Blank Space.

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Photo by Geran de Klerk on Unsplash

He awoke, finally. Another uncomfortable, barley slept night. A thirst, that no amount of water could ever quench. In the darkness he lay on the bed, listening to the silence. Slowly his mind began to clear a little. Images of the previous few days passed through his mind.

Acquaintances, strangers. Alcohol, pubs. Airplanes, city lights. Heavy traffic. Laughter. Dancing, darkened nightclubs, Thumping music. A mishmash of images and recollections, fading in and out of his memory. Brief and unclear. His head was heavy. Stomach empty and aching for food.

Never again, he promised himself. It’s just not worth it. Never was. Foolish, inane,  conversations, with forgettable, ridiculous people he hardly knew or cared for. False camaraderie and human closeness. A brief interlude from an empty life. The paranoia as usual was ever present, greatly exaggerated by the copious amounts of alcohol.

His memory was patchy of the previous few days. Unsure how long it had being this time. One evening, a few days, or maybe a week or two. He knew the gaps in his memory would eventually be filed. He made his way to the bathroom, unsteady on his feet, tripping over en route. The bloodstained light coloured carpet, of little surprise to him. His bloodied hands, unexpected. Through bloodshot eyes, he glanced at his face in the low lit bathroom mirror. Sickened, and angry at his own inability to control his addiction. He quickly looked away. Dried blood on the newly scratched scars on his face and neck. He slapped himself hard about the face, encouraging this dream to end. He threw water on his face, to awaken his consciousness.

He again checked himself in the bathroom mirror. Still the bloodied facial scars. He looked at his hands. His body was tense, and tightly held. His fists clenched. Swollen veins protruding through his muscular arms. His once lean and trim torso now beginning to show the signs of alcohol abuse. The unsightly swollen area covering his liver. His stomach losing its muscular definition. He watched himself, through narrow, piercing, angry eyes, the veins throbbing either side of his head in the bathroom mirror. How had his life come to this, he asked himself.

Snippets’ of angry words, surfaced in his memory. Screaming, tearful, hysterical and  pleading. Thoughts and a determination to avenge her disrespect. She would be made to pay. He would see her weep, and be distraught, and only then would he be at peace. He would take from her, what she had taken from him. He swaggered from the bathroom like the wealthy, powerful successful man he was. He had not finished with her yet.

‘Come here’, he demanded. ‘I want to speak to you’. His loud voice vibrating around the house.

He roughly opened the bedroom closest to him, and slammed it closed loudly when he found it empty. In his disoriented hung over state he found it hard to navigate his own home. Doors appearing where they did not belong. Rooms not where they should be.
Like a savage beast intent of finding sustenance, he marauded around the first floor of the house. Again he tripped over it, on the way back to his room. This time switching on the landing light. He looked down at the bare leg protruding from the door, and followed its shape as he pushed open the door to the room. The cream coloured silken nightgown that covered the body, was torn, ripped. Drifting in and out of consciousness, she moaned softly. The bloodied nose, bruised ayes, matted hair, she lay at an awkward, unattractive angle.
He did not recognize her at all. Cursed himself quietly for drinking so much. He searched his mind for recollections, which were not forthcoming. The light from the landing illuminating the scene before him. The upturned chairs, clothes scattered untidily on the floor. The overturned, broken child’s cot. The non moving, non breathing form on the floor. He moved towards the child’s form on the floor, noting the blood matted hair on the back its head. Turned it over, and recoiled from the slightly tinged small blue face, and obviously broken bones in its jaw line. Congealed blood visible under the innocent skin. Thankful it was not his child, but also fearful and afraid.
His breathing now rapid, heartbeat thumping hard in his chest. Perspiration forming on his forehead, back and above his lip. Images of police officers. Court cases, vile newspaper headlines. Prison, for ever.
Standing up, now energized with the adrenaline pumping through his body, his legs shaking. His mind screaming and begging for it not to be so.
He quickly returned to the bedroom from where he came, slipped on his crumpled jeans, and a white t-sheet. Searched underneath the bed for his shoes, and ran down the stairs and out of the house at speed, leaving the front door open. Into the still dark early morning, he ran. Along, somewhat now familiar streets. The shock helping to clear his mind. He ran as fast as he could, as far as he could. Pass the other detached houses. Down the tree lined streets, with the expensive cars outside. In the early morning, birdsong echoed softly.
He could not find his way out of the large, select cul-de sac, passing the same properties, again and again. He stopped outside a detached house, exhausted after his intense running, breathing hard. That dark Mercedes looked quiet familiar, with the sticker from the French holiday campsite on the trunk. He moved closer toward the car in the driveway, the gravel crunching under his feet. Peered into the backseat, at the two property magazines laying there. Further examined the the front passenger seat, and the child seat, with the recognizable rag doll toy, resting on it. The security light from the house, activated by his movement, illuminated the area.

