Alice.

That was the word that filtered down. That’s what he, she or whatever ‘it’ was preferred to be called. I did not no where to look, or even what I felt. My mind a myriad of emotions, and none of them good. Fear, bewilderment, anger, disgust, mixed with compassion, love and loss. Many deeply felt emotions, too confusing to try and name and describe.

I didn’t want to think, let alone feel. Did not want to see ‘it’. This monstrosity. This God almighty freak, that was now part of this family. Part of the family , that I by some unfair fluke of nature was related to. What in Gods name, had gotten into this person. What madness had somehow seeped into their warped, sick mind. My feelings towards them vacillated between, embarrassment, shame to acceptance and sorrow.
To say peaceful nights and mellow days were hard to come by, would be quiet an understatement. I had not seen him, her, whatever the bloody hell this  monstrosity was, since that crazy statement filtered through all those months ago. Like some sort of sick joke, from the depths of a warped, depraved, and perverted mind.That they had decided they were transitioning or whatever the politically correct term is.
In my own language, they had gone all bloody peculiar and odd. Sick in the head. That’s how I described them. Never mind their transitioning, change or whatever…
How was this going to effect us, as a family. My brothers and sisters. Would we not be the laughing stock of the small town, of the area, if not the whole country. The closed, narrow minds of small town Ireland, would never, could never understand, nor comprehend  something so foreign and alien to them, to their world. Perhaps were we in a large anonymous cosmopolitan city. Perhaps their people would be more accepting and understanding, and could care less. Too busy with their own lives to care.
Through other family members I forwarded my pleading, sensible suggestion. That they move to a large cosmopolitian city, to save us the shame and embarrassment, were this family secret to come to light. I left the small town the very next day. Took my own suggestion and lost myself in that large annoymous city. From that day to this I have never looked back. What became of that family member, I neither know nor care.

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At Last.

Release

The day he longed for had at last come. The taste of freedom just within his touch. As he packed up his meager belongings in his prison cell. The bible, that had seen him through the very darkest of days when life seem pointless. Where no light at the end of the tunnel seemed visible at all. When all seemed lost, it was the bible and the weekly visitors from the members religious group, who told him to keep the faith. That God would help. That one day his pleas of innocence of the crime he was accused of would be believed by those in power. Those on the outside who believed in his innocence, told him to be strong, be patient. As they campaigned tirelessly on his behalf.
He stared at the pictures of the scantily clad women on the cell wall, and admired them. A reminder to himself at least he was still a man, with the desires of a man. As he continued to clear his belongings from the prison cell, he thought of her. He had tried to forgive her. To forget and move on, as he had being advised by many. They could see his anger and bitterness were destroying him. Eroding his peace of mind. His rampant desire for revenge, burned deep within his soul.

Seventeen years incarceration because of her lies and deceit. Seventeen wasted years. He had attended the group sessions in prison, and shared his anger, and bitterness, and he had to admit it helped somewhat. But he did not share his plans of revenge he had in store for her. Night after night when he was initially imprisoned , he took delight in imagining the chaos he was going to bring into her life. She was going to suffer, no doubt of that. Even if it led to a further term of imprisonment, he had decided it would be worth it. Trying out different plans and ideas in the inner landscape of his imagination.
He had never liked his cell mate, even though they had shared the same small claustrophobic space for many years. He like most of the inmates of the prison could not be trusted. He was a big man, with the grillezed face of hard living. A wild beard, small dead angry eyes, devoid of life. He was quiet sure the warden had put them together purposely, to make doing time, even harder and more unpalatable than it already was. He had spoken to one or two, that he trusted in the religious group, who visited from the outside on a weekly basis, of his plans for revenge. They had listened with patience and understanding. But were also shocked and taken aback by the strenght of his resolve to inflict pain, and bring chaos and mayhem into the life of his ex-wife.
They had gently pointed out the possible consequences of such a course of action. The possibility of never having the opportunity to renew and reignite the relationship with the young daughter who had turned her back on him. The futility of holding onto such anger and bitterness, for situations from the past. They had counselled forgiveness. The more he spoke with those from the religious group, the more at peace he felt. The burning , fervent desire for revenge easing somewhat. He had taken to reading the Bible on a nightly basis, helped him not he did not feel so alone.
He had taken a particular shine to her. The softness of her voice. The kindness and gentleness she exuded. Her willingness to listen to his angry ranting and raving, with great patience. Never would he have believed he could ever trust or even like a woman again in his life. But she was different. Perhaps being a long time member of the visiting religious group, was the reason. Or maybe her sense of peace and contentment came from turning to God. He was unsure. Those wide soft, kind and innocent eyes. The sense of peace and contentment that was wrapped around herself like some sort of comfortable overcoat. She also had become enamoured by him . By his seething masculinity. But she sensed beneath the hard exterior. Beneath the gruffness, and palatable sense of explosive violence, lay a decent man, dealt a bad deal, by life.
He began to look to the future, perhaps their future together, with a sense of hope, and anticipation. Maybe life was going to be okay, after all.

