...my stories and other such tales.

...time will tell

2009-02-22T13:44:59+00:00

October 22nd.

My darling Jane,

Thank you for your visit last weekend, it has certainly lifted my spirits. I do not feel that I am struggling, all the inmates treat me quite fairly, it's not like I'm some disgraceful nonce or have committed murder. Maybe being from the higher echelons of society, they feel that they can get more out of me by keeping me onside? It's only been 7 days now since my arrival; only time will tell.

My cell-mate is Anthony; he's a big fat man, very imposing. He descended from Nigeria, but was arrested in Hounslow. He has hinted at his dark past and 'big jobs around Heathrow', I have no idea what else he was up to. One thing I have learned is that nobody dares to talk about their crimes. Some sort of honour amongst thieves, killers and embezzlers...like me. Almost everyone is innocent; I may be wet behind the ears but I can tell in their eyes that this surely isn't the case.
I am guilty however, for which you know I am truly sorry. You know that in my heart of hearts that I did this all for you. You do know that don't you?

I miss you and Max terribly,

Giles.

November 3rd.

Dearest Jane,

I am sorry that you could not visit last week. I know I have put you in the most difficult of positions. Tidying up the mess I have caused will no doubt have its consequences. Hopefully I have made enough legitimate money to cover your living costs for yourself and little Max. I hope he's setting in to his new school. I hope also that he has a thought for his old man too.

I must confess to shedding a tear or two lately. The nights are cold and long, or some fool is kicking up a fuss further down the wing. I am kept awake and my thoughts are constantly of freedom and the life I have left behind. I was a fool to think I could not be caught, Jane. You don't think any ill of me, do you? I crave so many things, but above all your forgiveness. I fear I have left you so much shame to contend with. No amount of money could possibly appease that shame, whether it was obtained legally or otherwise.

Anthony has been keeping me company; he has shown me the way for which I am eternally grateful. The basic rules seem to be similar to a child; speak when spoken to, be seen but not heard! In some ways, this is much like a school. There is a hierarchy, for sure; you know who the leaders are and who idly follow like pathetic sheep.

There is a brute of a man who seems to lord over the wing. They call him Tempest. He seems to have tentacles throughout the wing, nothing happens without Tempest knowing about it. The system works for him, not the other way around. He must stand nearly 7 feet tall and is covered in tattoos from head to toe. So the story goes, he killed 3 men with his bare hands! Can you imagine? He has purportedly killed many more people too. Which crime led him here I am not sure, however.

I must rest now, I am so tired.

Always in my thoughts,

G.

December 23th.

Darling Jane,

Alas I fear your Christmas card may have been way-laid. I have sent you and Max what I can, it's not much I'm afraid. I do hope you are well, I have not heard from you in...Well, it seems like forever.

Time is taking its toll on me; my sentence does not seem to be getting any closer to its conclusion. I am losing a lot of weight and the initial curiosity of this harsh environment has now lost its initial quirky yet desolate charm. The prisoners seem to have lost their charm also, especially for yours truly. They poke fun at my accent and ask such inane questions like "Do you know Shakespeare?" -- Honestly, Jane, I ask you! A couple of times I have had my dinner thrust from my very hands, not that it's any loss, the slop is not exactly Foie Gras!

Anthony had cause to give me a slap too. I managed to spill some tea on one of his 'jazz' mags. He wasn't impressed and slapped me about the temple. I dare say I deserved it. I deserve all of these shortcomings, if you ask me. Anthony apologized to me later, but only because I could not stop crying.

Tempest has also been having fun. One of the younger scrotes thought it a wheeze to steal one of his tea bags. Tempest took a shiv to the poor sap, cut off most of his right ear and ate it, right before his very eyes without so much as flicker of emotion. I tell you, Jane -- this man is the purest of evil!

I'm so lonely without you, Jane. Have a very Merry Christmas.

Giles.

January 2nd.

Jane,

Not a word from you in a long while. Have I not provided enough for you? Would half an hour of your precious time kill you to visit your husband? You'd think I had killed someone the way you and these animals are treating me.

I have received more beatings lately. Ever since the episode with Antony and his bloody porn he has become so very precious with his items. It is all so very petty and tiresome. I cannot even brush my teeth without as much as a sarcastic comment. I try to argue my point in a thought out and reasoned manner, but he only has to raise a hand to me and I cower. Do you not care, Jane? Can you not see I need some respite from this dank despair?

I shall keep this short as I fear you are not even reading my missives and my hands are sore from having to defend myself from all and sundry.

I love you, do you love me?

Giles.

January 18th.

Where are you? Do you really despise me this much? You would have thought I have raped the bloody Queen for the treatment I receive.

My cynical side cannot think beyond the fact that you will have eloped with Ryan the Gardener. I have left you in excess of £2.5 million pounds, Woman! Though if you have sold the Bentley and the Aston, I will fucking come down on you like a ton of bricks, you filthy whore. When I get out, I shall find you -- you know I will. The villa in Saratoga is where I will find you, for sure. Don't think I won't find you.

That is if I get out, of course. Life in here is becoming totally unbearable, so much so I can hardly call it a 'life'. That freak of a man Tempest has had me in his cell. I struggled for all I was worth, but he carried me like a bag and tossed me inside. I cannot begin to tell you what he does with me, though it's no doubt similar to what that utter shit Ryan is doing to you.

I am all out of tears, I hope you all rot.

Wishing you every misery,

Giles.

February 14th.

This will be my last message, Jane. I am evidently worth nothing more to you than the dirt which you have scraped from your shoe. I thought I meant more to you than this; leaving me to suffer with these filthy disgusting dogs. You are clearly no better than Tempest; the illiterate grunting halfwit, or those bastard Guards that do precisely fuck all to help me with my excruciating plight.

Not that you give a single thought about me anymore. I should have seen right through you. You all could be implicit in putting me here, for all I know. You, Max, Anthony and Tempest. Miserable shits, all of you.

Do you know what irks me? No, not you being pleasured by someone 30 years my junior, whom I employed, I hasten to add. Not even being betrayed by Anthony who I thought genuinely cared for me. Not even Tempest who has dehumanised me to my very core -- it is that you will gain even more financially from my life insurance! If could raise a laugh at the irony, I would.

How could you turn on me? What did I do that was so bad, Jane? Oh why do I bother, you have not answered a single question of mine in all the months I have been slowly been losing my mind, body and spirit. If I could regurgitate enough to spit on your face, I surely would. It's no more than you deserve, you saggy decrepit bitch witch!

I hope you and your bastard love-child are happy. (I know he is not mine, I have always known.)

I bid you farewell, I shall see you in HELL. I cannot take any more.

Giles Icarus Theodore Thorpe.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The letters to Jane never arrived. They were never even sent. Tempest saw to that.
Giles Thorpe committed suicide on February 17th by hanging.

...jesus is coming

2009-02-08T13:04:18+00:00

Joanna was already late for her illicit date. Her hair just wasn't behaving. She let out a disapproving huff and threw her hair straighteners onto the dressing table.

As she stood in her little black dress, she caught herself in the mirror; still outstanding for her age no matter who was judging. At 31, Joanna was thinking about 'age' more often now than she ever thought she would. The younger girls at the airline still thought Joanna was 'well fit'. The boys were a tad more colourful with their appreciation, some with a more hands on approach!

