Prostitute.

khachik-simonian-181357-1024x682

Photo Credit : Khachik Simonian on Unsplash

Here I am a prostitute, what is it I must endure
I am that scarlet women, I am that filthy whore
Men who don’t care, middle class women who stare
Who worry and guess maybe its there husband whose taking off his vest
As he gropes and envelopes my breasts, as we lay together in the back of his filthy car
Where is my life going, is it going anywhere
Do you know what mate, I don’t even care
Another man, another woman, its all the same to me
I get paid, so they can do what they want to
Rape and plunder my soul, so what
Is this my life forever more, will it get better, ever
I’m dead inside, there ain’t nothing there
Happiness, grief, anger, my soul is empty chasm
Cant you see, but nobody cares
I am that scarlet woman, I am that filthy whore
My spirit a deep black hole.

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

The Beach.

saul-venegas-101563-1024x576

Photo Credit : https://unsplash.com/@venegas?photo=OhIfU2AczOg

She had threatened long enough, although no one had believed her. Just a call for attention. Nothing more, nothing less. they had decided. An old womans empty, and at times, humorous threats.
But obviously beneath the humour, there was hurt, and distress. No one had bothered to investigate. Everyone busy with their own lives. There careers, children, and business. Had someone actually taken the damn time to sit down with her, and sincerely ask her, what life was like for her. Had they show  more consideration and kindness, and maybe spent more time with an old lonely woman, life would have turned out differently. Perhaps many would have spent more time with her, aside from the one solidary visit a week, for the Sunday lunch. Nobody considering how the rest of the week was for her.
It was of course, too late now. The chance had disappeared. She lived for the weekends, and the once weekly visit from her children, and newly born grandchildren. Laughter and energy and happy voices once filled her household, just as it had been, when her own children were grown up. But there were always strains between her and her grown up, and now adult children. Did they really like each other , as people. Would they actually want to spend time in each other’s company, were they not related.

Some had taken sides, when the separation from her husband was first enacted, and then the divorce. Allegations and counter allegations flew between the two parties, and none of it pretty. Lies, distrust, and anger followed. Made up stories of abuse, and cruelty that may, or may not have had a grain of truth in them. Loyalty and kindness to her children, soon forgotten and dismissed by them, as they took the side of her husband.

The final straw for her, was the cessation of contact with her children, who were convinced by her husband, that she was the villain in all of this. That and the denial of access to her grandchildren, that she had helped care for, soon after they were born. No viable reasons given. All the love, kindness, and generosity she had shown them, and their Mother, her daughter, throughout the years. Amounted to nothing, it seemed. Kindness granted, soon forgotten.

It was that dull overcast November afternoon, that she headed to the isolated beach alone. With the tablets to hand, and a last small bottle of whiskey to encourage her bravery, she laid her reading glasses in the sand, and headed towards the ocean, and into the cold, uninviting waves. The mixture of the tablets and whiskey having the desired effect. As she stumbled and swayed, as she walked toward the sea. Her vision blurred slightly, and  feeling quiet light-headed. As a non swimmer she struggled and panicked at first, as the powerful waves, did with her as they wished. The whiskey and tablets helped to quell her rising fears, somewhat. The waves, and weight of her own clothing soon pulled her out and down, to the ocean bed, where she waited for God to take her.
In the cold, dark church, the priest stood at the lectern, gazing upon the congregation of mourners. Having conducted most of the formal ceremony, he could no longer hold himself back. Behind him the magnificent altar, towering upward. To him, they were nothing but hypocrites. He was well aware of the family history, having had been closely and connected to them for years. From births to marriages, to baptisms and confessions. He had heard and seen it all. They were here in this place of worship now to mourn her, with their crocodile tears, and false sadness.

The priest gripped both ends of the lectern tightly. His face thunder red, and perspiring. ‘What does it mean, to mourn someone when they have died. It means very little when you showed them little kindness or understanding when they were alive”. He spoke slowly and loudly. The anger and frustration plainly obvious in his tone. Her children shifted uncomfortably in their seats, as did her former husband. One or two loosening their shirts collars. The females fanning themselves with whatever was to hand. One or two members of her family gazed quietly at the floor.
‘I have very little time for hypocrites like you people, I want you to leave this church now. Get out of my sight. I am sick of the lot of you. Go, and may God have mercy on your black souls. Get out, go’, his voice rising to a crescendo. His booming voice reverberating throughout the silent church. The congregation left the church as directed, for the most part, with their heads held low. In the sacristy as the priest changed from the formal clothing of the funeral mass, he gazed out onto the cold uninviting waves of the ocean, under the dull grey November sky.

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

Gone Forever.