The brutal rattling of the cell door, roused him from his imaging. His size filled the frame. On either side, stood his two protectors, permanent attachments, it seemed like.
He glanced at his cell mate, who smiled callously, and slowly removed himself out of the cell, and onto the prison cell landing, and into the recreation area. Here was the man, who actually ruled the prison. The governor and prison guards may have believed they ruled the prison, but not so. His large black frame, toned and muscular from many months training in the prison gym. The bald, shaven head, and pristine white teeth. Not snarling, surprisingly, but smiling. The acne scarred face.

He strood into the small prison cell as if he owned it. His reputation for violence and nastiness preceded him. He wished to demonstrate his power to the remaining prison population, and remind them, he could do anything to anybody, at any time.

‘I believe your leaving us today. Aint that sweet for you’. His voice soft, but with an edgy undertone of menace.

I’m innocent, I should never have being in here, and I wont be coming back’.

‘In that case, I’d like to give you a gift, before you leave.’ He reached down and undid his belt and began to lower his prison issue jeans.

‘Grab him , and hold him face down on the bed, while I have some fun’, he commanded.

He could see what was coming, and without much thought to the consequences, smashed the shaving mirror close to him, and quickly picked up a sliver of the glass. He knew that he could not live with himself, if he allowed such emasculation to take place. After a brief violent struggle he implanted the sharp shard of glass into the neck of the prison king, who quickly fell to the ground, holding his neck. The sucking, gurgling sounds his jerking, shaking body made on its final journey, sickening.  The violent retribution he received from the two protectors and prison guards was swift and brutal. Thrown with force into the isolation cell, he asked for the Bible that had given him such sustenance. It was thrown in, and landed at his feet. He began to read, and again he thought of her. That softness and kindness, and wide innocent eyes

Daily Prompt: Irrelevant

Irrelevant

‘Your irrelevant, you don’t matter now, you never did  and you never will’.
The scream was deafening. He looked at the mother who had born him, not so many years long ago, and asked, how could she hate him. What is it, he had done. All he had done, was to actually be born. Certainly, not a crime of his making.

‘I hate you, I wish to Christ you’d never being born’. So it continued. Although young, he could still tell when to leave others alone and walk away. Which is what he did. He left her with the ever present half empty bottle of red wine on the kitchen counter, and she near slumped over it. Her hair, a mess. Uncombed, and dirty. Black mascara following the trails of her self pitying  tears that flowed down her face. She was more than willing to attack and blame whoever came into her orbit. But it was usually just him. He went back to his bedroom, and began to play with his toys. Hoping and praying that she would fall asleep, and not come into his room. To physically slap and beat him, as she had done many times before.

‘Don’t worry Mark, it will be okay. There is no need to be afraid. We will be together soon’.