Running her hands down her stomach and thighs, she gazed at her reflection.

"You've still got it, girl!" as she fired an imaginary gun at her image and struck an accentuated sexy pose. She leaned forward to reveal her ample cleavage, testing all the angles available to promote her assets. Joanna was more than happy, apart from the hair, of course. As a final touch, she removed her engagement ring. It would be an unnecessary accessory tonight.

BING-BONG...BING-BONG...BING-BONG...

As the chimes of the doorbell diminished, Joanna looked towards her alarm clock -- 8.02pm. Quickly she grabbed her bag and keys, switching the lights off. Slowly, she negotiated the stairs, not an easy task in four inch stilettos.

BING-BONG...

"Alright, alright, for Christ's sake!" she moaned whilst opening the front door.

A small plump lady in her 50's, dressed in a beige tatty tweed coat, white fur lined hat and blue moonboots stood before her in a cacophony of colour. Not really the taxi driver type. The lady smiled at Joanna for what seemed much longer than necessary, as if to mentally size her up.

"What?" Joanna responded, in a none too friendly tone.

The visitor still stood silent for few more seconds before breaking into a perfunctory smile.

"Do you know that He is coming?" she revealed with theatrical gusto, arms akimbo.

"Yes, I know...he should be here already" Joanna replied blankly whilst looking at her Gucci watch.

"Maybe not that soon, dear, but He is coming."

"He'd better be; he's sodding late."

"I am here with His message. You can find solace in your heart with Him to guide you."

"What message? He didn't text me."

"He can bring you whatever you truly desire, young lady."

Joanna was hearing the words, but not registering them.

The lady sensed that she wasn't quite hitting the mark. "He does love you."

"Tom? I know he does. Anyway, how do you know Tom?" Joanna puzzled.

"You can call Him any name you like, but He will always love you, dear."

Joanna was lost. "Lovely. Now, can I get on?"

"Of course dear, He will always find you."

"Look, did I ask you to come to my house? I have no interest in whoever HE is! Any chance you can just...bugger off? Go on, shoo!" she fumed, pushing the visitor from her doorstep.

The lady was taken aback but had heard such diatribes before.

"You may not have asked me, young lady, but He is calling you."

"He's calling me now? My phone has not rung in an hour. What are you babbling on about, woman?" Joanna's patience was
rapidly wearing thin.

A mental cog turned as she reached for her phone from her Yves San Laurent clutch bag.

"Maybe you would be interested...." she was cut off mid-flow by Joanna raising a hand to her face with a stop signal.

"Will you please just shut up?" Joanna snapped, returning her attention her phone. "Hi, Dave, it's Joanna, where's my cab? I said eight o'clock and he's still not here."

"There are many people of your age..." the lady butted in.

Joanna gesticulated by holding up the phone, "Can't you see I am on the phone? I don't care what the hell it is you are
selling, I am not interested. Now will you just please just go!" she snapped with impatient fury.

The unwelcome guest shut her eyes and held her hands together in prayer, as if to seek forgiveness for failing to save this poor miserable sinner of a woman.

"As you wish, but He is coming." she spoke softly with resignation, turned on her moonboots and walked into the drizzle of the night.

At that precise moment, a black cab appeared and rolled slowly to a halt. The driver walked towards Joanna's front door. He stood tall and thin with a dark goatee and shiny skin.

"Ever so sorry, Miss. Virender, he calls in sick. I take you to town now." He apologized in a thick Spanish accent.
Joanna slammed her door behind her and walked towards the cab. Her mood distinctly buoyed at seeing her new handsome driver.

"That's OK, I don't mind!" she giggled. "What's your name, driver?"

"Jesus, Miss...Jesus" he nodded, ushering Joanna into the back of the cab.

"Hayzoos...cool name! Let's go."

...liv the sieve

2009-01-18T18:52:03+00:00

Liv woke to find the other half of her bed empty. Her latest catch had slipped on his clothes and sloped off and into the winter night. Yet another man had slipped through her fingers and into the ether. Liv the Sieve strikes again.

She rose and shuffled in her slippers towards the large bay window. The cold draught slipped through the cracks, a piercing shiver flashed through her bones. The snowfall of the past week had lasted slightly longer than her latest ill-fated and brief relationship. In the last of the snow she spied a faint footprint; she wondered if it was his. The last of him she would likely ever see.

In the midst of her stare, the garden gate seemingly moved. It was a mere trick of the mind. She knew there would be no return of him to her with flowers and a beaming smile. Liv wrapped her dressing-gown tightly to insulate whatever warmth she had left.

Behind her in the distance a noise grew to a cacophony. Her son raced into the room and toward the window. He raised his arms up to her to let him look outside. His small hands pressed against the frosty glass. He wiped at the window with his teddy bear to clear a view to the snowman he had lovingly built with Liv's new (yet already former) beau a few days earlier.

The boy's excitement was rapidly short lived. Only a few large snowballs and the obligatory carrot visibly remained on the grass.

"He's gone!" the boy cried.

The acute irony was not lost on Liv as she pulled him close for a consolatory sigh and cuddle.

"I know, baby, I know."

...baking

2009-01-06T17:44:25+00:00

In his faded black hoody, horrendously baggy jeans and skater sneakers, Dylan stood in the 30º heat. Slouching from one foot to another, his chubby body was vertically challenged.

Arthur arrived on the scene dressed as one should for a summer's day. Sporting a white t-shirt, khaki shorts and very trendy flip-flops, he looked the business, despite having an early 20th century name. The contrast between the two teens was palpable in the extreme.

"Alright?" Arthur asked in a dulcet tone as he sat on a bench.

"A'ight." Dylan responded in a single syllable.

"Been here long, mate?"

"Nah. Coupla mins." Dylan lied, having no idea how long he had been really staring into the doorway of Greggs the Bakers. Arthur's stream of conversation had been headed off at the pass with 3 words. He thought long and hard about the next question as nothing was forthcoming from the mono-syllabic hoody.

"You must be sweating like a pig."

"I'm a'right, not that hot." A mixture of vowels and consonants almost blended into one word.

"Oh, right." Arthur observed that Dylan hadn't looked in his direction once. He wasn't just perusing a pasty, but the pretty petite girl serving cakes and baguettes. Arthur knew Dylan fancied Gail for as long as he could recall.

"Are you waiting for Gail?" Arthur smiled knowingly.

"Um, no." Dylan snorted and sucked his teeth.

"Still wanting to ask her out?"

"NO! I'm...just bidin' me time, innit?" he knew the words but didn't know what they meant. Dylan turned away, suitably embarrassed to be called out in public.

In the distance a church bell chimed; midday waits for no man. Arthur looked down at his watch instinctively. Within a heartbeat Arthur stood and headed towards the bakers.

Arthur waited; cool as cucumber and cress. Dylan looked on perplexed, shuffling in his sweaty socks and shoes. He watched Arthur get closer to Gail, ever closer. She knelt down to retrieve a small white box. As she rose, he leaned over the counter and softly kissed her on the lips. Dylan's eyes lit up from within the dark cavern of his hood, fuming with teen angst.

Arthur left the shop beaming.

"Woss in there?" Dylan steamed.

Arthur flipped the lid open to show a single cookie inside with red heart shaped icing.

"Why'd she give you dat?" his blackened fingernails stabbed at the box.

"Because she's my girlfriend now...mate." Arthur said, as matter of absolute undeniable fact.

