The Dentist.



‘ Lay back’, that’s all she said. The voice hard, and cruel. Those once gentle eyes long replaced by a hardness, an uncaring, ruthless hue. Even though she was female, and perhaps at one time maternal. That was long gone. She was as ruthless, and cruel as any of the other commandants, well, torturers in the camp.

‘Open wide’, not a suggestion, more an order, and one that had better been obeyed. What choice did he have. Another beating, more starvation. More back breaking, physical labour in the fields. In the cold freezing bleak winter, that passed for a season.

He gripped the sides of the battered and well worn leather chair, that many had used before him. The bright white lights obscured her view, but not the pain she was inflecting. She inserted the scalpel, and what seemed like a miniature crowbar, and began to examine his teeth. Not that they needed redimaal treatment, aside from his softening gums. A result of the very poor diet they were subjected to. He would have gladly  paid for an anaesthetic, but he knew, she would not be forthcoming with one in any case.
The scent of her perfume was alluring. A gentle mixture of musk, and sweet orange petals. He was sure, he discerned. Such a gentle fragrance so out of sync with her hardened persona.
The guard by the door, examined his diary. His ill fitting uniform, helmet and rifle by his side. Bored beyond belief with he duties assigned to him. No doubt, would much rather be at the front, in the war zone. Doing what he could to ensure victory for the Fatherland. But this is where he was assigned, and he would carry out his duty to the best of his ability.

He could never understand the use of soothing classical music. It was not, he assured himself for the benefit of the patients, the genie pigs, as they didn’t really matter. What were they, but mere expendable subjects. With many more, readily available to replace them, if necessary. Neither did he understand what they hoped to gain, to learn, by inflecting such torturer on there prisoners, their victims. As she continued to examine his teeth, and purposefully strike the nerves with her instruments of torture. She smiled, cruelly as he jolted in the seat, as she probed inside his mouth, and along his finely attuned teeth. Her sense of power, adding to, and enhancing her self esteem. The weathered leather chair straps restraining his increasingly violent bodily movements.

He wanted to scream out in pain, as the silver instruments touched the nerves in his teeth, and perspiration appeared on his forehead, but he stopped himself. A little victory.  The wooden shed, that passed for a medical center, cum torture chamber, had no sound proofing to hide the screams. He owed it to his men, or so believed, to be strong, to show leadership. To not be beaten down in such a situation.
He transported his mind back to his childhood in Austria. Those summer days of freedom exploring the mountains and forests, near to his home.
He recalled images of his portly, ever smiling  Mother, as she cooked goulash and apple strudel for the family, and the laughter they shared when his father, returned from tending to the sheep on the mountain side. His hearty laughter, contagious around the long wooden kitchen table, and the blazing warming open fire.

The pain increased as she began to start using the dentists drill. The loud noise itself, enough to make one tense up. But without anaesthetic. It was an absolute instrument of torture. It’s long outstretched mechanical arms, like some type of automated robotic torture instrument. As small remanents of his teeth and gums, flew at speed from his mouth. He noted her cruel smile, as she bent over him, forcefully leaning on the drill.

Again he closed his eyes, and transported himself back to his childhood, and those summer days on the mountain side, in their remote home. The happiness and joys he shared with his loving parents and sister. His mind reverted through those youthful, happy years he spent in that small town. The friends he made. The first forays into female companionship. He smiled at the memories.

He was awakened from his memories by her screaming, and rough handling.

‘Take him away, he is no good’, the guard slowly walked towards the dentists old weathered chair, and began to undo the tightened straps, that held the unwilling patient down. She slammed the instruments down onto the tray, which rattled at the force of her anger. She turned away, removed her putrid rubber gloves, and began to wash her hands, at the filthy brown stained sink.
The guard struggled to drag the unconscious, but smiling body back to the shed from where it came.


Popular, why not ?

