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/

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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.

 

 

 

 

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.