Symphony.

via Daily Prompt: 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.

 

Local….

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.

Buff…..

Buff

Buff….

That’s how she described him. He certainly fitted the description. Washboard stomach,deep chest,not too deep,mind. Small firm rear end. Broad,but not too broad shoulders,just the way she liked them. Add to that,that smouldering look he could give her,that thrilled her to her toes.
        The mop of slickly combed back dark hair,the little bit of stubble,and sunken cheeks,indicating his physical fitness. If this was heaven,she was certainly in it now,and didn’t want it to end. But she knew it would soon be over. He was just one in a long line of customers. Soon he would leave,and head back to his wife,or family,she was unsure which. She never probed into her customer’s lives. That’s why they keep coming back. She was providing a service,and it was a good service. She prided herself on her work,and keeping her customers satisfied.
             Was she happy,who knows,who cares. They didn’t really care about her happiness,or welfare. Some did treat her right. Some were kind,others off hand and at times brutal. But she had to see them all,that was the game. He left the swanky apartment,after putting the payment in an envelope and leaving it on the marble and glass covered dresser. She knew she could trust him,not to cheat her,there was no need to check the contents like she would have to with some of her other customers.
               He bent down to where she lay on the cream coloured silk sheets,and gently kissed her on the cheek. She wanted so much more from him,but doubted it would ever be. What was she nothing more than a…..no,she couldn’t bring herself to say,let alone think those thoughts. Those ugly,disparaging words that would conjure up images she could not bear to entertain,not even for a moment.

She was a lady,like some others,who from time to time,helped men with there relationships. That’s as far as she would allow herself to be described. After he left,she got up from the bed,and walked to the large expanse of glass,overlooking the sparkling lights of the city. Isolated from the sounds. In the subdued lighting of the expensive apartment,the glass cruelly reflected back to her what she was,standing in her beige silken nightgown.Cigarette in one hand,the ever present glass of wine in the other. She dared not even look into her own eyes. She knew what she was,and what she had become. Sickened and disgusted with herself,she threw the half filled glass of wine hard against the glass,and watched as it disintegrated and fell to the black and grey marble floor. The white wine slowly flowing down the pristine windows.
                       She knew where to find it if she wanted. But didn’t really want to go down that track.It offered solace and sustenance,an escape from a life not wanted. But it had its costs,in terms of finance,of danger,health risks,of associating with less than honest,and upfront people. He had left some in the drawer,inviting her to partake of its warm enveloping glow,of security and happiness,but she had refused. Always refused,until now.Was tonight’s the night when she was to be drawn into that world. It was the loud ringing of the phone that woke her from her thoughts.

                      ‘Well’,he demanded,’where is it ? it better be there when I call tonite’.

She hated him,the sound of his voice,his look,his accent. She hated everything and anything about him. She threw the phone down in disgust. But she knew he would soon be calling,as he did every few days to collect the takings. Then their would be the forced,unwanted love making,which she pretended to enjoy,to save herself another beating,and glorify his manhood.
             Trapped was just about covered her situation. No way out that was clear to her. She was like so many other of her countrywomen drawn in by tales of wealth and freedom. All it required was to deliver one little package. That’s all that was needed. She didn’t ask about the contents. She did not need to ask.  Poverty,and a desire to look after her daughter’s welfare,are what drove her to take the steps she took.
          Now she dreamed of a better life. A life filled with genuine love,happiness,and most of all freedom. She lay back on the bed and once again considered her options,as she had many times before. The thought of carrying on like this forever more,none too appealing. 

Suicide off the agenda. She had to be there for her growing daughter. She was indebted to him,any escape planned by her would lead to repercussions for her family and young daughter all those thousands of miles away,in the city of her birth. But escape was what she was going to do,one way or the other. Her sleep was broken and intermittent. As her mind considered her limited options. The incessant,non stop ringing of the apartment bell was what awoke her. Her stomach jumped,as the butterflies were released in her body. Her legs shook slightly. The familiar feelings of fear. She knew by such actions who it was,and the mood was going to be less than good. She walked to the intercom and let him in,and prepared herself for the un- pleasant interaction she was about to have. Thinking of her daughter,she painted on a broad smile,and opened the cream coloured front door,awaiting his arrival.

