It was almost impossible to comprehend that they were all gone and that I was the only one left. It’s not the fact that I’m not good, but more that the others were so much better than me. Kelly had been the first to go; he’d just not seen the mine. He’d been about twelve feet in front of me when he’d simply ceased to exists, and by the time the dust had settled there wasn’t anything left. Kelly had always been there for us, leading us on, forging ahead.
Mike and Gunner got it next, we turned a corner and walked straight into the machine gun nest, and those bastards just opened up on us. The rest of us dived for cover as they danced as the bullets tore into them. We’d lost men before, but not so quickly or as efficiently as this, it was almost as though they’d known we were coming.
“Zulu, Get up high with that rifle and see if you can clear us a path.” Goose shouted from his position. “We’ll give you cover fire.”
“Rodger.” Zulu had nodded as he slipped away, Zulu had always been the quietest of us, but his skill with a rifle was without question. I’d fired randomly before us to give cover fire but there was no visible target, but you just didn’t take the chance anymore and I’d watched him as he’d scrabbled up the side of a tower and settled with his scope.
Two shots rang clearly out over our heads and we knew there were two kills to go with them. Zulu never missed, Goose waved to me and we moved quickly round the corner, weapons raised and ready.
“Dat boys good.” Goose had called into the com as he stopped to retrieve the ammunition from the bodies. The problem was, that no matter how good our sniper was, there was always one of theirs watching you through a scope, and Gooses head had exploded into a red mist before me forcing me to throw myself back against the wall.
“Zulu, do you have a shot? Goose is down. I repeat Goose is down. Can you see the sniper?” I yelled franticly.
“Negative.” It was then that I realised I hated him for his aloofness. He’d never really been one of us; I didn’t know how old he was or even where he came from. Not that it mattered. All I heard was the click as his radio ceased to operate, followed by a flash as the mortar round found his location.
So, now it’s up to me. My mission, I’m in charge now, and I turn the corner with my gun blazing, One last dash to the target. There were two before me and I cut them down before they realised I was there. My pulse beat heavily in my chest as I cleared the end of the alley, nothing would stop me now.
“John! Get off that bloody game and take the bins out.”
“Aw. But, Mum.” I reach for the off switch.
“Don’t Aw me, Young man!” Sometimes I hate her, but I guess some civilians just don’t understand.
Sunday 29 January 2012
Saturday 28 January 2012
TOCK
It felt good to watch him die, that single moment when you feel the bone in his throat breaking, that single second when you know there’s no going back. He’s struggling less now as the air leaves his lungs. The eyes are the oddest thing, when they go all white as they roll back into the skull, at least he hasn’t urinated.
Satisfied that he’s dead, I let go and he drops to the floor. It’s now that I feel it, that moment of pleasure as I realise what I’ve done, and the consequences that could follow. There is no remorse, no sadness at taking the life. In the end I suppose he deserved it someway.
I flex my fingers as the blood flows back into them, they ache slightly from the pressure exerted on them. It might be slight arthritis; I’ll need to start taking cod liver oil I suppose if I’m going to continue. I don’t want to be old with gnarly fingers.
It’s funny really when I look back on it. The fact I can still see that single moment when I snapped, when my world crashed down around me. I guess it could happen to anyone really.
I had a good upbringing; there were no beatings from my father, no abuse to report in any way. My holidays were filled with love and laughter and my school years caused no concerns to me. My job is a little boring, but whose isn’t. I do like crown green bowling, but I can’t imagine that causing anyone to kill. No, my problem came to me.
It was almost a year ago now; I was out in my local shopping centre when I spied an old carriage clock. It was slightly damaged so it was half price. At the end of the day, a small scratch on the metal didn’t bother me, so I bought it.
What I didn’t realise until later was that the scratch wasn’t the only thing wrong. It took me three months of sitting uncomfortable on the sofa as my world change before I realised the problem. The clock I’d purchased only had a `Tock`, it had lost its `Tick`. I tried to take it back but the assistant looked at me like I was mad.
She was the first to go. I followed her home one night and waited until she was asleep, before I suffocated her with the pillow. It was the most orgasmic feeling I’d ever had, nothing in my life had prepared me for the feeling that taking a life gives you. Nothing.
From then on, I tried to re-experience the feeling at least once a week. Stabbing turned out to be very messy and I didn’t like guns. So I returned to the simplest way possible. Now, simple strangulation is enough to keep me going. My last review in work was good and I’m up for a promotion now my manager was found dead.
Please don’t judge me. I didn’t go looking for this; it was just a simple mistake to have sold the clock in the first place.
But just listen to yours now.
Go on, listen.
Hear it?
Tock,
Tock,
Tock….
Satisfied that he’s dead, I let go and he drops to the floor. It’s now that I feel it, that moment of pleasure as I realise what I’ve done, and the consequences that could follow. There is no remorse, no sadness at taking the life. In the end I suppose he deserved it someway.
I flex my fingers as the blood flows back into them, they ache slightly from the pressure exerted on them. It might be slight arthritis; I’ll need to start taking cod liver oil I suppose if I’m going to continue. I don’t want to be old with gnarly fingers.
It’s funny really when I look back on it. The fact I can still see that single moment when I snapped, when my world crashed down around me. I guess it could happen to anyone really.
I had a good upbringing; there were no beatings from my father, no abuse to report in any way. My holidays were filled with love and laughter and my school years caused no concerns to me. My job is a little boring, but whose isn’t. I do like crown green bowling, but I can’t imagine that causing anyone to kill. No, my problem came to me.
It was almost a year ago now; I was out in my local shopping centre when I spied an old carriage clock. It was slightly damaged so it was half price. At the end of the day, a small scratch on the metal didn’t bother me, so I bought it.
What I didn’t realise until later was that the scratch wasn’t the only thing wrong. It took me three months of sitting uncomfortable on the sofa as my world change before I realised the problem. The clock I’d purchased only had a `Tock`, it had lost its `Tick`. I tried to take it back but the assistant looked at me like I was mad.
She was the first to go. I followed her home one night and waited until she was asleep, before I suffocated her with the pillow. It was the most orgasmic feeling I’d ever had, nothing in my life had prepared me for the feeling that taking a life gives you. Nothing.
From then on, I tried to re-experience the feeling at least once a week. Stabbing turned out to be very messy and I didn’t like guns. So I returned to the simplest way possible. Now, simple strangulation is enough to keep me going. My last review in work was good and I’m up for a promotion now my manager was found dead.
Please don’t judge me. I didn’t go looking for this; it was just a simple mistake to have sold the clock in the first place.
But just listen to yours now.
Go on, listen.
Hear it?
Tock,
Tock,
Tock….
Friday 27 January 2012
THE URGE
“You should’ve gone before we left,
You’re just impossible to believe.
If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you twice
you need to check before we leave.”
But Billy didn’t hear her,
his mind preoccupied you see.
For Billy danced the dance of old,
he was really desperate to pee.
“But I really didn’t need it then,
I had no urge at all.
But if I’m quick, and no one sees,
can I go against the wall.”
“No you can’t.” she did declare
with angry looking eyes.
The thought of public urination
she really did despise.