He had not heard that voice, in quite some time, but recognised it instantly.
He had spoken to her almost nightly since she went to heaven, although she never answered him. He wept many times, as he missed their play time together, and cried even more when he saw her in the hospital getting more sick, and weak as every day passed. So wishing he could help, but not knowing how.
He looked round the room for the source of the voice. Laying his toy action man figures on the floor. Outside the window, in the dark evening, he saw his sister shimmering outside the window , and smiling. She looked so happy, healthy and content.

‘We’ll be together soon, don’t worry, it will be okay’.

With that her image from outside the window disappeared. Mark, felt safe, secure and happy. More so then he had done in a long time, and clambered into bed, after carefully locking the door, not someting he usually did.

After she had finished the remained of the bottle of wine in the kitchen, his Mother was her usual angry self. Inhaling deeply of the cigarette, as she stumbled upstairs. Swearing loudly, her voice raising. As he was the only other occupant in the house, she went towards his room to vent, to off load her venom. Finding the door locked, she screamed and kicked loudly at it. But the door held firm. Her screaming and kicking of the door, had awoken Mark, and he snuggled down under the covers, his body shaking slightly, and his breathing rapid. The butterflies breaking free in his stomach. He waited expectedly for the door to break open, and his Mothers assault to begin.
Again she attacked the locked door, screamed and swore. Quietness, followed by a heavy series of thuds, akin to trees being felled. As her head hit the final step, at the bottom of the steps, she fell backwards, unconsciousness and the cigarette rolled out of her hand, and under the nearby curtain. It did not take long for the curtain to fully catch ablaze. Starting slowly, then gathering momentum and speed. The yellow and blue flames easily setting the wall alight and reaching up to the ceiling. The cracking sound, and burning stench, quickly engulfing the lower ground floor. The carpet around the fallen drunken Mother, soon alit too, burning all in its path.

‘Come Mark, it’s time to go. She gently touched Mark to wake him’, and roused him from his bed.

She took his hand as they exited the room together, through the calm night, out into the fresh cooling air, and skyward. Past the dark night sky. Past the glistening stars, and on into a beautiful, tranquil and peaceful garden. Where to his delight he ran into the open welcomong arms of his beloved Grandfather, and Grandmother, who embraced him warmly, and that favourite labrador dog, he believed was gone forever.

There, there…

 Pamper

‘Let me do it’.
‘No, you might only hurt yourself’.

The story of his life. It’s what he mostly remembered from his childhood. The over caring, some would say fawning Mother. Never allowing him the freedom to develop as a human being. To try and to fail. To make those mistakes that young people must do, and then to readjust their settings. Never was he given that opportunity. She was seen by some as a caring , loving Mother, but to others, she was the person who was crippling his ability to deal with the world.

To come to terms with the disappointments , failures and frustrations that life has a habit throwing everyone’s way, at some time or another. But thanks to her habit of making his life easy, and painfree for him, he was left without the tools to deal with life when it did not go to plan, and she was not by his side, to smooth the way.
He began to hate her, from an early age. Her claustrophobic smothering of his freedom, in case he got hurt. Her unspoken use of him as a substitute husband. To compensate for an inadequate, selfish, alcoholic husband. Sharing aspects of her unhappy life and failing marriage, that had no place being shared with a child. She shared with uncontrolled vengeance and bitterness.

Whenever the other boys at school were less than kind. Or girls, not welcoming of his attentions. His Mother was always there to coddle and sooth him, and to make life seem not so bad. To spoil him with gifts, and fine food. To tell him, how wonderful he was, and wrong , foolish and just plain nasty those other people were.
He was turning into a very unpleasant person. Feared and disliked by his classmates. Quick to anger, and violence. Borne out of his upbringing. His lack of tolerance and impatience for frustration. Unable to comprehend that life doesn’t always run one’s way. He thought nothing of walking into the local retail shops, and helping himself to whatever took his fancy, without payment many times. Angrily threatening violence on any who dared try to stop him.

