Another Night.

 

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Photo by Asdrubal luna on Unsplash

She stood by the doorway, watching in silence. So many memories trying to force their way into her mind. He busied himself exploring the other rooms of the large house.

‘My God, what a house, and what a garden. Your so lucky to have brought up here’, as he stood beside her. His arms enveloping her fragile body. If only he knew.

She didn’t answer, but put her head in his large shoulders. Were he to see her face, he would see the tears, and the sadness it held. Again the memories pushed at the gates of her mind, where she kept them hidden. How could she share them with anyone, even him. How would he be able to trust her. She did not want to lose him. Some secrets are better left untold.

‘So when can we move in ?’, he asked, with childish excitement. The wide smile, and happy eyes, features that attracted her attention when she saw him across the shopping mall, that Saturday, not so many years ago.

‘Well, anytime now’, she responded. Hiding the memories and images behind her pristine smile
‘Well that’s, brilliant. I’ll get things moving’, and he held her close once more. Again she felt somewhat safe, and secure in his arms. She loved his enthusiasm. His drive and determination to achieve a goal, once set. They left her family home, just outside the small prosperous town, that was surrounded by wide fields of corn, and the high mountains and forests that were visible from every area of the town, adding to the beauty. They drove past the lake, where she had spent many summer days. He yelped with delight, and smiled at her, as the stunning scenery unfolded before them, and headed back to the tiny Manhattan apartment, in the overly busy, slow moving, mainly gridlocked traffic. Surrounded by the other near claustrophobic high rise blocks, that loomed large, so close by. There living space were tiny, cramped, with their goods and belongings  packed high and tight. The space and freedom would be more than a welcome relief to both.
It was a struggle at times, living in such a small cramped space. But they were in love, and they struggled with the living conditions together. He set about the task of packing up their belongings with boundless energy. Their dog joined in with unabridged enthusiasm, sensing the excitement.
She left him to pack their belongings, using a brief shopping trip as an excuse for time alone. Time to consider her past, and her future. She sat alone in the corner of the darkened coffee shop, in the quiet street. Grateful for the peace and solitude. The staff sensible and intelligent enough to know when one of their patrons needed time to be alone, to reflect upon their life, or write their memoirs or just be allowed the luxury of thinking. The cafe being a haunt of many whom liked to write, to reflect, and needed the peace and solitude.

She watched the few people passing on the street, and wondered about their lives. Did anyone, she considered get out of this life without, the drama and heartache. Did anyone, anywhere among the billions, actually get an easy ride through life. She doubted it. she considered there future together. Like many before her, and like many would in the future, she considered was he the one. Was he the man she was willing to spend the rest of her life with. Was now the time to settle down. To possibly have children with him.  An option she had yet to consider. What of her career. Did he have enough to offer. She began to mull over his positive characteristics, which were many. His kindness, empathy, and gentleness. His ambition, and determination, while impressive, had yet to lead to any substantial success. But he certainly had potential, and that was good enough. His honesty, reliability, and discretion, were certainly attributes to be welcomed. His loyalty was unquestioned. As for his love making skills, although not stellar, were certainly not at the beginner stage, and like many, there was always room for improvement, as she smiled at her private intimate thoughts. But mainly she felt loved, desired and secure with him.

He was not a saint, a perfect human being, which she allowed. There was at times that his cutting sarcastic humour, regarding the misfortunes of others that she so disliked, and had scolded him many times for. The little too much reliance on alcohol, and that little bit too much time, spending some of her funds in the casinos. His at times, flippant and childlike refusal to take life seriously. At attribute she found engaging and repellent all at once. These were the only negatives she could see at present. While serious enough to some, to her, they were not a deal breaker.

It was the ringing of her cell phone, that she had carefully layed on the darkened coffee table, that shock her from her imaginings. Its flashing screen , and shrill ringing tone, taking her back to real life. She knew it was him, checking up to see what she was up to, and was she okay with that. So lost in her thoughts, time had passed very rapidly, and he was becoming very slightly concerned for her, which she mostly welcomed.

‘Hi, yeah I know. I’m sorry. I should have called’. There was silence at the other end, holding the phone on the palm of her hand.

‘Do you think your actually going to get it. To get the damn house. To live the happy ever after life. Do you really think that’s how it’s going work out for you’.