Photo credit : Hector Martinez / Unsplash.com

hector-martinez-305251-1024x759

She lit the candle and placed it by the shrine, but knew it was pointless. He was gone now, and would not be coming back. What she would give now for there silly pointless arguments, that they had so many times. How she at  times hated and despised him, and wished he was dead. What she would give now, to make it not so.
Did his classmates care ? hardly. He always stood apart from the others. There would be others just like him, who were  just that slightly way different. Those that were perceived to be a little strange. His love of poetry, his lack of female companionship, or interest in any females, at least not in that way. Those who stood apart from the rest of the group. The peace and tranquility in the home were now gone and shattered. Her Father had gone quiet and began to drink very heavily. She heard his cries of despair as she passed his room late at night. Her Mother, who was a cold, uptight woman, always found it hard to show much emotion, choose to ignore what had happened. For the most part she just played the piano incessantly, and busied herself with reading. Everyone dealing with the loss in their own ways.
Just one of the group came to the shrine. Dressed in the uniform of the culture. The black leather jacket, black trousers, and obligatory permanent snarl. She wanted to scream, and ask of him , why ? Did they really need to torture him mentally and psychologically every day. Why could they not have left him in peace and let him be. Why did they have to be that way, to be so cruel, why ?

She stared at him across the gravel courtyard of the shrine, willing him silently, to look at her. But he refused, and keep his head bowed low. Having enough of this nonsense she marched across the courtyard to confront him. The gravel crunching under her feet. Her heart pumping fast, her legs shaking somewhat, with the release of the chemical concoction in her body. She stopped, as she watched him kneel down and take some matches from his jacket, and light a candle, enshrined in its small glass container, and place it at the foot of the wall. She watched as he began to pray, and just for a brief moment his mask slipped, as he wiped away a solitary tear. She continued to watch him, as he lit a second candle, enshrined in it’s glass container, and placed it against the foot of the wall, and again say a brief prayer.

He stood up and put back on the mask and swagger of the uncaring youth, that he pretended to be. Had she known, she would of course have stopped him, and begged him not to do it. Not to waste another young life, by his own hand. A few weeks later , after reading about it in the local newspaper, she again returned to the shrine, and lit another candle, but this time for him.

===============================

He is gone now, he ain’t coming back
What I wish I said, but it’s no use now, cause he is dead
Would I have said I loved you more, just so that you’d know the score
Would I have argued less, rather than trying to get inside, and upset your head
What’s the point of large regret, for all those words left unsaid
What’s the point of tears to shed, cause now you’re dead, you ain’t no more

You know the big secret now, of what’s beyond the sky
It’s where were all headed, on that day we die
Why did you do it, take your life like that
Why could not be strong like a lion, in the face of such abuse
Can’t you see the pain were in, as you look down from above
I’m praying to Jeasus your sending us, tons and tons of love

Dear brother I love you lots, even though you’re far away
I ache for us to meet again, so I can have my say
Tell you that I love you, just the way you are
For in my mind you was ,and forever will be, that bright, everlasting star
I wish you could have been stronger, back here on planet earth
Why could you not have been a fighter, a man who stood his ground

Why could you not have tougher, not the weakling you were perceived to be
But then dear brother, you can of course only be, what you can be
Had you been different with your love of poetry, and all the rest
Maybe I would not have considered you one of the very best
Don’t you worry, kiddo I knew just what you were, my intuition put me straight on that
Not that it matters, it was just the way you were
But to me , you will always and forever be that bright, everlasting star.

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

The Message.

milos-tonchevski-304527-1024x682

Photo by Milos Tonchevski on Unsplash

It was the loneliness that drove her to join them. She never was one for joining groups, but had tired of being alone, always on her own. Since they had split. It was hard. When he was by her side, it was the two of them versus the world. But not now.
The world seemed a colder place, a less friendly place, and harder to deal with, when alone. No one to share with, no one to offer comfort, when life got hard, as it does for everyone. They offered comfort, companionship and a sense of belonging. She was told and understood there would be tests and initiation ceremonies, if she wanted to become one of them. But she was not expecting this. Silly teenage dares, she would welcome. Childish pranks, yes. Teasing would be boyfriends, okay. But these tests were becoming more and more bizarre and serious.

