out to sea.

A second of silence, and then the sound of the waves on the rocks below and the driving rain returns a thousand times louder than before.

Ive got to get home.

Thomas Winter was twenty-seven two weeks ago. He has one brother, Robert, who is three years his junior. There is no other family.

On March 13 last year Mary and Kenneth Winter - the parents of the boys - died in a car accident just outside London.

Mrs Winter and the driver of the van that hit their car died instantly. Mr Winter hung on for a further four and a half days before passing away in hospital.

As the sole beneficiaries of their parents joint will, the two boys received equal shares of a substantial estate. Mr Winter had been practical and had made arrangements well in advance which removed much of the burden from the two shell-shocked brothers. By November last year their parents properties had been sold, their investments and pensions realised and their bank accounts closed.

Robert continued with his studies at university - there he managed to find an oasis of normality when the rest of his world had been tipped on its head. Thomas, on the other hand, left his city office job and bought a modest bungalow in Thatcham, a small fishing village some twenty miles from where he had been brought up.

Thomas has a girlfriend, Siobhan, who he genuinely adores.

When his parents died most of his friends quickly disappeared.

Siobhan stayed by his side throughout and remained strong, dedicated and supportive. Even on the nights when Thomas sat alone and cried himself to sleep in the darkness, when he wouldnt eat or drink and when hed speak to no-one, she had waited nearby. She knew that he would need her eventually.

The village of Thatcham is on the east coast and is popular with holidaymakers throughout the summer.