“Just find a bush, but make it quick
I don’t want anyone to see.
This is embarrassing enough already,
Oh just go behind that tree.”
So Billy ran with all his speed
almost tripping on the roots.
And in his haste to urinate
he piddled on his boots.
With sullen look and squelching sound
He slowly trudged along.
The warm sensation in his socks
really wouldn’t last that long.
“Whatever shall I do with you?”
Her stare pierced like a knife.
“For all the times this happens
why oh why am I still your wife.”
You’re just impossible to believe.
If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you twice
you need to check before we leave.”
But Billy didn’t hear her,
his mind preoccupied you see.
For Billy danced the dance of old,
he was really desperate to pee.
“But I really didn’t need it then,
I had no urge at all.
But if I’m quick, and no one sees,
can I go against the wall.”
“No you can’t.” she did declare
with angry looking eyes.
The thought of public urination
she really did despise.
“Just find a bush, but make it quick
I don’t want anyone to see.
This is embarrassing enough already,
Oh just go behind that tree.”
So Billy ran with all his speed
almost tripping on the roots.
And in his haste to urinate
he piddled on his boots.
With sullen look and squelching sound
He slowly trudged along.
The warm sensation in his socks
really wouldn’t last that long.
“Whatever shall I do with you?”
Her stare pierced like a knife.
“For all the times this happens
why oh why am I still your wife.”
FIRST DAYS
It wasn’t that Neil wasn’t qualified for the job, he knew only to well how many others he’d had to beat to get in. No. What worried him was that he just didn’t seem to be fitting in at all and it wasn’t as though he hadn’t tried to, it really wasn’t.
He’d started his first day by taking cakes in, hoping to make new friends, but it seemed to have only made things worse. His colleagues laughed at him, and not even to his back, which would have been bad enough, but no, they laughed directly at his face.
For the past four years he’d diligently learned everything his tutor had told him. He’d explained to them how he’d passed first place in everything, aced his practical exams, including the correct use of the Latin names for the equipment he would be using. That hadn’t helped either though. They called him goody two shoes, and spat in his coffee. He’d brought his “Worlds best Son.” cup home after that, for fear they’d break it and make him eat the pieces.
They’d done the usual job humour on him. His partner sent him for a long stand in the cupboard. That hadn’t been too bad on its own but the fact that they’d locked him in for nine hours and he’d only got out because someone needed something from inside.
He got in early the next day and cleaned and polished all their tools, laying them out in a neat pattern on the tables for when they arrived. He even went as far as to get fresh flowers for the office, giving each work area a different style. But that hadn’t worked. Within ten minutes of them arriving, they’d broken the heads off them and set them on fire and he’d sworn he’d seen at least two of them eating theirs. Within half an hour, it looked like a blood bath in there again; they’d even torn up his `Hang in there Kitty` Poster.
Well, today would be different. Neil was determined to make this work, to settle in and be just one of the guys. He tried not to cry as he’d walked in, but they all stopped as he entered, staring and growling at him like he was some sort of freak until the Boss came out of his office.
“Neil!” He’d barked. “Get in here, Now!”
“Have I been bad?” Neil asked as he held his head down, afraid to look his boss in the eye.
“No, and that’s the problem. You can’t work here with the attitude you have, we can’t have a happy environment, it just doesn’t work. I promised your old man I’d give you a fair crack of the whip, and even when I did you dropped it.”
“It was wet,” Neil started to explain “and…”
“No. Enough is enough. Just get out. You’re obviously just not cut out to be a demon. ”
He’d started his first day by taking cakes in, hoping to make new friends, but it seemed to have only made things worse. His colleagues laughed at him, and not even to his back, which would have been bad enough, but no, they laughed directly at his face.
For the past four years he’d diligently learned everything his tutor had told him. He’d explained to them how he’d passed first place in everything, aced his practical exams, including the correct use of the Latin names for the equipment he would be using. That hadn’t helped either though. They called him goody two shoes, and spat in his coffee. He’d brought his “Worlds best Son.” cup home after that, for fear they’d break it and make him eat the pieces.
They’d done the usual job humour on him. His partner sent him for a long stand in the cupboard. That hadn’t been too bad on its own but the fact that they’d locked him in for nine hours and he’d only got out because someone needed something from inside.
He got in early the next day and cleaned and polished all their tools, laying them out in a neat pattern on the tables for when they arrived. He even went as far as to get fresh flowers for the office, giving each work area a different style. But that hadn’t worked. Within ten minutes of them arriving, they’d broken the heads off them and set them on fire and he’d sworn he’d seen at least two of them eating theirs. Within half an hour, it looked like a blood bath in there again; they’d even torn up his `Hang in there Kitty` Poster.
Well, today would be different. Neil was determined to make this work, to settle in and be just one of the guys. He tried not to cry as he’d walked in, but they all stopped as he entered, staring and growling at him like he was some sort of freak until the Boss came out of his office.
“Neil!” He’d barked. “Get in here, Now!”
“Have I been bad?” Neil asked as he held his head down, afraid to look his boss in the eye.
“No, and that’s the problem. You can’t work here with the attitude you have, we can’t have a happy environment, it just doesn’t work. I promised your old man I’d give you a fair crack of the whip, and even when I did you dropped it.”
“It was wet,” Neil started to explain “and…”
“No. Enough is enough. Just get out. You’re obviously just not cut out to be a demon. ”
Monday 23 January 2012
THE BET
Now, before I tell you the bet, you need to understand somethings.
The first thing is that I am not mad or daft, or anything like. I’m an educated mathematician who scored in the top 2% of his year, not just at my own school, but across the entire country. I’ve worked for the government on a number of analytical problems I can’t tell you about, and a number of military projects that could get us both killed.
So, no, Not Mad, just very, very good with numbers and statistics, you show me a problem and I can figure out the best thing to do, and exactly what will happen if you do the wrong thing. This sort of thinking can be very useful when there’s lots of money on the line.
The second thing I’m going to tell you is the bet I do daily. It’s taken me months to figure out the probability factor to make sure I eventually get it right, and when I do I’m going to buy a little island somewhere in the Mediterranean and leave all the numbers behind. The reason I’m telling you this is that there is enough money available for us both to win big.
The first time I placed the bet, the bookie took my money and gave me 100-1 against, but over the years, that’s increased to a Billion to 1. But the way I figure it, there are 365 days in a year, and I know it's going to happen eventually so spending £365 in order to get a Billion back is a good rate.
I know, I know. You’re looking at me in that way now, the way my Maths professor did when I figured out the probability of his wife being a lesbian. But I was right on the button with that and I’m dead on the button with this.
Even if I’m out by Ten Years it’s still a great bet, £3,650 to get a Billion is still worth while. My bookie still laughs at me when I go in, but the day after it's happened and I turn up to collect my money, you just watch his face. Everyone who’s ever laughed at me before won’t be able to say anything.
What is the bet then, you ask. Well, its fairly straight forward really, all you need to do is go into the bookies near you, any bookies will do and place a one pound bet on the world ending today.
Hang on, why are you laughing now. I don’t get it, you’ll see, you won't be laughing when I go in to get my money.