Photo by Nainoa Shizuru on Unsplash

Why are not more people reading my stuff
I mean, come on, I’m being as productive as I can be
Short stories, some life advice and even poetry
Why not more social media shares, or even any, I really do care
I want other’s to notice, and see what I write
Do I want to be famous, no that’s alright
Would I like my writing to be picked up by some movie producer
Some publishing house, oh such glee
Make a film of my stories, and I get rich, hopefully
Some newspapers, or websites, take my writings, and syndicate worldwide.
It happens like that in my imagination, why not here in real life

Am I living in a fantasy world, is this not how it should be
Perhaps my words are not the precious gems, and solutions I perceive them to be
Am I helping to solve people’s problems and issues
Or just writing for attention, and for others to say how great I can be
Maybe if I angle my writing towards helping others
Readers will visit by the score
After all I will be helping solve their problems, that may be piling up by their door
Maybe if I move on up that track, I’ll attract much acclaim
Perhaps others will listen to what I say and write, with awe
Should they wish to worship at my feet, well who am I to say, this they should not do
I am starting to live and die, by that red notification icon, on my WordPress site
Come on somebody, anybody, and give us a like
Hurry up will you, my anger and frustration, is getting well out of sight
I ain’t got the time to be sitting here all night, watching and reloading the screen
Another ding of that bell, then I’m assured I’m doing alright
That other people, actually like what I write
Then all is well with my world

Why am I writing here, is it to solve people’s issues
Or to keep my mind clear
Is it for popularity, fame, wealth and all that
Or a pseudo means of hidden psychotherapy
To keep me reasonably balanced and sane
As that’s what I find writing does
An opportuntiy to process, to reflect, and think things through
After been involved with people, and situations
Perhaps given a choice, one would not do
All that of course, and keep my brain fresh and engaged
Keep dementia from the door
Maybe I should just be satisfied with the small group that follow
And be happy and grateful enough with that.


dave-contreras-190480 (1)
Photo by Dave Contreras on Unsplash

Posture exercises all gone wrong, what happened their, I came on too strong
Impatience, speed, rush to improve
An almighty crack, a sudden snap
Instant pain right up my back
I was quiet convince as I winced
I must have surely broke my neck and shoulder
Now it’s a bit hard to move, and I’m in an angry mood
Stiffness, aches, creaking neck
Pains in my shoulder, and not just cause I’m older
It was the rushing, that pushing, that lust for the result
Now look what I’ve done, I’m right down in the dumps

The Doctor said, ‘It’ll sort itself out’
But that’s all he ever say’s, when I give him a shout
I’m stiff and sore, you know the score
‘You’ll recover ‘, he said, but it will take some time’
I mean for goodness sake, I hope he’s lying
I can’t be having this kind of discomfort
I tried some of the medication prescribed for me,
But this stuff is no good, as I can see
It’s worse I’m feeling after trying that
If I was not so keen on him, I would give it to the cat

I’m gonna try the natural route
Healing foods improve my mood
Herbs and spices, what a delight that is
Hot bath’s, healing gels
See what happens here
This is curtailing my work
Is this a message from life
Indicating it’s another line of work I should choose

What have I learned from this disaster
What have I learned from this mishap
That those old sayings, from long ago
Proverbs, is that not so
Were born of wisdom, and good common sense
Everything in moderation
Patience, take your time
All good things come to those who wait
Don’t think I agree with that last one, mind

Perhaps stop studying my body in the mirror so much
Trying to rush the procedure of my posture
Becoming upright, honest and true
No more rounded shoulders
No more kyphosis
Forward head posture
Goodbye to you

Stand up straight, hold your head up high
Look the world in the eye, reach for the sky
Well yeah, but sometimes I just don’t feel like that
If my posture improves, will it put me in a better mood
Will women stop and stare, and ask if I’m actually gliding on air
Would they be so entranced, they’d like to run their hands through my hair
I aint even gonna mention underwear, neither their’s nor mine
What could happen, I would not even dare to imagine

Will my posture, my stance, my walk, my everything
Just have such a confident air
That should attract women by the busload, according to those in the know
Seduction guru’s. Pick up masters
This is what they tell you in their classes
Confidence is King, you got that, and you can reel the women in
Well if you believe those kinda things
If you actually admit to reading and watching such material
To those of us single men,
Some will admit, that’s just what we do

In that never ending quest, to find a woman who’ll be just right
Rather than someone who will just do
You gotta lead, if you want to lay your seed
Show interest, but not too much
Just keep them guessing, as such and such
So they aint never sure, if the relationship is on solid ground
Maybe then they will stay around
Pay little attention to their looks, then you’ll be in their good books
That’s according to the knowledgable
Don’t be needy, cause you’ll come across as greedy for attention, and insecure
Not an attractive combination
‘Your not like other men, they’ll scream
Your sometimes, even kinda mean
Your not intimated by my good looks, and I love it
My God, what a find, your one of a kind
I ain’t ever letting you off the hook
I’ll shower you with passionate sex, that’s really gonna rock your head
I’ll cook and clean, like you ain’t never seen’

