The Chameleon.

The Chameleon

He sat alone in his car, in the warm early evening watching them. Trying to choose a suitable victim. The stirring in his loins beginning to run out of control. Thoughts of forthcoming fulfillment setting his mind alight with desire. Images of pleasure fueling his lustful emotions.
Was he actually salivating with pleasure  ? surely not. Yes, in fact he was actually dribbling with the anticipation and pleasure of it all. Smiling to himself as he wiped the dribble away from his chin.

His wife never knew of his double life, of course. Why should she, there was no need. As far as she knew he was nothing more than but a loving Father and husband. Whostrived to do his best for his family. A fully paid up member of the Christian fraternity. Church going, hard working and clean living. His only ‘issue’, if it was even possible to call it  that, was he had more than slight fondness for the online casinos. At times he did have the tendency to over indulge himself there. Words had being exchanged between them on occasion, regarding the matter. But she was willing to put up with it, as he had so many other, positive attritubtes, in her mind.
Little did she know. He smiled to himself, at the very thought of how well he was able to fool her, and others, besides. He checked on the back seat of the car, to see he had all the ‘tools’ he needed for what he was about to do. The few cans of beer. He was no longer surprised how helpful alcohol could be in a situation like this. Along with the bit of hash. Cigarettes, the porn magazines, and those other images of men with men. smiling, and making love with each other, and looking so happy. The soft red cord rope. The black tape. The rubber blindfold, and the strong  rubber mouth gag, if necessary. The sharp foldaway knife only to be brought into view, if the other participant was not very forthcoming with the pleasure. Along with the tranquilizers, as an absolute last resort. After all he did not want to be making love to an unresponsive soul.
So much better and enjoyable to see them suffer, and hear them scream. Just like he had, all thoses years ago. as long as they hurt, like he hurt, all that time ago. That’s fair, ain’t it ? That kind of familiarity brings comfort , in a strange sort of way. Yeah all was in order. The anxiety beginning to arise in his chest. The flutter of his heart, as it beat just that little bit faster. The butterflies slowly being released in his stomach. His legs beginning to shake just a little. His breathing becoming somewhat more rapid and shallow. His mouth just that bit drier. But he welcomed these feelings. Not labeling them as anxiety. More feelings of pleasure, excitement and joy. As he knew he was soon to have his lust satisfied.

Which method, he wondered to himself should he use to entrap and entice his young prey. Perhaps he could be more inventive this time. He always liked to push himself that bit further each time. A solitary test of his own deviousness and ingenuity. He watched as they practised their football training in the park. So many young boys. So many choices.
It was the screaming that snapped him away from his inner landscape. As she wrenched open the car door. Her face a mask of anger. Wide angry eyes. The jutting jaw. The teeth clenched, like an angry tiger about to attack it’s prey. Her face near purple in colour.
‘Get the hell away from here, I know what your up to’. Her screaming voice, too loud to be true. Her face so close to his, he could feel the warmth of her breath. Taken aback by this sudden attack, his composure disappeared. All of a sudden, he felt so very afraid. Just like he had, as a little boy. He attempted to wrestle  the door closed. Some of the other parents drawn in by the screaming turned to watch, and began to move towards the car. Finally his physical strength won out, and he closed the door. She energized by her anger, wrestled it open again,and reached down to the steering column to remove the key. He could not afford to be caught, and be forced to answer possible awkward questions asked by the authorities. As she moved her face closer to his again, and began to scream. He raised the back of his right hand, and brought it down swiftly and hard across her right cheek. The knuckles catching the softness of her fragile jaw line.
She stumbled back a few feet. Her hands quickly moving to her reddened face to subdue the burning pain. As the other adults approached the car. Quickly turning on the ignition with his shaking hands. He put the accelerator to the floor. The vehicle jumped to life. He drove at speed in the direction of the park exit, not even stopping to close the door. His breathing very rapid now. The butterflies bursting like crazy attempting to escape from his stomach at speed. His heart beating, like God knows what. Perspiration forming on his forehead.

He had escaped…….just. At least he had a few lessons from this encounter. As he continued driving away from the scene in the safety of his car. His composure slowly began to return to normal. He smiled as he reflected to himself, ‘Always another day, always another park’. It was just a matter of time.

It was a good hunting ground, no doubt.

 

                                                                      
             

 

                                                                                                               16-OCT-2015//G——MILL Stret.

                                                                                   

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The Beach.

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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/

Manchester 2017.