She opened the front door quietly, and peered out. Recognizing his, rather disheveled appearance, she marched out in anger. In the cold morning air, her breath was visible, as she moved closer to him. Her baby daughter on her hip, crying loudly. He continued to peer into the front seat of the car, leaning on the car roof for support. Breathing hard, and gently weeping. Thankful some memory was returning.
She moved closer to where he was leaning on the car, and glared and him, taking him in fully.

‘What have you done’, she snapped at him. More an accusation, then a question.

Her face contorted into an ugly combination of anger, disgust and fear, so close to his. Her screams were loud, piercing, in the quietness of the early morning.

‘What have you done’, again, she screamed.

‘Look at your hands, look at your hands. They are covered in blood’.

 

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

Written in response to writing prompt : ‘Trying to make sense of the events of last night’.

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Freedom.

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Photo by Nicolae Rosu on Unsplash

‘Go on, if you can dream it, you can do it.’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous, is that a quote from  your latest self help book.’

‘I’m only trying to be supportive on your endeavors and ambitions.’
‘Well that may be so, but save your silly positive incantations for someone who may actually be damn well interested in them’.

Another nail in her heart. Another tearing down of the relationship that was once warm and loving, but now was nothing of the sort.
She was just too nice, too pleasant. Too gentle. He had grown quiet tired of her ceaseless positivity, never ending support. The way she looked. The way she dressed. Her attitudes. Her character. Just totally sick and tired of her. A change was badly needed. Fresh blood, a new interaction. An energetic shift.

‘I’m going out for a while, no need to wait up.’

She sat alone in the darkened living room, watching but not really seeing the images flickering on the TV screen. She began to question in her mind, just what in Gods name she had to do, to make this relationship work. What she wanted most in life was a peaceful, tranquil, loving relationship. To be happy. To be in love, and be loved in return. But this was not happening for sure. She was very giving of her support, her love, her physicality, her warmth, her everything. Yet it now never seemed enough to satisfy him. She really did not want to leave him, but the never ending nastiness, caustic, cutting remarks about her weight, her looks, her abilities, her aspirations, her career. Were just becoming too much. Thoughts of suicide crossed her mind from time to time, but she had resisted up to now. Although he had encouraged her in that regard, reminding her, many times, helpfully, that no one really liked her. That she had no friends, and that she would not be missed if she decided upon that avenue. Her life, her relationship was causing her way too much unhappiness and despair. How soon would it be before his anger turned to physical violence, and would she accept that also. All in her search for the loving relationship she was seeking. She tried to understand why she was afraid to leave him. Was it, that after soo many years of verbal jibes, the cutting, destructive remarks, she no longer had the psychological strength to believe she could ever be attractive, or a worthwhile partner to any other man. He had told her on many occasions, that no other man would ever want her. After hearing such words over and ever again, she had come to believe them. To say he was a toxic individual, would be an understatement. In her occasional lighter moments she laughed silently as she concluded how he could keep psycharisitics busy for years. But those moments were few and far between.

Even those still close to her had seen, and some had commented on the change. Her family had asked her many times, how things were with him. Fine she lied. But they could see her spirit was being drained, and she was a shadow of her former self. The few girlfriends she meet secretly, so as not to anger him, could see and sense her unhappiness. But she denied it all, even to herself. Her self esteem lowered, to nearly none existent levels. Her once high self assurance disappearing bit by bit. Every day, she died a little. Day by day, under the, if not daily, but fairly regular verbal assaults. Words uttered under the guise of humour, banter, and sarcasm. But words that had a deeper, more nasty intent. Designed to hurt and destroy. To undermine and tear down. Ever fearful of another day living with him. She had tried speaking to him, but he just quickly cut her down any such communication. At this stage she was no more than a nobody. Someone who provided him with sexual release. Now an empty a pointless experience for her, which she dreaded. Devoid of love, warmth and compassion. She was more than happy when it was over, glad when he no longer touched her body,