"Wha?" Dylan threw back his hood as confusion and turmoil reigned supreme.

"Snooze you lose, fella. As our English teacher said 'you can take a horse to water, but you can't make it drink.'" With that, Arthur gave Dylan the box, bit into his cookie and walked away.

Dylan had no idea what that meant or what had just happened but he knew that his summer was now completely ruined.

...fox and biscuit

2009-01-04T09:07:41+00:00

"It was a Fox, a huge bloody Fox!" Sally exclaimed.

"Cat. And don't swear." Jen coldly retorted, unmoved by the protestation.

"Fox! It was huge, really massive." she pointed out of the window; the morning dew sitting undisturbed on the grass.

"Bet you it was the ginger tom from down the road, bet you a Bourbon biscuit." Jen had lifted the lid from the biscuit tin, such was her confidence. The loss of a beloved Bourbon caused baby sister Sally to think twice. Was it really a fox that was rummaging through the bins at such an unearthly hour? In the dim light she was now not so sure.

"Hmm...well if it was a cat it looked a lot like a fox." Sally conceded.

"You're just saying that so you don't lose a biscuit! You know it was a cat, you're such a little drama queen, Sal!"

At that precise moment a rather large, beefy but fluffy looking ginger cat appeared on a fence at the bottom of the garden. With consummate grace on the cold wood the furry feline strode along purposefully with the poise of a ballerina.

"Cat!" Jen jabbed at Sally with one hand and pointed to the cat with the other.

"Fox. That's a different fox." Sally mumbled in defeat whilst flicking crumbs of a secretly stolen biscuit from her nightdress.

With a triumphant smile at her younger sister, Jen helped herself to the last grabbed Bourbon biscuit in the tin.

...the reluctant psychic

2008-12-13T19:58:51+00:00

Eddie lay silent on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above him. In the half-light of the bedroom he could pick out the patterns and swirls in the artex above. This was a nightly event; a few hours slumber followed by a stare-a-thon until the morning light filtered through the aged and dishevelled curtains. Only then could he return to sleep where his mind drifted within seas and rivers, soaring over building and mountains -- his dreams were always landscapes of solitude and beauty. Far removed from the closeted and enclosed world he lived in.

Jill, his partner, was always up with the lark. Humming away to herself as she glided in her tie-dye skirt. Eddie swore he hadn't seen her legs in years, circa 1985, the wind at the beach being slightly too aggressive. Besides, he didn't think she had shaved them for just as long so it didn't bother him...not any more at least. Any glimmer of sexual behaviour between them both had long since passed -- with her unshaven legs that was likely to continue.

"Eddie-Luv?!" Jill hollered from the bottom of the stairs. "Time for sleepy Ed to get up, you've got an appointment in an hour!"

He rolled and grumbled, it seemed not five minutes since he'd dropped off to sleep.

"Do you want a cup of Green tea?" Her shrill voice bounced off the walls and howled inside his ears.

Eddie raised his head slightly to have more effect in his reply "Oh alright then." As if a loaded gun was pressed to his forehead.

Green tea was her drink du jour, of any 'jour' for that matter. Since they met in the early 70's, they had rolled along horizontally in time. Not too many peaks or troughs, just flat lining aimlessly. She, still addicted to Green Tea and shapeless clothes. He, ever drowning in Green Tea and moral fraudulence.

Eddie was a practising 'psychic healer and medium', according to the business card at least. He and Jill met at some hippie festival way back when thoughts of the ethereal plane and peace to all men was highly in vogue. He impressed her with his voyages of fantasy and claims to be in touch with the spiritual world. For quite some time she swooned over the young Edward, she felt different to be with someone so different. Neither of them fitted the norm, Eddie was a bit of a loner, but charming with a warm heart and smile. Jill, psychedelic, warped back then, stuck in a time warp now, insisting that the world will be just fine with a dash of peace, love and cake (and if Cannabis could be thrown in for good measure, that would be marvellous.)

A few years later they moved into a lavish 4 storey town house and remained self-sufficient. A frugal recycling lifestyle way before sorting the plastics and papers became in vogue had put them in good stead. The money Eddie brought in from his clients was more like pin money really. A healthy allowance from a dead relative on Jill's side gave them no need to change the status quo, neither of them wanted for much...or so it seemed.

Jill delivered the tea to Eddie who had at least sat up in bed.

"Here you are Eddie-Luv." he could almost predict the sentence flowing from her lips. He gratefully received the cup nonetheless. He had been know as "Eddie-Luv" for so long now he had to stop himself for quoting it as his own name. She sent him birthday and Christmas cards to "Eddie-Luv" for years, it was quite literally embedded into his being. Any annoyance seemed like a low current itch rather than a raging irritation. At least she still used his name, even if the 'Luv' part seemed more pet related than sexually charged.

"Ta." he replied nonchalantly.

"How many appointments today?" she asked.

"Just three today. Nobody wants to travel in this weather." Eddie looked out of the window next to the bed. Raining again.

"Well, some of us still have to go out." Jill was already in her coat and wellies. Eddie hadn't noticed, her shabby skirt was covering most of the boots.

"Where you off to?" he asked, feigning interest, but asking just the same.

"Oh Briony in the village, she wants some help with a flower arrangement for the Fête, you know, next week? Well, I have to run...see you later!" she blew him a kiss (a literal one would be so lucky.) Her wellies flapped against her non-shaved legs. Eddie sipped his green tea to divert his mind from such an un-sexy thought as wellies and hair flailing in the wind. He winced with the taste of the foul smelling tea, he thought it was good for his waistline, so sipped it just the same.

Within the hour he was ready for his first appointment. He tidied the office, pumped up the cushions on the comfortable brown sofa and started the 'chill-out' CD which he used to set he scene for his clients. He felt that making people feel relaxed was half the battle, the other half was with himself.

Eddie's gift for connecting to the 'other side' was suspect. Some may have said that the whole subject was suspect, but lately even Eddie was struggling to justify taking money from people who, by and large, were in search of someone, felt deserving of closure or just wanted a bloody good cry. His talent was waning. For a few months now he felt his ethereal antenna was a bit wonky. More than a couple of times he had actually made it all up, much to his own disgust. He hated taking 35 quid from these poor curious saps at the best of times, as it led to more questions than answers mostly, but to fabricate almost the whole hour bothered him. Why was it happening? What was the change?

The clock on the wall gave a quiet 'bong' as the clock reached 10 o'clock. His next appointment, Julie Stanton, was due. He had not seen her before, which was normal, but she was recommended to see Eddie by a 'regular' who had seen him quite a few times before. If he could feel anything about Julie, it was that she was in some distress. He thought that this may help, if he could tune into her woe then it may spark his heavenly host to come forth and pull its finger out.

Eddie had what's known in the trade as a "spirit guide". Well, he had. The little sod hadn't surfaced for a few weeks. Eddie imagined him getting drunk in the clouds, being surrounded by pole dancing angels. Hoping he would come back for this session would be a turn-up for the books. A few minutes later the bell chimed, Eddie rose and walked out of office and down to the front door.

"Julie?" He asked informally, even though it was hardly likely to be anyone else.

"Yes, Hi, Hello." She offered her left hand which wasn't necessary, but Eddie shook it gently, her soft cold hand grasped his fingers in a very lady-like handshake. Julie lowered the hood of her coat and revealed her face. She couldn't be a day over 25, blonde, thin-lips, green eyes that were weighed heavy with tears. Eddie could sense that this one could be trouble.