Teachers pleading , and warnings from the local police of a possible future filled with long prison terms for her son, went mostly unheeded by her. She did not need anyone to tell her how to deal with her child. She knew him better than anybody. Was it not he, and she versus the world.
It did not take so very long, for his Mother’s misguided sense of love for a child, combined with her loneliness, anger and bitterness to manifest  itself over time, into inappropriate but unsaid, welcome touches. Welcome to her, and to him. He did not understand what was happening, but he enjoyed the sensations. They both knew it was inappropriate that she still bathed him, at his age. A young fast growing teenager, quickly growing into manhood. Both knew, but said nothing. She enjoyed the touch, and sight of a man’s body, even if it was her son, as she bathed and dried him. Massaging his body, to calm his mind, she told herself. To keep him out of prison. It was not long , before in the darkness of the night she lead him, that first time, and many times since into the marriage bed. They held and pleasured each other as man and wife, as lovers. She guiding his inexperienced hands around her body. She exploring his young body, and he responding to her touch. Their first kiss, she greedily searching out and finding his soft lips, while he recoiled in disgust from such a touch. But in time and with her forceful insistence grew to long for and enjoy, such a touch.
The longer it went on, the more confused, and troubled he became. Whereas she seemed to gain a new lease of life. Never had he seen her so happy. He did not like to see others, especially those close to him , happy, and it angered him. Not when he was so miserable and unhappy inside. It was with that in mind, he visited the school guidance teacher, one day after class had ended, and relayed what had been happening at his home. He overplayed his weeping and upset, to ensure a satisfactory result. The guidance teacher swiftly moved it up the line of command, and events moved quickly.

As he lay on his bed in the care home, contemplating his future. He knew that whatever the outcome, he would never see her again. Whatever was to happen, at least he would be free of her.

Thomas.

Thomas.

He wouldn’t have being the first, and rather doubtful he’ll be the last. Many had chosen this hiding place. It was a respectable hiding place, At least in the view of the older people. The true believers. Yeah,those ones with the blinds pulled firmly down in front of there eyes. It wasn’t like it was a prison sentence, although to some it wasn’t far from it. No women. Not much alcohol. A false front, of caring, compassion, and interest in others. But what happens behind the doors of a religious order, never has to reach the knowledge of the outsiders.

    As he lay in front of the Bishop, on the altar. He and the three other victims, or should I say cowards. Well he and the other men running away and hiding from life. From themselves. Their friends and families in the Church looked on with pride. What an honour to have  a family member in the priesthood. Surely that would ease the passage of all associated with the new religious entrant into heaven. Hardly going to work against them.
               As Thomas lay on the altar, while the bishop conducted the very long, drawn out ceremony. Thomas with his arms outstretched to his sides, and his face down in the red carpet. Striving to cope with the current discomfort. The coldness of the Church. The hardness of the ground he was laying on. He reflected on what had brought him to this situation. To this choice. Was it really the only choice he had. Could he yet run from the scene before  it was too late. Before he was inducted into the priesthood.

That certainly would be unheard of, and a total unforgivable scandal in 1930’s Ireland. His mind turned to her. She was never far his mind now. The forbidden love. She was older, A lot more mature than her fourteen years. In looks, manner, and outlook. But it could never be. Not now, not ever, He told himself, many many times, as he twisted and turned alone in his bed at night.
                                 But the deep feelings of love, or was it just lust, he wondered, were impossible to hide from himself. True yes she was the first female to show any real feelings of warmth towards him. But he had heard of how many young school girls fall in love with there Teachers, but very seldom would they fall in love with a guard. Solid,Upstanding,Member Of The Community. This Was One Secret He Knew He Could Never Let See The Light Of Day.
                His Mind Travelled Back, How On That Sunny Day, As They Walked Along The Clifftop, Alone And Out Of Sight Of Others. That’s The Way It Had To Be. She Spoke Of Her Wishes For The Future. How Happy She Was, The Prospect Of A Family With Him, A Long Life Ahead Of Them.
           She Reached For His Hand. He Hesitated, And Suggested Instead, She Loop Her Arm Through His.