He swaggered into the apartment,fully fitting the description of the young,cocky South American criminal on the make,and determined to make it big. The light white suit,sunglasses in the top pocket. The blue silk shirt,slightly open,of course,and the tan alligator skin shoes. The swirling of the overhead fan the only noise in the apartment. She studied his face,the dark plump features,under the mop of curly hair. At first glance,he could have being mistaken for a kind man,but his cold,empty and calculating eyes gave his intentions away.
             Sleazy,a slime ball was how she silently described him,in her own mind. He brushed past her to the drinks cabinet,and poured himself a large whisky. Drank it down with speed,and rapidly refilled the glass. Turning his attention to her,he grabbed her hand and pulled her roughly towards the bedroom,no words being said. He was of course nothing more than an ignorant brute. Devoid of compassion and gentleness. An empty,loveless physical coming together followed. It was totally meaningless. She felt more as a woman,with her paying clients. When the ordeal was over,she moved away from the bed,while he slept,exhausted and drained by his laughable attempts at lovemaking,and the large amount of alcohol he had ingested.
            She was well aware of his increasing consumption of the magical white powder,and had seen the effects it had on his already volatile character. Given time,she prayed,if he took enough,hopefully it might be the end of him,and a road to freedom for her. But she didn’t want to wait for life to work the way she wished.
     She reached for her small handbag,she opened and withdrew the syringe she had been saving. Walked to the dresser that contained the bags of white powder,she opened one. Her breathing was rapid,and she tried to keep it silent. Least she wake the beast. Her hands shook slightly,and her fingers struggled to open the bag,but without the finesse she had practiced with,when alone. She glanced back at the bed,to ensure he was still sleeping,and satisfied that he was,she continued. Pouring water into the glass tumbler,she added the white powder and mixed it swiftly together with her fingers. Dipped the needle of the syringe into the glass,and retrieved the syringe when it was overflowing with the deadly concoction.
          It would be easy enough to explain. Possibly believable to others,the cause of his forthcoming death. Just another drug using South American criminal,overdosing on his own produce. Simple,right …..In the semi darkness of the lavishly appointed bedroom,she watched his tanned stout belly rise and fall. Sickened by his ugly grunting and snorting as he slept uneasily,much like an unattractive farmyard animal. Well this was it,the time was now. Her heart softened as she thought of her young daughter and how she loved her. The taste of freedom within her reach. Freedom from men she did not like,nor care for. Freedom from being used,from any who had the means to pay for it. Freedom from feelings of filth and self hate she become so accustomed to.
                            Holding the deadly syringe she moved quietly across the plush cream coloured carpet,stood  by the side of the double bed. Examined his bare chest,and studied her target,just below his heart,is he had one, would be. Her head dizzy with excitement and fear,her own heart beating loud,hard and rapidly in her chest.Her body in overdrive,adrenaline,fear,victory.excitement surging through every vein and organ she possessed,freedom within her grasp,and then……nothing.

The silence. The hot burning sensation in her chest. Her breathing slowing down. The unpleasant gurgling sound of the open wound,struggling for air. The damp red liquid,beginning to seep through her silk nightgown. She fell forward onto the bed,he roughly pushed her off,and onto the floor. He put the gun down on the bedside cabinet,the silencer masking it’s deadly deed. He was if nothing else a practiced criminal,and he never slept without it,never. It had saved his skin on more times than he could remember. Between that and never trusting anybody,ever,well……he would live to see another day.

As for her,laying on the plush carpet,life energy slowly leaving her body. Her soul preparing for its final journey. She thought of her daughter all those miles away,and once again her thoughts softened. She glanced out the large expanse of glass overlooking the shimmering lights of the city. At last she would soon be free.

Written in response to the Daily Prompt : Buff.

The Watcher….

Coffe shop

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

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

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

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

 

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

Black Lives Matter 2016.

black lives matter

Black Lives Matter……2016.