The voice was still recognizable, even after all these years. She could sense the mental sickness, the illness through the handset, which she had left fall from her hand in shock. Nothing seemed to have changed. She was at once back in the family home, with her deranged older sister. She was at once the cowering, scared young girl, that she was many years since, as her sister worked out through one of her many psychotic episodes in the family home. The wicked screams. The seething empty accusations. The physical violence and struggles. The intense paranoia, that terrified her. The visionary uncontrolled hallucinations, and the voices. The never ending voices that told her to trust no one. Those voices that give her the detailed instructions of whom to harm. Her refusal to take her prescribed medication. The rapid slide into illegal narcotics, decadence and the most extremes darkened corners of the fetish sex scene.
Encouraged by the new friends and acquaintances from that sordid side of life, that were attracted like vampires to her vulnerability and and obvious psychosis. They swooped in quickly, using well honed abilities to suss out another victim to be used, abused and discarded, when the time was right. Their toxic, manipulative ways, hidden under the guise of instant friendship and camaraderie. There blackmail, emotional and otherwise, trivialized. Words such as loyalty, honesty and trust, and their meanings ment nothing to them. Idea’s such as that, they only laughed at. She was way too far gone. Too mentally unwell. Just too lost, in some form of Orwellian, dystopian world to see them for what they were. she was just being used by them, for their own gain. A world of extreme fetish sex. Myriad uncontrolled drug use. Criminally, blackmail, dishonesty. Mental illness, and insanity all rolled into one.

‘That’s right bitch. I’ve never gone away, and I’m coming to claim what’s rightfully mine. Do you think you can take my inheritance. My family home. It’s my home, not yours. Never was, never will be. Your not entitled to it’.

She was at a loss for words. The coffee shops lights seemed so dim. Her head was swirling and light. She gripped the wooden table for strength. She physically reeled at the onslaught. The shock. The sister she thought, had thankfully being removed from her life, was now back like an unwanted and destructive force of nature.

‘I’ve being following you. I’ve being watching your life these past few months. Do you think I don’t know whats going on’.
She did have that nagging feeling she was being watched those past few months, but had put tit down to an over active imagination, and dismissed it.

She pictured her sisters face as she spoke, and correctly imagined the twisted and ravaged features, spewing such anger and venom. The eyes, narrowed with hate. The bad skin, and unhealthy scarred, pale complexion. Her energy toxic in the extreme. Her body releasing itself from it’s physically tight hold as the mental and emotional chains were undone. She began to unleash her palatable madness. Her tangible mental sickness.

‘Do you think he will want to stay with you when he knows what you did, and are capable of, do you ?’
‘No man would ever want you, no man would ever trust you, ever’.
‘Your damaged goods, sweetheart’.
‘Do you hear me’, the voice so loud, so poisonous.

She put the phone back on the coffee shop table, and switched it off completely. Her hand shaking. Her breathing shallow and rapid. The perspiration formed above her lip and on her forehead. She was litterly shaking, and tearful. She sat at that table for many  hours. Her body weak. Her engery drained. she sat their until the the coffee shop closed and they asked her to leave. She walked the darkened, quiet, rain soaked streets, for what seemd like hours. Trying to clear her mind. Could she tell him. Should she tell him.  Would he ever trust her, for withholding such a hidden part of her life. Had they not promised each other toal honesty and disclousure in their relationship, from the start. Would he be able to understand that some aspects of one’s life, are just to hard, difficult and painfull to share. Would she mean nothing to him, were he to know.
Would her own deception, and non self disclousure, be her downfall, and the end of the relationship she had come to cherish, and wanted to last forever. After many hours, she arrived back at the apartment. She knew he would be waiting, most probably angry, and expectaing an explaination for her long abstnce. She was ready for the confrontation.
Tentatively she entered the lounge where he was sprawled out dozing in front of the tv. The flickering light from the tv illuminating the otherwise darkened room. She tripped over the resting dog, and the sound woke him.

‘Oh sweetheart, your back at last’. He got up from the couch and smiled and embracced her.
‘I tried calling you a few times, but your phone was off.’
‘Yeah, I know. I needed time to think’.

She was grateful for his calmness and peacefulness, enjoyed the comfort and security his phyisical touch offered her.

She reached down and took his hand, and looked into his gentle eye’s.

‘We need to talk’.

 

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Memories.