Her right hand held an umbrella which she lowered and shook off the rain..

"Come in, come in, you must be soaking!" he ushered Julie inside. She looked in and around at the new surroundings for a fleeting moment.

Eddie showed her way into his office with an outstretched arm "If you turn to your left and find yourself a seat, I'll be with you in a minute."

She handed him her wet umbrella which he placed in the bottom of the coat stand. She took her coat off herself, placed it on a hook and walked into the office. Eddie casually glimpsed at her shapely frame as she passed. Dressed in a white blouse and black skirt with stiletto heeled shoes, she walked towards Eddie's office. Eddie admired her hips and how they gracefully shifted before following her. "Keep your eyes off her arse, Ed!" he smiled, allowing himself a moment of pleasure.

"Would you like a drink? Green tea?" Eddie offered even though he knew he should have stopped short of offering 'green tea'.

"No thank you, I'm fine Mr Chambers." Julie was now sat on the edge of the sofa, clutching a handkerchief as if her life depended on it.

"Please, call me Eddie." he said as he relaxed into his own well worn chair. "Now, is this your first time to see a....someone like me?" He seemed slightly embarrassed to use a title given how he felt about his talent and whether his guide was going to 'turn up' for business.

"Um, no, I-I, this is my first time, Mr Chambers." she looked at the floor as she spoke, hiding her emotions, feeling less at ease by the second.

Eddie had seen this before, many a time. She clearly was a grieving widow. Her wedding and engagement ring were still on her finger. She played with the rings whilst holding the hankie. A comfort mechanism; holding onto the only item she had left of him. A tokens of a love cruelly ripped from her brutally. Eddie could sense a figure within his sixth sense already, Julie sat nervously on the edge of the sofa, feet crossed, hands a whirl of nervous tension.

"Please, sit back...relax...let me do the work, Julie. You have nothing to fear here." It was a mantra that he had perfected over the years, punctuated by the use of her name. This was something he had picked up a long time ago; the use of the clients name helped to make the whole experience personal, meaningful. With those words, Julie snapped into life, stood, adjusted her skirt and sat once more. Eddie looked into his notes but noticed her silky movement nonetheless, and sat back down leaning into the right arm of the sofa. Crossing his legs for comfort, he realised he was still wearing his furry slippers. Julie was none the wiser, still looking down at her handkerchief. Maybe he could get away with this footwear faux pas just this once.

For the next hour Eddie struggled, and struggled badly. He fidgeted in his seat more than his client. A rogue slipper falling off halfway through his appalling performance as a soothing medium added insult to injury. Only snippets of raw talent and feeling came from his 'guide'. Eddie felt quite ashamed to take money from the poor widow as she drifted into the torrential rain.

He needed some tea.

Jill came home soon after, she always timed her return to coincide with Eddie's clients leaving.

"Eddie-Luv? Are you alright?" she shiftily asked, putting something into a cupboard and noticed Eddie sitting at the dining table.

"Ach...it was horrible. I don't think I can do this anymore, Jill." Eddie slumped over his teacup, shoulders hunched.

Jill panicked slightly "Why the heavens not?" The irony of the 'heavens' and Eddie's line of work pun passed her by.

"I felt such a fraud, I let the poor woman down. She'd just lost her husband in an accident and all I could do was tell her it was going to be all right, that he was looking down on her. The usual bobbins." Eddie pushed away his cup of (normal) tea.

"You need a cup of Jill's special brew, Eddie-Luv." she said with consoling tones.

"I've got another one at 1 o'clock, I've got to get myself together, I'm off for a nap!" Eddie threatened. It was hardly a threat that would cause earthquakes in the household but Jill could see that he was definitely serious, his tone was agitated and edgy.

She poured him some hot water and added her green tea mix, adding a little bit more than usual.

"Here you go, Eddie-Luv" she laid the cup down and pushed it towards him. "Get that down you. Briony's given me some blackberries. I was thinking of making a crumble; you know you love a crumble." Jill knew how to work on Eddie. He was a partial to home-made food, not that he had much choice, she insisted on making everything that they ate. There was no processed food in this household.

"That would be nice, dear." His mood had barely lifted, but it was acknowledgement nonetheless of her efforts. With that he picked up his cup and retired to his office once more. Hopefully to recover a little before his next session.

Jill watched as he left the kitchen. Her smile dropped as he left the room to a grimace.

"Not good enough, Jillian, not good enough at all." she scowled at herself. "It's that bitch Briony, she's selling sub-standard stuff."

She took out a hessian bag that she had brought home and examined it. The usual suspects inside, local produce for local people, carrots, blackberries, broad beans...marijuana and ecstasy pills. The latter items being hidden at the bottom, out of sight and mind. Jill examined the transparent bags to find flaws, her face screwed up and terse.

Over the years she had been giving Eddie all manner of potions, bewitching elixirs and classifications of drugs. Most of which were to keep him on a leash, but also to keep him living with the fairies and doling out the tales of the dead to whoever walked through the door. Regardless of the blinding headaches, monumental mood swings, hungers and thirsts, Eddie had quaffed more MDMA than a teenager on a Mediterranean fortnight. He had eaten more hash based bakery than a University student. He had more drugs in his system than a touring rock band. She loved him still, but only in the way she wanted or let herself love him.

Jill fussed around the kitchen in a fuming haze, half ticked off the Eddie was losing his abilities, half at Briony for providing sub-standard gear. Inadvertently, she dropped her bag and swore.

"Bollocks!" as the mixed 'herbs', berries and pills spilled onto the tiled floor.

The commotion stirred Eddie from his brief slumber. He rose and headed towards the kitchen.

"What is it, love?" he said reaching the kitchen, seeing Jill greedily grabbing at the items on the floor.

"Nothing Eddie-Luv, i just had a slip, that's all." Jill sounded flustered in the extreme.

Eddie spied a packet on the floor that slid underneath a chair, out of sight of where Jill was still frantically to recover objects. He stooped and picked up a clear plastic bag of powder. He instantly assumed it was some kind of sugar, why wouldn't he? Jill stood to find him taking a sniff.

"Nooooo!!!!" Jill screeched, causing the timid Eddie to jump and spill the substance on the floor.

"You idiot Eddie, do you have any idea how much that's worth?"

The words tumbled out of her mouth but the brain had not been priorly engaged. Whilst Eddie was smothered and cosseted, he wasn't a total loss. He had seen enough television to know that he was in close contact with Cocaine.

"No, Jill I don't have an idea how much it's worth, why don't you tell me?" Eddie took a tone of voice which he had rarely used, if ever, before. Using a new created confidence, he snatched from her hands another packet, this time it was not quite the common or garden type of weed but weed of a much different kind.

The familiar smell hit him instantly, it was a smell that he had known for over 20 years. A wave of realisation hit him -- Green tea. What he thought was a diuretic to help him with his middle age spread was in fact keeping him as high as a kite! All the feelings of paranoia he felt with his clients raised their ugly heads again. Were they onto him? Was he really in touch with their loved ones after all? Was it all a drug induced fugue? Where is my spirit guide? All these questions flashed across his mind instantly.

"You've been feeding me....DRUGS? For....for....HOW LONG, JILL?" he screamed, throwing the marching powder on the table, white dust ballooned in the air.