She did not want to go back to them, but now it seemed like her only option. She wanted to move away from that lifestyle. She wanted to play life on a level playing field, with no extra advantage, and succeed by her own means, without help from them.
The cat, sensing her despair, moved from its resting place in the corner of the room, and jumped up onto her lap. The animal moved its body closer to her face, as if she wanted to embrace and comfort her. She lamely smiled and put the cat in her lap, and stroked it nonchalantly. She slowly drifted off to sleep, as the animal keep her company.

In the noisy atmosphere of the pub, the discordant music thumped loudly from the speakers. The heaving crowd moved as one to the music. Strangers bodies entangled like long term lovers. This to him was more like it. Action and energy with people not so full of love. Glad to be out of the damn house. People with a rough edge. These were the people he wanted to be around. He held the glass of beer in front of him, as he too moved to the music. Watching from the sidelines. The tight leather jackets. Some dressed in Pvc clothing. Sexual in nature.
She came and stood beside him, and brazenly asked him for a cigarette. Dark black hair, dark, black clothing, and heavy boots. With light white make up, and heavy dark eye shadow, and red lipstick, that covered her full lips. She smiled, revealing her perfectly set teeth. He took note of her body, thankful for her revealing, tight fitting clothing. He approved of her look, and offered her a cigarette.
She took the cigarette, letting her hand linger on his, and smiled. It was clear she was as attracted to him, as he was to her. He looked into her wide eyes, and she held his gaze. Just something about her confidence, made her even more attractive. He studied her lips, and moved closer. His confidence boosted by the alcohol, with no words, he moved his lips to hers. She responded. Her lips were as soft and tasteful as he had imagined. He moved his hips to hers. They stood together as one, while the music thumped loudly, they began to gyrate to the beat.

After a short time, after they both ingested more alcohol, which was effecting his vision and stability, unusual for him.
‘Come, lets go from this place’, she demanded.
‘Where to ?’
‘Come with me’. Her voice was loud, and commanding.

In the cold evening night, as other revellers noisily made their way from one drinking establishment to another, she hailed a black cab. She quietly gave the address to the driver, and helped him into the back seat. In the rain sodden night, the cab mad its way to the suburbs. He sat close to her and breathed in her scent. His imagination firing up, about the night to follow. He smiled in anticipation. Somewhat troubled by increasing sense of disorientation. But he comforted himself by expecting it to clear up once out in the fresh air.

The others began to gather in the dilapidated church. Quiet, muted murmurings barely hiding the building excitement. To any outsider, they looked so ordinary, dressed in their day to day clothing. Housewives, elderly people. Doctors, Businessmen, Consultants. But as they donned their dark robes, and began to decorate the large black altar, with the pentagram, chalice, the elements of the earth, wind, ocean and fire, and the unlit candles. The horned skeletal head. Representing the demons worshiped. An opening to that gateway. They no longer seemed innocent. Now, way more sinister.
It had being some time. But she was a good hunter, and the high priestess always knew she could be relied upon to do what was required. The black cab dropped them outside the padlocked gates of the dilapidated and run down church. The city lights, of the vast metropolis looked so inviting, from the elevated area overlooking it. She took his drunken head in her hands and gently kissed her lips. Pressing her taunt body again his, encouraging his speculation. Taking his hand, she guided him towards the church.

‘Come’, she said softy, enticing him.

He smiled foolishly, and followed her through the rusted gates, she opened with ease. From the outside, the church was covered in brambles and leaves, much of the stone work was broken and cracked. The church was darkened within. Up the gravel path they went together, she linking his arms, as he struggled to steady himself. Slightly irritated he was unable to clear his head. Agin he glanced at her well defined body, and his excitement grew. She pushed at the large oak door, that gave way easily enough. Slowly it opened, creaking as it did so. The church was empty. Dark and cold. She took his hand and lead him into the foyer cold stone paving and dark wood panelled interior, empty. They moved through a second door, into the confines of the church.

