Cringe…..

via Daily Prompt: Cringe

Of all the inappropriate places. Why here, why now. We, as one hold our heads in our hands, as he made the declaration, that declaration. She watched along with the rest of us, dismayed, as her newly wed husband came clean and announced to all and sundry, what many among us, had long suspected, but never said.  Always was, always would be, an outright homosexual, he declared. That was it, out in the open. He happily announced he had found a new, and hopefully happy relationship with his new male lover, that would last for years, if life went to plan. With that he smiled broadly and sat down.

‘Why’, she screamed, pushing the chair back roughly from the top table, pushing the wedding cake in front of her from the table, where it collapsed in a heap on the floor.
‘Why now, you bastard , why have you deceived me ? . Her face red, her arms spread wide. He stepped back, the fear evident in his eyes. He had expected a reaction, but not such an emotionally charged reaction. Mistakenly he had taken her to be soft and accepting, open to new experiences, and adventures. But this was one adventure she wanted no part of. One experience she’d rather not participate in.
‘You have wasted my time, my life,why  ?’, she screamed again. Her anger reverberating around the small ballroom. The room and assembled group , deadly quiet. Stunned into silence.
‘Who is it ?’, she demanded. ‘Who is it ?’, she repeated again, as she moved towards the retreating figure of her wide eyed  new husband. The invited guests watched quietly as the soap like drama unfolded before them. Some looked away, others ingested their drinks, trying to comes to terms with what they watching. He stuttered, searching for words, but none were forthcoming.
She used the glass she was about to toast his speech with, and hurled it at him. He ducked, and she missed. The silver colored champagne filled glass falling to the floor. The knife they were to cut the wedding cake together with, found itself in her hands, as if by some magical process. Charging towards him, the knife found his chest soft to the touch, and it slipped in easily. He fell to the floor ,as the guests watched, transfixed by the drama, clutching his chest, blood seeping gently from the deep wound..
The dj had stopped the music.In the silence  he like the others watched the drama unfold before him.  The sun shone through the french windows into the small ballroom,and the assembled guests. She stood back from her husband, and watched his breathing slowly subside and eventually cease. She retrieved the knife from his chest. His blood dripping slowly from the wedding knife she held by her side.

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A woman’s obsession with finding love and happiness.

via Daily Prompt: Local

She was known as the local tramp. A loose woman. For any man looking for a night of non committal, one off sexual fulfillment, she was the first port of call. What was she really. A lonely sweet woman, looking for love and companionship in all the wrong places, with the wrong people. looking to fill the void and emptiness in her heart and soul. Rejected, overlooked, ignored and rejected by her so called parents.
                                                                                    Her life was a never ending search for love, acceptance, and warmth of other humans. Searching for a sense of  belonging. A strong unbreakable sense of connection with another human. Looking to bond. That’s all she ever wanted. She had learned from an early age how attractive she was to men. With her slim petite figure. Long auburn hair. Large wide innocent brown eyes. A luscious warm and inviting smile. Her stylish attire. What was there not to like. She was well aware of how men of all ages, shapes and sizes eyed her up. Stared at her from behind newspapers, as she passed by. Male shop assistants more than friendly in the shops she visited. Random men  who smiled at her as they passed on the street.
But after a few encounters with men, she also came to learn that many were shallow and empty. Not wanting commitment, and the loving relationship that she yearned for. Many,if not most men she met were just interested in quick, early sexual interactions, until they tired of her, and wished to move onto new conquests. She had come to understand that if she did not comply to there lustful sexual requests and demands, they had no compunction, no problems dropping her and swiftly moving on.

