The Declaration Of Anonymity

We are anonymous

We are everybody and yet nobody

We are everywhere and nowhere

We are the faceless and the nameless

But we have a voice

And it’s a voice we want to be heard

What we write is for everybody

Including ourselves

Not for gain nor fame

Just because we can


Signed: Anonymous

A Mother's Love.

My eyes feel as heavy as my heart as I gaze out of the window watching the morning sun rise. Normally such a serene sight, but this morning, nothing can lift my mood. I take a drag of my cigarette and stub it out in the ash tray that is already spilling over with burnt ends. I stand, pushing my chair back gently and pull my dressing gown around me shutting out the chill in the air. I pick up the ash tray and empty it into the bin, reaching and switching on the kettle as I do so. My stomach is already awash with tea, but it's all I can think to do at this time.

I look through to the lounge and lean back hard onto the work surface, arms crossed. The peacefully sleeping face that meets my eyes, that used fill my heart with love, now fills my heart with disgust and loathing...and love. My son. How can he sleep there so peacefully. I survey his body, contorted into a foetal position. His knuckles are raw with scabs and dried blood.

I look down at my feet as I sigh and push the black sack by my side with my toes. The top of it falls aside and I can see the clothes inside. I swallow hard.

I was woken with a start at 1 o'clock in the morning by my son shaking me. He was gabbling urgently and had my dressing gown in his hand. He was pulling at my arm for me to get out of bed. I'd dragged myself out wondering what on earth could be so urgent.

We went downstairs and I'd switched the light on turning around to look at my son. The sight before me had made my heart leap to my throat. He'd stood before me, arms dropped to his side, eyes wide and mouth open like a vulnerable child. Though, he wasn't a vulnerable child was he. He was my 19 year old son, who stood before me in ripped clothes, covered in blood. When I say covered, I mean covered. All he could manage was...'Mum...'.

I had dragged him upstairs. I'd gone into overdrive. I'd ripped his blood sodden rags from him and manhandled him into the bath, I'd showered him and scrubbed at his skin, and ignored his protests. I didn't even know what had been going through my mind. The blood had swirled down the plug hole, I'd scrubbed him so hard I hadn't even known what was his blood and what was the 'victims' blood. I'd wrapped him in a towel and ordered him downstairs while I rinsed the bath.

He'd already made tea when I got down stairs and was sitting at the table, legs flicking nervously, biting his nails. He couldn't look at me. I'd sat down exhausted opposite him and sparked up two cigarettes, and passed one to him.

'Well?'

And that was when the story came out. The light of my life was now a murderer. He owed some money to some 'heavies' and had got behind with the payments. Not very nice men by all accounts. I believed him. Anyway, he knew they had been asking after him and had been avoiding all of his local haunts to avoid them. Seems the plan went wrong though and they tracked him down and waited for him. Jumped him while he was at his most vulnerable. But he was ready for them and was carrying a knife. I was horrified by his confessions as his story unfolded. Animatedly he'd continued until he reach the moment that he had stabbed someone. I'd wanted to be spared the details but my shock had numbed me as I'd watched him continue. It was like I'd watched him from the outside.

His head had dropped to the table and he'd gripped it as he rocked in his chair. I'd suddenly remembered the clothes upstairs and jumped up and scrabbled under the sink for a black sack. I'd ripped one off and ran back upstairs scooping the clothes into it, being careful not to touch the blood. I hadn't want my daughter to find this in the morning. I'd sunk to my knees and cleaned the floor smeared with blood, tears streaming down my face. I'd stifled back my sobs and it had made my throat tighten. It hurt. His pain was now my pain.

So that is how I got here now. I have no qualms about the actions I carried out. I have no qualms about covering up for the son that I love so dearly. I have no qualms about being accessory to his terrible deed.

It's down to a mother's love.

First Date

Where is she?

I thought she would be here by now.

I hoped she would be here by now.

I want her to be here now

I look at my watch

Maybe she is stuck in traffic?

Maybe her car broke down?

Maybe she was late getting out of work?

Maybe she isn’t coming?

Don’t think that

I got here really early

Couldn’t wait to leave the house

I felt sick all the way here

Nerves and excitement

I glance at my watch again

Five to

She could still be early

How long does one wait?

I have never done this before

I look around the crowded streets hoping to see her

Its only when you are single that you see all the couples

Funny that

Nine O’clock

Here she comes

Her beaming smile

Laced with nerves

My heart melts

If you don’t believe in love at first sight

You just haven’t seen the person you love yet

Jekyll and Hyde
One hand bears the knife
The other, a rose.
The rag in front of the bull
Flicks the switch
From love to hate
Both in equal measure.
Contained emotions burn
Hot like fire
Inside this tightened jar
Visible darkness
Pale light
The eyes well adjusted to the former
But the desired is the latter.