The door behind him, shut rapidly, loudly and with some force. Once inside, she broke contact with his hand, and moved to stand by the high priestess. Tall and also dressed in black. They embraced each other, and kissed each other softly on the lips. He stood, dumbfounded and watched the scene unfold before him. Rapidly coming to his senses. His disorientation now replaced by a thumping heart, shaking legs and a real sense of dread. The large number of participants busily going about what they were doing, dressed in dark robes. The dim interior, lit by large candle’s. The palatable sense of excitement, of the robed congregation. He watched in some disbelief, as bramble and broken trees were piled high, in front of the black altar. He turned away and towards the door he had entered.
The high priestess laughed as she raised her hand, and pulled him back energetically from his possible escape. She weaved her hand, as she manipulated the energy that existed between them, to forbid his escape. He danced like a pupet in response to her manipulations. She pointed her hand towards the floor, and he sank immediately to his knees, as her forceful evil energy controlled his. To ensure compliance, she formed her hand into a v shape, between thumb and index finger, held it out in front of her, and brought the fingers closely together. He grasped at his throat, trying to release the energetic pressure that was crushing his windpipe, and smothering him. She released her energy, as he fell to the floor, holding his throat. Again she laughed.

At last they had finished building the pyre, and took their seats. The chanting began. Low, monotone, but hypnotic in its flow. He was brought, struggling to stand in front of the pyre. The High Priestess stood beside him, and began to recite in Latin. Her voice took on a deep, almost manly, demonic tone. Rasping and frightening in its intensity.  She then turned to him, and spoke again in latin. The attractive woman he had met in the music pub hours earlier, translated for him.

‘Our sister has called out to the heavens, in her hour of need. She may not have wanted this, but she is one of us, and will always be. It is our belief that you must make reparations for your cruelty. We offer you as a live sacrifice to feed the demons who rule our lives, as we bow down before them, and worship them’.

The chanting became louder, rasing in volume. Reaching towards a crescendo. The perspiration began to stream down his forehead, and his back. His heart palpitating at an enormous speed. His breathing, fitful, and hard to catch. Roughly he was taken to the stretcher that lay on top of the pyre, and tied to it, with old ragged, but strong rope. He struggled as the briars and brambles beneath him were set alight. Quickly the blue and yellow flames rose up the wooden pyramid temple that held him.
She awoke many hours later, the cat having long left her lap. Now securely resting in its basket on the other side f the living room. The shone shone brightly through the light curtains, that covered the living room window. Something was different, she could sense it, or perhaps it was just the result of a good nights sleep.
But she felt clearer and more energized than she had in a long time. More light and free. With all this good energy running round her, she could not stay still and had to dissipate it some how. She set about cleaning the house from top to bottom. Not something she had done for queit some time. Happily she began to prepare dinner for her she and her partner, hoping for a better day. She knocked on the bedroom door, when the food was ready.

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

A lesson.

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Photo by anja. on Unsplash.

She like the others would have to learn the hard way. Some thing in life are acceptable and some are certainly not. Her lifeless body was slumped over the back seat of the car, as it headed towards the remote mountain area. He swore at the car, and its lack of air conditioning, or even a fan. The open windows helping slightly. Perspiration dripped slowly from his forehead, down the sides of his face, and onto his neck. His short sleeved shirt, damp, clammy and uncomfortably sticky. The jeans too dark, and heavy for such weather, increasing his body temperature even further. Cursing himself for his choice of clothing on such a day. He dreamt of a cool refreshing shower, and smiled in anticipation. In the scorching heat, she had to be disposed of reasonably quickly. The bloodied seat should be easy enough to clean. Any passing motorist would just assume she was just another lazy holiday maker enjoying themselves.
A rotting and decaying body, no matter how pretty they are, soon leads to a rank, putrid stench. It was to be the holiday of a lifetime, and in some respects it was, as travel usually is quiet enjoyable. He had her fooled, and with his persuasive, and kind manner. He had hoodwinked her into travelling with him. She had foolishly trusted him. How gullible some women are, because she believed in true love. But he knew from much life experience that many people cannot be trusted at all. That humans can be immensely complex, and at times impossible to figure out. What did she really know of life at such a young age. People’s motivations, there secret desires and resentments. Who is to know the inner working of another.
He had reluctantly accepted it at the time. He had tried to dissuade her, but to little avail. She made a persuasive case for her course of action. Strong minded and belligerent to the last. He soon saw the futility of arguing further.
As he drove high into the mountains, he reflected how, if he was honest with himself, he never truly really loved her. From the first day he met her. Just something about that oh so confident, can we say arrogant manner. Something was off. With her stellar career, well on track. Arrogance, and false confidence borne out of a high flying career, with its financial rewards, and due deference and respect for her position of power within the company.
A forthright, ambitious young woman, who made no secret of her wish to succeed, at whatever price, even to the detriment of others, if need be. What are rules, if not for bending slightly, if necessary, in her view. He should have seen it then, but a lack of human companionship, can drive one to overrule their own inner knowing and wisdom.