Jill hung her head in shame and sniffled. Eddie hadn't seen her cry since seeing Free Willy.

"I'm....sorry Eddie-Luv. You..." she paused to sniff into her cardigan "always performed better with your clients when you'd had a fix."

"A FIX?" Is that what you call it?" Eddie fumed. "You've had me like a junkie for lord knows how long, because I could tell a good story to the poor souls coming in the door?" he pointed at the front door for no apparent reason, but his rage was incandescent. He shook his head, feeling a complete failure. Whatever he said, whatever he felt was drug induced or as a direct result of years of substance abuse. For all the feelings and emotions that he thought were 'pure' the only pureness was in the quality of the chemicals within his tea!

"I never meant to hurt you, you know that." Jill wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement.

"Hurt me? How could I ever tell if I was hurt? I was either away with the fairies or losing the plot, Jill. How could I really know how I felt...really?" Eddie was calming down, but still coming to terms that he lived in a drug haven.

For minutes that seemed like hours, they stood in silence. Neither one knowing the right words to say. Both of them knew that whilst the lid was blown off the whole affair, the tin was still in tact. Both could always see the funny side in most situations, although this did take the biscuit, whether it had hash in it or not.

Jill sighed. Put the kettle on and turned to faced Eddie and kissed him on his balding head.

"Tea or Coffee, Eddie-Luv?" she asked.

Eddie paused for a moment, somewhat pleased that the cold atmosphere had been broken.

"Coffee, please." he answered as the doorbell rang for Eddie's next appointment.

...dead life

2008-07-20T11:11:34+00:00

Amazing. That's the only word I can say to describe....'this'. This place, this feeling, this new life. That's if you can call it a life. My life, as you would traditionally call it, with a living pulse, a beating heart, blood coursing through my veins is gone. My life ceased to be a few short hours ago. My life with feet on the ground, feeling sensations via taste, smell, touch -- all those things have gone too. I can't say yet what it is I do think or feel being...dead. Yet I'm not dead, I'm more alive now than I've ever felt in the living world. Only the clock on the wall tells me that my normal live ceased to be 127 minutes ago. Strangely, I feel as if I've been here before. If I could scratch my head to ponder this thought I would. It's puzzling in the extreme.

My head, the one I see before me lying on the hospital bed, had suffered huge trauma. The crash had also snapped a couple of vertebrae, my spinal cord was shredded, my left shoulder was out of its socket, I had dislocated a knee also, as well as two broken ankles, oh and a fractured arm and few broken metatarsals in my right foot. Otherwise, I looked just fine! My helmet had kept my face relatively injury free. A few bruises here and there, but to all intents and purposes I'm still as handsome as I ever was -- it's just rest of me that's internally beyond repair.

Not that I can feel any of that now, I guess that's a bit of blessing. I never could feel any of it, apparently I died pretty much on impact with the 4x4 that I swerved into uncontrollably. Combined with the greasy weather conditions, the April showers and a couple of cats eyes in the road put pay to my time on Terra Firma. Now the only thing that is 'firm' is my new found reality, the dawn of a new state of being. So, what's it like being dead, you may ask? Apart from the fact that I cannot feel a thing, I still feel 6 feet tall, which was my natural height. I'm covered in a sheet with only my head showing, like I said, the helmet has mercifully retained my good looks. I look like I'm having a good kip, peaceful, like. Trouble is, I don't sleep on my back, nor do I stop breathing in my sleep. The vision of me I see before the new me, doesn't move a jot. It's still dawning on me that I'm here and not there.

Apart from that, how do I feel? I feel a weight off my mind, if you can excuse the pun -- despite not being in the only state I've ever known, I feel calm, placid, lucid, and free. I have no restraints, no obvious limitations, nothing to make me feel as if I'm missing anything that I've left behind. It's akin to being given an encyclopedia on reality as it was, whilst I don't have the answers ready to hand, I can call upon them whenever I choose. For instance, all of my injuries that lead me to death; I know all of them, down the minutest crack and splinter. How do I know? I just do! Anything it seems that was a part of me or my life is seemingly becoming clearer by the minute. And that's the difference between real life and the life I have now. The two are entirely separate entities obviously, but when I was alive I worried every living second, my life was a selection of pros and cons to do the right thing. Any action I have here has no consequence, no cause and effect, so far at least.

Being in a hospital and being dead is quite possibly the best place to be to get acquainted with the other...dead. I've felt a few other like souls brush past me, I can feel them like static on clothes -- a charge of electricity reaching out towards me. None of them have paid me any attention yet, I think I must be just another statistic. What's another new spirit in a place that's seen plenty before I? My dead body obviously won't be seeing anyone or anything ever again, but in my new found form I can feel much more than I can see. It's like having a 360 degree sensory field around me, a spirit form of GPS, I guess! I'm still transfixed to this room and looking at the former me, lying silent awaiting my final visitors. This is the final time that they shall ever set eyes on me, in the flesh anyway. They'll be here soon, no doubt.

It's a strange feeling to be able to sense in a way that I could never have done before. The mythical 'sixth sense' in the living world is the only sense I appear to have now. A huge wealth of knowledge will open up to me, I just know it will. I don't have to worry about when I will know, I can just sense it will happen. I'm learning every second (not that there's a sense of time when you're dead) but already I'm no longer feeling scared of not being on the Earthly plane. We've all heard it before, you hear of people who have long since passed visiting their families and stating that there's nothing to be afraid of -- and it's true, there truly isn't. So far.

I can feel that 'static' again. Someone is coming. It's getting stronger now, much more than before, it's almost painful, but of course, I can't truly feel pain. The last pain I did feel, albeit fleetingly was a hundred times worse than this, as with everything this pain is different.

"Hi There!" a light, cheery female voice exclaims. "How you doin', stranger?"

I look around, and I can see her smile first. All teeth, a full pearly set of well defined teeth. Thin lips, quite pale but friendly. You can tell a lot from a mouth, I always thought. Her nose is small, but with a large bridge. Her eyes are shiny and blue, they radiate a warmth, a sizzling glow surrounds her whole face. Her hair is up in a pony tail and blonde. She looks younger than her age, possibly in her 50's. She's wearing a uniform, of course; she's a nurse. For a second I wonder if I'm really dead after all, but that feeling of electric pins and needles is still with me, so I'm re-assured I've not been dreaming. That would be a downer!

"Don't be scared, sweetie. Sylvie is here for you now." she reaches out a hand to my face.

"I'm not...I'm just...." I reply, somewhat nervously.

"I know, buzzing right?" she nods.

"Yeah, how did you know?" I feel like I'm back at school, being taught when I thought I knew it all.

"All the new ones feel it. And you're fresh meat, honey!" she smiles and laughs, mocking almost. "It's all about sensation now, kid. It's all you've got left. Those tingles will go soon, well the extreme ones anyway -- you may get the odd jolt now and again when someone needs your attention, but at the minute, everything is new so you'll be an electric pin board! Heeee." she laughs, again.

"How do you mean, 'when someone needs my attention'?" the obvious question hits me.

"That's always the first question...well, kid -- have you felt anyone yet?" her head turns slightly when she asks.

"Apart from you? No." I reply.

"No, I mean people you know, friends or family -- your visitors." she looks down at 'me' on the hospital bed.