5 7 5

I work in a shop
The customers all blank me
So I sit and write

I hate this job
Its just so god damn boring
So I sit and write

I sit and day dream
About all the things I want
Not needing, wanting

They ask me questions
Where are the baked beans? They say
Aisle Two top shelf

Folk think you are thick
Working in a corner shop
But I write haiku

Two’s Company. Three’s A………….Actually, Quite Good!

I was single. I’d just left college and into my first job. It was ok, but not too taxing. I thought I would just linger there for a year or two and get some experience. I worked with a group of men, and being the only female in the office, I have to say I had a laugh. My college friends were also venturing into their new jobs and, in a way, we were all busy doing our own thing and making new friends, but still keeping in touch.

I saw a job advertised for an assistant in snooker club. It was 5 minutes from where I worked, so I thought it would be fun to do for a couple evenings a week. I started on the same day as Mandy. We worked on a Tuesday and a Friday night and it was fun: Serving drinks and food to the snooker players, having a laugh and earning a bit of extra money to supplement my income.

A few weeks into the job, and George walked in. He’d been on holiday and was tanned, good looking and had the gift of the gab. He was a car salesman, and full of himself. Mandy fell for him in a big way and they started ‘going out’. It was clear to me that George was a good time guy and saw the relationship as a short term bit of fun. I spoke to Mandy about it, and she said she was fine with that, and would just enjoy it as long as it lasted.

Over the next very weeks, George would turn up on a Friday night and hang around until closing, chatting to both me and Mandy, never playing snooker. On this particular Friday, the manager of the club was ill, and left the closing up for me and Mandy.

Club all closed up, George suggested we enjoy a drink together. One drink turned to several and before time we’d turned the chat into a sexy theme. I told them about my time in college, how I never had a relationship out of choice, but was just happy to be single and enjoy a healthy sex life with no strings. George was getting extremely excited by this time, and Mandy was merrily throwing back the vodka and getting giggly.

I went to the loo. Came out and George was stood there. I don’t need to be explicit at this stage, but just let’s say he was excited and suggested that we take off on our own for the night after dropping Mandy at home.

I made some comment about it being unfair for her to miss out on the fun. Cut the story short at this point, we all ended up at a B&B down the road, in one room together.

Now, I had only ever had drunken snogs with girls up to now. The kind of things us girls do when we’ve had a few drinks and we play dare games with the lads. It always ends up with the lads wanting the girls snogging. I’d done my fair share, but they never meant anything, never pinged any emotion, nor attracted any ‘feelings down below’ – all just in fun.

The room consisted of one double bed, a sofa and a chair. I sat on the sofa and put on the tv. I had no idea why I had come here with George and Mandy. To all intents and purposes, they were a couple, who were already shagging and enjoying each other’s bodies. At this point, I started to feel a bit uneasy. George and Mandy started getting it on on the bed and before long they were naked. They never indicated to me to join them and I was beginning to feel pretty freaked out by this time.

Then George called me over: ‘Come and have some fun with Mandy’ he said. I looked at her… she was embarrassed and started to object. We both giggled and said we ‘weren’t that way inclined’…. So that’s where the game started.

First, daring me to kiss George, then George daring Mandy to kiss me, the me daring Mandy to feel my breasts… all the time the vodka was flowing…

Within the next hour, the best way of describing what happened is to say, it was one of the most exciting experiences of my life to date.

Lying back on the bed and watching Mandy’s head disappear between my legs, and then that feeling of having a soft tongue licking me all over, feeling her soft face against my inner thighs. I loved the feelings I was getting from this soft and sensual action. I watched as her and George enjoyed a kiss, tasting my juices between them. I then asked Mandy to lie down so I could return the favour. Burying my head between her legs, I had no idea what I was doing. After a few kisses on her thighs and then working my way onto her pussy, her reaction told me that I was doing something right. The smell of her pussy was sweet and intense and my tongue was soon exploring the whole of her, inside and out.

Up to this point, George was sitting back and watching and now he wanted to join in. He gestured for me to come away from Mandy’s pussy. As he started to fuck her, he told me to straddle Mandy’s face and enjoy the feel of her tongue on my pussy again.

It was a night to remember. I was officially confirmed as a bisexual lady because I had loved the whole Mandy experience. As far as George was concerned, I was not really interested in getting it on with him, and felt that Mandy wanted him all to herself anyway.

For the next few months we met up like this every Friday after work. We had fun, and we got raunchier. Sex toys came out to play, dressing up, spanking and all round general debauchery. These sessions were fantastic for me, no ties and no dealing with feelings, just good honest fucking with a girl called Mandy.

Six months down the line, I was bored with Mandy. George was bored with Mandy. He dumped her and he suggested that him and me hook up for fun now and again. That suited me for a while. Then I got bored of George.

That was the winter of 1983.

Fast forward to January 2008.: Popping to M & S for a spot of something for lunch between appointments. I hear a voice. She’s talking rather loudly on her mobile phone inside a quiet shop. I look around and there she is, Mandy. Longer hair, longer legs it seemed, perfect make up, smartly dressed, telling someone on the other end of the phone that they could ‘Go to hell’. She cuts off the caller and looks at me.