A woman who wanted it all. The high flying career, the wealth, the success. The adoration of colleagues, and a more than satisfying sexual life. But all aspects of life carry risk. Disregard for common sense, alcohol, illicit drugs and sheer abandonment can lead to actions of course, that many regret. But what is life if not for enjoying, was her motto.
On the day she went through with it, he did not accompany her, but wished her well. He took time alone by the empty beach to gather his thoughts. He knew he would never forgive her. Regretting now he ever got involved with her, and disregarding their obvious incompatibility from the start. Over the following months, he tried to forgive her. Sought solace from God, and asked for guidance, which in the silence of the church, and the many sleepless nights that followed was not forthcoming.

Within days, she returned from her wicked journey, and soon recovered her joy de verve for life. The evenings in the expensive restaurants soon returned. Business deals had to be concluded successfully, and rapidly. Girlfriends, friends and colleagues had to be entertained and indulged. It was as if it had never happened, and it did not need to happen, but it did. His anger and resentment grew daily, but he hid it well. But it festered within him. No sense of sorrow, little regret on her part. That cavalier uncaring attitude was not what he expected, not wanted in a love partner. He reflected back to his previous marriage and the sudden and early demise of his wife, his first love. He still had to deal with the callous, and uncaring surgeon whom he rightfully blamed for her loss. He would not go free, he had determined. But that was for another time.

The heat from the setting sun was easing somewhat, as the evening grew late. He turned off the dusty road, and parked in a small clearing among the trees. He maneuvered himself out of the sweltering heat of the car’s interior, more than glad for the cooling mountain air. Stood and watched the evening lights sparkle, in the small village way down in the valley, and the ocean beyond. After a brief rest, he opened the rear door and layed her legs down on the ground. Limp and heavy, he pulled at her lifeless body, from the back seat, taking care not to look at her bloodied face, and frozen surprised expression. The body was heavy and uncooperative, so he pulled hard at the still warm legs. The back of her head hit the car door sill, with a sickening thud, bone and cartilage on metal, as he finally wrestled it from the vehicle.
The feeble, yet audible groan was an unwelcome surprize, and he looked again at her body. Little sign of movement. He bent down, and put his ear over her mouth and listened. While at the same time watching for any movement in her chest. If only the damn birds would be quiet perhaps he would have a chance to hear. It was there, a tiny, barely imperceptible weak breath, and very slight, barely visible movement of the chest.

He watched, for a few moments, hovering closely above her stricken body, reached around behind him for a suitable medium to heavy rock. He fumbled and grabbed the awkwardly edged rock in his hand and raised it above his head. He was devoid of emotion. A task had to be completed, quickly and surgically. He brought the implement down hard in an arc towards the general area of her forehead.

‘Why’, was the question she weakly asked, through her briefly opened eyes. The momentum of his movement was unstoppable, and the rock crashed with force onto her forehead. Her eyes closed. He raised it again at speed, and repeated the movement, so many times in succession he lost count. Driven by the force of his anger, and a wish to drive the last vestiges of her living image from his mind, the slab of bone’s in her forehead soon give way to his vigorous exertions. The soft brain tissue easily absorbing  the repeated strikes of the weapon. Blood streamed copiously around her eyes and down her once pretty face. A macabre mascara, befitting of such an evil human. At least it hid to some extent her torn and pulverized reddened skin, a slight benefit. Sickened and ashamed of his own uncontrollable violence and anger, he fell to his knees and called aloud to God for forgiveness. When God refused to answer with either condemnation nor praise, in his warped mind, he persuaded himself that this was indeed a sign he was doing God’s work, and a place would no doubt be set aside for him in heaven.  Exhausted and spent after a few moments, panting heavily, the perspiration again dripping from his forehead, down his face.
Again, he hovered closely over her body, watching and listening for signs of life. Satisfied there were none, he dropped the bloodied rock from his hand, and sat triumphant and vindicated, at a nearby tree. He breathing slowly began to subside from his exertions, as again he vision focused on the sparkling lights, and the ocean far beyond in the valley below. So inviting. So welcoming.