‘I pout, you banter. I scream, you ignore
I test you, to the limit. But you remain unmoved to the core
You’re a  dream come true. I’m so lucky to have met you’
This is what women want, according to those in the know
Be dominant and lead, but there is no need to make them bleed
But do not supplicate. Do not bow down
Do not be that foolish clown
Swooning round a pretty face. Women are people, just like you
Some can be right mental, and full of hate.
Perhaps you would have had, second thoughts
Had you known that beforehand, about that first date
So anyways, do all the above, and you’ll never be short of love, alright mate

Are you confused. Yeah, me too
Well it seems to me, you’d need a damn degree
To figure how to get along with and attract women
I’m all lost at sea
I think I’ll look after my posture for now
Get it back on the right side of wrong
Hopefully, it won’t take too long.





Photo by Evie Shaffer on Unsplash


Now what can I write about this, does anything even exist
Within my mind that I may find to be sufficient interest
Perhaps to all of mankind. I’m struggling here
Let me make that clear, but I’ll do what I can
I’m that sort of man

Fluff to me is, it’s not that important, see
Fluff is silliness, foolishness and it don’t matter
If it don’t matter, why am I even putting effort in here
What is wrong with my brain is it going all queer
Peculiar and strange

Help, I’m running out of ideas, my mind is rather unclear
Maybe I should not have started this at all
I’m not saying I’m climbing walls yet, with frustration,
But not far from it. Ah when will this be over
Is the end in sight, Jesus, God please come help me
Maybe relieve me of my plight

Now I don’t mean by that, take me from this world
Rather fill my mind with words and insight
So others will be impressed, and say ‘hey mate
You really got some talent here’
We think you’re wonderful, let me buy you a beer

So there you are now, fluff, a little poem
About nothing at all
Of no consequence or meaning
Just a response to that daily prompt
I’d rather do this, than do the cleaning
At times my mind is just plain empty, and there ain’t nothing there
I think I will have to find that well of creativity
Where ever it exists, and drink my fill
Before I try this again.



Photo Credit :


‘Well, What we will do now ?
That was the question from the audience.

It needed answering now, and in a hurry.

If ever he needed an answer it was now. Employing many thousands of people. Saving them form a life of misery, or so he told himself. Never mind the fact, he paid minimum wage, and only then, because of government enforcement. Still he smiled to himself, at the massive benefits of the accommodating tax havens, where he could hide most of his wealth. God Bless the British empire, as he liked to toast in the bars of the five star hotels he and his overly indulgent wife liked to frequent.
‘the industry, if you could call it that, was not of the highest moral tone. A company producing sex toys, adult films, and offering services of a questionable, ( read sexual ) nature. Would it be such a loss to the world, were it to fold ?

‘ Well were offering a service, that is needed and in demand, and has been since forever ‘. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, with the expensive monogrammed white handkerchief. One of the benefits of wealth. Well he did of course deserve it. He was after all an entrepreneur, providing employment to many thousands of people. If other’s did not have that nonce, that ruthless streak to be entrenpuruional, well just tough titty.

The shareholders, the upstanding shareholders, who professed to know nothing of the  sordid nature of the products the company produced. That information was, of course, freely available on the internet. God bless, your man. You know, your man, the fella who actually invented the bloody internet. Sir Tim some body, whatever….
‘ In any case, the Catholic church has invested funds in our shareholdings, figure that if you can. If they believe we are okay, then we must be okay, yeah ?’

It was that self assured confidence, that sickening , undeserved  sense of genius and self importance, that physically turned his stomach. Not to mention, his personal dislike of the founder. If ever a person fitted the description of slime ball it was him. To such an extent, he actually felt the physical need to quickly wash and wipe his hands, whenever they actually shock hands, to wipe away the perceptible grease  he felt on his hands. He was after all in charge of a massive amount of investors funds. It was on his say so, if the company invested or not. He fitted perfectly the image of that boring accountant. Bald, or  shall we say shaved headed, in a gentle manner. Studious. Round rimmed glasses, and a light goatee beard and tache. Just under six feet, with a slim to athletic build. Always dressed in a grey pinstripe grey suit, that his wife had many time’s, tried to talk him out of.

His mind reverted back to that German nightclub, not so many weeks ago.