‘Oh my God!’ she says loudly, looking me up and down. We embrace, I feel embarrassed, she gets louder as she talks. I suggest we go for a coffee, she suggests we have coffee at her place, which is 2 minutes away.

We catch up over coffee. My life has taken lots of twists and turns, her life is much the same as it was back in ’83. We have so little in common. Within an hour we are running out of things to say to each other.

Time for me to leave… I have an appointment. Mandy suggests that we get together for an evening. I don’t see the point, even seeing her after all these years has not sprung up any emotions sexually – well I didn’t think so. Just as I started to say I didn’t think so, she kissed me, a full smacker on the lips. I wish she hadn’t done that. A date was set for the following evening.

I spent the next day rather nonchantly thinking on and off about Mandy. We were so different and over the years, I’d had several encounters with other ladies, and they were all very different to Mandy – she really wasn’t my ‘type’.

So, one bottle of wine down, another started, not much conversation going on, of course, we got naked and fucked each other silly in the way that only 2 ladies can do. The taste of her pussy hadn’t changed, the way she licked me and made me cum hadn’t changed… it was a few hours of intense, excitable sex. Licking her pussy, flicking my tongue in and out, working my tongue around to her bum; Using my fingers to work her to orgasm and feeling her pussy get so wet. Sharing those juices with her as she started working her fingers around the tops of my legs, teasing me as she played with my clit ring.

So there it was, I was back seeing that young girl from 1983 and it was exciting. I had told my partner about her a few years ago, but I couldn’t tell him now that she was back in my life. She had to be a secret.

We met up once or twice a week for a while, getting pure sexual enjoyment from her, I was happy to use her. She wanted more. We went shopping on a couple of occasions and for coffee, but all I wanted was her body.

In March, I decided she was getting too clingy so I told her we should call it a day. That arrangement lasted about 2 weeks, before she persuaded me to enjoy her body one day when I was feeling fed up. However, I remembered the boredom that had set in all those years ago… Great sex is good for a while, but the need to engage with the person on other levels is also important. So I called it a day recently. I’m still getting some backlash from her, but I can handle that.

I’m convinced I will not be tasting her pussy again, but then, who knows?

The Nine O'Clock Rapist

8:59.

Through the darkness of the bedroom, I stared at the digital readout with a mounting panic. One minute left before 9 pm. One minute left in which to fall asleep. One minute left before The Nine O'Clock Rapist came and tore my world apart.

The Nine O'Clock Rapist. My father had told me all about him — a supernatural monster who roamed the night searching for naughty little boys who did not to go to sleep before 9 pm. If you were still awake at that time, he would come and get you. No pity. No remorse.Legend had it that the Nine O'Clock Rapist was once a real man — an evil man — who had been killed in a dream. He was, from that night on, doomed to stalk the twilight world that exists between sleep and wakefulness, seeking victims.

Throughout my young life, I had been good. I had always, without fail, been fast asleep when that fateful hour of 9 pm had arrived. But today, I'd had an exciting evening, playing in the park with my little Yorkshire terrier, Suzy. My mind was still alive with the joys of the day. And I couldn't sleep. And now…

9:00.

I was rigid with fear now, my eyes wide, bottom lip trembling. The hour was upon me. In just a few seconds, The Nine O'Clock Rapist would be here to punish me. In just a few seconds. In… just… a… few…

Nothing happened.

I believe I actually giggled. Could it be that the beast I had feared all my life did not even exist? I began to feel a little silly. I was age 7 — certainly old enough not to be taken in by tall tales told by my father to make sure I was asleep at a reasonable hour.Then, I heard the door open.

Suddenly, the terror rushed back. I screwed shut my eyes and willed myself to lie perfectly still, in the hope that the thing entering my room would go away.

I've no idea how long I lay there in dread. Seconds? Minutes? Maybe even hours. All I know is that, when I opened my eyes again to take a peek, he was standing there by the side of my bed. The Nine O'Clock Rapist.

He was a horrible sight — pallid of skin and naked except for a red satin cloak thrown across his shoulders, with a penis that was hard and purple. His facial features — no doubt scarred and awful — were hidden by some kind of hideous tribal mask that he wore."So, you are awake," said his deep voice, muffled by the mask. "Long have I waited for this moment…"

With that, he clambered onto the bed, pinned me down and buggered me.

After he had finished, The Nine O'Clock Rapist sat on the edge of my bed, staring into space. I just lay there. I felt nothing but a sense of total mortification and was deadened by the certain knowledge that my life would never be the same again.

Silently, I willed him to leave. But he didn't. He kept sitting there, saying nothing and making no sound as the minutes ticked by. Eventually — I don't know how much time had elapsed — he turned, reached out a hand and stroked my hair, even as I recoiled under his touch.

"I enjoyed that, little one," murmured The Nine O'Clock Rapist. "I think I'll have another go on you."

