stories and poems with an interesting flavour
When I was 5
I'd swing so high
Then jump off
And in that moment - fly
Trust put in
A heavy chain
Thick wooden seat
Faded red frame
No thought of dangers
Or weak chain links
Do it now
Don't stop or think
Put caution aside
React, be brave
Be that kid
From yesterday
I’ve lived an OK life, made up for past indiscretions with periods of reflection and virtuous acts, plus, I made the odd hard bargain with a powerful deities who are never to be trifled with.
So I was confident that even after I’d shot you twice in the chest, that it was you who would be forever in their worst nightmare.
Oh yeah, and when you gurgled and sputtered “See you in hell!” as your life force slid away down the gutter,
Know this -
That bargain I made, was for you to go to heaven.
So that you would have to live with all the men, women and children whose lives you’ve snuffed out.
And as we're brothers I know you, so I know that being granted forgiveness and offered love everyday, for all eternity -
Will be your personal hell!
The promise of a better life
Should be incentive enough
But what if your current one
Holds you back, and stops your runs
You are plagued with insecurities
About the words that you play
Always jealous; looking at someone else
Then you've lost another day
You spend hours wrestling procrastination
Pulling your hair, fighting your mind
Wondering why the page is still blank
Failure blamed on distractions still undefined
You've spent hours scrolling your timelines
As your inspiration further wanes
Your desire to create that work of art
Is getting lost in the mist of rage
So you lash out at those closest
As another days work is lost
This lack of work though troubling
Comes at a personal mental cost
You crawl back inside yourself
shut away, where no one can see
As your distractions begin to fall away
You find your voice, find poetry.
An odd thing happened a while back
An early start
to write a draft
The kettle whistled on the stove
My coffee black
with marmite toast
I sat and munched stared at my screen
The cursor winked
Hypnotised me
I couldn't find my writers voice
No words would flow
Only white noise
My inner thoughts deserted me
The page was blank
I was lost at sea
Three months trapped in this purgatory
No imagination
No inner speech
I forced myself to write some words
Used random prompts
Some nouns and verbs
Those words grew into short stories
An imagination
In hard copy
And yet the imagination inside my head
was still empty
I was living dead
The pain of not being able to write
became much worse
the harder I tried
If I couldn't write I couldn't live
My thoughts grew dark
Devil whispered negatives
My worthlessness became amplified
I sit alone most days
and cry
The truth was harder for me to see
A monster
Had his claws in me
As each new day came and went
so grew
my malcontent
No bad reviews, encouraging words
no helping hand
Nowhere left to turn
I stood right on the precipice
Wobbled on the edge
Below self destructiveness
I took the longer path that day
battled my emotions
did not give into pain
My monster well it's here to stay
for now at least
I can write again
It likes a slice of marmite toast
a black coffee
or it will eat my words!
It was the first of three funerals this morning, the vicar smiled as well as he could manage, gritting his teeth as he stifled a yawn, while he tried to keep the the clanging bell from last nights whiskey and poker night in aid of the church roof at bay. “In aid of the church roof,” well that was what he had told the organist when he arrived almost two minutes late for the first service, which would've been a quite sombre affair, had it not been for the wailing howl of the deceased woman's dog, that he had rather stupidly allowed into the church – never work with animals when you don't have to.
As the first mourners shuffled in for the third service he found himself, eyes closed and swaying as he gently sang along to “At the River”. The organist was obviously still caught in the moment of being asked to play church organ versions of “Gigi d'Agostino - L'amour toujours” and “Delerium - Silence” for the 32 year old ex boy racer, whose service was not in the slightest bit traditional in the hymn and prayer sense of the word, anyway.
Neither had noticed that the first couple of mourners for the funeral of conservative traditionalist Ms Moon had filed in. They seemed confused by the choice of music, the usual sombre elegy replaced by an inspired, yet relaxing modern version of the Groove Armada classic, although they were not as offended as you may expect. The vicar upon hearing their shuffling on the stone floor opened his eyes and noticed that they were looking at him in a slightly concerned and curious way.