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Photo by Masaaki Komori on Unsplash

She stood at the doorway, and looked into the bedroom. It had being many years since she had seen the room. Not something she really wanted to do, yet she just had to. Like watching an accident unfurl before one’s eyes. You know you should look away, but you just can’t.
Images and memories cruelly flashed through her mind. She stood by her side, with her hand gently on her back, offering her strength and support. She bit her quivering lip. She tried the deep breathing, like she had practised. But it was not working now, when she needed it most. Her chest and shoulders began to shake, with her breathing becoming rapid and shallow. Tears and distress not too far away now.
She gently encouraged her, with her persuasive words.

‘You’ve got to face it sometime, love. You cannot keep running away’.
‘You are safe here. You will not come to any harm, while I’m with you. Do you trust me ?’

She looked at the older woman’s, kindly, sincere face. Could she really trust her. She studied the dark uniform, and the official accessories. The walkie talkie. The mobile phone, attached to her stab proof waistcoat. The silver handcuffs secure within the snug compartment of the wide black leather belt. She did not note the missing body cam. Perhaps if she had…..

They needed her to break, to show vulnerability. They could then show her the false kindness and concern, that could be used to confuse and entrap her once again.

‘Why don’t you go and sit on the bed’, the police officer cajoled. ‘It’s only by facing your fears, that you’ll break free of them, once and for all’. Her words, soft, sincere and believable.

She slowly moved towards the bed. Those horrible images, and sounds, hidden for so long from her everyday consciousness, came to life in her mind. That putrid scent, of tobacco, cheap aftershave and alcohol. The loud, crazy fast, thumping music. Their insane maniacal laughter, as they were about to satisfy there perverted lustful desires, on another unwilling innocent, echoed in the recesses of her mind, torturing her, yet again. She began to feel light headed. Her legs weakened and she quickly sat on the bed, before she fell. Her school satchel drooped to the floor. The police officer helped her to lay down, and soothed the childs lightly damp hair, and flushed face.

‘There, there, it will be alright’. She gently carresed the childs pale skin. So soft, and inviting to the touch. The full luscious lips, and wide innocnet brown eyes. Her heart beat faster, and the chemicals in her stomach began to break free. Yet again she was on the verge of intruading on, and stealing yet another innocents childhood. She moved her face towards the young girls lips, who turned her head away, and struggled to move from the bed. The police officer grabbed both her wrists harshley and lay her body on top of her young captive, trapping her.

It crackled into life, the voice was serious and urgent. He spoke fast.

‘Get out now, her Mother is entering the gate, and you know what a mad bitch she is, get out now’.
‘Ok’, she hurridely whispered into the walkie talkie.

‘Ok, so you heard all that’, her face so close to her young captive. ‘Say nothing to anyone, especially your Mother, or I will bring a whole lot of heartache to this family. Do you understand’. The voice, even and full of ugly menace.

She nodded, while the older woman, moved away from her, and stood up by the bed,  readjusted her uniform, and calmed her ardour. They both listened as the key was roughly inserted into the front door, and she entered the house.

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

The Faces of The Invisible.

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Photo by Joe Keating on Unsplash

He was invisible to them. Nobody noticed him, or at least pretended not to notice him. He sat like the rest of us, in the railway station waiting room, seeking refuge from the bitter cold outside. At least it was warm. We sat with our luggage, and warming tea and recently purchased, quiet expensive sandwiches.
He sat huddled with dirty track bottoms, and dirty shoes. A black anorak, with a hood covering his head, and slim frame. He had no hot tea, or sandwich. His arms folded over covering himself. Never once did he raise his head, to see what was going on around him. Never once did he ask of any of us in that waiting room for a few quid to help him out. He just sat with his eyes closed, head pointed down towards the ground, the whole time I watched him. He was no more than nineteen years old I guess.
I studied him, and the people around him, and wondered did the other travellers not even see him. Did he not exist in their minds. Was he a non entity ? Could they not see another human being obviously suffering and down on his luck. People nearby read there newspapers. Played with their expensive mobile phones. One or two of the more obnoxious travellers conducted business deals, excited, smug and self satisfied with another deal successful concluded. Oblivious to this young guy, within ten feet of them. The middle aged ladies discussing their travel plans, and the relatives they would be visiting. Some played games, caught up with emails on their tablets. Other studied the screen as it displayed and reloaded the upcoming train times. reorganising their plans. I wondered where would he go, when he would inevitably be asked to leave the shelter of the warm waiting room, and what would he do tomorrow and the next day, and the next. How had life brought him to this.
As I watched the other temporary inhabitants of that waiting room, I silently questioned their humanity. I also questioned my own, as I left the warmth of the waiting room, to catch my train without stopping to offer him help, of some description. Was it embarrassment, fear of his reaction, or did want to draw any attention to myself. What ever it was, I never figured it. Would I act differently in a similar situation again. That I could not say. I would like to think I would be more humane, but who knows.