Something inside me snapped. I was much smaller and weaker than this beast, and I had no supernatural powers like him, but I knew in that instant that I would rather die than be subjected to a further buggeration. As he moved to straddle me again, I lashed out. I don't know what I hoped to achieve; it was unlikely that I'd be able to hurt him.

But I did achieve something. With my wild, flailing hand, I caught the mask and knocked it aside, exposing The Nine O'Clock Rapist's true face.

"Dad!"

My father quickly adjusted the mask to hide his features once more, but the damage had been done. I knew it was him. And, as he ran from the room, I stared into the darkness and knew that I had been right — life would never be the same...

Freedom

Things just kind of snowball, know what I mean?
Its like an addiction what once sated you isn’t enough.
And then you need more.

And more and more and more.

I aint gonna tell you about my messed up childhood because I never had one.
A childhood that is.

Dad liked a drink, Mum did too.

I spent a lot of time on my own growing up and I grew up fast.
After the second fire I knew when to take the chip pan off.
After the first black eye I knew when to be quiet.
Some lessons you learn faster than others.

It was when Dad lost his job at the plant that the arguments started.
No money coming in meant not as much to pour down their necks.
Then it meant not enough food to go round and plenty to drink.

One night mum came running into my room and held me tight.
A loving embrace?

A human shield
What man could stab the mother of his child like that?
No man
And that’s how I got my very first scar
A pale dot that seemingly shrank with age
It is the centre of my universe

That night was my big bang
Questions were asked
How did she cut herself?
What was she doing with the knife?
Things improved for a while
I was almost smothered with over zealous love
And the association of pain and love was born

Blood is a release
When the pain builds and I can’t breathe
I cut myself and I am free

Remember me...

I am still here my friends...don't mourn me.

My life is just beginning, not ending.

I have faced my fears, conquered my challenges and for my strength you will remember me.
When you look to the sky, hear the whispers in the breeze, it will be me calling to you.
When you feel the breeze on your skin, whether warm or cold, it will be me reaching out to you, touching you.
I am still here my friends...don't mourn me.

When you see the waves crashing, or the trees swaying it will be me dancing for you, carefree and full of life.
When you see the the flowers, bright and beautiful, close your eyes and think of me smiling back at you, bright and beautiful.
I am still here my friends...don't mourn me.

When you hear the birds in the sky chatting, remember me, my contagious energy burning your ears with my stories.
When you hear a baby or child laughing, you can't help but laugh along too, think of me laughing.
I am still here my friends...don't mourn me.

Your heart may feel heavy, your tears may be falling, but soon you will be able to think of the good things I gave to you. The love I gave to you, the care I gave to you.
Wrap your arms around you...feel the warmth of me holding you.
I am still here my friends...don't mourn me.

I will return to you in all these ways I tell you, feel comfort in my memory of the things I brought to your life.
Keep me close in your heart and I will never leave you.

I am still here my friends...don't mourn me.

Untitled

Surrounded by history,

Surrounded by the events that happened before,

The battles have been here, so have the wars.

So much of this place is built on the past,

So steeped in the past,

The image of the future is sharper here.

 

However turbulent the events of before are,

They are the history that builds that helps build the future.

 

It has been therefore, it has gone

It has happened therefore, from that I shall build

It has happened before therefore, it is a guide.

 

In this place that is so much about the past, the future is clearer.

The past is the foundation from which I shall build a future.

 

From Romans to Vikings to Saxons to 21^st Century man,

This place has it all.

 

This place is progress,

This place is the key to showing the path.

 

In this place battle have been fought and won,

The symmetry is there, that is what I can see.

 

With this message in my heart I lay the past to rest,

It is time to let it go,

The past is only a building block.

 

I leave this place that is so much about the past,

Feeling stronger, feeling clearer.

 

Tomorrow is a bright light,

Everyday can be a bright light.

 

In this place that is so much about the past,

I have found the; the belief for a bright tomorrow.

 

No more looking over my shoulder,

I am looking at the bright lights of tomorrow.

Now You Wouldn't Want to Rock the Boat - Would You???

Summer of '88. My marriage ended. I walked in on my man shagging his best friend’s sister. He didn’t break my heart. I packed my things and left. I never saw him again.

Everyone around me seemed to be more upset than me. I was lucky, I had kept up my friendships with the girls I went to college with and within days I was back out on the social scene, enjoying myself, even reacquainting myself with old college boyfriends.

My job as a secretary was boring me, so I decided that a couple of nights working in the local pub would be a laugh. That’s where I met you, my soul mate. The man who I would be spending the rest of my life with. The man who made me laugh at everything and be serious about nothing. The man who made my heart jump, the man who made me feel so special.

I fell deeply in love within weeks. You said you didn’t like my friends as they were all single and had the ability to lead me astray. I agreed. I dumped them all. I didn’t want to rock the boat in this fantastic relationship.

We spent weekends at the football. I loved it. Did you enjoy it too? No, you said. It was full of wankers just looking at my breasts. So I stopped going. I didn’t want to rock the boat. You continued to go. I stayed at home and picked you up from the station every week, always the worse for wear from either drinking, or drinking and fighting.