"No, not yet. They were here a while ago, but that was before I..." I pause, realising that this is the first time I'm talking to 'someone' about being dead.

"Died?" she nods and smiles again, re-assuringly.

"Yes. I guess so." Hearing it confirmed that I'm truly dead is comforting, yet somewhat final.

"You'll know when they're coming, you'll feel it. When someone needs you, you'll feel it. These feelings will grow in time, you are a baby, you're still learning, kid but you'll feel everything, much more so than when you were down there." she looks at my former self on the bed.

Sylvie sits and explains "It all takes time, I've been here so long that I don't even know what year it is; there's no clock here! Time becomes a loop and not a straight line, we don't exist in the same time and space as the living ones, it's just that nothing ever changes,"

"Must get dull though, surely?" I ask

"Oh no! Not at all, there's so much to observe or play with should we choose to. It takes all sorts to make up the 'dead' baby!" She giggles softly to herself.

"How do you mean, surely when you're dead, you're dead -- right?"

"No, not really." her face shifts, as if she's told this a thousand times before."Y'see, some accept their fate, some don't. Some people are searching for something they can't find, or can't ever find. Some know where they are, some think they're just not really gone from the living plane, they're the troublesome ones. The ones that haven't reconciled themselves before they go. The pushers."

"The pushers? Who are they?" my new world is starting to complicate!

"They're the ones that waste all their energy by knocking stuff about, tugging at the sheets, pulling on curtains, general menaces, if you will. They want acceptance that people, the real people, can see them. But it's wasted energy, they think by forcing themselves on people that they'll be accepted. They want to be in both planes at once. And you can't do that, not for long anyway."

"So you can go back, if you want to?" I ask for clarity.

"It depends, some places you can't reach. No matter how much energy you have, you can't go to places you've never been to when you were...alive, to put it bluntly. Only places where your energy has been are places you can go, the same goes for the living people. You're naturally attracted to those that you've had the most contact with. You've left your imprint on them, so in theory you can see where they are, wherever they are. That's not always the case though. So, let's think...if your girlfriend is in a place which you yourself have never been to, you've got half the chance of being with her. If she's at home, in a place which you are both familiar, then you've got every chance of being able to visit. Y'unnerstand. kid?"

My new world seems to have far more rules and regulations, than I never thought possible. But how did she know I had a girlfriend?

"Because I have my link to you now, kid" she answers before I get a chance to speak. "We're of like minds, I can tell. And I've been here for many, many years. I can do all sorts of things that you can't even dream of." she giggles again. "Sorry, I say dream, it's a force of habit, there's no sleep or dreaming for you here."

"So..." I think of a question to fit my new found knowledge. "that's how I know of all my injuries?"

"Oh yes, you're the closest person to yourself! Only you will know everything about you; that knowledge will be just imprinted, you don't even have to try to know, y'just do." she puts a hand on my arm, she seems to say a lot without words. The re-assuring touch of an honest, caring nurse.

The possibilities seem to go far beyond what I could have imagined. There's no rule book to being dead, obviously but there's more to do, sense and feel than just milling about with other dead folk. Whilst this new knowledge is explaining issues by the minute, I do wonder about the downsides of knowing so much more than you could ever know on the living plane.

For the first time I think about the people I've left behind and a chill blasts from within me. My girlfriend, Jenna; my Mum and Dad; my Sister, and Jimbo, my fellow motorcycle courier who was with me when I crashed. Waves of sadness crash over me, an instant mourning for myself that I'll never be able to feel, smell, touch these people again.

Sylvie reaches out to hold me, and I duly accept. She knows how I'm feeling, she's seen this a thousand times before. She let's me rest her head under hers, a re-assuring energy ripples through me, like the warmth of a cosy blanket, charged with electricity. She doesn't say a word, leaving me to my private moment of realisation. No real words could ever encapsulate or compensate for the 'distance' now between myself and the world I've left behind.

At that moment my visitors arrive. My sister, Ali walks in first, chewing gum as ever. My Dad next who is holding my Mum, sobbing. Then Jenna, who's equally as distraught as my Mum is, she's being cradled by Jimbo as she staggers into the room, as if her legs have suddenly lost control. Mum and Dad sit next to me on my right. Jenna and Jimbo to my left -- Jen sit whilst Jimbo stands behind her, his huge hands on her shoulders. Ali stands far away from the rest of them, chew, chew, chew. Not only is she chewing away, she's listening to her iPod! A single earphone is plugged into her ear, the cord probably unbeknownst to her is wired through her huge, huge hooped earring. If I could shake my head in disgust, I probably would. Not just for the fact that she's so terribly chavvy, but if you're going to listen to and iPod at least listen to it properly! She listens for something to occupy her mind, rather than to appreciate the art itself.

Mum is still sobbing manically, no wonder Sis is listening to music, it's enough to wake the dead. Dad looks on somewhat embarrassed to be there, not quite sure what's going on in front of his eyes. He's always lived in the clouds, which is no doubt where Ali gets her composed vagueness from. I should be happy to see them all, but all I'm feeling is contempt. From my new view, I am starting to sense things in a different light completely.

Jenna leans over to look at my face. She rubs the tears from her eyes and leans in as if to check for damage. Stroking my face, running a finger around my ear.

"He looks so peaceful." she says somewhat prophetically.

Mum gathers herself to nod in reply. "Is he cold?" she cannot bring herself to touch.

"A little. He still smells the same though." Jenna half smiles.

"He does, doesn't he?" Mum replies after a few seconds, as if to fill the void.

I feel an urge to cuddle Jen, for the first time I 'miss' her, and at exactly that moment she starts to cry, as if prompted by my thought. This, of course, sets Mum off and she bellows out. Both Dad and Jimbo reach in to console them. Ali still looks on, locked in her own iWorld, chew, chew chew.

In my abstract position, I feel totally detached, as if it's not really me down there. My figure they are all mourning, in various volumes and positions, the men somewhat stoic and supportive, the women (or two thirds of them) emotive and jarred. Chew chew chew, iChav remains removed and unmoved.

"How you doing?" Sylvie returns, announcing herself in a calm, soothing tone.

"I don't know, I feel strange I guess...I should feel a huge sadness for those down there, looking at me. I'm numb." I say, looking down at the scene before me.

"That's because you're different now, honey. Do you remember your dreams? When you felt on the edge of reality? It's like that here. You're never the same as what you were when you were living. You can't, you haven't got all the faculties you had before. All your senses are combined. Just don't become a Pusher!" she smiles and pokes me.

At that moment, I start to sense new information seeping through me. That electro-static tingle returns. Turning to Sylvie she smiles softly.

"What is it, hon?" she asks.

"It's my little sister...is she pregnant?" I exclaim, shocked and surprised at this news.

"I don't know, sweetie. She could be, only you can tell. I have no link to her, only those closest to her on this side can tell if that would be true, and the closest is you."

"She's only 15. She only knows how to put make-up on badly and shopping for those awful earrings. She can't know anything about sex! She's my little sis!"

Of course, this would explain why she's quietly skulking; she knows that herself, she just can't bare to tell Mum. News of my death would be bad enough, but to reveal that she's up the duff at 15 could no doubt send here to where I am now!

"Bloody hell, Ali...you stupid cow!" I yell. Nobody can hear me. Oh this is great...I lose everything for this super-sense to kick in and kick me in the balls (if I had them.)