Justice.

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Photo by Evan Dennis on Unsplash.

This was torture. This was cruel. Tantalizing, and teasing. She’s in the forest. That was all the message said. They along with the detectives looking after them rushed to the scene, to be greeted by this.

They searched among the trees, with the cruel question marks. They searched by the lakeside, but to little avail. The birds in the trees above giving the forest a semblance of peacefulness. Again they wept. She could take no more, and turned to her husband for sustenance and support. But he too was hurting, and incapable of helping her.
The police officers who accompanied them, offered what physical and mental sustenance that they could, grateful that it was not their own child who had been taken. Intent of holding their own children tight, and loving them that bit more when they returned home later that evening.

He watched smiling from afar. This was revenge pure and simple. Some say revenge is a forlorn and pointless exercise to indulge in. But can they not understand the joy and pleasure it affords one. To watch the perpetrators of unsavory deeds and acts get whats due to them, it’s only right. He was undecided how long he would keep her in the cabin or if he would ever let her go. His main concern was which was the best way to inflict as much human pain and suffering onto her loving parents. To continue with this teasing and tantalizing method, raising their hopes and then dashing their hopes. Or perhaps to dispose of the child once and for all.

But he too was a reluctant victim of an unjust world. Of a corrupt society, and a fraudulent  legal system. Where favours and deals were conducted out of sight, among the well to do of the old boy network.
Where was the justice for his loss. Where was the care and compassion for his sadness. Why were the police so lackluster in their investigations. These and other questions ran through his mind. Enough justification for his actions.
He along with many others, would always remember her for her diligence and tenacity. Her absolute determination, to see right be done. She like many others could see the injustice of the International Co-operations refusing to play fair. Making billions of profits in sales, and paying little if any tax on it. Hiding their profits in tax havens, guided by highly paid knowledgeable financial professionals. While at the same time, these duplicitous co-operations claiming their innocence and honesty. Blatantly lying to the public, trying to deceive the masses.  Do they take us for fool’s. While normal people suffered, and struggled to pay the tax they were forced to pay, by their governments, or face possible imprisonment and large fines.

Outraged by such injustice she used the power’s of her office to work her way through these large deceitful co-operations, one by one, and with other’s intent on bringing them to justice, and making them pay financially. He remembered her, with her paper’s spread out over the kitchen table. The scent of her fragrance so alluring. With forthright indignation. He watched her stern face and body held tight with anger, as she explained to him what had being going on, and what she was going to do about it. Her frustration at her colleagues in the seats of power in the Government,  of her own country, and other countries. In an attempt to calm public outrage, the swiftly convened government committees  and public inquiries that quizzed the executives of the deceitful, dishonorable co-operations. Before the government ministers and officials, in front of the TV cameras, again the executives lied. Bewildered and disillusioned by politics and it’s dishonesty. Many of her colleagues had called for reparations and promised changes in the law. But what had it come to, nothing. Promises made but soon forgotten. With the public temporarily calmed, and philosophical about political ineptitude, once again big business had won out. She slammed the kitchen table hard, in frustration. Public services so badly in need of funds were to be denied once again. Overcrowded hospitals lacking equipment. Overworked Doctors, exhausted. Children playgroups disbanded. Psychological counselling services for the disturbed, curtailed. Had her government colleagues succumbed to the backhanded gifts of luxurious holidays, share options, mortgages quietly forgotten and much else besides. He watched and silently admired the power of her outrage, the disillusionment and unleashed anger that drove her. He loved her the more for it. Here was a woman, he would never leave. Where was the justice, she asked quietly. Who was to blame. She explained to him how they would be made to pay for it, in financial terms, and public humiliation. Justice for the people.