The establishment, well lets call it what it was, the brothel was in a rather select area of the city. It could have very easily been mistaken for a discreet fashionable boutique hotel, or a very wealthy persons abode. Not here the seedy undertones of cheap sex, the fear, sudden violence, and illegal activities. With its smiling friendly, healthy looking  staff. Ornate expensive decorations, and interiors. No doubt from the mind of some highly paid creative. It had more the feel, of a private, expensive gentleman’s club. For those who had reached a certain level of success in life, and deserved only the best. It gave one the impression of being safe, secure, and above all, discreet. What were the patrons to know of the hidden discreet cameras, silently recording there every move, and particularly their sexual tastes, and fantasies. Which at times bordered on the bizarre to the barely legal. To be set aside, and possibly used in the future, should favours needed to be procured from the high and mighty.
The ladies, neither through their body language or general demeanour portraying the desperation, drug addiction, or psychological human damage associated with such places. On the contrary, they seemed, highly educated, high powered business women.  Which perhaps they were. Weather they were in this profession full time or not, or out of curosity, a love of sexual encouters, or as a method to increase there finances. Who was he to ask.

‘ Let me introduce you to Isabella’, the greasy slime ball continued. ‘ She if among any of the girls, will make your sexual dreams come true. What ever you desire, whatever you have fantasized about in the privacy of  your mind, she alone is the woman, who can bring it to fruition ‘. He eyed her up. Not the image he had of a cheap whore, on the make for quick money, regardless of the  emotional, and physical cost. To the contrary, she was the antithesis of a prostitute. She had the look of a successful business woman, in her smart cut business suit. That certain walk, that oh so confident walk. The result of a middle class upbringing, and an education many dream of, but few achieve.

She offered her hand, he glanced at her, but refused to shake it. She was afer all, nothing more than a whore, a prostitute. A woman willing to sell her body and soul, at least for the duration of the encounter, for the most amount she could get.

‘ Hello, so very nice to meet you ‘, the words, empty, and meaningless.

He of course, had seen it all before. the false sense of friendship. The attempt to form an  instant rapport. The false friendliness. All with an ulterior motive of personal gain. In situations such as this, which were many, he pictured his wife, and her honest, loving ways. The cooking of meals. The questions and concerns for his health and welfare. The laughter they shared together. There gentle, good humoured teasing of each other. How she listened intently and with genuine concern, to most, but of course, not all of what he was saying. He laughed silently at the memory.

The lady in question at the nightclub, moved closer to him. The scent of her perfume, musk, if I’m not mistaken, so alluring, so powerful. She moved her rather large full bosom, and cleavage, so close to his face. The goosebumps on her more than ample   chest, were clear to see in the subdued lighting of the club. Her perfect white teeth, so enchanting, and inviting. Those luscious full lips, so ready to be kissed. Those soft, wide grey eyes, that studied his face, his eyes, for an expected positive response. So tempting. She sat close beside him, on the red velvet couch. Her finely toned and tanned legs pressing against his. She was well versed in using her ample charms to fulfill her desires. She knew what most men wanted, and she was in a position to give it to them, if she so wished. The subdued lighting, enhancing the pseudo romantic atmosphere. The soft, barely precipitable music. It was almost hypnotic, in its seduction.

Her legs, so magnificent, in that short black dress she wore. But he was solid. He was loyal. He was decent, upstanding and true. What was the choice. A night of quick, empty, meaningless sex, or a sustained love filled encounter with his wife. He moved away from her, and stood up,

‘ So nice to meet you, and make your acquaintance, but I must be going. All the best ‘.

The disbelieving look in her face, was comical. Very few had the moral strength to resist her encroachments, if only for a few moments of a meaningless encounter.

To his wretched disgust, the slime ball glided over on a river of his own psychological grease, and approached him, in the conference hall.

‘ Have I done enough, will you sanction the further investment ?

He studied the face, noting the perspiration. The overbearing arrogance and self importance, now quiet subdued. The fearful, anxious filled eye’s.

‘ Having looked over your accounts, and, shall we say ‘ operations ‘ in Germany, we as an investment fund, will not be investing further in your company. Further more to that, we will actively be seeking to withdraw our current funding as of now. Good evening and goodbye’.

The Cat.

Photo by Darkness on Unsplash


He didnt’ like that title, that had being bestowed on him, by the obsessive followers and fans. That was his nickname. A childish, foolish, name. But an indication of his skill, and ease of movement on the ball. In the games that mattered. To a man they thought the highest of him.