’It Will Look More Innocent’,

She Smiled And Laughed In Response. As They Continued To Walk Along The Cliff Top In The Warm Sunshine. Valuing Their Time Alone Together. He Teased And Chided Her For Missing Out On School To Spend Time With Him. She Laughed At His Mock Teasing, And Ran When He Chased Her In Jest. Catching Up To Her, She Turned And Softly Put Her Arms Around His Neck And Kissed Him Gently On The Lips.
              He Turned Back Towards The Clifftop Path. Feeling He Was Being Watched, And To His Utter Disbelief He Saw, The One And Only, Mrs Delia Murphy. Who Was Better Known As The Local Town Gossip. Standing And Watching Them. With Her Long Three Quarter Way Coat, And Large Handbag, Dangling From Her  Arm. A Small Hat Upon Her Head. She Had Never Married, And Had Taken Her Bitterness About That Situation Out On The World, On The Village By Spreading Scandal And Rumour. Overly Exaggerating Half Truths , About Anyone She Chose Too In The Village.
                                She Very Much Fitted The Image Of A Bitter, Aging Spinster. With A Large Physical Frame, Hair Always Tied Tightly In A Bun, In An Angry Manner. A Plain, Always Stern Face, And Less Than Pleasant Demeanour. She Eyed The Scene Of  Thomas And The Young Girl, And Her Mouth Dropped Open In Shock, Consternation, And Some Envy. But She Also Smiled, Because She Certainly Had Some Scandal To Spread In The Village Now. She Hurried Along The Clifftop Walk Towards The Village.

‘Mrs Murphy’, Thomas Called After Her, Releasing Sinead’s Arms From Around His Neck, As He Followed In The Footsteps Of Mrs Murphy’s.
‘i It’s Not What It Looks Like’, He Pleaded.

She Have Turned To Face Him,

‘Get Away From Me Guard Thomas Brennan, I Know What I Saw, And Soon Everybody Else Will Too…..’

Her Face A Picture Of Triumph, Joy, But Also Envy, As She Again Hurried Along The Path Towards The Village, With Her Self Righteous, Indigent Walk. He Knew It Was Pointless To Reason And Argue With Her. He Returned To Sinead Where She Stood By The Cliff Top Edge.

‘Now Do You See What You’ve Done’, He Voice Raised, And Face Reddened. ’You Know We Have To Hide Away From People. You Know Who That Was ?’

.‘Yes, I Know’. What Can We Do ?’

‘I Don’t Know What We Can Do, But We Have To Stop Seeing Each Other, For One. You Will Just Have To Find Someone Your Own Age, We Cannot Carry Any More’.

With That Sinead’s Face Reddened, And She Hung Her Head. Thomas Reached Out To Touch Her Hand, But She Pulled Away. He Reached Out Again, Again She Pulled Away And Ran. Her Tears Blinding Her View.

‘Wait’,

The More He Moved After Her, The Faster She Ran, In A Disoriented Manner. He Watched, As If In Slow Motion, As She Got To The Cliff Top Edge. He Looked At The Clear Blue Sky, And Asked God For Help. God Didn’t Answer. He Watched Her Eyes Widen, And Her Lips Parted To Scream, But No Sound Came Out. He watched in the silence, As She Moved Forward Into The Clear Blue Sky. He Ran To The Cliff Top Edge, But It Was Too Late. He Didn’t Want To Look, But Forced Himself. A Quick Glance At Her Broken Body, Lying Bent And Misshapen On The Rocks Below.

       As He Lay Prostrate On The Floor In Front Of The Bishop, Again He Thought Of Her. She Would It Seems Never Ever Be Far From His Mind And Soul……

 

 

 

Symphony.