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

Knife crime, Gun Crime, Dying Time, London Time.

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Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

Knife crime, gun crime, another young kid dying
Use that blade, shoot that gun, then when you do that
It’s all done
Think your tough, think your brave
What you really are, is afraid
Do onto other’s, before they do onto you

These are the actions of cowardly men
Weak, pitiful and meek man
Another drive by shooting, another young kid losing
Anyone with a knife, can take a life
Anyone with a gun, can make others run
Here son, take my gun, make the people hide
Make’s you feel real powerful, that ain’t no lie

What will Jesus say to you when you die
You took that man’s life, and now you must pay the price
Seek your redemption down there behind the gates of hell
Listen for evermore to that tolling bell
Where are the celebrities, the football stars, the ex gang members
To preach the peace, to these young people who behind it all
Behind the bravado, the brutal weapons, are small, afraid and weak
That one day it will they who is layed out a slab, as their relatives gather to send them off
As they become nothing more than dust
Wasted lives cut down so young, surely something can be done

Government cutbacks, so you can feed the fat cats
Now look what you’ve done, so many young people dying by the gun
Preachers, pastors and church leaders, we look to you for guidance
How come you’ve all gone so quiet
Are you out and about, tending to the young, showing them the folly of their ways
Maybe your hiding in your ivory towers, waiting for better days
When it all goes away
Are you Mother’s talking to your son’s, showing them the futility of carrying a gun
Father’s where are you, educating your children, you know, as you should do
With a guiding hand, showing them the lay of the land
The road to take, to be a better man
Brother’s and sister’s I ask of you, what it is you are going to do
Or will you look the other way too. You know what it is you must do
Teacher’s what are you doing in there. Is it anything, or do you not care
Or is it, that your afraid and scared
You have a duty, a responsibly too. We entrust our children onto you
For many hours every day. Your people of influence, have your say
Try to lead them clear, to see a better way

We look to you all to guide the young
To say the life your planning on living, is nothing but a dead end
Pull away from where your headed, it’s not where you want to be
Where are the community leaders, and youth leaders, where’s your voice, where’s your anger
We are relying now on your candour, pull no punches, say it loud
This behavior will not be tolerated nor allowed
We will shop you to the police, as we stand together in a crowd
We want out children home tonite, from the wild streets they roam

Where are these people to find that sense of bravery they seek
Hiding behind weapons of death, seem to make them look so weak
A loser who hides behind artificial means, to get what he needs
That sense of courage, bravery and daring do
If you want all that, join the damn army, that’s what you can do
They will welcome you, little fool
Kill, stab, main, travel the world and get paid for inflicting pain
Meddle in other countries affairs, bomb them to kingdom come
When your done the government will welcome you home as a hero
If you lose your legs or half your head on duty
Well they’ll hide you away, so you’ll have little say
Give you a medal to make your day

Another funeral, more anger and tears. Promises of revenge to quench their fears
The circle of death and violence, never end’s
Those who live by violence, if you keep knocking on that door
One day soon, life will even up the score
Will these young people ever learn
These young people should be embarrassed and ashamed to say
I used a gun or a knife on some other fella today
Cause that’s what I am, nothing but a cowardly, ineffectual man
Other’s don’t look to you and see a brave hero
They see a fool, who has nothing to be proud of in life
You ain’t got nothing, you got zero
Bravery, self worth and courage, are earned by pushing yourself to the limit
Not stealing someone’s life, at the point of a knife or a gun
Where are these rap stars, these social media stars
Using the power of their popularity to guide the youth of today
We need you to come out, and have your say
Tv program makers, make them sit up and listen
Say no more to this cowardly way, of acting to settle trivial scores
This ain’t the way it’s gotta be, watch and listen to this
There are alternatives to this, you will see