“Claire, Claire...CLAIRE” he hissed as loudly and as softly as he could, the hissing sound of the organists name still managed to echo around the rafters of the leaky church roof, the hiss came to an end with a loud plop, as a water droplet found its mark into a full bucket of water already collected from the leaky spot on the church roof.
Claire stopped what she was enjoying, looked around “Oh, Oops, sorry” and immediately switched to the ecclesiastical droning sounds more appropriate for this moment.
Ms Moons service was quick, a couple of hymns and prayers, ones that she had expressed she might want, if the grim reaper were ever brave enough to come calling. Nobody came up to read, or say anything about her, they all had that look as though the pub were calling and the beer was getting warm. Instead all eyes turned towards the vicar to say something poignant and let them all off the hook. He felt their collective gaze urging him up into the pulpit where he had readings for his funerals already prepared, along with those choice bible passages that got a couple of nods of apparently knowing approval. He gave an adapted reading about the kind of person she was, which was basically the sort of stock reading any vicar could give, but it was personalised to the deceased, just enough of the truth was bent as was permissible under the watchful eye of the big man.
Afterwards he stood at the door and gave thanks as sympathetically as he could, painting a kind of half smile on, as the four people that turned up to grouchy old Muriel Moons service filed out quicker than they had filed in.
Sadly she wasn't very well liked or indeed popular, she was the sort of person who had the ability to rub even the thickest skinned amongst us up the wrong way.
He shepherded the last of the mourners out of the door and into the beginnings of what he hoped wouldn't be heavy rain, as he watched the four strangers solemnly navigate the slippery wet churchyard path, he was struck with the sudden thought that only four people had come to her funeral, even for someone who wasn't that well liked; OK so that was an understatement..she was a pain in the backside for almost everyone that she encountered, but still he would've expected more, even if they were there to make sure she was actually, well - dead!
With no parents alive, or close family, children, lovers (that anyone knew about) or friends, he guessed it was a blessing that someone had bothered to stop and say goodbye at all, before she got to her final destination and started antagonising the keeper of the pearly gates for being tardy.
The four village strangers reached the church gates, and exited onto the high street, as they passed from holy ground to county council pavement their apparent funeral funk cleared, the rain stopped almost as fast. They turned and cheerfully waved back at the vicar before announcing to each other how much more they were going to get pissed than one other, and then disappeared in the direction of one of the village pubs.
The vicar tuned back into the church, and pushed the heavy oak door closed behind him by sagging back against it, another plop of water echoed around church reminding him to empty the bucket in case it rained again later,
“Jesus wept” he muttered almost inaudibly under his breath
“Yes vicar, and from the roof as well” added Claire with a chuckle, she was pottering about picking up the things that had been dropped by the congregation when those mourners who had never prayed before, attempted to kneel down in the tight space behind the pews.
“They yours Claire?” remarked the vicar pointing at the soft packet of Malboro underneath an equally crushed and flattened matchbox.
“I found them by the font, we haven't had a baptism for a while so it must have been left by one of the younger groups, probably the boy racers service, I kept seeing some of them around there.”
“Here” The vicar lifted the waste basket that sat by the door, and that usually got used as an umbrella stand. Claire, held onto the cigarettes and matches and dropped the rest of the detritus into the bin.
“How many you got?”
Claire teased the packet open and counted, “Nine, no - nine and a half..oh..eww” Claire, gripped the half smoked cigarette by the burnt offerings rather than the butt that was likely soaked in somebodies saliva, and flicked it into the bin.
“OK, let me empty the drip bucket over the roses at the front and then we can sneak one of those at the bottom of the churchyard by the kissing gate.”
The vicar hurried up through the church to the left side of the alter, the bucket was almost full and carrying it out became a challenge in itself, He really wished the poker game last night was to raise funds for the church roof, but it was him being himself.