I made an effort to make your friends, my friends too. We all got on great. Everyone loved you and you were the centre of attention at every gathering in the pub. I was proud to be with you.

Then came the drunken arguments. You hated it when our friends talked to me and not you. I had to run through every discussion I had that evening. I had to declare that I did not fancy any of your friends. I said ok when you asked me to stay by your side at the pub. After all, I loved you, and you loved me so much, you didn’t want me to be far away from you and the boat wasn’t there to be rocked.

You showed your love by buying me nice clothes. The clothes you liked. The clothes that didn’t quite fit until I had lost a few pounds. Within weeks I was wearing them. At my thinnest I was 9st and looking unhealthy. My parents made jokes about it, but I could tell they were not happy with the situation.

Then came more male attention. I tried my best to avoid it. I even started dressing down and stopped wearing make up. You suggested that we stop going out and enjoy each others company at home. Of course, you loved me so much, so it was ideal for me to have you all to myself.

You cooked me lovely meals, we played games, we watched films together, and we made love. I put on weight; you said you loved me being bigger. You proposed to me. I said yes. By this time I was a little worried about your ways, but I thought if we were married, you would lose your insecurities.

We set the date and told everyone. We started socialising again. I think you felt safe because I had committed to you.

I received invitations to parties, weddings and christenings from old college friends. I ignored them all. After all, I had my new life now.

I lost weight again and bought a beauty of a wedding dress. We arranged the honeymoon and for a few months, you were fine and I thought we had cracked it forever.

The wedding was perfect. The honeymoon was perfect. We bought a house together and the next couple of years were perfect. I became pregnant and you were ecstatic. We had two children within the next 2 years and everything was great.

During all our time together I was working hard, changing jobs and working my way up to earning good money with a new career. I was offered a job with a guy who needed me to run his business. The money was twice what I was earning at that point. I took the job because it enabled you to work part time so you could enjoy your hobbies. We discussed it at length and I was proud to be able to give you the life you wanted too.

I loved the job, I loved the people and I loved the responsibility. I met loads of very interesting people and tried to share my enthusiasm with you. You had no interest. Every day turned into a battle to try and make you happy. You resented my job, you resented my friendships at work and you accused me endlessly of sleeping with every male I ever mentioned in conversation. I told myself to just go with it as I didn’t want to rock the boat, for the sake of our two children.

You never let me attend any work social occasions, and you would phone me 4 or 5 times a day to check where I was and who I was with. My boss would ask if I was okay… I would always say yes… you were a bit insecure I would say, but I didn’t want to rock the boat.

You attended a couple of social events with me, and each time the evening ended up with you shouting and screaming at me for being too friendly with the males.

My work friends would often question me about you, but I always supported you, even though I knew it wasn’t normal behaviour.

You hacked into my email account one day, believing you would find incriminating evidence of an affair, but there was nothing. You checked my phone every night when I came home. One day I had deleted all my text messages in error and you threatened to leave me because you could not trust me. You stood there and smashed my phone to pieces – in front of the children.

If I ever arrived home 5 minutes later than expected you would throw my dinner at me. You said I had no respect for you and had no regard for the children.

Through all these months and years, I took it all from you. I still loved my job. It was the one thing in my life that kept me going apart from the joy of our children. It was the only place I could be myself (apart from the times when you would just turn up and sit in my office for an hour or so, watching me, watching anyone that came into my office, listening to any phone calls I had).

Out of work I had nothing of my own. Every waking minute was spent with the children. I was not allowed to go anywhere without them. Even when I took them shopping with me you would check each and every shop receipt so you could piece together my time to ensure there were no gaps where I could have seen someone.

Every evening was spent in silence because I was not allowed to talk about my work or anything that indicated that I may have been enjoying time without you being there with me. I was then accused of keeping things from you. A whole vicious circle had emerged.

Then one day, I opened up my email to find a message from a guy that went to the same school as me. I cannot remember how he got my email address, and although we did not know each other at school, we knew the same people. We exchanged a few emails in coming weeks, all innocent, telling each other about our lives. I opened up to him and he soon made it clear to me that what I was experiencing was emotional bullying. He told me that it was unacceptable behaviour. I had never considered that I could do anything about it. After all, one failed marriage behind me had already made me a failure (your words), and everyone in the family would be so mad at me if I didn't make this marriage work (your words).

My new email buddy explained to me that I didn't have to have this life and it was up to me to do something about it. He opened my eyes to the wider picture and helped me to build up the courage to do something positive. He chatted with me on the phone and, with no ulterior motive, persuaded me, that for the sake of my own sanity, I had to rock the boat.

It was a boat that I was about to rock in the biggest way possible.

I’d had enough. I had no confidence left, I looked a mess, I was miserable, my soul mate had turned into an insecure bully and it was time to get out.

I rented a house, packed a few clothes, picked the children up from school and I left. You protested, you blamed me for all the problems and you followed me everywhere to see if you could catch me with someone.