Sadness came to a city today,
While so many children were at play
That suicide bomber came and took so many lives away
On such an unforgettable day
Death, destruction and mayhem
That suicide bomber, came to slay them
Human bodies torn to shreds
They who will never again lay in their beds
Human bodies torn apart
Breaking so many hearts

Sadness, grief beyond belief
What is it, this brute did seek
Terror, fear, I’d say thats clear
Children who will never play again
A sadness descends……
When will this all end, so many alive no more
Families devastated by the score
Evil came to our city today
As those young innocent children, were at play
Now we are shrouded in sadness and despair

What the hell is happening here, to me it is all so unclear
What does this achieve, committing such an evil deed
Where is God, is he watching this
Where is Allah, can’t he see this is sick
How can these people do what they do
This is a question I ask of you
Politicians outraged, emergency services praised
But they will be devastated too
As they are only human, just like you

A city in mourning, as we wake today
The people of the city, had their say
Opening their doors to those in need
To be an antidote, to such an evil deed
Generosity and kindness to the fore
Letting the terrorists know the score
That try as they might, they will not divide decent people
Good will triumph over such an evil, even in the darkest of nights

A vigil for peace, where the religious leaders speak
The crowds listen in hushed silence, broken occasionally by applause
A man said it better, than I ever could, ‘ You ain’t no Muslim bruv ‘
To a would be bomber of his own race
These people are not representative of the Muslim faith
Acts such as this, should not exist
A city coming together to conquer this

Where does the blame lay, for this outrage
Far from Manchester I’d say
Try the corridors of power in the West
Try the Kremlin, and Beijing too
There you will find some answers
There you’ll find some clues
Foreign armies in foreign lands
Trying to gain the upper hand
Causing mayhem and despair, like they don’t even care
What are they even doing in their
This I just don’t understand

A sadness came to a city today
As so many young children were at play
Across the city streets, the people weep.

 

 

Substandard.

via Daily Prompt: Substandard

The work he completed was below par. Not up to what it should have being. He knew it. They knew it. Everybody on the site knew. But nobody really cared. It was after all, more money for all of them. Even when the lowly paid government inspectors came to check out the work, many were open to the large brown envelopes which everyone knew would help smooth the way of the project. Help to avoid any awkward questions or very close inspections of the work completed.
‘Get it done, and get it done fast, and get it done cheap’. That was the order from the top. Another rushed job, another contract completed at speed. Everybody making money, everybody happy. In the Arabian peninsula, the heat sapping, draining weather was always the same. No let up. Life was good here in these foreign lands, with good money to be made in quick time. The only few drawbacks as he saw it were the the lack of available alcohol, unless smuggled in surreptitiously, and the lack of a pretty woman to catch a man’s eye.
The Arabs, as determined by their governments, were forbidden to drink alcohol, which to him seemed a nonsensical and cruel law. Secondly the women were forced to cover up everything except for their eyes. Another crazy law in his view. He had being in the country for close to six months , and was looking forward to his return to normality, back to America. Looking forward to seeing his wife and newly born child whom he had yet to meet.
He didn’t want to leave them, but with the lack of employment in ‘The States’, and the subsequent continual arguments that the lack of money, and boredom were causing with his long term sweetheart, and now wife. It just seemed like the best solution to a bad situation, at the time.
In Arabia, it was good to be working once again. His happiness and joy for the occupation, replacing the depression, that had dogged him for many months, in the past. The feelings of worthlessness and failure he felt as a man. Unable to provide for his wife, and family. The thoughts of ending it all. How different it was now. Those bad times behind him, a happily distant memory. But money making was very high on his agenda, after so many, many months of being without. He had a lot of catching up to do, financially, and he was determined to catch up, in whichever way he could. Regardless of the consequences.
The management back home in America, were well impressed how he was able to move the job along with such speed. While keeping costs way down. Congratulating themselves on choosing some a competent man to oversee the work. It was of course his decision to purchases supplies and materials from the unlisted, unlicensed companies. His choice not to question the low cost of such purchases. Again his choice to pay the immigrant workers just slightly above the national rate they were paid. An incentive to work harder, and faster, which they happily adhered to. Of course, the wage they received, a pittance, in comparison to the wage paid to the workers from the west.

He didn’t like him, when he first met him. Something about him. That upright posture, and purposeful stride. The dark business suit. The tanned face, and the neatly trimmed black hair. He exuded an inner strength, an inner belief in his own abilities, in his own worth, for such a young man. No more than early thirties, Jim guessed. A man not easily pushed around, or persuaded. Jim tried the friendly route first. When that was having little impact. He went for the brutish, loud, angry path. But the schools building inspector, remained quietly solid, strong and unmoved. He demanded to see the schedule of work. Demanded to know how the work was progressing at such speed. He further demanded free access to inspect any of the materials used, and see the records and details of the current suppliers to the school building project. Of course he could not be allowed to have his demands met. So as the young inspector was leaving the building project, Jim approached him.
As he was stepping into his shiny black cadillac, he placed a hand on the inspectors arm. The inspector looked down at the hand, and then at Jim , with a look of disdain.