We gotto make them see, the consequences of their actions
For the lives they are taking
The impact it can have on a family and friends, when a loved one is unnecessary taken
In a non recoverable instant of anger and revenge
The untold human pain, and distress
That many will struggle to recover, from such a psychological mess
What might have been, what should have been, in a life lived full and to the brim
Instead of a barren empty chasm, that’s impossible to fill again

You aint brave, your just a slave to the media and tv, and other’s
Who would have you believe, you gotto take a life by gun or by knife
To add value, worth and bravery to your crew
Don’t be a fool to fall for that, whatever you do
Find better friends, and influences, should you need to make amends
For perceived disrespect put upon you
Handle it like a man, slap him round the face if you can
Rather than take his life with a hole in the head, as you shoot him dead
For words, that perhaps should have being left un-said
Slice and stab his life away with your knife
What about his young child and wife, can you really face that
Taking a mans life

That’s how real it get’s, friend’s stunned, Mother’s and Father’s wailing
Brother’s and sister’s going crazy
Human pain that never leaves, an aching heart, that forever bleeds
If you carry out that evil deed
Please think twice before you raise that knife, and take someone’s life
This is real, it ain’t no video game. They ain’t waking up, once you slay ’em
They are proper dead. Get that right, inside your head
How would you feel. How would you deal, with one of your own, not coming home
Cause some young guy, was too free and easy with a weapon
Proving a point, releasing his hate, on someone he blames
For imagined disrespect or similar

Unlike Lazarus, not too many can rise from the dead
When all is said and done, me old son
So before you take that fatal step, and shoot some guy through the head
Or stick him through with a knife, as any one could do
Have a think about the future consequences
Life has a way of paying back, what you give out returns ten fold
Have a think about that, perhaps you won’t feel so tough and bold
Karma is a real deal, and will leave a permanent seal on you and your family’s life
London 2018, what will we see today before the sun goes down.

The Patrolman.

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Photo by DEAN FAULKNER on Unsplash

Permit

He lent in through the open window, using the license, the power of his position.

‘ You show me what you got, little lady ‘.

He was reasonably young, strongly tanned, and a well developed but slim body. He looked powerful, and had that walk of authority, that walk of power. Thats what the job gave him. She so wished he would take of his dark sunglasses. To see his eyes, to gauge his intentions. Were his eyes soft and kind, or hard and mean. It was always one of the first indicators she used when interacting with someone new. She glanced at the large cream coloured motorcycle, with the helmet unsteadily perched on handle bars. His black uniform, adding to his seriousness and sense of power. The leather polished boots, and accruments of his position.

She was unsure, but hoped it was just a look at her license he was after and nothing more. The last thing she wanted was another confrontation. There was only so many she could take in a day.
She was going to leave him, that’s what she had decided. No more nonsense, no more being the scapegoat. No more fear, no more violence. It was the wrong relationship from the start, and she knew it. But out of loneliness, and her anxiety about her rapidly passing fertile years, it was a last grasp at Motherhood, and the children she yearned for. But not with him. Not now. The long drive on the open road, an opportunity to clear her head.

The crashing of metal upon metal, grating on her nerves. The Patrolman rolled forward at speed, at the impact. She took a sudden intake of breath and watched as his head hit the hot asphalt, and blood began to drain from his ear. He did not move. She glanced in the rear view to see the cause. The drivers face was sickingly familiar. Red faced and perspiring, He stumbled from the car, and raced towards hers, and quickly jumped in the seat beside her.

‘ You think you can run out on me, bitch’, his voice loud and menacing. Full of anger and violent intent.

The backhanded strike caught her full in the face. His knuckles crunching her nose, which immediately reddened at the impact. Blood flowed for the wound. He reached around the back of her head, grabbed her hair, forcefully and at speed, roughly pushed it forward, and smirked at her head bounced off the hardened steering wheel. Her vision was disappearing, as she fought against unconsciousness. Noting the same red and blue dirty checked shirt, and dirty jeans he had been wearing for the last week. Both badly in need of a wash, as he was. She watched as he took some of them from his shirt pocket, and ingested the white pills. They gave him what he had become accustomed to, welcomed and relished. That sense of instant, intense, physical and mental power and supreme confidence. That feeling of absolute invincibility. That he could take on anything thing, and everyone, with no negative repercussions whatsoever. It did not take long for them to enter his blood stream, and the resultant hyper energy, become evident. He screamed and howled like a demented animal, and hit the interior of the car roof, with his clenched fist, in rapid succession as the rush of the chemicals flooded his brain. His once permanently confirued hair, wild, and damp with perspiration. His once permanently clean shaven face, now rough, and unshaven. This was true living in his mind. Happiness unlimited.