The day I moved into my little cottage with my two children and a suitcase goes down as one of the happiest days of my life! I’d finally rocked the boat and was jumping into the sea and swimming far, far away.

I hate you for what you did to me. You broke my heart.

A Word Of Warning.

The truth was I was being stalked! Yes stalked! Me! Who would have believed that that friendly guy I met on a forum was planning to take over my life. Don't they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery? No way! Take it from me, it's just a irritation.

He seemed a really good guy at first, you know the type, everyone's friend. Married, like me. Had a child, like me. I guess that is where we found common ground, as well as our love for comedy and reading. I already heard that he was very popular and friendly with some of the existing members so when my PM box pinged up showing a message I was quite chuffed. We soon became good pals and it was only a matter of time before he suggested we exchange phone numbers. I was comfortable with that.

Initially.

We would exchange banter on and off the boards in PM and I would often get 4 or 5 texts a day which was fine as I enjoyed our exchanges. Then the phone calls started. It was good to finally put a voice to the personality and we would talk and laugh for ages. But then it started to get a little irritating. Some days I didn't feel much like talking and would want to immerse myself in my internet surfing and board banter with no distractions. My 'real' friends knew what I was like and knew I liked to keep my internet persona separate from my real life.
Still, I tried to be patient though.

Some days I would be out with my family and my phone started ringing and I would let it go to voicemail, or ignore the odd text here and there. I could hear sighs from my 'better half' and sense an atmosphere when my phone went off yet again as we were trying to drop off to sleep at midnight. The thing is I didn't want to put it on silent in case it was then thought I was up to no good...which of course I wasn't! He wasn't my type for a start!

Then he started saying little things on the boards that made me feel a little uncomfortable. People knew we talked off the boards but it was almost as though I became a 'no go'. I would try to strike up conversations with people and they were really off with me and the conversations were always really stilted, yet still he could do no wrong and I knew he was still really popular as he would tell me all about it. Okay, he would boast to me all about it! I knew, despite his wife, he was 'playing' some of the younger girls on the boards and as soon as a new member would join he would pounce on them like a lion on it's prey.

One day someone said something on the boards that made me feel the need to PM them. The conversation got around to my friendship with him. The person I PM'd told me some of the rumours that had been floating around the boards about ME! And guess where these rumours had come from? HIM! I was livid! But I knew I had to bide my time, speak to a few people.

A bit of investigation led to more and more information. He'd completely screwed me over and played me like a fool.

I decided to Google his name and see what it came up with. It only took me 5 minutes of searching to find his profile on another forum. I clicked on his page and what I found made me feel sick to the stomach. It wasn't his face that was looking back at me on my screen. It was mine! It wasn't his profile...it was mine! I looked at the last few threads he had made. All me. The things I said, the things I did, the things I loved..even personal stuff I had told him about my family.

Right now I hated him! I picked up my phone shaking...I could hardly find his number in my phonebook.
I dialed his number...

All Good Things Come To Those Who Wait

I wonder how this will go down in history?

A random outburst of bloody violence or years of pent up anger finally boiling over? You never know I may even get away with it, I mean who cares what happens to him?

His parents disowned him very publicly; he lost his job and all of his high flying contacts. He lost everything really, but he took what was mine and he has to pay.

Once and for all.


I see him coming into the park, same time as always and watch as he takes the path around the lake, again same as always. He lives his life in such an organised way, does the same things at the same time day in day out.
Well this day is going to end in a way he would never plan.

I know I have a good twenty minutes before he comes running into my world once again, so I double, double check the bag again.

Tyvek overalls (two pairs) . Check
Latex gloves (two pairs) Check
Dust mask. Check
Goggles. Check
Tyvek overshoes. Check
Box of safety matches. check
Crowbar. Check

I catch a glimpse of myself in the rear view mirror, I am sweating and I am that pale I look ill, well I am sick but tonight I will be cured once and for all.

Ten minutes to go and I decide to get geared up and ready. I put the gloves on first (they aint going to catch me that easily) Then the overshoes (I don’t know if they will hide my footprints but at least they will hinder them a little) then both pairs of the overalls making sure both the hoods are covering all traces of my hair. Then it’s just the mask and the goggles. I don’t want to leave any traces of me and I sure as hell don’t want any trace of him on me.

Not again.

Two minutes I switch the car lights off knowing I don’t have to worry about the engine noise as his rather expensive noise canceling earphones will mask that and luckily the rustle of my every movement.

Here he comes, feet slapping the pathway as he pushes himself into the fourth mile of his daily run. My heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my ears.
I grip the crowbar tighter, step out and swing in one fluid motion.

The next couple of minutes are a bit of a blur to be honest.

I catch him a treat, square in the face, I don’t know if I break his Jaw with the first blow but I know that the second one makes damn sure of the job.
He lies there gurgling, while trying to shield the blows with his arms and curls into the fetal position.