Symphony

Dressed in the long black dress he had bought her. Her make up, perfect. A sight to behold. She sat in the wooden built orchestra pit, in the semi darkness. Built of light coloured plywood, to produce the best acoustic sounds. Tuning up her instrument like the other musicians around her. She plucked at the strings in a brutal, rough manner. One did not have to be a psychiatrist, a therapist to see her anger. Her frustration.
The audience began to take their seats in the large concert hall, under the bright lights, chatting among themselves. Among the favoured, special guests. The executives, and producers from the record companies, took their seats high up in the ‘Gods’, as befitting their position. She looked around the orchestra pit at her fellow musicians. The men dressed in their black tuxedos. Women dressed in all the finery. Some relaxed and laughed as they chatted. Others staring silently, and intently into space. Their eyes focused and unblinking. Their features, serious. Concentrating deeply on the forthcoming concert, and their part in the proceedings.
Well aware of the importance of the performance. Of the introduction of the new composition. So many wished him well, and all the success in the world. He was well liked by the members of the orchestra. With his easy going manner, and a quick smile. With a tendency to look on the brighter side of life. The audience and orchestra members awaited his entrance.
She did not even try to hide her anger and distress. Her glaring, reddened eyes. Her glowering, contorted features. Enough to discourage the other musicians from catching her gaze. He entered the auditorium and near enough sprinted to the podium. Such was his nervous energy, and adrenaline. His small wiry frame, topped by a mop of brown curly hair. Light perspiration forming on his forehead. His heart beating fast, and his legs shaking slightly. As ever his face brightened by that glittering smile. The audience applauded. The orchestra members smiled and tapped their instruments, in an acknowledgement of, and admiration for his prowess as an orchestra leader, a conductor. He stepped to the conductor’s podium, turned to face the audience, smiled and bowed. The audience applauded and cheered. Everyone knew the importance of this evening’s performance. Then he turned to face the orchestra members, and in a sweeping hand gesture acknowledged their enormous talent as musicians.

She watched him intently from behind her cello. Hoping to see some sign of guilt. Some admission of wrong doing. But nothing. He resolutely refused to catch her eye. No  sign of remorse, nor sorrow. Just that wide, bright smile. After all those times they had spent together in each other’s arms. The promises he made. The plans they had made together for the future. If only the others knew what he was truly like. Did he really think he could use her, and then just drop her like that ?

She had to replay the conversation one more time, while it was still so fresh in her mind.
‘To be blunt Emily, I’ve had enough, and just fancy a change. I wish to move on ‘, said in such a calm, matter of fact manner.
‘What am I, a damn product, that you can pick up when you fancy, and drop when it suits you ? ‘ she screamed at him.
‘No, it’s not like that’, he lied. ‘It’s just time for a change’. Hoping she’d remain reasonably calm, and not create a scene. ‘We’ve had our fun, our good times, and now it’s over. Why can’t you take this like the mature woman I know you are, and just accept it ? ‘

Did she mean so little to him ? Did their relationship, mean so little to him ?  She who had opened her heart to him. She who had shared her vulnerabilities with. She who had allowed him into her life, her soul. She who had fallen so in love with him.

‘I have this performance this evening,’ he continued, ‘ and you know how it important it is. How much depends on it. Can’t we just part as friends, and leave it at that ‘. With that he walked away from her dressing room, and out of her life.

She sat slumped in her dressing room chair, facing the large mirror. Physically unable to move. Her heart, physically feeling heavy. Her body weak. Feeling like she had being kicked hard in the chest, by the hind legs of a strong, wild, bucking horse. She sat like this alone for quiet some time. Wanting to shed some tears, but unable to do so. Wanting to scream, but embarrassed to do so. Wanting to smash the mirror that reflected back to her, the misery and unhappiness that now plagued her soul. But she could not summon the strength, to do so. Slowly , but surely, after quiet some time, she could feel her anger,and indignation rising within her. She was worth more than this. Deserved better than this. Her breathing becoming rapid. Her jaw beginning to jut, just that little bit. Her arms becoming tense. Her hands forming into tightly held fists. The butterflies stirring in her stomach. She imagined his body burning, engulfed by the red, yellow and blue raging flames. She could clearly see the fear, and terror in his eyes, and so enjoyed listening to his screams of agony, and his pleading for help. Which she joyfully ignored, before his body succumbed to the intense heat.