Mum then starts to cry, her whole body appears to shake. Her hand wraps itself around my right hand as tears stream down her slightly wrinkled cheeks.

"Oh my baby boy, my son, MY SON!" she wails wholeheartedly. The rest of the room stirs along with her outburst. Dad stoops lower to hug her. That starts Jenna off and she is consoled by Jimbo as he places both arms around her shoulders and in a somewhat over friendly manner to which seems was in-appropriate. Ali chews harder and a single tear falls down her cheek.

Suddenly, I feel a huge sense of revulsion, anger and complete frustration. She's never ever called me her son. Not once. All the times I wanted a hug, wanted a scrape on my knee to be kissed better, to be held and cradled after another girlfriend callously dumped me for a less spottier model, I wanted that...love. Yet now she opens up when it's all too late -- well, too late for me at least.

She sobs her heart out, waves of sound reverberate around the hospital room, the realisation that her son is dead, no longer breathing or able to make a sound. She's feeling for my pulse to see if it's really true. I'm not blue like you'd see in the films, maybe it's nicely controlled lighting, but I look the same. Maybe that's what disturbs her, seeing me a mangled mess would drive it home, but I look like a good shake would get me back on my feet; my body would be less than willing, however. Dad pulls her back to stop her searching for something she will never find.

"Leave me ALONE. He's MY Son." she shrugs him off in irritation with force. He stands back from the chair she is sat in and throws his hands up in the air, as if to indicate that's he's backing off.

At that moment, I feel a wave of information once more hit me. For a second I feel those pins and needles once more, shards of knowledge entering my new sense. I can tell it's about my Dad, but what? I look at his face and he doesn't look sad, if he does he's more sad for himself, like a chastised boy that's been naughty. Maybe it's guilt, as he taught me to ride and bought me my first bike. His best mate was Jimbo's Dad they...

...and then I feel almost thrown off balance, a shock wave of epic proportions moves over me. My Dad...Jimbo...Jimbo's Dad...related. Hang on, wait a minute. This can't be right. I look at Jimbo and whilst he's still holding Jen, he's looking at my Dad. He's more concerned with him than with anyone else in the room, even me.

Jim is my brother. Jim's Dad is...my Dad?

I look around for Sylvie, to see if she can help me.

"I don't like this...I'm feeling things I can't believe!" I exclaim.

"I know, I know...I wish I could have warned you but sometimes people don't know the truth until they get here, some know it all before they arrive. There's just no way of telling. I could have told you to expect this, sweetie; but it may never have happened. It just depends on what you 'old' life was like." Sylvie does her best to explain, but it's not helping.

When Mum said that "He's MY Son" she wasn't just laying it out in black and white, she was saying that I was hers and not his. It wasn't a moment of realisation it was a separation of feelings between Mum and...Brian. It's hard to immediately come to terms with the fact that the only man I knew as my Dad....wasn't. All the times I felt equally as distant from my parents and never knew why it all started to unravel. Mum couldn't be close to me until now, Dad couldn't be close to me because he didn't know how to be a Dad. Both of them together just masked the same feelings. I felt they were too alike, almost the same person at times. Only now do I get the complete picture. Brian was never allowed to get closer than Mum did, so she pushed him away. He must have bought me the bike to try and get that closeness that Mum wouldn't let him achieve with hugs and boy to man bonding.

"Mum, stop it. He's only trying to help." Jenna moaned through tears. Jen obviously doesn't know the truth. At least something is a secret to more than just me!

Brian and Jimbo exchange knowing glances. The kind I had witnessed many times before, but never ever could have guessed that we were really brothers. We played around so much that we could have been, we spent every weekend and practically every summer together. Working as a courier with Jim was just a natural extension of our youth, it was like we weren't meant to grow up, live and die together. We always said that we'd have to vet each others wives! The trouble being from my new vantage point, he seems to be taking a bit more interest in Jenna than I would like. His big arms wrapped around her, shielding her. He places a kiss on the top of her head, she holds his arm with a small hand and strokes him gently. As if to thank him for his kindness. If I had a beating heart now it would surely be frantic. Seeing my love in the arms of another man, worst of all my best friend, my newly found real life brother.

In inner rage boils within my newly created spirit, rising like hot lava. In the corner of the room, a TV turns on. The channel tunes in and words squeak out -- "Leave her alone!" -- and then the set turns itself off. Whether those words were generated by me or actually a broadcast I don't know, but I'm somewhat impressed with myself. Unfortunately, my audience barely notice as my Mum and Jenna are sobbing passionately, the men are solid and quiet, my sister just stares at the bed...chew, chew chew.

"Hey!" Sylvie cries, next to me again. "Don't do that! You'll turn into a Pusher!"

"Do what?" I ask "I only got angry! Don't I have the right? He's hitting on my girl!"

"Honey, she's not your girl any more. You've got to separate your life down there to your life up here. She may still love you, but she's moving on..."

Sylvie's words make sense, yet the timing is awful. Horrendous. It then dawns on me that I have little or no control in my new world, my new being, my new sense. Coming to terms with not being my former self is one thing, being able to learn still and pick up these new truths is quite something else. I may have been dead only a short while, but I have learned more over these short timeless hours than I ever could when I was alive. Is this really living after all?

With that, Mum shrugs off Dad/Brian and stands. She kisses me on my forehead, bends down to whisper in my ear...however, she cannot get the words out. She rests her head on mine for a few seconds and gets up to leave. Jenna turns into the arms of Jimbo and sobs. They all start to walk through the door, the men propping up the women ably as they go.

In that moment, Ali looks up -- right at me, not the old me. The 'new' me, as if she knows where I am. Exactly where I am. "See you soon, Brother." and with that she smiles, nods, removes her chewing gum and leaves.

...under the influence

2008-01-21T19:37:37+00:00

Mia lay slumped in the corner of the shower. The hot water was more than just a metaphor as it sprayed her naked body. She had made the mother of all mistakes; not that she was adverse to making huge mistakes, her life had been littered with many ever since her arrival in England from her natural home of Stockholm with her husband, Tomas. He, however, was hundreds of miles away. She was alone in her flat, wet, mortally hung-over and exposed. Not just was she exposed in the physical sense, but the realisation was lost on Mia at that moment.

Her head pounded as the affects of a few too many liberal shots of Vodka kicked in. Her memories of the previous evening with her colleague from work started to filter. Mia and Jo shared a 'girlie night in' which they had done on many occasions, almost always ending with one of them passing out or both. This night was to be much different.

Mia left the shower, wrapped a towel around herself and searched for Jo. Her flat stank of cigarettes and stale pizza. The smell made Mia feel nauseous as more memories came to light, her senses filling and adding more information to the events of the previous hours. She doubted herself; surely she didn't tell Jo everything? She wouldn't be that stupid? Would she? Of course she would. Alcohol was always her downfall. The lowering of her mental barriers or her physical underwear being more to the point. She was prone to being laid bare, this time being no exception.

Jo was nowhere to be seen. This added further confirmation in her mind; she had told Jo more than she needed to know. Mia internally swore to herself as she could picture herself and Jo chatting and laughing, the alcohol loosening lips and tongues. Jo told of her exploits with some nubile young buck from Sales, whilst Mia traded with the biggest truths of all. That Kasper may not be Tomas' son, that Randall could be the father. Tomas was far too trusting and would do anything to help further Mia's career to doubt. He would never question his wife for what she had given him, he was too proud of his little boy to doubt.