He had to grateful to him, he was told, by his family, wife, and team management. Without them, he was nothing. As the windscreen wipers cleared away the belting rain,on the bleak darkened road, he began to question, if he really needed them. These fans. These people who never gave him any peace. Always having to be polite and civil. Forcing smiles, when all he wanted to do was get away from them, from the noise, the adoration. Silence was what he craved the most. That’s what brought him to this place, these long solitary drives, in the middle of the night. An opportunity to think, to consider and reflect.
Did he even want….. the impact was sudden. A brief sight of something, bouncing off the windscreen, and then the sudden struggling with the wheel, to regain control. He brought the car to a juddering halt. The only sound, his heavy, rapid breathing, and the rain, heavy and noisy against the car. He checked himself, and calmed his mind slightly. His heart beating fast, and that familiar sickly chemical concoction in his stomach, that he felt every time he had to deal with the overbearing fans. He exited the vehicle to search for whatever had come into contact with it. The pouring rain, quickly soaking his clothing. The wind wild and raging. He brought his collar up, on his expensive leather coat, to protect himself, as much as he could. Most probably some type of animal, he assumed. Perhaps a scampering dear, or fox, or maybe a badger, as he did glance some colour, on whatever hit his car.
Too cold, and wet to be hanging about. With no sign of any animal, he assumed they too, would be shaken, but not stirred. Laughing to himself, at his humours aside to agent 007. He returned to the car, and in the darkness he headed along the empty highway. Unsure why he glanced in the mirror, he just felt, maybe sensed a cool breeze, a presence. A sense of unease. A un-nerving feeling of being watched. His body ran cold. Goosebumps appearing rapidly on his body. The figure of the small young girl, with her once pretty face, battered with bloodstained scars, briefly glanced at him, from the rear seat. He hit the brakes hard, and for the second time, in a short time, the car same to a standstill. He turned around rapidly in his seat, to see what he thought he saw. To his relief, there was nothing but an empty rear seat, of his 70’s mustang car. A collectors car now. Rare and highly valued. A favourite of the movie stars of the 70’s. Steve McQueen, and of course,  Starkey and Hutch. He checked the floor of the dark interior, cursing himself, for neglecting to fix the interior lighting, but promising himself to get it done as soon as possible.
Again his breathing was rapid, heart beating fast. The only sound that of the wild raging wind, and the heavy rain. He cursed himself a second time, for neglecting to fix the radio. In the darkness, he pushed his foot hard to the floor, and the black car skidded and swerved,as it responded to the powerful engine. With a screech of the tires, he was on his way. Of course there was nothing in the car with him, how could there be ? But he still felt quiet nervous, and longed to be back in the city, and it’s busyness. Even back among his overbearing fans, and increasingly irritating wife.

‘ Why ? ‘, the question came out of nowhere. Softly at first. As he drove at increasing speed down the dark empty road, the bends illuminated by the strong headlights. Again he checked the rear view, there she was again, this bloodstained and battered face of the young girl, holding a small teddy bear. The temperature of in the car, became very cold.
‘ Why did you do it , look at me now ‘, the voice become stronger, a low brutal growl, demonic like.
He drove faster, and faster. Screeching round the bends. The sound of the rain, and howling wind, overpowering. The back seat interior of the car, lit up in dark red flames,. The little girl sat among them, peacefully watching him. Then she was gone. He double checked the rear view. There was no more dark flames. The rain eased, and the wind became more subdued. His body was shaking, perspiration dripping from his forehead. The interior temperature of the car returned to normal. The sudden music sounds from the once dead radio, made him jump.
He slowed the car down, and relaxed his tight grip on the steering wheel, as the lights of the city, came into view. That evenings drive had given him quiet a lot to think about, on his drive back into the city. It was well after midnight when he hit the empty city streets, aside from the usual night people. The drunks, prostitutes, and the others up to no good. He stopped outside the precinct and slowly entered and approached the counter.
The rough looking desk Sargent, eyed him up slowly.

‘ I have a confession to make…..’


Photo by Bryan Goff on Unsplash


‘ Try it again’,  the anger and panic  more than perceptible  than ever.
‘ Some one has got to be out there listening ‘.

‘ Their is no response Sir’.
‘ Goddamn, they ain’t gonna leave up here, and not care ‘.

‘ I don’t know Sir ‘.

As the space capsule traveled into infinity, and the vast mystery of the universe
he gripped the balcony rail very tightly. At least no one could see his physical tension.
When this happened in ‘ Star Trek ‘ and similar TV programs, of his youth, it was a fantasy, everybody knew that. But this was real.