Neither realized just how powerful and to what lengths these business would go to. Hard to believe in this day and age. This was not a fast paced thriller movie. This was real life. In the quiet street, he watched as her hand was roughly torn away from his, and her lifeless sweet body was launched into the darkness of the wet night. He barely glimpsed  or noticed the speeding Mercedes, as he stood transfixed. Taken in by the sickening sounds of bones being crushed by the fast moving metal and glass weapon. Of human flesh and cartilage being ripped apart, never to be repaired. Watching in slow motion, the surreal, impossible event unfolding before him. His consciousness vacated his body, as he watched. A moment later, it returned to his physical body. His frame shook, as he wept quietly as he held her in his arms. She moaned gently in distress. Her breathing labored, and growing weaker with each inhalation. Her eyes turning grey, and her once luscious lips, a light bluish shade. Her precious blood covering her clear skin, and expensive clothing, she took such care with. His stomach swirled at the vision, and the rising contents of his intestines, were expunged from his body, with great force, onto the empty street. He longed to hold her gently, and make it not so. To chastise her, and tell her to let the corrupt and deceitful go. What does it matter. There would always be others of the same ilk. He cried aloud to God when her spirit left her body, but God did not answer.
He sat in austere courtroom. A place devoid of much emotion. Functional, that’s what it was. He watched the proceddings with disbelief and gripped the bench, to steady himself. As he watched and listebed, his face became red, and perspiring. His breathing rapid, and short. The veins in his arms, his neck, were held so tightly, to bursting point. His legs started to shake with the surge of adrenaline moving through his rigid body. He stood and repeatedly swore loudly at the judge, using language he did not realize he had at his disposal. The violence and venom in his loud raging voice, filled the courtroom, and suprized himself. The judge released the culprit with nothing more, than a meaningless and ineffectual slap on the wrist. An empty punishment. More evidence, if any was needed, of the hidden corruption, that affords freedom, to those in the know, with helpful connections.

The Judge and his family would be the first of the many who would feel the wrath of his revenge. He had much work to do.

Written in response to  photo prompt seen here: https://creativewriting.ie/writing-prompts/

Glamorous.

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Photo by Maxime Lelièvre on Unsplash

Captivating

She was a stunner. No doubt. Men’s heads turned as she passed, and watched as she sashayed down the street. Other women, wanted to kill, well maybe at least injure her. For they too could see her beauty. The flawless skin. The near perfect pearlescent teeth. That oh so confident walk. Husbands, boyfriends at a loss to explain their partners sudden unexplained anger, as she passed. Envy and jealousy is ugly, and hard to deal with, even more so when it is seemingly unexplained.

To add to her beauty, she had a down to earth , warm and engaging personality. Was that not yet another good reason to hate her. A wish to destroy and take her down, from her elated position. But beyond the beauty that was bestowed upon her, not that she had even asked for it. Just the luck of the draw. In the quietness of the night, where she lay alone, and yearned for deep and meaningful warmth and friendship from others. Be they men or women. No one sought to see beyond her beauty and assumed she had the perfect life. So many other’s took for granted her fabulous  lifestyle. Their envy was misplaced. Not for her the glamorous lifestyle many had perceived. She was just just like them, but much better looking with the same issues as they had. The financial worries. The career stress. That inability to get along with other’s at times. The fear of dying, that we all share.

The fear of being alone. Of never finding true love. Of going through this life alone, when she so very much, yearned to share her loving ways, it on a deep level, with someone she felt in harmony with . A true soul mate. Someone she understood, on a deep level, and someone who understood her, in return.

Those who looked at her as she walked down the street and made many mainly negative assumptions about her fabulous life were so very wrong. Concocted imaging of  Hollywood type life style, were so far from the true reality. How could they. What gave them the right to after a brief envious glance assume they knew her life story. Little did they know or care, about her never ending  empty and lonely nights. Those nights where she had seriously contemplated ending her life, out of despair. The pointlessness she saw ahead of a future, she dared not even like to contemplate. If only they knew.

She tried to be understanding and compassionate of others ways. Even if at times, they left much to be desired. Other’s looked at her outer appearance, and judged. But few knew of her inner tortured life. Even fewer cared when she left this life alone. Few bothered to investigate the reasons why. The emptiness, despair and pointlessness of her life, was not something they could connect with her unnecessary passing in such a manner. They, the ignorant, low on self esteem and non-compassionate people saw it a blessing. One less competitor to deal with it. No more than she deserved, was the general consensus, of the ignorant and ill informed. But what did they really know, if they knew anything at all.