With this I change tactic and hit him as hard as I can muster in the back, maybe a bit too hard as the claw embeds its self into his spine and I have to pry it out.

He is silent now and the faint boom tish of his speakers that have slipped from his ears due to the blood that is leaking from them and my thundering heart beat are the only noises I can make out.

I stop for a minute to catch my breathe, to listen and to watch him. To see if he is dead or not. Its time to make an important decision.

Do I want to kill him?

Would leaving him alive in this state be worse than death?

“Eeeease”

This startles me

“Eeease”

I look down at the mess I have made, he is still with us! And is he begging with me?

What for?

Life?

Or death?

I pass the crowbar, slick from his blood, from one hand to the other, close my eyes and start weighing up my options, I suppose I could always go for the insanity plea, I mean this isn’t the action of a sane man is it now?

I look down at him again. He is drifting in and out of consciousness, a low moan is rattling through his throat.

I grip the crowbar tight in my right hand, raise it above my head and bring it down with all my rage onto his head.

No doubt about it now, nobody is getting up from that.

I allow myself one last look and a few words to mark the occasion, my cure, my rebirth, my justice!

“See you in hell”

Nice and simple and to the point I think.

I stagger over to the car and get the jerry can from the boot; the slosh as I pick it up casts a shadow of doubt over me. Is this a step too far?

Who am I kidding? I have just beaten a man to death with an amazing degree of planning. I have come this far I may as well finish the job.

I pour the petrol over him, washing the blood from his head, you can see why they call it grey matter, have I burst his eye? Cool.

I put the can back into the car strip off the soaked overalls, mask, goggles and one pair of the gloves. Bundle them all up in the paper sack and go back to him again.

I pull the matches out of my pocket, open the box and strike three or four in one go. Letting them burn down to my gloved finger tips and then flick them onto his fuel soaked body.

The resulting “woof” pleases me it's finally over I am free of him.

As I turn to leave him burn I get one final thought.


You know that saying “I wouldn’t piss on him if was on fire?”


Well I don't believe in that anymore.

Hypocrisy?

A few years ago, someone very close to me got cancer. It wasn't a particularly nasty form of it, but despite posturing to the contrary, I was worried.

The person in question maintained that they weren't fussed about it, and their doctor took the same view. It was a small amount, localised, and easily treated with radiotherapy. 

Still, these things fester in your mind, and human nature dictates that you fear the worst, which is what I did, although I took immeasurable comfort from the attitude of the person who had the big C.

Now, I'm not a religious person- i'm pretty much a births, marriages and deaths type for church visits, but I've always loved churches, cathedrals- you know, buildings like that. I love the architecture, the scale of some of them, that kind of thing. So, while on a roadtrip around the country, I called into a pretty damn big cathedral in a northern town.

When I say I'm not a religious person, that's quite the understatement- were it not for my liberal way of thinking, I'd be outright atheist. I've read the God Delusion, I've argued in favour of science over religion, and mostly, I'm of sane mind, who doesn't believe in fairy tales.

But on the day I stepped into that cathedral, something possessed me. There was a book for prayers to be read at the next service, and I asked for the congregation to pray for the person close to me that they'd be cured.  I felt like a hypocrite as I wrote it, but I figured, it works for some, why not me?

The thing is, that person pulled through. The cancer went, and they have since made a full recovery, for which I will be eternally grateful.

But now, whenever I argue against the existence of God, I feel awful. What if? What if there is a heaven, and when I get to the pearly gates they ask me 'Why, when we answered your prayers, did you still deny our existence? Why should we let you in, you ingrate?'

Here's hoping that if there is a big fella upstairs, he's pretty lenient.

My last hour..

The breeze blew against my face and despite the scene of purity and freedom around me, my heart still felt heavy and my throat still felt tight with pain and betrayal.

I opened my eyes and looked up at the sky. It was clear blue, the sun gleaming and gentle fluffy clouds swirled past. A Seagull glided across my view and for a moment I wished I was that bird. My eyes followed it as it swooped and swirled above me. It was almost as if it knew what I was about to do and was trying to make me see there was hope and happiness out there. Another gull flew into view and called the first. They flew off together into the distance. A small smile dared to upturn the corners of my mouth but the unity of the gulls just reminded me of my loneliness.

I turned my head to the side and reached out for the plastic bag beside me. I touched it and ran it's thin cool plastic through my fingers contemplating my plan. I swallowed hard and sat up wearily. I pulled the bag into my lap and opened it up to survey it's contents. All still there...

I looked out over at the valley below me. I could see cottages with people driving and getting on with their everyday lives. Families... innocent, carefree children... lovers... None of them knowing the emptiness I was feeling inside as I watched over them from a distance.

I felt in my trouser pocket for my phone, and pulled it out. One last text? No...what would be the point? I had made up my mind, I had done all the fighting I could cope with, and now I had accepted that I had lost the battle. Battered and bruised inside, I no longer wanted to torture myself.