Mia, small in stature, cyan eyed, sun yellow hair -- she was as Swedish as IKEA. Tomas was darker, but quietly spoken, tall, wiry, with chiselled features, ever polite and diligent. They were childhood sweethearts that were the very essence of a proper family. Kasper, was dark haired and fiery, he was destructive even for a toddler; nothing like his calm parents.

Mia panicked and outwardly groaned at her stupidity. Not just for her recent act, but the culmination of lies, deceit and guilt. For once, her thoughts were for Tomas and Kasper. She felt fraud, none of it was real, a game where the rules had been shredded. Throwing on whatever clothes she could find, she realised she needed to go home, find Tomas and her son, leave as soon as they could. Randall was sure to want his son if he knew the truth. Anything Randall could get, he usually would. Winning was all that mattered, whether it was business or pleasure, or at the expense of someone else, regardless of whoever that be.

Mia yawned and looked into a mirror. She looked nothing like the Scandinavian beauty that Randall desired, that Tomas adored and Kasper barely saw. She could look only at her sunny blonde hair and lips, she couldn't look herself in the eyes for seeing the shame mirrored. Tying her hair back into a wet pony tail, she bundled her bag and car keys into her arms and she slammed the door to the Brighton flat, never to return. It was still dark, as the gloomy fog rolled in from the sea, she could only have her drowsiness, dulled senses and the weather conditions to consider.

In her seat Mia hitched up her skirt, put her phone in the hands-free cradle, switched on the lights and started the engine. As she left the city she became alerted to the recall of the previous nights passing, drenched in the mists of alcohol. The vodka was far from distilling her thoughts. It merely made the situation linear in clarity. One conversation grew its own life, each sentence started to be filled in, like a drowsy artist mixing for the right colours. As the alcoholic haze abated the exchanges came back to her.

"Oh my God! Do you think he....knows?" Jo paused before delivering the all important question.

"Who? Tomas or Randall?" Mia replied, merely hinting at her torment, sipping Vodka. "Both I suppose, but Tomas mostly." Mia weight up the answer carefully.

"But if Randall knows, how long will it be before Tomas does too?" Jo asked.

"Tomas can't know, if he finds out we are history, I'll just have to go home." Mia slumped as she took another mouthful. She stared into the bottom of the glass for answers.

"What about Randall? Kasper could be his..." Jo stated the patently obvious to Mia who really didn't need telling.

"He can just fuck off. He will have nothing to do with Kasper. If anyone should be his father it should be Tomas." Mia's cage had been clearly rattled.

"But Tomas will know that Kasper isn't his...he's not going shrug his shoulders then take Kasper to play with the duckies, Mia!" her able assistant showed no compassion, with that comment Mia rose, clutching her car keys from the table.

"Then I'll have to go before Randall does find out. I have to go and go now, Jo." Mia sensed her options were limiting by the second.

"Mi it's 2am, you've been drinking since nine, you're mullered! You'll only get pulled over, babe!" Jo cunningly pleaded, clearly knowing that mentally and physically could not drive. Her plans to intoxicate Mia were going according to plan. Shortly after, Mia passed out after exhausting herself via alcohol and tears. Jo placed Mia's head on a cushion and tip-toed out of the flat...smiling.

Feeling drained with a splitting headache Mia hoped to the heavens that she was not stopped; she just could not be stopped. Driving under the influence and over the speed limit was not a viable combination. The fog had cleared and the Sunday drivers appeared on the motorway. "Two more hours and I'm home." she urged herself on, but she needed fuel.

After visiting the rest room, Mia refuelled in all aspects. Water, snacks and diesel and prepared to set off once more. The sun had risen more and Mia thought of home; Stockholm-home. Where Tomas and she met and fell in love, before all....this shame. At that moment her phone beeped. "1 Missed Call". Her heart skipped a beat and thudded through her chest. "No!" she exclaimed, "No! No! No!" Mia stared at the display, too frightened to move. Human curiosity dictated that she had to find out, good news or bad. Her mind raced ahead; was it Tomas crying his heart out at the deceit of his wife? Was it Jo basking in her own deceptive glory? Who else could it be? Human curiosity got the better of her; she removed the phone from its cradle and pressed the button.

The monotone female voice of the answering service spoke "You have...one new message..."

Mia's hands shook uncontrollably; she bit her lip to suppress the forming tears. She endured the longest of seconds before the voice spoke. At first she could not make out the voice, though undeniably male, he was clearly emotional and in shock. Eventually, the words became audible.

"Mi...Mia, it's Ran...dall. I have some terrible news." Randall sniffed, clearly wiping away his tears. "Jo is...dead. The fog...Her car ran off the road and into a tree, she had no chance...I have to go, I'm terribly sorry, so terribly sorry..." with that, the message ended and Mia dropped the phone which bounced onto the floor. She clasped her hands to her face and sobbed. Randall was none the wiser, clearly. Tears of joy and utter relief fell down her cheeks. Her whole being instantly felt brighter, a monumental weight lifted from her.

Mia located the phone, collected herself and dialled home.

"Honey? Did I wake you? I'm sorry....just to let you know that I'll be home soon, I'm coming home. Bye!" She didn't notice but she had barely let Tomas have a single word. Mia sipped some water and looked in the mirror. For once she looked into her eyes, blue and vibrant, her shame absolved. "Come on girl, time to grow up. No more drink!"

Mia started the engine one last time and headed home.

...losing you (third person)

2008-01-04T10:58:32+00:00

How time a small amount of time changes a man forever. He lies in his bed, still clothed, huddled on his side, clutching a handkerchief for dear life. Lines of tears have fallen down his cheek and into the pillow. The pillow he once shared with her, but now it is his alone. Alone. It's a frightening word. Singular, cold, daunting and desperate. Everything he had was his 'alone'. The pillow, the bed and his overriding feeling. His eyes were fixed on nothing in particular, questions with no answers rebounded around his mind. No amount of clinging on could appease him -- it was all worthless. No action was the right action to do. Moving seemed futile; to remove himself from the bed was to distance himself from where he and she were at their best. To move now would be for him to accept defeat. He was defeated already, of course, this was obvious for all who wished to see this man crushed and left behind. The room grew colder and his tears subsided, yet still he could do nothing but stare. Looking for memories of the girl he loved, each one hurting a hundred times more.

...losing you (third person - omniscient)

2008-01-04T10:58:09+00:00

Answers were impossible, she had given him all the answers before she left. No amount of begging or I Love You's could amount to the strength of her feeling (or lack of in this case.) Every dawn of realisation hit home, every yesterdays dream lost and shattered into oblivion. All gone in less than the time it normally took them to share a pizza. Every memory of her laughter, smile, curves or eyes caused his chest to tighten and more heartfelt tears. If he replaced the memories with reality he could see her smiling in her car, driving away from him. Away to whoever it was she was leaving him for. Every possible scenario bruised and cut him to ribbons. Leaving him was bad enough, leaving for someone else was worse. Leaving him alone was a fate worse than death, leaving for another life without him was unimaginable. Each one hurt like nothing before. He could call someone, but could he get the words out? Would he be 'less' of a man for crying out for help? Indeed, what help would he need? Too many questions and not enough answers. The only real answer he now had was that two minus one = nothing.