Un-intended pregnancies, abortions and mis-carriages followed. A price she was willing to pay for the temporary security, the sense of belonging and being loved if only for a short time. The decent wholesome, loving men seeking loving relationships ignored her and passed her by. They could tell by her eyes, by her demeanor and body language what she was. A cheap, loose woman, who had chosen the wrong path, early on in life, to secure the wholesome loving relationship she yearned for. Somewhat bitter, and dejected at the way her life was turning out, with the passing of the years. Her increasing alcohol consumption helped her ease the pain and bitterness,at least temporarily, as she looked at the way her life had turned out.
                       Her looks slowly fading from the innocent pretty girl of her youth. Her skin becoming frayed and wrinkled by the years of alcohol abuse. Her eyes trying to hide , but betraying the type of woman she had become. The in-appropriate clothing she now wore to lure men to her side. Clothes more suited to the young teenage temptress she no longer was. The garish make up, sultry red lipstick. If only she could see what others saw, and what she had become, as she scoured the darkened floors and corners of the many bars and seedy nightclubs of her small home town.
Even among the young teenage boys of the town, she had become known as the ‘local’. The woman to loose your virginity to. A sad human to be used, and laughed at. Men continued to use her,and she continued to search.

Illusion….

Illusion

It was all just an illusion. An untrue bloody facade. Not one word of it true. Those declarations of love, empty and meaningless words. Those declarations of loyalty and desire, equally empty, shallow and meaningless.
He had grown to hate the lies, the untruths and deceptions. The dishonesty, disloyalty and deceit. He had grown to hate her. He sat by her bedside, watching her sleep. She seemed so innocent, pure, angelic even. The long blonde hair flowing gently on the pillow. The pleasantly ample bosom, rising and falling slowly and gracefully. Scenes and images at one time which would have excited and thrilled him, now meant nothing. A cruel reminder of times wasted. Love proffered but not returned.
Kidding himself it was true love, when it was nothing of the sort. More a case of two lonely people using each other for company, until someone better or more suitable came along. She had wasted enough of his time, enough of his life. He looked out of the bedroom window towards the dull grey sky, and once more at her resting body. Gripping the heavy blue pillow tightly between his hands, he laid it across her face, and leaned his full body weight onto it. His breathing calm and measured.  She struggled as he had expected and was prepared for. Her legs kicked out viciously. Her deceptive hands pulled at the heavy pillow. Her chest rose and fell rapidly now, as the fear, panic and struggle to breath engulfed and overcame her. Perspiration formed on his forehead, his weight and strength more than a match for hers.
After a few moments it was done. The struggle subsided. He released his grip on the heavy pillow and removed it from her face, allowing it to fall from his hands and gently to the floor. Believing he should weep, or at least feel some emotion. Instead he felt nothing. Perhaps a some little relief, and happiness. maybe a sense at last of some freedom. Tears and sadness absent. He sat back in the wooden chair and watched her. She seemed so peaceful and at rest, as he was……

Paragon….

Paragon

That’s what he was know as in the village. The paragon of virtue. So clean, so saintly and God like it was questionable if he ever needed to use the bathroom. So pure was he. Worshiped by the many who were taken in and fooled by the persona he presented to the world. But to those that knew him, it was a very different, more truthful and unpleasant tale they could tell. If only they had being asked.
Ask his wife, the recipient of his countless violent and drunken beatings. Ask his children, the recipients of his crushing, caustic and never ending criticism of everything and any thing they had ever achieved. The open invitation he offered to those in that sordid circle, to come and be cruel and abuse his children whenever they wished.
A paragon alright, but not one of virtue. More a cesspit of nastiness, cruelty, and vile intent. Assaulting those he took a dislike to, which were many. In his own family, and outside of it. In the village, among other members of the clergy. Very few were immune from his sniper like targeting. He had people fooled initially. With the charm, the friendliness. With the praise. With the building up of others. It was of course only a ruse, to get close to others. Then like a snake in the grass, he would attack and destroy, when within range.