What do you mean, you defiantly won’t be laughing?
Stop it.
Why does everyone laugh?
The first thing is that I am not mad or daft, or anything like. I’m an educated mathematician who scored in the top 2% of his year, not just at my own school, but across the entire country. I’ve worked for the government on a number of analytical problems I can’t tell you about, and a number of military projects that could get us both killed.
So, no, Not Mad, just very, very good with numbers and statistics, you show me a problem and I can figure out the best thing to do, and exactly what will happen if you do the wrong thing. This sort of thinking can be very useful when there’s lots of money on the line.
The second thing I’m going to tell you is the bet I do daily. It’s taken me months to figure out the probability factor to make sure I eventually get it right, and when I do I’m going to buy a little island somewhere in the Mediterranean and leave all the numbers behind. The reason I’m telling you this is that there is enough money available for us both to win big.
The first time I placed the bet, the bookie took my money and gave me 100-1 against, but over the years, that’s increased to a Billion to 1. But the way I figure it, there are 365 days in a year, and I know it's going to happen eventually so spending £365 in order to get a Billion back is a good rate.
I know, I know. You’re looking at me in that way now, the way my Maths professor did when I figured out the probability of his wife being a lesbian. But I was right on the button with that and I’m dead on the button with this.
Even if I’m out by Ten Years it’s still a great bet, £3,650 to get a Billion is still worth while. My bookie still laughs at me when I go in, but the day after it's happened and I turn up to collect my money, you just watch his face. Everyone who’s ever laughed at me before won’t be able to say anything.
What is the bet then, you ask. Well, its fairly straight forward really, all you need to do is go into the bookies near you, any bookies will do and place a one pound bet on the world ending today.
Hang on, why are you laughing now. I don’t get it, you’ll see, you won't be laughing when I go in to get my money.
What do you mean, you defiantly won’t be laughing?
Stop it.
Why does everyone laugh?
Sunday 22 January 2012
THE RACE
It’s the anticipation that makes it all worth while; the knowledge that once the race starts it’s all down to acceleration and focus. We’re both lined up at the starting line, side by side but we don’t look at each other, there’s no point really, I mean it’s not like we care, we’re not brothers, more enemies and we each want to win.
My heart beats heavily in my chest as my breathing increase under the helmet, any second now and we’ll be off and I grip the steering wheel as I wait for the signal to go, seconds pass that feel like minutes but suddenly it’s time and we accelerate away, the track’s a blur around me as I bring up the rear, cursing to myself at the speed he started.
He’s only a few precious seconds ahead of me, but precious seconds can make the difference between winning and losing and I grin as the car accelerate beneath me as I’m catching up, one precious second at a time.
As the first lap ends I’m less than half a second behind. I jerk as I take the hair pin, feeling the wheels as they protest at the friction and I stop breathing for a second as I wait for the wheels to grab hold again. Then the first chicane comes into view and I feel the car jump as the acceleration kicks in once more, but I realise to late the penalty for speed over focus and my back end spins free and flips me.
The world slows and I can feel myself tumbling over and over, the track flashing passed me as my car impacts into the ground with jaw dropping speed…
I don’t move. I just sit still while I wait to be rescued feeling elated that I survived again. Each time it happens I thank whatever God is watching that I made it. I’ve seen so many others that never race again that I eventually gave up trying to remember their faces, no, it’s best to just wait for help.
I feel the car lifted, and the track comes into view again as the hand lowers me back to the track, slotting the front of my car into the runners. It’s the anticipation that makes it all worth while, and to be honest, anything’s better than being left in the box.
My heart beats heavily in my chest as my breathing increase under the helmet, any second now and we’ll be off and I grip the steering wheel as I wait for the signal to go, seconds pass that feel like minutes but suddenly it’s time and we accelerate away, the track’s a blur around me as I bring up the rear, cursing to myself at the speed he started.
He’s only a few precious seconds ahead of me, but precious seconds can make the difference between winning and losing and I grin as the car accelerate beneath me as I’m catching up, one precious second at a time.
As the first lap ends I’m less than half a second behind. I jerk as I take the hair pin, feeling the wheels as they protest at the friction and I stop breathing for a second as I wait for the wheels to grab hold again. Then the first chicane comes into view and I feel the car jump as the acceleration kicks in once more, but I realise to late the penalty for speed over focus and my back end spins free and flips me.
The world slows and I can feel myself tumbling over and over, the track flashing passed me as my car impacts into the ground with jaw dropping speed…
I don’t move. I just sit still while I wait to be rescued feeling elated that I survived again. Each time it happens I thank whatever God is watching that I made it. I’ve seen so many others that never race again that I eventually gave up trying to remember their faces, no, it’s best to just wait for help.
I feel the car lifted, and the track comes into view again as the hand lowers me back to the track, slotting the front of my car into the runners. It’s the anticipation that makes it all worth while, and to be honest, anything’s better than being left in the box.
Saturday 21 January 2012
Sundays
The main thing I hate about Sundays is doing the pots after Lunch. You’ve just finished a great meal, you’re back to work the next day and you just want to sit down and relax, but these things don’t do themselves I guess. I always wanted a dish washer, but my Mother won’t have one in the house.
“They don’t clean them as well as by hand, and I don’t care what you tell me different.” She’d growl, so instead, here I stand, hands in hot water with a sponge as I remove the dried gravy from the plates. We’d eaten well today because we’d had a neighbour for dinner, so Mother always did extra. Roast potatoes by the plateful, extra vegetables and good old Yorkshire puddings by the dozen, It’s a good job we have such a large oven otherwise we’d never manage.
I can hear them in there now, snoring, sleeping of the excess carbohydrates they’ve forced into themselves. Dad’s deep rhythmic snoring that could wake the dead, and Grandma’s whistle snore, caused by her false teeth falling loose. Rufus comes running in and I toss him a bone from one of the plates, he catches it and gnaws at it gratefully as I continue to wash up.
The plates are round and large, the special plates we only use for special occasions, I remember growing up as a kid being amazed at the size of them, my portion back them had been obviously smaller than it is now that made them look even bigger than they were. I drop the last onto the draining tray and search underwater for any missing items before I pull the plug.
The drain gurgles as the water forces its way past some food that’s got stuck there, so I press it down with my fingers to clear it. It’s then that I remember the tray in the oven. Quickly plopping the plug back in and run some more hot water before walking over to get it. There’s not much meat left on it, not after my family’s had its way, but you could still make out the features of Mrs Longford. My younger brother wants another bone so I pull the Ulna free from her arm and toss it to him.
Like I said, I really hate doing the pots. As a Werewolf, it takes ages for my hands to dry.
“They don’t clean them as well as by hand, and I don’t care what you tell me different.” She’d growl, so instead, here I stand, hands in hot water with a sponge as I remove the dried gravy from the plates. We’d eaten well today because we’d had a neighbour for dinner, so Mother always did extra. Roast potatoes by the plateful, extra vegetables and good old Yorkshire puddings by the dozen, It’s a good job we have such a large oven otherwise we’d never manage.