Feeling slightly better, and mentally stronger after her brief, violent daydream. She searched within her overcrowded handbag, until she found the small plastic package. Revenge was going to taste so sweet, she assured herself. She knew he always had that large class of cold milk, just before any performance, to calm his nerves, and encourage his confidence. A strange, bizarre ritual. But he was after all, a strange,……. She did not need to even finish the sentence. She left her dressing room, after drying her tears, and reapplying her make up. Upon entering the green room, where the artists relaxed, before appearing on stage. She saw him in the corner of the room , holding court. Entertaining members of the orchestra, and some young girls from the public relations company, that he had recently engaged, to work on his behalf. Laughing and joking as if he had never uttered those, cruel devastating, uncaring words he had said to her.
She had used the inviting white powder herself, from time to time. when tiredness had overcome her. When her concentration was lacking. When she demanded  energy of herself. She maneuvered herself closer to the assembled crowd, who surrounded and were enthralled by him. When he attention was drawn by some other pretty young girl, among the group. She took her chance and scattered a small amount into his milk, and thinking back to his earlier words, she put in a touch more, and to finish, just a little more. She quickly stirred it with her finger, while everyone’s attention was else where. Then she moved away to the corner of the room, where she still had a view of the now ‘special’ drink.
She watched and waited, spurning the attention of the tall Italian man with his dark, handsome features, and silver tongue. She had other matters in mind. On the other side of the room, he still held court, with his adoring fans. Those who hung on his every word and utterance. She checked the watch on her tanned bare arm, willing him to drink the doctored liquid. She needed to see him ingest it, before she could feel some satisfaction. Minutes ticked by, towards the performance. Yet that special drink remained untouched on the table. His arrogant, overbearing laughter and voice filling the room, and turning her stomach at the same time.

‘Go on, you bastard, drink it, damn you’, she muttered under her breath.
‘Go on’, she whispered,’ drink it.
‘Drink it’, she said aloud. The nearby waiter, turned towards her, glaring for a moment.

But his attitude soon softened, and he smiled, when he saw her flawless skin. Her clean brown mousey hair, that tumbled over her shoulders. Her clear grey eyes, still showing a little of that sparkle that usually filled them.

‘Certainly Madam, I’ll see to you in just one moment’.

At the other side of the room, at last he picked up the glass. Again, urgently she silently ordered him to finish the damn drink. He looked at his watch, took a deep intake of breath, and swallowed the liquid in one fell swoop. He briefly winced at the unusually bitter taste, and stared at the glass he held in in his. The assistant called him, to make his way towards the stage. He replaced the glass on the table , and looked back at it, one more time. Dabbed his face with his handkerchief, and headed towards the auditorium. She followed shortly after, and took her place in the orchestra pit.
She watched as he joined the rest of the orchestra on stage. Glorifying in the adulation he received. Ignoring her, of course. She waited and watched. Willing the white power to take effect. Why was it taking so long ? Was it not pure enough ? Was it cut too much ? Finally a reaction, just a slight one. A brief uncharactistic shake of the leg. Barely visible, except to those attuned to it.
The applause died down, and silence descended on the hall. The house lights were lowered. The audience waited, the orchestra waited. Everyone waited . He waited, staring into space. The orchestra had practised well and knew the composition inside out. He waved his hand out to the left, and the strings began. He waved the baton to the right, and the trumpets, oboes and tubas began playing slowly and gently. The orchestra leader, smiled and nodded to him. He in return, faced away from the orchestra, and faced the audience. The orchestra leader, cleared his throat loudly to catch his attention. No luck, so he repeated it. Again no reaction. In her seat, playing the cello softly, Emily began to giggle to herself, quietly. The conductor swivelled round at speed, nearly falling over, and had to grab the rostrum to prevent himself from falling head first into the orchestera pit. Some in the audience stifled their own laughter. He briefly laughed aloud, at his own clumsiness. The orchestra leader glared at him, his eyes aflame with anger and bewilderment. The composition was being played at a slow, gentle pace, as befitted the required tempo.
The conductor began to move his arms more erratically, and at an increased speed and the orchestra followed his movements. The cacophony of sound and discordant notes emerging from the orchestra pit, were anything but the peaceful and melodious composition everyone was expecting. The orchestra leader, again cleared his throat loudly, and tapped his musical stand rapidily with his violin bow, but to no avail. The conductor was no longer of normal sound mind, as the illicit white powder began to take full effect on his body and mind.
Then when all seemed lost, he seemed to have regained his composure and skills as a conductor, and led the orchestra through the more complex stanzas. With that completed, his movements again became fast and erratic. The orchestra  followed his leadership, producing discordant, tuneless sounds. In her seat, Emily followed along, her face now brightening into a wide smile, as were her eyes. Her laughter barely contained within her shaking shoulders. So it continued, the unexpected acceleration of the composition, the sudden slowing down. The discordant notes, strange melodies not of this world. The conductors wide eyed staring engagement with the audience, followed by his dismissive attitude, and then a warm loving attitude toward members of the orchestra. His running around the orchestra pit, screaming. Then shouting. Then laughing, loudly. Tearing at his tuxedo. Catcalls and laughter began to emerge from the stalls, as this farce unfolded onstage. Some left the theatre in frustration. Emily glanced high up into the theatre, where the executives, and producers from the record company were seen leaving their private box early, shaking their heads in bewilderment, and laughter.
Quite soon after, stage management wary of their good reputation, brought the curtain down, and as the house emptied, led the frazzled, bewildered and out of control conductor off stage.
Revenge was indeed sweet.