She could see straight through him. The new Bishops wife. An eledry woman, used to many years of inner city work with drug and alcohol addicted people, and those with serious mental health issues. She could see straight through his facade, his disguise. See through the charm and friendliness. The smiles and generosity. She could see through it all to his vile, corrupted core.
He had of course tried his moves on her. The moves of the snake in the grass. The strategy to get close, then strike and destroy. Fully believing it was his destiny, his right to be promoted to Bishop. Not to be the lowly village vicar that he perceived himself to be.
The thought of the large Bishops house, come palace. The opportunity to gain full access to the large parochial accounts and funds, to use as he wished. Mainly for his own pleasure. But most especially he wanted the prestige associated with such a position.
He made it his full time mission in life to destroy and take down the new Bishop, and particularly his ever so cleaver and uppity wife, and he himself would replace them. He began to hate the new Bishops wife. he could see she was not to be fooled by the persona he presented. He endured many sleepiness nights, calculating and scheming how to bring about there downfall. As his frustrations and anger increased. The drunken, violent outrages towards his wife and cruelty towards his children increased in severity. In his own mind he declared open warfare on the Bishops wife, and decided she had to go in the cruelest way imaginable.

Staggering home from yet another heavy session of drinking at the village pub, towards the vicarage. Along empty, unlit roads. The warm air of the summers evening more than welcome. The Bishops wife was on his mind, yet again. She definitely had to go. Who was she to dare defy him, and stand in the way of his ambitions,and rightful place in the higher echelons of the clergy. He deserved nothing less, he had assured himself on many occasions. all he needed was a plan, a suitable plan.

In the car Bramhes played softly from the speakers. The late summer evening, with the sun just set. The unlit, mostly empty roads, as they made their way back towards the bishops home, come palace. The warm breeze flowing through the open windows. Life in there new appointment in this quaint village was looking promising. She had not mentioned to her husband what she had heard and knew to be true about the local vicar. Preferring to shield him from such nasty realities, and un-necessary strain, since his most recent illness. His recovery was slow, but progressing.
The headlights just caught a brief glimpse of the struggling figure before the impact caused the seat belts to tighten hard against there bodies, making breathing quiet difficult. The Bishop struggled with the wheel. His hands too weak to control the car,as it careered off the country road, overturned twice and landed on its roof. He was unconsciousness, barely breathing. Her vision was unfocused. Her chest painful and sore,with blood flowing freely from the wound above her eye. She struggled to undo his seatbelt,and attended to her own. The scent of the summer grassland, and the wild summer flowers was tinged with the strong scent of vapor. Bramhes continued to play gently from the car speakers. She fumbled and fought with her seat belt. Screamed at her husband who was unresponsive. The blood flowing freely from the wound above her eye, impinged her vision. Through the shattered windscreen she watched the small blue and yellow flames spark and ignite under the crumpled bonnet. The stench of vapour in the car was strong. She stopped struggling with the seat belt. Held her husbands cold , unresponsive hand and began to pray.

On the darkened road she drove faster than she should have. But she wanted, no needed to get back to the vicarage before he did. Because she knew her absence would only add to his anger, and the severity of the beating he would dish out to her.
The overwhelming noise startled her and drew her attention. The bright yellow and blue flames bursting high into the night sky, as the moonlight and stars shone down. The uncomfortable bump the car suffered, which very nearly caused her to lose control of the car,  she assumed to be an unfilled pothole, damn useless council. She pulled the car to the side of the road, and watched alone as the flames ignited and the fireball engulfed the overturned car. After what seemed like a short time the fireball fizzled out, leaving nothing but the smoking embers of the burnt out vehicle.
The birds high in the tress again resumed there calming evening song, and the moon shone brightly in the clear night sky.

 

Written in response to : The Daily Prompt.

Another Night….

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She knew how it was going to be ,another night, same as before, same as so many other nights. Pawing, brutal men. Dirty, sleazy men. Unattractive men, with the manner of wild beasts. She had to see them all, that was the game she had involved herself in. Were she not to perform her duties, as layed out by her Father, she knew it would lead to more brutal beatings, while her Mother looked on in an approving manner.
She waited in the quiet backlit street, away from the busy throughfare, away from the staring eyes of the middle class happy people, who could guess, or possibly  assume what she was by her demeanor. She was dead inside. No interest, no anger, no disillusionment, no happeniness,  no nothing. Her soul empty, her spirit deadened. A living walking, and occasionally talking corpse.
She waited patiently in that semi darkened, empty backstreet, knowing it would not be long before her customers, punters, sleazy men, call them what you will , would come calling. Her first two customers were men she did not like but was famililar with. She knew from past experience the encounters would be phyisically brutal, but thankfully quick. Reaching into her handbag, she retrieved the packet and withdrew a cigerette,and lit it. Wishing so much she could one day give them up, but they did at least offer some comfort, at least for a few moments.