I can hear them in there now, snoring, sleeping of the excess carbohydrates they’ve forced into themselves. Dad’s deep rhythmic snoring that could wake the dead, and Grandma’s whistle snore, caused by her false teeth falling loose. Rufus comes running in and I toss him a bone from one of the plates, he catches it and gnaws at it gratefully as I continue to wash up.
The plates are round and large, the special plates we only use for special occasions, I remember growing up as a kid being amazed at the size of them, my portion back them had been obviously smaller than it is now that made them look even bigger than they were. I drop the last onto the draining tray and search underwater for any missing items before I pull the plug.
The drain gurgles as the water forces its way past some food that’s got stuck there, so I press it down with my fingers to clear it. It’s then that I remember the tray in the oven. Quickly plopping the plug back in and run some more hot water before walking over to get it. There’s not much meat left on it, not after my family’s had its way, but you could still make out the features of Mrs Longford. My younger brother wants another bone so I pull the Ulna free from her arm and toss it to him.
Like I said, I really hate doing the pots. As a Werewolf, it takes ages for my hands to dry.
Friday 20 January 2012
THE SNAKE
I know I’m not the best driver in the world, sometimes I’d forget to indicate for example, or maybe go through a set of lights more red than amber, but at least I’m not a middle lane driver.
I hate those people, the people who plan their lives around making all motorways two lanes. They’re worse than the over taking Lorries, you know the ones, the big ones that try to overtake at a quarter of a mile faster than the one in front.
But they only do it for a set period of time, okay that period may block the lanes for ten minutes, but eventually they drop back into the lane and continue until the driver behind decides its his turn.
No, middle lane drivers really get on my wick. I’m not being sexist here; I’ve seen enough men middle lane drivers to not blame the women. They are usually shorter than the rest of the world though, they sit close to the steering wheel, usually almost resting their chins on it. Big national health glasses and an inability to look in the mirror, or to actually go anywhere near the speed limit.
Either way, I’ve notices over the course of the last few months a new habit, a new breed of driver on the road, the `Snaker`. These drivers will pull in front of the middle lane drivers before indicating again to go into the slow lane in an attempt to get them to follow. A single driver isn’t called a Snaker, but when three or more get together and they weave in front of the middle Laner it’s wonderful to watch, it’s even better to be part of.
The one I’m in now is about ten cars long already, I muscled my way into the centre, its not traveling very fast but when the reach a slower moving vehicle, the move together, like one long snake body.
They’re contagious though, you feel bad leaving them, and you actually can find yourself missing your junction just to be a part of it. That’s me, I should have come off at the last junction, but there are four cars behind me, following the trail now and I can’t miss a ten car snake, the biggest I’ve been in before was five.
I see the lead car indicate that it’s leaving the motorway, at this point I should have left it, but every other car indicated with it, the lights flashing on as they moved up the snake towards me, so I did to, I didn’t want to be the one to break the snake.
We came of the motorway down the slip road, at the bottom the lead car indicated left, and we all magically seemed to do the same. For the next seven miles or so we all followed the lead car, stopping at junctions, waiting for the others to catch up when a red light cut us off and weaving down country lanes.
It felt great to be in this, the team work, the feeling of comradeship and trust. The fact I was now over an hour late for getting home didn’t enter my mind. I was riding in the snake and I was proud. I could tell other drivers were jealous, they slowed down, letting us through at junctions, or pulling of the main road to let us pass.
After about ten minutes the lead car indicated and pulled over to the side of the road, everyone else did the same, so I followed. It was only natural after all, I was part of the snake, and I was car number five, the middle car. One by one the drivers parked and stopped their cars and walked up the garden path in their black business suits, it all looked so official, so I parked up also and followed driver four to the door.
Everyone was going inside, shaking the hands of the owner as they entered, I felt wonderful, like I’d stumbled across some sort of secret club, passed the initiation and being invited to be a part of something bigger. I wiped my jeans down with my hands and tucked in my t-shirt as I approached the door before vigorously shaking the man’s hand.
“That was so awesome.” I beamed. “Absolutely brilliant, the best thing ever, it’s made my day that has, I think more people should do this, I’m gonna blog about this tonight, my mates are not going to believe this, that was like being in the fast and furious.” The lead man looked at me, confusion crossing his face; his red, tired eyes told me he’d had a hard day at the office so I fist bumped him to cheer him up. “Totally awesome, dude.”
“I’m sorry.” He politely said as he rubbed his hand, somewhat taken back by my comment. “You’re obviously welcome to the funeral, but how exactly did you know my late wife?.”
”
I hate those people, the people who plan their lives around making all motorways two lanes. They’re worse than the over taking Lorries, you know the ones, the big ones that try to overtake at a quarter of a mile faster than the one in front.
But they only do it for a set period of time, okay that period may block the lanes for ten minutes, but eventually they drop back into the lane and continue until the driver behind decides its his turn.
No, middle lane drivers really get on my wick. I’m not being sexist here; I’ve seen enough men middle lane drivers to not blame the women. They are usually shorter than the rest of the world though, they sit close to the steering wheel, usually almost resting their chins on it. Big national health glasses and an inability to look in the mirror, or to actually go anywhere near the speed limit.
Either way, I’ve notices over the course of the last few months a new habit, a new breed of driver on the road, the `Snaker`. These drivers will pull in front of the middle lane drivers before indicating again to go into the slow lane in an attempt to get them to follow. A single driver isn’t called a Snaker, but when three or more get together and they weave in front of the middle Laner it’s wonderful to watch, it’s even better to be part of.
The one I’m in now is about ten cars long already, I muscled my way into the centre, its not traveling very fast but when the reach a slower moving vehicle, the move together, like one long snake body.
They’re contagious though, you feel bad leaving them, and you actually can find yourself missing your junction just to be a part of it. That’s me, I should have come off at the last junction, but there are four cars behind me, following the trail now and I can’t miss a ten car snake, the biggest I’ve been in before was five.
I see the lead car indicate that it’s leaving the motorway, at this point I should have left it, but every other car indicated with it, the lights flashing on as they moved up the snake towards me, so I did to, I didn’t want to be the one to break the snake.
We came of the motorway down the slip road, at the bottom the lead car indicated left, and we all magically seemed to do the same. For the next seven miles or so we all followed the lead car, stopping at junctions, waiting for the others to catch up when a red light cut us off and weaving down country lanes.
It felt great to be in this, the team work, the feeling of comradeship and trust. The fact I was now over an hour late for getting home didn’t enter my mind. I was riding in the snake and I was proud. I could tell other drivers were jealous, they slowed down, letting us through at junctions, or pulling of the main road to let us pass.
After about ten minutes the lead car indicated and pulled over to the side of the road, everyone else did the same, so I followed. It was only natural after all, I was part of the snake, and I was car number five, the middle car. One by one the drivers parked and stopped their cars and walked up the garden path in their black business suits, it all looked so official, so I parked up also and followed driver four to the door.
Everyone was going inside, shaking the hands of the owner as they entered, I felt wonderful, like I’d stumbled across some sort of secret club, passed the initiation and being invited to be a part of something bigger. I wiped my jeans down with my hands and tucked in my t-shirt as I approached the door before vigorously shaking the man’s hand.