Claire pulled the door open and the vicar with bucket carefully slung between his legs shuffled out of the church, the rain had eased off, but the sky remained as grey as the entire day had been. He emptied the bucket around the roses that lined the churchyard path, the soil took some of the water, the rest seeped onto the path, forming small rock like pools in the uneven stone slabs. He replaced the bucket in the church, a wet ring allowing for inch perfect relocation.
He headed into the vestry with Claire, where he removed his funeral vestments. He stood looking at himself in the mirror, he was used to seeing himself all in black from his youth, but he still couldn't get used to the collar. He opened a drawer and pulled out a dark grey roll neck sweater and pulled it on, “normal again” he said to himself. Claire eyed him, she saw a man uneasy with his role, and yet totally dedicated to the people he served, become instantly more confident and a different person with the simple concealment of the collar.
She'd worked in the church before he took over from the old man, who had been the local parish vicar for over 40 years, in fact his first service was to take the funeral service for the old man, but this vicar was nothing like any she had worked with before.
“Come on” he urged Claire, taking a quick look at his watch, “I've a few hours before the evening service.” The vicar pulled another draw open and took out a half size bottle of Whiskey, and slipped it into in his back pocket, they exited through the back of the vestry into churchyard and followed the polished stone path that snaked its way between the graves to the far end. The kissing gate was a simple wrought iron lattice that was hung on three hinges that butted out of a solid stone pillar, the tops of the hinges had been hammered over, after the gate was last stolen and found 100 miles away being used as an ornate trellis in the garden of a local MP.
The MP was apparently mortified when he discovered that he had stolen goods in his possession, and was quick to impress to anyone who would listen, his innocence in the whole matter. He told police that he had found it the his local online exchange and mart, and a couple of mysterious dark eyed snarks came and dropped it off from the back of a lorry – cash on delivery apparently. Police returned the gate to the church, and the vicar had the local blacksmith hammer the tops of the hinges over so it could not be removed again, well not by a couple of snarks anyway.
The kissing gate swung between two thinner pillars from the end of the churchyard boundary walls, a semi circular wall allowed a person to pass through, kissing each pillar in the direction from where the last person had passed, though most believed the kissing gate is where people went to kiss and that is how it got its name. The vicar went through first, he paused at the centre of the semi circle so he could swing the gate towards the churchyard, opening his path into the bottom field. Claire hastily followed, checking behind her to make sure no body was about and they hadn't been seen.
Feeling like two naughty teenagers bunking off school to smoke behind the old band room. They found a place to sit down on the trunk of a felled tree that had been dragged to the edge of the field by someone either very strong or in possession of a tractor, that had pulled it next to the hedge, it now formed a natural bench.
“I like to think of this as a present from the big man” he said slapping the smooth bark less trunk with his hand.
“It was probably felled in the same storm that put the hole in the church roof, you know; when the 'Big Man' caught growing those plants in the rectory greenhouse” Claire grinned “You know, I'm not saying that I'm a saint, but you're not exactly the sort of person the village expected when they heard they were getting a new local parish vicar.”
Claire took out the cigarettes, they had fallen deep within the pockets of her baggy cardy, she eased two out between the crumpled paper and foil, placing both between her lips, she struck a match against the sandpaper side of the squashed box, it let out a small feeble spark, she hit it again and the match burst into life. Lighting both cigarettes, she drew in deeply to get them both going, they glowed red, like a pair of devil eyes. She was careful not to leave her deep maroon lipstick on the filter tips, she took them both from her mouth and offered one to the vicar. “I Thank you” he said plucking the smouldering cigarette from between her fingers, his hand gently brushed hers as he did, he felt his hairs on his arms stand up as though they had been charged with static electricity.
“Do you know, that you looked kinda sultry when you did that.” Claire smiled, and blew a thing stream of smoke into the air, “Thank you.” she said trying not to catch the vicars playful glance, the remark caught her off guard, and although he wasn't like most vicars, and she knew him well now, it was still unexpected.