‘ Try it again’,  he so wanted to swear, to express his anger and frustration. His fear and panic. But he was after all the Captain of the mission. The person in charge. He had a certain standing to uphold. A certain dignity. A sense of control. Were he to show his fear and panic, what was the likelihood of the young inexperienced crew remaining calm and measured. Very little, and he knew that. If ever he needed his acting capabilities, it was now. If ever he needed to put on a show, it was now.

‘ Okay, let us set a course for Planet Interstellar no.9. I believe the food and entertainment is pretty good there’, trying to interject some humour, and a sense of being on control, and to ease the palatable tension on the cockpit. A few of the others laughed. He glanced round the cockpit, and noted the wide eyed fear of the young crew. Fear is hard to hide. Anything to break the obvious tension and fear. What was that fear ? The very real fear, that perhaps they, and he would never, ever see there loved one’s again. Many believing rightly, that they were too young to die. Out here, in outer space.

‘ I’m gonna to retire to my cabin for some shut eye. Give me a call half an hour before we arrive ‘.

‘ Okay, will do’, the second in command replied.

In the privacy of his cabin, he knelt down beside his bunk, and called on God, or who ever is ruling the world and the universe.

‘ Please Lord, or whoever, help me now. I feel afraid, and don’t know what to do. Please show me the way. Shower me with your guidance an wisdom’. He demanded of the unseen Higher power, that seemingly rules the word, and our lives He waited for insight, for some type of revelation. Perhaps not the flashing lights, or the appearance of etheric figures, angels or whatever. But just some sign, that out there, in the whole, wide universe, that some God, some deity, some whatever, was listening. was willing to help. To offer assistance, to guide.

He was roused from the semi darkness of  his cabin, by the intercom, from the forward cockpit.

‘ Captain, we’ve had contact from base, and it’s not good. They maintain there is nothing they can do. That it’s out of their control. The President is due to contact us, within the next hour’.

‘ I don’t want to hear from the damn President, I want to hear from the people who can actually solve this issue, this catastrophe ‘. Finding it hard to control his loud voice and anger.. The reasons for their perdictemnet lay not with the crew around him, but with the people at the space agency on earth. It was of course a rhetorical question. Of course the crew, around him, had no answers.

As the space caspual speed towards the outer reaches of the universe and beyond. The Captain returned to the darkened cockpit, and assumed his position of command. The stars, the darkness zooming by the large fronted viewing platform. The silence of the nuclear powered engines, hiding their power and speed.

‘ You should have know better, than to take us on this course. You Knew it was untested, and unsafe’. The voice angry, bitter, and caustic. He did not need to guess who it belonged to. As it was well familiar to him.
He chose to ignore, and not respond to the verbal attack.

He reached for the ship wide intercom, and made his speech. A consoling, soothing helpful speech. At least in his view. He did reminded all of the crew, that it was their choice, initially to volunteer for the mission, and that they had been made well aware of the possibilities of failure, and disaster, and should they wish to go forward for the mission, it was totally their choice. Regardless of the consequences. It was what they had signed up for. He remained them, that they were pioneers, on their failed journey to Saturn, and the many that would follow in the coming years, would look back and thank them for the sacrifice they had made, and the knowledge that had imparted for their failed journey, and how much those that followed had learnt from their failure.

He further continued, they should be proud of what they had achieved, and what they had left behind, for other’s to follow. How proud, and sad, their loved one’s, and families would be of them. In the silence of the darkened cockpit, the young crew listened. Many sobbed, and wept.

‘ I don’t want to die, I’m too young. I have too much to achieve , too much of the world to see. To much to live for’. He searched the darkened cockpit, for a face to fit the lone frightened voice, and saw her young, pretty, but frightened face.

‘ Well it seem’s like, that it is not gonna be. We all are on this ship, heading towards God knows where. We have no control. Those at the base have no control, or, and perhaps don’t seem to really care. We are after all, expendable. That’s what we all signed up for. We all knew the risks.’

‘ I ask you now, to join me in prayer, or offer up to whatever God, or whatever you believe in, to look after you and keep you safe, on whats happen in the very near future, and to make your peace’.

In the darkness of the cockpit, the assembled  crew bowed their heads. Many sobbed, and prayed aloud, to the various different Gods and entities they believed in, and followed. Many were stoic, and silent.

As the space capsule, traveled at speed towards the darkness, and never-ending infinity of the outer reaches of the universe, it shook, and rocked, and vibrated strongly. Many of the crew held hands, smiled, wept and laughed. Mind, a hollow, empty laughter.

On earth, at the launch base, the operator tried again.

‘ I can only get static Sir’, he replied.