I turned my phone off and lay it on the grass beside me. I reached inside the bag and pulled out a white envelope. I ran my fingers across the name on the envelope. Tears stung my eyes but I shut them tight, temper at my weakness building inside me. I took a deep, sharp breath in and counted slowly to ten in my head to compose myself.

1..2..3..4..5..6.. breath out...7..8..9..10..

I opened my eyes and wiped them with the back of my hand. I lay the envelope against my phone.
I reached inside the bag again and gripped the small bottle pulling it out. I lay it on the grass beside me and I then pulled out the bottle of Whisky.

I felt my heart beating heavily in my chest. Is it possible? How, after how much hurt I had been through, could I possibly still feel my heart beating? It almost felt alien to me after the numbness I had been existing on.
Please don't have any doubts... I had made my decision, and it hadn't exactly been a hard one. I had nothing...no-one.

I was nothing...

I unscrewed the lid on the Whisky bottle, and put it to my lips. The fumes burnt my nostrils. I lifted the bottle briskly and my throat contracted as the amber fluid swirled through my mouth. I gulped hard. It would get easier. It was a small price to pay.

I clicked off the lid of the small bottle and poured the small white tablets into my hand. One by one? All at once? They were only small so it wouldn't prove that much of a challenge. Irritated at my indecision I threw the tablets into my mouth with a slug of Whisky. I threw the pill bottle into the undergrowth. I didn't want anyone to find me in an unconscious state and bring me back into this hateful world.

There...done...no going back... I took another swig of Whisky and lay back...eyes closed...

Dark Night

It was a dark, cloudy, moonlit, stormy, windy, bleak night... (hold on, too many adjectives, that's getting confusing, better not use them all up in the first sentence).

It was a dark night. (That's better, brief and to the point. Oh bugger, dark night ? That's redundant, surely, they're all dark. Let's start again).

It was a clear, cloudless night (that's better, I could go with that). The rain fell heavily on the figure crouched in the churchyard. (Ooh, I like it. Good atmosphere. Hang on, it's cloudless, where's the rain coming from ?).

It was a cool, cloudy night. The rain fell heavily on the small dark figure crouched in the churchyard. As he stood between the gravestones, he could see the shadows they cast from the moonlight, stretching across the damp (damp, good, remembered the rain this time) grass. He stepped cautiously from behind the monument, conscious of his own conspicuous shadow as it moved before him (hell's teeth, the bloody shadows ! I've already said it's cloudy and raining, so where are they going to come from ?)

It was a cool, cloudy night. The rain fell heavily on the small dark figure crouched in the churchyard. As he stood between the gravestones, he was grateful for the lack of moonlight and shadows that would have betrayed his presence. He stepped cautiously from behind the monument, feet sinking slowly into the damp grass as he moved towards the church. His eyes focussed on the door, trying to ascertain if the heavy padlock that usually secured it was in place. He glanced from side to side as he crept, looking and listening at the same time for any sounds, any indication that he was not alone.(Woah, woah, he's staring at the door AND glancing from side to side ? Make your bloody mind up).

It was a cool, cloudy night. The rain fell heavily on the small dark figure crouched in the churchyard. As he stood between the gravestones, he was grateful for the lack of moonlight and shadows that would have betrayed his presence. He stepped cautiously from behind the monument, feet sinking slowly into the damp grass as he moved towards the church. After glancing from side to side, looking and listening at the same time for any sounds, for any indication that he was not alone, his eyes focused on the door, trying to ascertain if the heavy padlock that usually secured it was in place. He ducked his bulky frame into the small porch, trying to get as much cover as possible from the intensifying downpour, and removed a small set of lockpicks from his overcoat. (Hang on, this guy's small...but he's bulky ? OK, but that's possible, though - he could be short and wide. Think I can get away with that. He'd be ducking to stop rain drizzling down his neck anyway, however tall he was).

(Hold on, bugger this, it's all getting a bit tricky, let's just get straight to the point. Who'd be a flamin' writer ?).

There was this bloke, right, and he crept into a church at night, 'cos it was dark then, broke in, nicked all the silver and flogged it so he could buy beer and drugs. End of.

Gbh Abh Its All The Same To Me

I’m not a bad man I just like to hurt people

And I only ever hurt people who have hurt me or mine

Or just have it coming to them

Never liked football so the hoolies were out

I always admired them from afar

Just straight up hate and pain

A wise man once said “Pain don’t hurt”

And in the right circumstance it doesn’t

The buzz just washes over you

And you feel nothing

Its like the best drug you can imagine

It’s a while later the after effects kick in

The come down from the ecstatic high

My hands are a network of white ugly scars

Broken knuckles, Teeth marks its all part of the fun

Somehow I have always managed to keep my nose in one piece

It’s always the first bit I go for

Nothing beats that crunch as you feel it flatten

Their eyes roll back and start to water

Catch them just right and it’s a free for all after that

Kick them in the balls

Knee them in the face

Elbows, back hands

Chops to the throat

Kick them while they are down

There is no such thing as dirty fighting

There is only fighting

And I always win

Never forget that

I always win