“That was so awesome.” I beamed. “Absolutely brilliant, the best thing ever, it’s made my day that has, I think more people should do this, I’m gonna blog about this tonight, my mates are not going to believe this, that was like being in the fast and furious.” The lead man looked at me, confusion crossing his face; his red, tired eyes told me he’d had a hard day at the office so I fist bumped him to cheer him up. “Totally awesome, dude.”
“I’m sorry.” He politely said as he rubbed his hand, somewhat taken back by my comment. “You’re obviously welcome to the funeral, but how exactly did you know my late wife?.”
”
Thursday 19 January 2012
THE WINDSOR
THE WINDSOR
It’s funny what things you remember from your childhood. I don’t remember the Christmas’s or my Birthdays as such. I don’t even remember my brother being born, or my mother passing away, they’re there, somewhere in the back of my mind I’m sure, it’s not like I didn’t experience them, just that they didn’t stick.
My report cards always said I didn’t pay enough attention in class, but school was all so boring. Mr Gaskell, my history teacher was the worse, his monotone voice drearily going on about the Tudors, or the Victorian era. Why history had to be so boring when there were so many wars we could have covered was beyond me.
Maths and English weren’t my strong points either, using the angle of a shadow to calculate the height of a tree, or I before E, except after… something. Maybe if I had tried harder my life would have been different. Maybe if I’d focused more it wouldn’t have ended up like it did.
Anyway, back to my memories. For all the things that stuck in my memory, it was my father teaching me how to do my tie that’s still there. It was on the day of my Mothers funeral, there was so much going on at the time that I’d been left alone in my room. Dad had been running round trying to get things organised and it wasn’t until the last twenty minutes that he came in to see me.
“You alright, Son?” He asked. His eyes looked red and he seemed to have aged a lot over the last few days, his normal black hair seemed to have gone a little greyer, his straight back bent over a little more and his usual cheerful manner was tarnished.
“I’m fine, Dad.” I’d replied. “I just can’t do my tie. Mum usually did it for me.” I remember getting upset, Mum had always been the one, the one who got everyone else ready, the one who smiled and laughed to keep everyone else happy even though she wasn’t well.
“Come here, Son.” He said. “I’ll show you how I was taught by my Father.” He beckoned for me to stand and he looped the tie round my collar. “This is called a Windsor knot; this knot says a lot about the person. You could do a half Windsor, but it doesn’t look as good.” He crossed the tie below my chin.
“You start off by crossing the thicker bit over the thinner.” He explained. “Then you loop it over like this.” It felt good to be the focus of his attention. He’d been working so hard over the last few years to pay the medical bills for Mum that I’d rarely seen him.
“Once it’s looped once, you loop it again the other way. Keep it tight and it won’t let you down.” His hands felt warm against my neck.
“Then bring it round the front to cover, then once more over and…” He pulled on the knot and I coughed slightly as it tightened. “Sorry, a little too tight maybe.” His smile was reassuring; it said everything was going to be okay.
“Is that better?”
“Yes. That’s okay now. Thanks”
“Right, so then it’s once over and through the front.” He held the knot and pulled the tie into place before smoothing down my collar.
“My Father, your Granddad, used to swear by a good tie. A good tie like this will never let you down; it will never slip or loosen if you don’t want it to.” I remember looking at him and smiling and he’d started to cry before he hugged me.
I don’t know why that one sticks in my mind like it does, but he was right. As I grew up I always did the Windsor. The first time I interviewed I got the job, afterwards I was told it was because of my attention to detail that had made the difference. The only time I didn’t do it was when I went to court; I was in a rush and didn’t focus enough. My ex got full custody of my children, and the family home.
I lost my job because I wasn’t focused after the loss, then the credit card bills started to flood in. What money I had left after the childcare payments didn’t give me enough to get anywhere decent to live, and my life took a further dive. If only I’d used the Windsor, maybe my life would have been different; maybe I’d have become a success like my Father. Well, from now on, it’s going to be a Windsor all the way.
I run the instructions through my mind as I do them. Loop over and through one way before looping through the other; loop round the front and up the back before finishing off. I pull it tight under my chin, feeling happy with the result. Dad would be proud of me for remembering.
“A good tie like this will never let you down, it will never slip or loosen if you don’t want it to” I can hear his words in the air, reminding me.
“Thanks, Dad.” I whisper before I move the knot round to the back of my neck.
With only one last thing to do,
I kick the chair away
and drop…
It’s funny what things you remember from your childhood. I don’t remember the Christmas’s or my Birthdays as such. I don’t even remember my brother being born, or my mother passing away, they’re there, somewhere in the back of my mind I’m sure, it’s not like I didn’t experience them, just that they didn’t stick.
My report cards always said I didn’t pay enough attention in class, but school was all so boring. Mr Gaskell, my history teacher was the worse, his monotone voice drearily going on about the Tudors, or the Victorian era. Why history had to be so boring when there were so many wars we could have covered was beyond me.
Maths and English weren’t my strong points either, using the angle of a shadow to calculate the height of a tree, or I before E, except after… something. Maybe if I had tried harder my life would have been different. Maybe if I’d focused more it wouldn’t have ended up like it did.
Anyway, back to my memories. For all the things that stuck in my memory, it was my father teaching me how to do my tie that’s still there. It was on the day of my Mothers funeral, there was so much going on at the time that I’d been left alone in my room. Dad had been running round trying to get things organised and it wasn’t until the last twenty minutes that he came in to see me.
“You alright, Son?” He asked. His eyes looked red and he seemed to have aged a lot over the last few days, his normal black hair seemed to have gone a little greyer, his straight back bent over a little more and his usual cheerful manner was tarnished.
“I’m fine, Dad.” I’d replied. “I just can’t do my tie. Mum usually did it for me.” I remember getting upset, Mum had always been the one, the one who got everyone else ready, the one who smiled and laughed to keep everyone else happy even though she wasn’t well.
“Come here, Son.” He said. “I’ll show you how I was taught by my Father.” He beckoned for me to stand and he looped the tie round my collar. “This is called a Windsor knot; this knot says a lot about the person. You could do a half Windsor, but it doesn’t look as good.” He crossed the tie below my chin.
“You start off by crossing the thicker bit over the thinner.” He explained. “Then you loop it over like this.” It felt good to be the focus of his attention. He’d been working so hard over the last few years to pay the medical bills for Mum that I’d rarely seen him.
“Once it’s looped once, you loop it again the other way. Keep it tight and it won’t let you down.” His hands felt warm against my neck.
“Then bring it round the front to cover, then once more over and…” He pulled on the knot and I coughed slightly as it tightened. “Sorry, a little too tight maybe.” His smile was reassuring; it said everything was going to be okay.
“Is that better?”
“Yes. That’s okay now. Thanks”
“Right, so then it’s once over and through the front.” He held the knot and pulled the tie into place before smoothing down my collar.
“My Father, your Granddad, used to swear by a good tie. A good tie like this will never let you down; it will never slip or loosen if you don’t want it to.” I remember looking at him and smiling and he’d started to cry before he hugged me.