As she fought unconsciousness, her mind reminisced about when they first met. How they were at one time truly, but very briefly in love. They spoke of the children they would raise together. The schools they would send them to. They pondered the future names, of their children to be, both female and male.
She watched through her barely opened eyes, as the Patrolman slowly struggled to force himself from the hot asphalt. His once tidy, neat black uniform, now soiled, torn and shabby. His chin grazed raw. His eyes no longer the powerful, confident eyes of only moments previously. The blazing heat, forcing vapours to raise from the highway, shimmering in the distance.

She sniffled, in an attempt to stem the blood from her nose, as it trickled down her chin. Her head thumping from her interaction with the steering wheel. Through her diminishing vision, she looked at the man she once loved, and tried to remember where it all went so wrong. Was she to blame. Could she have done anything differently. Was she the loving partner, that she always promised herself she would be, when she found ‘the one’.

He had never come to terms with it, and it haunted him forever. He never really spoke about. Perhaps once or twice, in a drunken haze. But then only very briefly. A small reference to the never ending guilt, and self hatred he felt. The remorse, and  regret. The non stop self torture. His mind never affording him much peace. She had listened to his tortured dreams, in his intermittent restless sleep. Where he begged for the opportunity to be given a second chance. To live those moments over. It was at times like that, which were many, he would quickly sit upright in the dishevelled bed, screaming loudly, and his uncovered body perspiring heavily. It was then she held him closely, and soothed and comforted him like a child, until he fell asleep.

He too watched the Patrolman slowly raise himself of the asphalt, and stagger slowly towards the car.

‘How do you like living ‘ his voice soft and gentle, while still watching the approaching Patrolman.

‘ Get out the damn car, bitch’.

The sudden change in his voice from gentleness, reminiscent of how he once was, to the loud, menacing voice that emanated from him now. Like a man possessed by an evil force, was enough to rouse her from near unconsciousness, and she took the opportunity and exited the vehicle. Laying on the hot sticky asphalt, through now barely open eyes, she watched as he revved the car engine, and aimed it at the staggering, approaching Patrol officer. A wild maniacal smile on his once handsome face.

Her consciousness sank into the welcoming darkness.

The Funeral.

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Photo by Madison Grooms on Unsplash

Sympathize

They gathered in numbers. Slowly at first. Most dressed in all their finery. A mark of respect. Was that justified, who’s to know. But eventually the church was reasonably full. A surprisingly good turn out, considering.
Throughout his life he was a lover of music, and an accomplished musician himself. The lilting soft tones of his favourite piano pieces, echoed around the church walls, as played by the lady at the piano, on behalf of the church. The gentle soft, loving music, so out of sync with the church, with the life the man had led.

The crowd gathered, and shook the hands of the remaining living relatives, offering their commiserations, there shared sadness and reminiscences. Wheather it was true sadness, and grief, was quiet easy to see. Many, if not all, grateful that it was not them, nor one of their own who had been taken from this life. Glad they had escaped been clawed, dragged from this life.
His now grown children, with mixed emotions read from the lectern, remembering the few happy times they shared together. But I wont forget, the restraining  order issued by the courts, to protect his wife and children from his madness and violence, as they waited in fear, awaiting his return to the family home, that he was likely at any time to unleash upon them. The  finances used to indulge his selfish life style.
The affairs outside of the marriage, conducted in full view of the small town Ireland where he lived. The fleeing to England, with his latest flossy. The continual non payment of child and wife maintenance, rightfully due, but never paid. These are my memories of that man.
Others may have praised him, but it’s what many do, at a funeral. But what did they know of his family life, nothing. Perhaps they knew, but chose to ignore. But for those of us close to what was happening, he will be forever remembered, for the bastard what he was, and good riddance to him. I refused to go to the wake, a well known Irish tradition. To drink to drunkenness, and praise the departed and weep for their loss. I refused to indulge in such false sentiment. I’m sure, and trust the Devil has a warm welcome for him. The world is better off today.

Prostitute.

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Photo Credit : Khachik Simonian on Unsplash

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