 

A woman’s obsession with finding love and happiness.

via Daily Prompt: Local

She was known as the local tramp. A loose woman. For any man looking for a night of non committal, one off sexual fulfillment, she was the first port of call. What was she really. A lonely sweet woman, looking for love and companionship in all the wrong places, with the wrong people. looking to fill the void and emptiness in her heart and soul. Rejected, overlooked, ignored and rejected by her so called parents.
                                                                                    Her life was a never ending search for love, acceptance, and warmth of other humans. Searching for a sense of  belonging. A strong unbreakable sense of connection with another human. Looking to bond. That’s all she ever wanted. She had learned from an early age how attractive she was to men. With her slim petite figure. Long auburn hair. Large wide innocent brown eyes. A luscious warm and inviting smile. Her stylish attire. What was there not to like. She was well aware of how men of all ages, shapes and sizes eyed her up. Stared at her from behind newspapers, as she passed by. Male shop assistants more than friendly in the shops she visited. Random men  who smiled at her as they passed on the street.
But after a few encounters with men, she also came to learn that many were shallow and empty. Not wanting commitment, and the loving relationship that she yearned for. Many,if not most men she met were just interested in quick, early sexual interactions, until they tired of her, and wished to move onto new conquests. She had come to understand that if she did not comply to there lustful sexual requests and demands, they had no compunction, no problems dropping her and swiftly moving on.

Un-intended pregnancies, abortions and mis-carriages followed. A price she was willing to pay for the temporary security, the sense of belonging and being loved if only for a short time. The decent wholesome, loving men seeking loving relationships ignored her and passed her by. They could tell by her eyes, by her demeanor and body language what she was. A cheap, loose woman, who had chosen the wrong path, early on in life, to secure the wholesome loving relationship she yearned for. Somewhat bitter, and dejected at the way her life was turning out, with the passing of the years. Her increasing alcohol consumption helped her ease the pain and bitterness,at least temporarily, as she looked at the way her life had turned out.
                       Her looks slowly fading from the innocent pretty girl of her youth. Her skin becoming frayed and wrinkled by the years of alcohol abuse. Her eyes trying to hide , but betraying the type of woman she had become. The in-appropriate clothing she now wore to lure men to her side. Clothes more suited to the young teenage temptress she no longer was. The garish make up, sultry red lipstick. If only she could see what others saw, and what she had become, as she scoured the darkened floors and corners of the many bars and seedy nightclubs of her small home town.
Even among the young teenage boys of the town, she had become known as the ‘local’. The woman to loose your virginity to. A sad human to be used, and laughed at. Men continued to use her,and she continued to search.