I don’t know why that one sticks in my mind like it does, but he was right. As I grew up I always did the Windsor. The first time I interviewed I got the job, afterwards I was told it was because of my attention to detail that had made the difference. The only time I didn’t do it was when I went to court; I was in a rush and didn’t focus enough. My ex got full custody of my children, and the family home.
I lost my job because I wasn’t focused after the loss, then the credit card bills started to flood in. What money I had left after the childcare payments didn’t give me enough to get anywhere decent to live, and my life took a further dive. If only I’d used the Windsor, maybe my life would have been different; maybe I’d have become a success like my Father. Well, from now on, it’s going to be a Windsor all the way.
I run the instructions through my mind as I do them. Loop over and through one way before looping through the other; loop round the front and up the back before finishing off. I pull it tight under my chin, feeling happy with the result. Dad would be proud of me for remembering.
“A good tie like this will never let you down, it will never slip or loosen if you don’t want it to” I can hear his words in the air, reminding me.
“Thanks, Dad.” I whisper before I move the knot round to the back of my neck.
With only one last thing to do,
I kick the chair away
and drop…
Wednesday 18 January 2012
I HAVE NO EYES TO SEE YOU.
A little poetry from the archives tonight.
It's been a busy day.
I HAVE NO EYES TO SEE YOU.
I have no eyes to see you, my love my life of mine.
I’m living in the darkness that your light has left behind.
You leaving cause a pain that no mortal man can bear.
My love is with me solely, no other with which to share.
I miss you now my love, my dearest sweetest wife.
The colour in the world has gone there is no sign of life.
I spend my days in darkness now just sitting feeling cold.
I always thought we’d be together, sweethearts getting old.
But I have no eyes to see you, my breath is getting short.
Maybe I will see you soon, much quicker than I thought…
Comments, as always, welcome.
It's been a busy day.
I HAVE NO EYES TO SEE YOU.
I have no eyes to see you, my love my life of mine.
I’m living in the darkness that your light has left behind.
You leaving cause a pain that no mortal man can bear.
My love is with me solely, no other with which to share.
I miss you now my love, my dearest sweetest wife.
The colour in the world has gone there is no sign of life.
I spend my days in darkness now just sitting feeling cold.
I always thought we’d be together, sweethearts getting old.
But I have no eyes to see you, my breath is getting short.
Maybe I will see you soon, much quicker than I thought…
Comments, as always, welcome.
Friday 13 January 2012
THE COLLECTION
“You’re collecting for what?” Adam stared at the man at the door.
“I’m collecting for Hair Africa, Sir.” He showed his badge to make it official. “It’s been discovered that 30 percent of the population of Africa suffer from hair loss and we’re trying to make a difference.” He smiled as though it was something Adam should have known about.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand…” Adam would have normally shut the door in the salesman’s face by now, but curiosity had got the better of him. “What are you collecting exactly?”
“Hair, Sir.” The man pulled a small blue plastic bag from his jacket. “All we need is a single run from your head. It’s not as though it won’t grow back now is it. Not for a man of your age and, may I say, wonderful locks.”
“Er, Thanks you.” Adam replied as he ran his fingers through his hair, it was true though, his hair was wonderful. He’d had it since an early age and had kept it clean and brushed as much as he could. “But I still don’t understand, what do you mean by a single run?”
“Ah!” the man smiled again. “That’s the easy piece. Number 24 gave me some of his a few moments ago.”
“But he’s bald?”
“Yes Sir.” The man nodded “But his back isn’t.” Adam shuddered at the thought.
“Okay, so Mr Archer gave you some of his, er hair. But I don’t understand the term a single run. What exactly do you propose to do?”
He man held up his finger knowingly, “Just one second, Sir and I will show you.” He rummaged in his bag and produced an electric clipper. With a small brush he cleaned it in front of Adam and blew a few strands of curly hair free from the blades. "It’s a Health and Safety issue.” He explained. “We can’t be having contamination between samples can we. All I need to do, Sir, is run it once through the hair; it can be on the top or the sides it doesn’t matter too much when it gets back to the depot.”
“You want to shave my head?” Adam covered his head with his hands protectively.
“No Sir. Heaven forbid, not all of it, just a small run from front to back. Everyone’s contributing.”
“I don’t care, you can’t have any.”
“I can understand I really can.” The man nodded knowingly, “But, come Monday when everyone is in the office with you, and they’ve all donated wont you feel the odd one out?”
“Well…”
“And Sir.” He continued, “Imagine the attention you’re going to get if you donate two runs.” He tapped his nose. “The women love it, I can tell you.” Adam looked back into the house, his tea would be ready in about 5 minutes, and the new episode of East Enders was just about to start. There was that young girl in finance he'd been trying to get on with.
“Oh, go on then.” Adam smiled. “You might as well take two.”
“I’m collecting for Hair Africa, Sir.” He showed his badge to make it official. “It’s been discovered that 30 percent of the population of Africa suffer from hair loss and we’re trying to make a difference.” He smiled as though it was something Adam should have known about.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand…” Adam would have normally shut the door in the salesman’s face by now, but curiosity had got the better of him. “What are you collecting exactly?”
“Hair, Sir.” The man pulled a small blue plastic bag from his jacket. “All we need is a single run from your head. It’s not as though it won’t grow back now is it. Not for a man of your age and, may I say, wonderful locks.”
“Er, Thanks you.” Adam replied as he ran his fingers through his hair, it was true though, his hair was wonderful. He’d had it since an early age and had kept it clean and brushed as much as he could. “But I still don’t understand, what do you mean by a single run?”
“Ah!” the man smiled again. “That’s the easy piece. Number 24 gave me some of his a few moments ago.”
“But he’s bald?”
“Yes Sir.” The man nodded “But his back isn’t.” Adam shuddered at the thought.
“Okay, so Mr Archer gave you some of his, er hair. But I don’t understand the term a single run. What exactly do you propose to do?”
He man held up his finger knowingly, “Just one second, Sir and I will show you.” He rummaged in his bag and produced an electric clipper. With a small brush he cleaned it in front of Adam and blew a few strands of curly hair free from the blades. "It’s a Health and Safety issue.” He explained. “We can’t be having contamination between samples can we. All I need to do, Sir, is run it once through the hair; it can be on the top or the sides it doesn’t matter too much when it gets back to the depot.”
“You want to shave my head?” Adam covered his head with his hands protectively.
“No Sir. Heaven forbid, not all of it, just a small run from front to back. Everyone’s contributing.”
“I don’t care, you can’t have any.”
“I can understand I really can.” The man nodded knowingly, “But, come Monday when everyone is in the office with you, and they’ve all donated wont you feel the odd one out?”
“Well…”
“And Sir.” He continued, “Imagine the attention you’re going to get if you donate two runs.” He tapped his nose. “The women love it, I can tell you.” Adam looked back into the house, his tea would be ready in about 5 minutes, and the new episode of East Enders was just about to start. There was that young girl in finance he'd been trying to get on with.
“Oh, go on then.” Adam smiled. “You might as well take two.”
Wednesday 11 January 2012
That Odd Feeling
“Say that again will ya, Paul.”
“Say watt again?”
“You sounded odd, sort of different but right at the same time.” Brian held his nose and tried to pop his ears.