‘Here, take this package. You’ll enjoy it. Will make life easier ‘, offering him the stout envelope.
‘My life is fine, I don’t need nor want anything from you’, and he pushed the envelope away.

Early the following morning just as the sun broke the horizon, and work began again on the construction project, the young inspector returned accompanied by two further car loads, of similarly diligent civil servants. They enforced an immediate cessation of the work, and went about examining the materials used, and the contracts signed. It did not take them long to come across anomalies. Materials not up to standards, and regulations. Works completed in a haphazard and unsafe manner. It was enough evidence to enforce immediate cessation of the project.
Jim watched from the portacabin office, where he liked to oversee the progress on the site. With his favourite coffee cup in hand, he watched the young inspector accompanied by two policemen approach his office.

Bursting through the door in the blazing mid day heat, disturbing the dust and paperwork in the office.

‘ I am closing down this project’, with immediate effect’. He spoke slowly, with much assurance and calm authority. ‘You, as the project co-ordinator here, bearing full responsibility for all that goes on in this project, are to be prosecuted for using substandard and dangerous materials, and engaging in unsafe  and haphazard working practices. Endangering the lives the the employees currently working here, and the further employees and children who would have attended this school in the future. Also you are further to be prosecuted for attempting to bribe a government official’.

With that the two policeman stood either side of Jim, and escorted him down from his office. The next few weeks passed quickly, and before he knew it, he was enduring the sweltering heat and blazing sunshine from the confines of an overcrowded Arabian prison cell. He was slowly coming to terms with the violent prison guards, who delighted in tormenting and torturing their prisoners, especially foreign prisoners. Coming to terms with his violent prison cell mates, none of whom he could dare to trust. Forced to stand for up to twelve hours a day, it was an impossible torture. The stench of urine, of continual perspiration. The sense of claustrophobia, of being unable to move freely, of being trapped, with no space of his own. With unfriendly people he did not know, using a language he could not understand. The continual pushing and shoving. The sense of violence waiting to explode at any moment. His very real fear of homosexual rape. The lack of sleep, his anxiety. Wishing now, had he being given his time over, perhaps he may have being a more honourable, honest man. Not racing headlong chasing money and wealth at any cost.

His only contact with another english speaker, was the weekly visit from the middle aged man from the American council. His job to keep Jim informed of the likely date of his court case. It could take years, he had being informed. Arabia was in no rush to release the inmates of their prisons. Jim in a strange way looked forward to these weekly visits. At least it was some human contact, without the fear of violence. A short sense of freedom. A brief thirty minutes out of the stinking , overcrowded cell, that had being his home for the last three months. With someone he felt he could trust.
He walked into the light grey plastered room, with the open windows, accompanied as ever by two severe looking prison guards. He noted the brightly colored  bird sitting on the tree branch outside the window, chirping away  happily. Jim looked at the bird, and smiled, envied his freedom. The ability to do what he wanted, when he wanted. To have his own space. To fly away and be free, anytime he choose. The man from the American council entered the room. Jim immediately noted his more than usual serious demeanor. His grey and  drawn face. The deadness in his eyes. He sat at the table, slowly, and opened his black briefcase. Hids movements were slow, as was his speech.
Quietly he began. ‘Jim, I have some news from home, and I’ll come straight to it. I’m very sorry, but there has being a fire  back home, and their have been fatalities. Jim held his breath, and began to perspire slightly. The veins tightened in his arms and shoulders, and he clenched his fists. ‘It’s your wife’, then he stopped, to steady himself,and catch his breath, and after a moment, ‘and your newborn child. I’m so sorry’. Jim listened, but didn’t really hear, and asked for him to repeat what he had said. He sat back in the soft chair trying to comprehend what had being said, his body feeling weak. ‘ The initial outcome of the investigation are, the fire was the result of the substandard materials been used, when the house was first built’. ‘If there’s anything I can do’, his voice trailed off.
Jim sat back in the chair, and quietly muttered to himself, ‘Substandard materials, substandard materials’, over and over. Precisely when the thirty minutes were up, the two prion severe, angry prison guards , roughy lifted Jim from the chair. Pulled and dragged him back towards the overcrowded, sweltering, stinking, violent prison cell. The man from The American council watched for a moment, as he stood underneath the ceiling fan, enjoying its cooling air, before taking his briefcase, and making his way towards the exit.