She watched him in the far distance, at the top of the street. The searching eyes
scanning the area. She knew by his body language what he was looking for, and in a moment or two negotiations would begin, a price agreed, and a suitable, hidden area, in the darkened backstreet selected. She watched as the tall man with the scraggy beard and long
overcoat approached. His steps slow and thoughtful, indicating a deep solitary inner conversation he was holding. As he got closer she hoped and prayed he was reasonably sane, and of course fresh and clean, and that he would be gentle. She studied his eyes, as she always did, with any man who approached her, before she painted on a friendly smile. To check his intent, an indication of mental imbalance, or possible violence. He was after a possible new regular customer.
What she found within his eyes was a slight recognition from somewhere, some other time. She inhaled hard on the cigarette, at times it helped clear her mind. Was he a regular from the past,who had changed his appearance , or was he just similar in looks to so many of the other men she had encountered in the past. The street was quiet, apart from passing cars in the distance. The sky clear. The moon full and bright, with a few stars visible. The night air, fresh and cooling. Something here was amiss. She paced up and down the pavement awaiting his approach, becoming quiet uncomfortable. Those eyes were familiar, so recognizable.
Although his eyes were empty and vacant, his mind elsewhere, or possibly not there at all. Were they still the eyes she had not seen in such a long timeCould it possibly be, after all this time, Could it really be. In this place at this time. But the eyes were the only method they had used to recognize each other after many years apart, in the past.

How much ? ‘ , he did not meet her eyes, just stared at the ground.
She needed to see his eyes,just to be sure.
She held a fresh cigarette in front of her face,
‘Light ?’
Finally he looked her in the eye.
‘No,don’t smoke’.

It was him, she was fairly sure of it now. Of course both had changed psychically, but he was still recognizable to her, just. She had not seen him for so long. So many questions Where had he being, What had he done. Had life being good to him. There was no flicker of recognition from him. His once lively, sparkling eyes, now empty , black and dead.

Where’, his voice soft, and gentle.
‘Don’t you recognize who I am ?’

For the first time in a long time, she actually felt something . Was it anxiety, anger, an eagerness to know. She felt a little alive.
No, I don’t know you, or want to know you’. His eyes cold, empty, dead and angry. No signs of any recognition from him.
She considered for a moment, pushing it. But instead decided to leave it be.
‘I dont wish to go with you, go away and leave me alone’, or I will call him over’, her voice sharp,getting louder and unfriendly. She pointed to the well built middle aged man, who stepped out from the doorway across the street, from where he had being watching. His mouth turned down in a sneer, His eyes cruel and mean. He inhaled on the cigarette he had being smoking.

She watched the forlorn figure of the elder brother she had not seen in so many years, slowly walk away from her. His eyes, dead, black and vacant. He walked out of her working area, and out of her life. She watched him go. Two people living empty, meaningless lives. Across the road, the heavily built man with the evil sneer, stepped back into the shadows.
She took another cigarette from the packet in her large handbag, one day wishing she could give them up.
Grateful for the cooling breeze, the clear sky and the moonlit night. She painted on the false smile,and studied his eyes as the new customer beckoned her over to the black shinny Mercedes car,that glistened in the moonlit. The clatter of her high heels breaking the silence of the night.
Written to a photo prompt seen here : (http://creativewriting.ie/writing-prompts/)

 

The Festival.