“It just didn’t feel right, doesn’t sound right in my head.”
“Ewe awl write? Ewe luck… ”
“Ahh, stop it!”
“Aye don’t no watt ewe’r on about.” Paul looked at his friend with concern. “Ewe luck very pale.”
“My head hurts. Stop it, please.” Brian held his hands to his eyes as he tried to control the pain throbbing behind them.
“Eye can weight until the panes past if ewe like.”
“Just…Just stop. Okay. Please, just stop, be quite for a moment.”
“It’s knot something I’m doing.” Paul looked angry at the accusation. “Let me sea ewe, luck at me. I’m doing nothing, I’m no lyre. It’s knot fair to accuse me.” Brian fell to his knees, the pressure behind his eyes made his head feel like it was going to explode.
“Just stop. I’m begging you, Paul. I can’t take much more.” It was hard to talk, the pain just seemed to be increasing.
“Are ewe inn pane? Do ewe want me two call ewe a Doctor?” Brian was on his side now, cradling his head in his hands. “Ewe can’t lye there, Brian, someone could Steel from ewe. Sit up, let the heir get two ewe. If you lye on the floor, you’ll end up with a brews, and your knows is running. Luck. Weight here for a moment, Yule bee all write soon. I sore a police man over their, I’ll go and get hymn. You luck fowl. How did ewe feel this mourning, please don’t dye on me.”
Brian didn’t answer, the pain in his head was excruciating now, but no matter what he did, he didn’t seem to be able to stop his friend talking. Eventually Paul returned.
“Hear he is officer. I told him to sit hear and wrest, but he’s in so much pane he just..”
“It’s okay, sun, just step back and let me gays at him for a second, have a torque to him, it’s a bit of a storey this I can tell ewe.” The police man knelt by Brian’s side, resting his hand on his forehead. “Can ewe here me sun?” he ask. “Ewe can’t lye on the flaw, sun. Ewe don’t luck that grate I can tell ewe, knot four this our of the day. Butt I kneed to ask ewe two move. Come hear, let me help you up before it reigns.” As the police office pulled him, a load sound escaped from Brian’s back passage and the pressure lifted.
“Sorry, Officer” Brian apologised, as the pain vanishing as quickly as it came. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s perfectly alright, Sir.” the officer nodded. “I’ve seen it before. You might want to see a doctor though, it sounds like you're Homophonic.”
Tuesday 10 January 2012
Lucky.
Philip closed his empty wallet and slid it back inside his suit pocket, his wife was going to kill him and he hated the thought of going home to her. He knew she would be upset, losing the house was one thing, but going back on his promise he'd given her was another thing entirely.
He couldn’t understand what had gone wrong, his gut had told him that Red 23 was going to win, and it never usually let him down, but tonight it had. Tonight it had led him so close to the edge that when he fell it had stopped to watch. 750,000 dollars, his car, his mortgage, damn even the shoes he would walk dejectedly home in didn’t belong to him.
In the last five years of coming to the casino, he had broken even across the board, almost as though fate wanted him to bet but never win. He had lost thousands before, every day for a week sometimes, but then his luck would change and he would win it all back plus a little. Those times his wife was pleased to see him, when he brought in the jewellery or the holidays. She knew it would go wrong one day, that one day he would go too far, one day he would reach beyond his level and the world would crash around him.
He’d been to therapy, to gamblers anonymous, but the thrill of playing had always drawn him back. His sponsor would not be happy; his mother-in-law would certainly go to town on him for the stress he caused her daughter. He just didn’t understand how everything tonight had gone so badly.
It was at this point that the fruit machine next to him gave a gurgle sound and spat a dollar onto the floor at his feet, his fingers started to tingle as they always did before a big payout, his sixth sense working on overdrive as it detected the ripples in the world around him and he smiled as he bent down to pick it up.
Fate didn’t throw money at you unless it had a plan, and he was certain that fate loved him. The Five Million Dollar fruit machine was so ready to drop, it had given him a chance, a chance to change it all round, to finally go home the hero.
He would give up gambling, living on the yacht in the south pacific with June would be the cure, no longer worried about the next pay cheque. She could give up the job at `Taco Bell` and finally live the life he had always wanted to give her.
The house paid off, his mother-in-laws property too, just to show he cared. He could buy a Ferrari, he could finally get rid of the beat up ford he had driver for these past seven years and cruise in comfort.
He rolled the dollar in between his fingers as he let his senses role. His hands had never tingled so much before in his life, he guessed, No, he knew the machine was about to pay out, the next person to play would be the winner. And with his fated dollar he would be that man.
He kissed it reverently on both sides and slid the money into the slot. Pressing the button he waited for the machine to start, for the tumblers to dance their merry dance and deliver his fortune to him. He pressed it again after a second, then a third time. The machine was ready, his money was so close but the thing would not budge, a voice from behind him made him turn.
“It’s Two Dollars a go, chump. Move aside and let someone else have a go.”
He couldn’t understand what had gone wrong, his gut had told him that Red 23 was going to win, and it never usually let him down, but tonight it had. Tonight it had led him so close to the edge that when he fell it had stopped to watch. 750,000 dollars, his car, his mortgage, damn even the shoes he would walk dejectedly home in didn’t belong to him.
In the last five years of coming to the casino, he had broken even across the board, almost as though fate wanted him to bet but never win. He had lost thousands before, every day for a week sometimes, but then his luck would change and he would win it all back plus a little. Those times his wife was pleased to see him, when he brought in the jewellery or the holidays. She knew it would go wrong one day, that one day he would go too far, one day he would reach beyond his level and the world would crash around him.
He’d been to therapy, to gamblers anonymous, but the thrill of playing had always drawn him back. His sponsor would not be happy; his mother-in-law would certainly go to town on him for the stress he caused her daughter. He just didn’t understand how everything tonight had gone so badly.
It was at this point that the fruit machine next to him gave a gurgle sound and spat a dollar onto the floor at his feet, his fingers started to tingle as they always did before a big payout, his sixth sense working on overdrive as it detected the ripples in the world around him and he smiled as he bent down to pick it up.
Fate didn’t throw money at you unless it had a plan, and he was certain that fate loved him. The Five Million Dollar fruit machine was so ready to drop, it had given him a chance, a chance to change it all round, to finally go home the hero.
He would give up gambling, living on the yacht in the south pacific with June would be the cure, no longer worried about the next pay cheque. She could give up the job at `Taco Bell` and finally live the life he had always wanted to give her.
The house paid off, his mother-in-laws property too, just to show he cared. He could buy a Ferrari, he could finally get rid of the beat up ford he had driver for these past seven years and cruise in comfort.
He rolled the dollar in between his fingers as he let his senses role. His hands had never tingled so much before in his life, he guessed, No, he knew the machine was about to pay out, the next person to play would be the winner. And with his fated dollar he would be that man.
He kissed it reverently on both sides and slid the money into the slot. Pressing the button he waited for the machine to start, for the tumblers to dance their merry dance and deliver his fortune to him. He pressed it again after a second, then a third time. The machine was ready, his money was so close but the thing would not budge, a voice from behind him made him turn.