She had been driving for hours as instructed, and eventually pulled of the road to a secluded area, where she could at last open the tome and read the latest message in absolute privacy. She switched off the car engine. In the warm late evening sunshine, with only the sounds of the departing birds in the distance,she faced east, as per the ritual,and picked up a small twig. Drew a pentagram in the dry earth. She lit two black candles and placed them either side of the pentagram, and stood back. Reciting the mantra she had learned she let her voice vibrate from the depths of her body, through her throat and outward into the universe, sounding like some possessed evil spirit. She asked the Goddess to come into her life and bestow her wisdom and knowledge. She asked Lucifer, the most evil of all to come into her life and help her carry out what she was instructed to do.
Again she read the instructions, more carefully this time. She did not wish to dwell too deeply on the possible consequences. Best just do it, and let what will be, will be, she decided. Sitting in front of the pentagram she began to chant softly at first, feeling quiet inhibited. But she forced herself to chant the latin words written in the message louder and louder, and she stared at the pentagram and at the burning black candles, willing them to conjure up an image, a sense of a presence, a change in the atmosphere, a coldness perhaps. Anything to convince her, the ritual, the summoning of the evil spirits was working. But nothing. But she was told, at times during such rituals she may not feel or sense anything out of the ordinary. But to have faith that once these spirits were called, they were come to do her bidding. With the ritual complete, she put away the candles, and pushed some dry earth over the image of the pentagram.
She began her journey, guessing it would take her approx two hours to get their. Plenty of time to think, to back out, and change her mind. But then she thought of the consequences. Of the possibility of being expelled from the group, and back into an empty lonely lifestyle. The prospect of such did not appeal. Who wants to be all alone during the summer months when everyone is out and about enjoying themselves. Add to that the less than pleasant possibility of being haunted by the evil spirits she knew the group could send into her life, if they so desired.
Her phone jangled with an incoming message. She reached down, having an idea who it was from, and flipped on the screen. He just stood there staring, why did he not move. The black eyes glaring at her,unblinking. The head slightly bent stubbornly. The horns sharpened like spears. She looked up from the phone to the angry, contorted face in front of the car, and screamed. Her heart beating very fast. The butterflies in her stomach flying like crazy. Her legs began to shake uncontrollably , as the adrenaline surged through her body. She hit the brakes as hard as she could, but he just stood there, refusing to move. Why would he not move. His hooves digging at the earth in defiance. She struggled with the steering wheel, and managed to turn away, but too late. The horns broke through her side window. The sound of smashing glass. The impact throwing her across the front seats.

In the silence,she tasted the blood running from her mouth, and felt the cold hardness of the gear stick protruding slightly through her ribs. Looking through the windscreen, she watched a black raven standing on the car bonnet watching her. After a few moments, satisfied. The black raven flew into the night sky, and away……

Written in response to a photo prompt seen her ;  (http://creativewriting.ie/writing-prompts/

Another Night….

khachik-simonian-181357-1024x682

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/

The Watcher….

Coffe shop

He watched them through the coffee shop window. Envy and anger carousing through his veins. Not even trying to hide his anger. It was more than evident through his piercing hate filled eyes,the tightly held hands. Perhaps he should not have followed,but he had to know. For his own satisfaction.
                          The passing traffic all a blur,as he watched them intently. The more they laughed together the more the chemical concoction in his stomach began to engage. The butterflies released,the rapid,gruff shallow breathing. The heartbeat growing quicker,harder,louder in his chest. The more they moved physically closer together,the more he wanted to run from his viewing position,and attack them violently. His jaw beginning to clench tightly. The waitress behind the counter eyed him with fear,from her position. She knew from experience when to steer clear of customers and when to approach. She decided to wait until he was gone,to clear tables in that area of the shop.

                           He glanced down at the most recent tattoo on his forearm,what a waste was his conclusion. ’Together Forever’,there two names enshrined inside a heart,shot through with an arrow. I don’t think so.Perhaps another tattoo may appear soon,how about ,’Dead Soon’,or ‘Betrayed and Devastated’,and an open coffin,and a knife dripping with blood. Yeah,that would seem so much more suitable,and honest. The piped music of the coffee shop,barely breaking his consciousness today. The banging and clanking of other customers cups,and plates,there inane chatter,hardly irritating him today,as they usually would have done. His mind was in a calculating revengeful mode. Inflicting human pain on another was where his mind was at. Psychological,physical pain. The desire to scar,to burn,to injure another. The way he was burning,and scared,wounded from the betrayal,and treachery unfolding before him.

                         Loyalty,honesty,being open. How they had spoken,and agreed of the importance of these characteristics in a lover. He was so happy to have found another who shared his beliefs and values. This was his first time being with another man. He had tried long and hard to hide  his true sexuality from himself,with alcohol,illicit drugs,one night stands with willing,drunken loose women. But they meant little to him,although he had become fond of some of these women,but deep down,he knew what he was.
               He had given his heart,his soul,and it was taken greedily by that older and much more experienced man,he of the religious order. The man he had turned to for spiritual guidance to sooth his troubled mind. Trying to understand his thoughts,feelings,the strange sexual desires he had fantasied about,in the privacy of his own mind. In the darkness of the night,which had at times sickened and disgusted him. He had turned to the Church,where else would a good Catholic boy turn to. Suicide was off the agenda. He wanted revenge,to hurt,to destroy another. He briefly considered embarking on an affair of his own,but concluded that his partner,now soon to be ex partner,seemed too hardened and callous to be affected to much degree by such an action.

                                                           He considered reporting the priest to the religious hierarchy,or to the Police. He was,after all still considered a child in the eyes of the law. Or to the newspapers. But events such as these were no longer the scandalous incidents they once were. He was aware at times how dismissive,and disbelieving the Police were of such events. How uncaring,and disinterested that God’s,so called representatives on earth could be.
      He reached into his pocket searching for them. Relieved to find he still had them,he rubbed the plastic packet containing the small white tablets between his fingers. So glad now he had not disposed of them. At least they would not be wasted. He would watch with pleasure and interest as they took effect on his partner later that evening. That non smoking,teetotaler,that fitness freak.
                       When his mind and body had being overtaken by the effects of the illicit tablets,well he was  anybody’s really.  To do with as they wished……….

 

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