The vicar sensed he may have over stepped, “Sorry, Claire..that was wrong” he chastened himself, he found it hard at times to stop himself falling back into old habits, even though he tried to always be himself, despite his new role, there were those odd parts of his former life he was truly working hard to eliminate.
The vicar drew deeply on his cigarette making it burn much faster than it normally would, a long red glowing poker of an end emerged from the white of the paper, in the stillness he blew a thick fat slow moving smoke ring out into the ether, it slowly bobbled like an strange ringed space station, he then blew a smaller smoke ring much faster through the big ring, the momentum of the smaller ring began to pull the bigger ring apart.
“Ha! Brilliant...you're such a show off” Claire exclaimed, the smoke rings both drifted upwards, getting bigger and more misshapen until they were finally caught on a sudden gentle gust of wind where they dissipated, any of the awkwardness from the vicars remark was dragged away into the ether as well.
“Seeing as we are being honest with each other, why did you decide to be a vicar? I ask because you're really not the sort of person that you would expect?” Claire looked at him directly as she asked, trying to see was pushing a button, or hitting a nerve or if he was uncomfortable by the question, but, if he was he gave nothing away.
“Do you not think I make a good vicar then?”
“Well, no, yes, but..well the vicars we have had here in the past, and from other parishes are very um posh, well to do, stiff types and you are..” Claire hurriedly searched for the right word, worried she was making a pigs ear of her answer “looser, no riskier, no that's wrong, erm more chilled”
The vicar smiled as he watched her tie herself up in knots. “It's OK, I am more relaxed about the job, because like everyone else I am a person too, I have my flaws, and vices – I think of it like this, if I play Poker, drink a little to much Whiskey, ride the psychedelic train for an audience with my boss, then those vices have to be balanced out by acts of pure good, the work I do in the community, the help that I give to others from all backgrounds, the message I spread for the big boss, these are all to balance out my vices. As long as your vices do not result in the harm of another living thing then; well, it is OK with the boss! He doesn't expect us to be perfect, just honest and not harm others - look do you think he would let me stay in the job, if we weren't in total agreement?”
“So you told the Bishop and you still got the job” exclaimed Claire.
“Ha! no, not the Bishop, you know the big man” he pointed his finger to the sky, “The boss, him upstairs, lord above...you know God!”
“God”
“Yeah, that's the fella – as I always say, as long as the big man is OK with it, then it is fine” The vicar, eased the bottle of whiskey from his back pocket, and pulled the cork stopper out of the top of the bottle, he took a little swig and offered the bottle to Claire.
“You're a bad influence for a vicar” Claire took the bottle and took quick swig, the whiskey was hot as it went down her throat, she gave a couple of little swallows to make sure it was all down, Claire passed the bottle back to the vicar, he took another swig, and pushed the cork back into the bottle.
“Bad influence?” The vicar queried “I know I'm an influence now, but before I was a vicar I was always caught under the spell of bad influence – well I say bad influence, but to me he was a best friend, there was no bad.”
The vicar finished his cigarette and ground it into a knot shaped like a natural ashtray, he dropped the butt into the ash blackened hollow, Claire held her almost burnt out cigarette to the vicar, he stared at her before he took it and repeated the process.
“So were those bad influences in your life, why you became a vicar?”
“No, because as you can see, I haven't shaken away all the things that make me who I am.”
“Then why?” Claire pressed
“Because I needed to have private counsel with the big man, I tried when I was outside of the church, after I had picked myself up from the bottom, but I couldn't get the audience that I needed, so I worked, and read and talked to people who said that if I became a servant of god, I could get the audience that I sought, I was sceptical, I believed something, but in those days it wasn't this, but I had to try, I promised myself I would try...”
The vicar stood up, an straightened his trousers where they had bunched up around the knees and walked into the field a little, he turned around.
“...to ask to see my friend again!” The vicar looked upwards as he said it loudly, as if he were speaking directly to god.