“It’s Two Dollars a go, chump. Move aside and let someone else have a go.”
The Eulogy
I really don't know why people do them. Now, don't get me wrong, I understand the need to grieve and to mourn, but there are better ways of doing it.
I mean, watch Bob as he stands up now, his face red as the boring tie he's wearing chokes him. He usually wears those daft looking ones, those cartoon character ones, Homer Simpson style, but today it's official black, I bet that was his mum's doing.
Look at him as he stands before everyone, you just know he’s sweating under that jacket, I bet his pits are dripping already, I shouldn’t laugh though, its not like I could do it.
I wonder what he’s going to talk about, the last one of these I was at ended up very religious with his uncle almost calling down Christ to judge us all there and then. The priest, god bless him did his best to take the microphone off him, but the scuffle and the subsequent knocking over of the flowers did little to set the correct mood. Someone shushes from the back of the church and the room fell silent.
“Hi.” Bob started, already looking like he was going to pass out. Before this Bob had only ever stood up at the school play, and then he was just a tree in the background, now he faced over 100 upset people, a tough crowd to work with a the best of times.
“My name’s Bob, and I’ve know Mike now for almost 27 years. Sorry, I’d known Mike for 27 years.” Oops, that’s a bad start, reminding everyone that there’s a dead body in the room.
“I used to go to school with Mike, bunking off at summer when we’d smoke drugs behind the woodwork rooms.” Another oops there, that was a something he’d thought would make a laugh, but I bet no one else knew about the drugs.
“Right…Anyway. Mike was a friend, someone you could always turn to when you needed someone, always ready to step in and defend you if you got into a fight.” On, no, he’s picked up the photo from the top of the coffin. Please tell me he isn’t going to speak to it, someone stop him…Nope, too late.
“I miss you, Mike. I really do. You were more that a friend to me, I loved you man.” Err… I hope he meant in that male, macho sort of way. Oh, no, he’s starting to cry, that will set of everyone on the front row. I can’t even make out what he’s saying now, oh, there’s drool running down his chin as he speaks, that’s gross.
Here comes the vicar. Good man, that’s it, lead him back to his chair. Look at the way everyone nods at him, like they understood what the hell he’d said. It’s always nice to see people crying at a funeral, especially the young women, there’s something so sexy about a woman crying, especially while wearing black. Hang on; it looks like the vicar is going to have a go.
“Michael lies before us today and we find time to reflect on the good times we had with him. Michael was a good Christian man whose good deeds will have assured him a place in heaven with his Auntie Georgina.” God, she was a big woman, I wouldn’t say she was fat but people had to have another postcode added to the house when she came to visit.
“Michael will be dearly missed by his Mother Sally, Father Tom and Brother Jim and I would like to ask for a moments silence in which to think about Michael in your own way.” Not you though, Bob. Not that way. I love this part though, when everyone puts their heads down and sit quietly; I usually play noughts and crosses in my head.
“Have you seen enough now, Love?” I look at Auntie Georgina, she’s not as fat as I remember her, more cuddly with a wonderful, caring smile.
“Yeah.” I nod. “We might as well go, avoid the rush. One question though, what good deeds did I do?”
I mean, watch Bob as he stands up now, his face red as the boring tie he's wearing chokes him. He usually wears those daft looking ones, those cartoon character ones, Homer Simpson style, but today it's official black, I bet that was his mum's doing.
Look at him as he stands before everyone, you just know he’s sweating under that jacket, I bet his pits are dripping already, I shouldn’t laugh though, its not like I could do it.
I wonder what he’s going to talk about, the last one of these I was at ended up very religious with his uncle almost calling down Christ to judge us all there and then. The priest, god bless him did his best to take the microphone off him, but the scuffle and the subsequent knocking over of the flowers did little to set the correct mood. Someone shushes from the back of the church and the room fell silent.
“Hi.” Bob started, already looking like he was going to pass out. Before this Bob had only ever stood up at the school play, and then he was just a tree in the background, now he faced over 100 upset people, a tough crowd to work with a the best of times.
“My name’s Bob, and I’ve know Mike now for almost 27 years. Sorry, I’d known Mike for 27 years.” Oops, that’s a bad start, reminding everyone that there’s a dead body in the room.
“I used to go to school with Mike, bunking off at summer when we’d smoke drugs behind the woodwork rooms.” Another oops there, that was a something he’d thought would make a laugh, but I bet no one else knew about the drugs.
“Right…Anyway. Mike was a friend, someone you could always turn to when you needed someone, always ready to step in and defend you if you got into a fight.” On, no, he’s picked up the photo from the top of the coffin. Please tell me he isn’t going to speak to it, someone stop him…Nope, too late.
“I miss you, Mike. I really do. You were more that a friend to me, I loved you man.” Err… I hope he meant in that male, macho sort of way. Oh, no, he’s starting to cry, that will set of everyone on the front row. I can’t even make out what he’s saying now, oh, there’s drool running down his chin as he speaks, that’s gross.
Here comes the vicar. Good man, that’s it, lead him back to his chair. Look at the way everyone nods at him, like they understood what the hell he’d said. It’s always nice to see people crying at a funeral, especially the young women, there’s something so sexy about a woman crying, especially while wearing black. Hang on; it looks like the vicar is going to have a go.
“Michael lies before us today and we find time to reflect on the good times we had with him. Michael was a good Christian man whose good deeds will have assured him a place in heaven with his Auntie Georgina.” God, she was a big woman, I wouldn’t say she was fat but people had to have another postcode added to the house when she came to visit.
“Michael will be dearly missed by his Mother Sally, Father Tom and Brother Jim and I would like to ask for a moments silence in which to think about Michael in your own way.” Not you though, Bob. Not that way. I love this part though, when everyone puts their heads down and sit quietly; I usually play noughts and crosses in my head.
“Have you seen enough now, Love?” I look at Auntie Georgina, she’s not as fat as I remember her, more cuddly with a wonderful, caring smile.
“Yeah.” I nod. “We might as well go, avoid the rush. One question though, what good deeds did I do?”
Monday 9 January 2012
A big hearty welcome
Hi.
I do so hate these areas, you know what I mean, these little pieces of information that you are supposed to complete in order to tell the world a little about yourself.
I just find it so boring, I mean, I know it all.
Anyway, here goes, please do read on, I can assure you that this is the worst part.
About me: Manchester based employability skills trainer, helping the unemployed get back into work. In my spare time, when not spending time with my family I like to write. Usually anything that pops into my bald head really but I do focus on Flash Fiction or working on my Novels.
I aim here to post the Flash for your entertainment and pleasure.
Though, if I am rubbish, you might get neither..
I do so hate these areas, you know what I mean, these little pieces of information that you are supposed to complete in order to tell the world a little about yourself.
I just find it so boring, I mean, I know it all.
Anyway, here goes, please do read on, I can assure you that this is the worst part.
About me: Manchester based employability skills trainer, helping the unemployed get back into work. In my spare time, when not spending time with my family I like to write. Usually anything that pops into my bald head really but I do focus on Flash Fiction or working on my Novels.
I aim here to post the Flash for your entertainment and pleasure.
Though, if I am rubbish, you might get neither..
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