Festival

https://unsplash.com/@jplenio?photo=nfXO_z_a8E

The  dirty and disheveled yellow VW camper van made its way toward the inviting, orange and blue horizon. It had seen better days for sure. But it had served them well, with many years of trusted service. This was to be their last festival, they could not be hippies forever. Time had come to pack it all in.
                        Even their grandchildren were getting embarrassed and ashamed by them. What about if they had meet their own grandparents, horror of horrors, attending the same music festival. Livid just about covered her feelings. The jutting jaw, her back turned against him. Thankfully the shouting had stopped,the huffed loud breathing, also at a much lower volume now. Like a child, she must had exhausted herself, he concluded. They hadn’t spoken for hours. He silently driving the van, still wearing that silly white straw hat, nearly as old as he was, covering his longish white hair. The black waistcoat, the cheese cloth shirt, and the grandfather glasses, no other words for them. The old denim jeans. Add to that the beads, a permanent fixture around his neck. Fitting perfectly the image of an aging hippy.
           She steadfastly refusing to even look at him. Instead she choose to look out the passenger window, out onto the wide open green fields. The wide evening sky so warm, so inviting. The few large trees decorating the open landscape. She wrapped herself in her favorite red Indian blanket. Took the moccasins off her feet, and held her knees close to her chest.
   Not Buddhism nor meditation, massage, reiki you name it, nothing was working to cool her ardour. How dare he suggest to her, that their time on the road was to come to an and. All the wonderful cities, countries they had visited. The friends they made. All that was to come to an end. Their time as travellers was to come to an end. That the time had come to conform, to settle down. To her this was the deepest form of betrayal. Treachery of the highest order, from her soul mate. She didn’t even want to contemplate how much she had sacrificed for him throughout the years. Give it all up, to live an ordinary life. This to her was a normal life. This to her was proper living. She held her knees tightly against her chest, wishing hard for sleep. At least that would offer some form of escape from this situation. But sleep was not forthcoming. She knew from many years experience, that once he made his mind up, over an issue. That was it. There would be no changing it.

Her mind wandered back to when they first met all those years ago. At her first ever festival, how she was so taken with the tall, slim long haired man, with the denim waistcoat, and mischievous grin, who had offered her shelter in the rain. How she so happy to have found a genuine soul mate, to travel through this life together. But now….her body held tight, the anger like a fire, running round her body looking for an escape. She had always found it hard to express her feelings to others. Preferring instead to let the feelings build up, and fester within her body and soul. It was the way she had learned as a child, that what she felt amounted to little or no interest to others. Because nobody cared. The seething angry energy, having now reached its zenith, searched for an escape. Propelled by the  red hot energy racing around her body, screaming, she kicked at the passenger window, in a vain attempt to break the glass. But her small feet just bounced off the toughened surface. She quickly turned to the dashboard, where he had left his pipe, tobacco and old small broken rusty knife. He saw her plan, and took one hand from the steering wheel, and wrestled her for the knife. But her two hands, and anger were stronger than he. Grabbing the knife, she ran it along the inside of her left arm, from the fold of her wrist towards the crock of the elbow, and pushed it hard into her soft skin. It took much pressure to break her skin. Her face red, and perspiring slightly, her mouth open showing her clenched perfectly formed teeth, her breathing heavy and fast. At last the skin broke and the rusty knife entered. The veins, and cartilage easily giving way to the pressure. She ran the knife repeatedly along the same track.
                     As the knife ran, deep and hard, along her soft tissues, the blood flowed. Her breathing became soft. Her jaw loosened. Her shoulders eased and released the tension they held. It was always the way for her, the buildup of anger and frustration,the self harm, then the physical release of the tension. A way to sooth her soul,and ease her mind. Always worked. Sleep coming to her easily now, as she released her grip on the rusty knife which fell to the floor.
     He watched her. Slowly bringing the camper van to a stop. It was the noise first, the crashing of metal upon metal, then the shattered glass. The steering wheel being pushed hard against his chest, making it difficult to breathe. The sensation of going backwards at speed as the large truck struggled to stop. With the dirty yellow VW camper van, now a tangled mess of metal, and on it’s side. Through the shattered glass, she looked again at the orange and blue sky. In the silence, it was so warm, and inviting……

Written in response to a prompt seen here : http://creativewriting.ie/writing-prompts/