"I asked the big man over and over if I could see him, he kept saying there was much for me to do before I could. So here I am, doing the work for him, and everyday I ask the question, and everyday the big man tells me I need to do the work, I need to open my heart, but that is what I am doing and still I cannot see him.”
“I'm so sorry that you haven't seen him” Claire stood up and walked to the vicar, standing in front of him, she took hold of his hands, their eyes met and they stared deeply into one another, their breathing slowed and synchronised, the vicars heart was pounded hard in his chest, he felt as if he were being consumed by her eyes. “Can you see him now?” Claire asked.
The vicar felt light headed, the world started to spin, lights flashed as if he were falling through a kaleidoscope, he felt an intense electric energy burning through him, so intense like nothing he had felt before, his senses became so heightened that he could feel the atoms in air around him, and then the world seemed to melt away and in front of him was his friend.
The vicar looked around, he stood open mouthed within an empty sea of nothingness, the field, the church, the churchyard, Claire, everything had all gone, only he and his friend stood there.
“Where..”
“Are you” his friend finished the question, “This is the astral plane, In this plane of existence there there is no time, there is no future, present or past, it simply is.”
“But..”
“You thought you couldn't see me.”
“Yes, I was being told I hadn't done enough work”
“You hadn't and then in small singular moment you found the path by making a pure connection, you didn't think that the creator of everything would just show you the path did you, he made you work for it, he made you find the path yourself, you had to be true to yourself with someone true of heart.”
“Claire”
“Yes, she is a conduit to the astral plane, though I should warn you, although she can send you, but when you return from here, she won't know what was said between us, or that we met, it is only you and I that are here in this moment.”
“I have so many questions”
“I knew you would, and yet the only thing that matters is you and me in this moment, so let me ask you a question, why have you not moved on?”
“I don't want to forget you, if I move on I might forget.”
“You have to let me go, at the moment we are stuck, let me go and then we can both move forward.”
“I don't want to forget you”
“Moving on doesn't mean you will forget me, it means not dwelling on that moment, it means celebrating the good times, not getting lost in the bad, I am asking you to do that as your friend; will you do that for me Nick?”
In that moment the vicar felt the love for his friend fill him with surges of joy and happiness, all the good memories coursed through him, filling him with emotional elation unlike anything that he had ever experienced before.
“Can I see you again?” The mixed tears of sadness and happiness streamed down his face.
“No Nick, this was only ever going to be a one time thing, you have a life and a job, that I would never have predicted you would be doing, and I have another life, in another time, in another place – remember to always be true to yourself.”
“I will, I wish I could
hug you.”
“Then lean forward and hug me Nick”
The vicar leant forward and wrapped his arms around his friend, he felt nothing, but sobbed more at the memories that holding his friend brought back.
“Oh Nick, a couple of things before we part, in your game tonight, go All-in on the fourth hand, and that should pay for the roof, and secondly, use toothpaste before your service because fags and whiskey always used to make your breath smell foul, and me thinks that kind of thing does not change.
The vicar suddenly felt the air on his face, his head spun and he felt himself falling forward, he went to reach out and realised he was still holding onto Claire's hands, he steadied himself and opened his eyes, and found himself looking into Claire's intense green eyes, he was back where it started, as if nothing had happened.
“I'm back” he said softly to himself, he raised a hand to his face and felt the tracks of his salt tears.
“Did you see him?”
Claire asked
“Ah vicar there is a lot you don't know about me.”
“I hope I can find out, and it's Nick, we've shared something special, so we can dispense with the formal titles, well in private anyway.”
“OK, Nick, that's better than calling you vicar all the time” Claire caught sight of the time on her watch. “I think we should be heading back Nick, so that we can get ready for the service this evening?”
“Yes, good idea.”
“Oh, Nick before you come to church this evening, use toothpaste, you know; for your whiskey – fag breath.”
