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.

Fragrance

via Daily Prompt: Fragrance

He never believed her. Never in his wildest dreams did he think it was possible. Although she had told him many times she would do it. As he sat up in bed, the beads of perspiration were slowly trickling down his forehead. He pulled at his pajamas which were damp and sticky. Afraid to switch on the light, for fear of what he might see.
There it was again, the unmistakable scent of her favourite perfume. The third time this week. He cursed himself for the alcohol he had indulged himself with the previous evening, and the evening before that, and so many other evenings. In the darkness he called out to the Lord to protect him, and began to mumble what he could remember of the Lord’s prayer, which he repeated a further four times, at speed. He always asked of the Lord, but never gave to the Lord. He gripped the white bedsheets tightly, perspiration running down his forehead. He nudged the woman who lay beside him, but to no avail.  Her overindulengence in a variety of cocktails the previous evening, ensured she would be sleeping for hours. He glanced at her disheveled hair, her fading make up revealing a face ravaged by many years of heavy alcohol use. The black mascara fading from round her eyes, revealing a less than pretty face. At least not as attractive now, as it seemed last evening in the glamorous settings of the 5 star hotel, they had visited, with the other well to do people, they called friends.

While she was alive, she watched him over many years squander the family savings in a self indulgent lifestyle of illicit extra marital affairs. A hedonistic lifestyle of alcohol, the finest of food, expensive holidays, all without her. An uncaring attitude towards his family, and responsibilities he had signed up for when he had married her, and brought their children into the world. As they grew further apart, but because of religion and for appearances sake, they presented to the world, the picture of the happily married couple, and their lovely children. A couple whose life was wonderful, and harmonious. It was anything but.

‘When I die, I will come back to haunt you, You will never have any peace’.

Her voice reverberating around the dull, grey kitchen. Badly in need of updating. But as he was the breadwinner, he had steadfastly refused to spend any of his funds on anything but self indulgent activities and events.
He ignored her, while concentrating on the hearty breakfast he had fixed himself, hoping it would help with the severe hangover he was suffering from.

‘Mark my words ,’ she continued.

He laughed and scoffed at her words. Perhaps in hindsight, not the wisest choice of action. The day passed quickly, as he feared. His lady companion from the previous evening, arose from the bed come mid afternoon, and decided to return to her own home. The drunken fitful sleep, not helping her appearance , or mood in any way, whatsoever. Even though he had tired of her, and was ready to move on from her. Out of fear and insecurity, of what the night would bring, he begged her to stay. Even offering another alcohol fueled day at his expense. She briefly considered his offer. But decided against it.

‘Don’t bother coming back, then’, he shouted at her as she slammed the front door on the way out.

Another relationship, ready for the bin. Unable to settle as the evening wore on, he sat in front of the television, in the darkened room. Looking but not really seeing the flickering pictures. He poured himself a second glass of the red liquid. Holding the glass tightly. It’s strength burning his throat on it’s passage to his brain. He welcomed the effect the alcohol was beginning to have on his mind, his courage and bravado. If ever there was an elixir of life, this was it.
A miracle invention, he mumbled to himself. Contemplating had he being President he would most certainly have awarded these genius, as that’s how him viewed them, at the very least, The Congressional Medal of Honor. How he would have awarded to them the highest scientific accolades the country could offer. Such was his admiration for such a marvellous invention.
The evening passed quickly. Afraid to go to the bedroom alone, he sat in front of the television. Eventually the effects of tiredness, and a further two glasses of the red liquid, forced sleep upon him. Without him being aware of it, he was asleep.
In the dream, she stood before him, laughing. Just as he remembered her, when she was alive. How he hated her effervescent, her vibrant spirit. His attempts to destroy her lively spirit, a failure. How she would continually bounce back, was a complete, and very irritating mystery to him.

‘I told you I’d come back to haunt you’, she laughed.

With alcohol induced bravery and courage, he responded.

‘You’re only a dream, that’s all you are. When I wake up, you will be gone’.

Again she laughed.

The dream finished and he continued to a more peaceful sleep. He was awoken by his body calling to him to use the bathroom. He opened his eyes slowly, reacquainting himself with the room. In the semi darkness, her white shimmering figure, surrounded by a blue haze, hovered above the fireplace. Her vibrant laughter filling the room. He screamed, just like a woman. The more he screamed, the more she laughed. He ran from the room, perspiration dripping from his forehead. His heart beating as fast as it had ever being, if not more so. His legs shaking with fear. He called out to the Lord Jesus to protect him. He ran to the kitchen, now updated of course, and locked the door. He turned from the door breathing heavily and quickly. Again her white shimmering figure stood before him, hovering above the floor, and laughing. He ran for the door, unlocked it and ran upstairs to the spare bedroom. Entered, and locked and bolted the door behind him. Again breathing very heavily and quickly. The chemical concoction in his stomach, wild and on fire. He recognised her laughter, and her fragrance. He did not need to look. He unbolted the door at speed, and ran from the room.
Wide eyed he fled down the stairs taking steps two at a time. Her laughter and fragrance followed him. It was the last four steps that did it. The resounding thump, as his head hit the final step. The slowly seeping blood from his ear. His inability to feel his legs. His breathing becoming slow, and labored. His senses on their final journey. His hearing becoming very faint. But enough to hear her laughter and breath in the scent of her fragrance just one last time.

Gone Forever.

Photo credit : Hector Martinez / Unsplash.com

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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.

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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.

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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/

Savor.

via Daily Prompt: Savor

She was as sweet as pie, but she had to die, that was just the way it was going to be
I cut her into slices, really sharpening the damn knife first
Then decided to cut her into pieces and have her with a cup of tea
I decapicated her head, just to make sure she was dead

Tomorrow I will investigate her brain, I wonder am I insane
But she should not have said I was no good in bed
Pretty sure she meant it too
I will serve her with bacon,  parsley, basil, and celery shoots

See if I cant find and eat her mind, you know, as you do
I never would have guessed human flesh was among the best
If tenderized sufficiently
Along with condiments, and salads
It’s a delightful meal, fit for more than two

Next onto human organs, this is such a culinary adventure
I can hardly wait to taste and see
I never guessed I could be such a cannibal
It sure is such a surprise to me
But she only has herself to blame,saying I as a man was quiet insane
That I was unable to light her flame,at least now we’ll be together forever more
As she takes up residence within my core

Maybe do not challenge another, should you wish to discover
Whether they are what they claim to be
Cause you may not enjoy what you find out,see
Perhaps not the best to accuse others of being insane
Cause you just might be on the recieving end of some serious pain, for real

So when in the darkness of the night, when I want to be in touch with her brightness and light
Just one more time
I’ll just call out loud to her, and say ‘Alright darling, how you doing, I’ll bet your doing fine, and your mine, all mine’, as you reside forever more, deep within my core
Now where can I find the next victim, that I can eat
Here’s hoping she tastes twice as sweet
I wonder how well human flesh goes with green tea.