Lust…..

via Daily Prompt: Lust

He had always lusted after her. Ever since that first day he saw her her. There was just something about her. She was too young then, it would have being unacceptable, even to him. But throughout the years, he watched her slowly blossom into the young beautiful girl, he knew that she was, and the beautiful woman she would one day turn out to be. Perhaps, one day become his wife, he allowed himself to fantasise at times . He struggled with his anger, and jealousy as he watched from afar, how the other young boys of her own age had also noticed and appreciated her striking looks, and that certain aura. But now she blossoming into a young woman, well a young girl at least.
Alone with her in the classroom. His offer of extra tuition was welcomed. She was struggling with the more complex mathematical formulas and equations. He sat close to her, studying her face, her clear skin, her brown clean hair, as she studied the text. Her innocent, questioning brown eyes. Her easy engaging laughter. The sounds of the other school children on the summer lit playing field, echoing into the empty classroom. He pushed his leg against her bare leg. She did not pull away. His breathing rate increased. Years of longing, of yearning. Desires held for so long, and dearly, possibly about to come to fruition. He began to perspire slightly, and loosened his tie, and removed his jacket. She continued to study the text, and question him, when she was puzzled. He was in love with the softness of her voice, with her physicality, her innocence, her spirit, her soul, even though he did not know her. He was in love with her.

He moved even closer as she studied the text, and placed his hand on the back of her chair, then placed his hands between her shoulder blades, to see her response, and enjoyed the softness of her young , tender body. He moved his face closer to hers. So much so, they were nearly touching. She did not pull away. She turned to face him. He could feel and taste her sweet breath upon his face, and moved his face closer still towards her inviting young lips, eager to touch, to taste, to meet. Those innocent wide brown eyes, looked into his, offering herself to him. He took her face in her hands and moved his lips closer to hers. She waited…

‘Mr Williams, in God’s name, what do you think you are doing ? ‘

He had never heard her enter the room, so engrossed was he, with the possible realization of his long held desires. He immediately released his hold of his young charge, and moved away from her. He began to stutter, and sooth his hair, and clothing. His face flushed with embarrassment and desire.
‘Well, she demanded’, waiting for an answer, some explanation. Her face contorted in an expression of exasperation and bewilderment. But there was no explaining this.

He was quiet for a few moments, while he gathered his thoughts. Why lie he concluded. Be honest, be true, was his choice. ‘What does it look like,  I am at last giving free reign to my love, our love. Free of the shackles of conformity, free of other people’s views of what is right or wrong ‘, His voice becoming stronger as he spoke, determined not to be denied, what he believed to be his right. ‘Free from the views of the narrow minded people, who don’t know, or will ever know what true love is’.

‘Mr Williams, this can never be, not now, not ever ‘. Her voice stern, but slow, as if she was explaining to a child. ‘Millie is only thirteen years old, and you’re a middle aged man. This can never be’.
‘You know nothing’, he shot back. ‘What are you but an aging spinster, who knows nothing of intimacy, of true love’. He moved towards her, as she retreated from his angry movements. Millie watched wide eyed and quietly from the corner of the room. Her breathing rapid, and strained. He continued to  move towards the Headmistress. She could sense his volcanic like anger, being unleashed. She shuddered at the volume and mence of his voice, which filled the classroom. His face red, the veins either side of his forehead throbbing. His movements wild and uncontrolled. As soon as he was close enough to her, he pushed her with as much force as he could muster, her small frame no match for his strength and anger. She hit the classroom floor with much force, banging her head on the concrete. Her legs folded backwards in a grotesque manner. Her movements ceased.
In the silence that followed, his anger began to subside slightly, and he turned his attention once again towards Millie. In the corner of the room her face was taking on a shade of grey, and her lips very slightly tinged with a purple hue. Her breathing was labored and strained, and her eyes wide wide with fear and panic, as she struggled to breath.

‘Millie, do you have an inhaler ? , he demanded. Where is it, where is it ?’ He frantically searched her school desk, and in her school bag. But with no luck. He found her cute mobile phone, covered with stickers of cats, and some glitter. Very much the toy of a child, for that is what she was. He used her cute phone to call for an ambulance. He moved back toward Millie in the corner of the room, and sat beside her and held her. Rubbing her back gently, and pushing her now damp hair, back from her face, in the vain hope it would offer her some physical relief and comfort. He held her like this as he waited for the ambulance.
The sounds of  children’s laughter, from the sunlit playing fields, echoed in the silence of the classroom.