5:30am, the boy had arrived 30 minutes ago, pushing his way between two loose boards that were supposed to keep people out of the former department store, a layer of old flyers flapped as he pushed his way in with a large black holdall, wearing a hooded jacket and jeans.
He emerged ten minutes later without the bag, wearing a dirty beige rain mac, the sort that flashers made famous in pursuit of their jollies, and a drab pair of dark corduroy trousers, that were thin and faded at the knees. He settled himself down, making a nest out of a grubby door mat, some flattened cardboard and the sign warning that vagrants will be forcibly removed, he placed a dish out in front of him, and then dropped some coins into it and bowed his head.
I looked at my watch, a faint green glow from the radium hands showed 6:30am, The investigation unit had been sitting on the old store for two months, after a tip that the kingpin had his boys making like it was Amsterdam. This was my second week, and the incident book was empty of incidents. I flicked the blinds to one side and peered over at the boy, the city was waking up, the electric glow from the concrete jungle was starting to fade as the natural light lit the smog and the grime.
A few hundred people had already passed by, rushing for the train that was always late and full, some had tossed coins into his dish, but most of them continued on without so much of a sideways glance.
Street people were part of societies grime, it was rare that anyone noticed them; instead of wealth they were gifted a natural camouflage that came from living on the streets.
I let the blind fall back into place and wandered in to the kitchen, the kettle roared ferociously, steam billowed out of the spout, and cooled in a damp gravity defying puddle under the kitchen cabinet. I made a strong black coffee in a chipped mug with a picture of daisy duck on the side, and fished two pieces of well done but not burnt toast out from the toaster, I slathered them with butter and marmalade, and then crosscut each piece into a triangle, and stacked them up on a plate. The kitchen clock eased itself to 07:00am
Back in the front room, I set my coffee and toast down on the coffee table, and checked my watch – 07:05am, I took a piece of toast off the top of the pile and went back to the window, and eased the blind to the side. I stood watching the boy for 15 minutes, chewing on the sweet sticky toast as I stared out across the road.
I moved back into the sitting room and flopped down in a broken arm chair by the coffee table, it sagged under my weight, sucking my butt into a hammock of foam-less material. I ate the rest of the toast, and picked up the coffee up, the initial pleasant coffee aroma had been replaced by an fetid smell, as if I had drawn the water from the toilet. I braved a sip, it tasted as bad as it smelled - I put the mug back on the table, and pushed it away so that I couldn't smell it.
Back at the window, my watch ticked by 07:45am, I watched the boy make his first count of the money. Judging by the length of time he spent counting it, he had obviously had a good morning. He carefully pocketed all but a few coins which he left in the dish, and resumed his position in the former stores doorway.
My cell phone burst into life at 8:00am, 'Station' displayed in the caller ID.
I grabbed it and took the call, “Garrick here” I half listened to the chief waffle on for 15 minutes, before ending the call, I was being redeployed.
I heaved myself out of the chair, and shuffled into the kitchen. I poured the rancid coffee down the drain and washed up the plate and cup, I dried the puddle on the counter where gravity had pulled the impossible puddle. I went back into the front room and packed my gear up, checked I had everything before turning off the lights and pulling the back door shut behind me.
I walked from my surveillance post across the street up to the boy, he only looked up at me when murky daylight reflecting off my badge flashed across his face. Though his face remained emotionless, his eyes spoke to our familiarity.
“You alright?” I asked, he didn't answer.
“Look, I'm finished on this place, but my relief will be here soon” I looked at my watch, “they'll be here at 10:00am.”
“and...” the boy said.
“and you've got an hour”
“and what if I want to stay because this place makes me money”
“Then you become part of the official record, this will become something else, they will spy on you, log your movements, beat you down and arrest you, because unlike you and I, they're not your friend!”
“why do care now?”
“I never stopped caring son, I never stopped!”
“Where did you put it?” Dosan was frantic, as he turned the room over looking for the stash. “Back in the hollow, same as always” “Well it...