Saturday, 13 December 2008

I Have Scarcely Anything To Add...

Citizens of Richmond are shocked and bemused when on the daily tour around Richmond they discover The Flying Pancakes instead of the usual Christmas carols:

Monday, 1 December 2008

Prologue to a story, title: This Town Is Mine Now

"You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain."

Prologue to an ongoing story.

I sat on the grass in utter silence. Twirling a twig from the ground around my fingers... I slowly put the twig down. I crawled closer to the grave. The rest of my family were long gone - it was just me alone. I crawled as close as I could to the grave stone and put my hand upon my uncle's name. I knew my mother and father where still watching from the car - but I didn't care. Tears slowly seeped down my face as I stared at his name. My hands slowly stroked his name - I couldn't believe he was gone. When I was a young child, my mother would tell me it was like... Falling asleep, but never waking up. I knew what death was, but up until recently - I never thought of my dear Uncle dying. Of course, we all know that we are all destined for death - and it will happen to all of us sooner or later... But we are still, for lack of a better word, shocked when it happens. If you have never lost someone close to you cannot possibly imagine the pain one goes through, the shock. Especially someone as close as him.

More and more tears fell down my face, before I was fully aware of it I was howling in torment. I couldn't think clearly, all that was going through my mind was not him, not him. I rested both hands against his grave stone and curled up in the grave barely aware of what I was doing. I wanted to stay with him - to be close ... I knew it was just his corpse there and I was actually curling up in mud and flowers but I still felt as if I was closer to him. I was still howling when my father came over, I was barely aware of his presence. He rested his hand on my shoulder - but when he didn't receive a reaction he decided to speak.

"Rosemary, I think we should -" He began gently, I interrupted...

"Dead... Gone..." I said between my sobs. He took my arm and lifted me up slowly and gently with my arms like I was a toddler. "He's... Never... I'll never -" I stopped talking and then slowly said something under my breath. "I'll get them." I said, I spoke ever so quietly but he heard every word.

"No, Rose - it - it was an accident - It wasn't anyones -"

"Liar." I hissed. "It was the FF you know it was them, they have it for the whole of the libertad -"

"Keep your voice down!" he said, looking around with a look of panic.

"Fine!" I snarled. "It was them. They have it in for all of... Us." I glared at him, he knew I was right. He knew that was the reason Uncle was dead. He looked at me panicking more and more with every second.

"Promise me you will not take matters into your own hands. Promise me, we will sort this out. Just please, let us deal with them. Don't do something you will live to regret." His voice frantic, filled with pain. I knew what he was thinking, he couldn't stand to use another child. I couldn't meet his gaze, I looked into the sunset instead.

"I've been waiting for the LS to stop this god-awful, twisted regime all my life. You so called "noble people" may be fighting for freedom - but too be honest you haven't done an awful lot... Maybe something should be done, maybe I should be the one to do it."

"No - you can't -"

"Father, don't you see? Someone needs to make a stand. If I try to do something, anything - then maybe... I don't know... Maybe it will make a difference, maybe it will at least open everyone's eyes."

"You'll be killed. You'll be dead. If they don't shoot you on the spot - you'll be sentenced to death. Don't you think watching one child with a noose around his neck was bad enough? You're not Edward, Rose. Stop trying to live in his memory. Your Uncle wouldn't have wanted you to this either." I knew he was playing his final card, and it - almost - worked.

"Yes. I am doing what Edward tried to do. I'm doing what will make me remembered! Make people think. If I die... So be it. I'm dying for what I believe in, even if one person has to die - maybe... Maybe I could save hundreds by killing one or two people. One person shouldn't stand in the way of a whole nation." He looked at me, shocked - hardly to believe what I just said... He didn't want me to think like this.

"That's not we stand for Rosemary." He whispered.

"No. That's not what you stand for, I want to actually make a difference." I spat at him. "I don't care what you do, I however, am going to actually try to make things better or at least open peoples eyes. And I will avenge my Uncles death and make sure he did not die in vein." I didn't wait for his response. I just ran. I ran away. Knowing that I was never coming back. And I would do something to help. I will make a difference. Even if some people have to die.

So be it.

Friday, 28 November 2008

There's been a grave misunderstanding...

Short story that is yet to have a name.

Sometimes you do things you regret, you probably know this is inevitable. But it doesn't help you wishing you could go back in time and change the events that unfolded. You sometimes think, as I do at times, whether crimes you did in your past where necessary. As I do, daily. You know it was inevitable and there was no other way round it... But you still wonder whether there was in fact - anyway around it. I always think back to that memorable day back in December... Was it entirely necessary? I say to myself. Did I have no other choice? Of course the answer is no, there wasn't. It was an event that changed my life certainly... For the worst, some would say, but... It was definitely necessary.

Let me take you back... 10 years ago, I was a young - in my prime some might say. Some might also say... I was "unhinged", "mad", or "not all there". However they where (and are)all entirely wrong. I am and was and always will be perfectly sane. I just knew what was going on around me. If the majority's definition of "sane" is what they say it is then it is clearly a synonym for "naive".

10 years ago, in the bleak month of December. It was a cold winter and the year was reaching it's death... I was out wandering, as I used to always do, wandering through the dark, misty London streets around the time of midnight when I saw him. A man... He was looking at me... Laughing at me. That was what made me do it. That man's laugh... They say I'm mad you see, they say he probably wasn't laughing at me but I know better. I know so much better. He laughed and started walking, and I am proud to say that I followed him. Keeping in the shadows at all time of course, remaining unseen at all times. At every moment. Stalking him through the dark, repetitive streets. Never once realising what was to be his fate. I am proud of what I did. I would do it again... He was not the first one I killed and he shall certainly not be the last.

When he eventually made it home, I reached my first obstacle... How on earth was I going to get into his house... But of course he answered this one for me. The stupid, stupid man... Left the door unlocked. Maybe if he'd have locked the door - no, I don't think I would have been deterred by a locked door.

So as I followed his steps, I reached into my inside pocket - and stroked the beautiful blade of Mary Ann. My saviour. My dear... I slowly made my way up the steps of which this man happily skipped upon. That also made me realise I had to rid this man from the earth - only joyful people skip. There is no room for them in my world. So as I slowly wandered into his room and suddenly - he saw me. The fear, terror and confusion in his face are my comfort to this day. He was trembling, call himself a man. He should have thought surely. He only stuttered a few last words:

"Who are you?" he finally managed to speak. I merely grinned but waited for me to take his life with my dear knife, my dear Mary Ann before speaking.

"Death." I whispered and chuckled at my own joke.

He was not the first man I killed and he certainly shall not be the last - I am proud of what I did. The only reason I think whether it was necessary is because it landed me in this prison. The put me in prison for ridding the world of it's evil. For taking the life of people who do not have the right to live? How do they have the right to do such things? What I was doing was not a sin. I should not have to be around such low-life criminals. I am clearly much more intelligent than them, I am a genius. I managed to kill twelve times before I was caught. Some of these barely managed once... I shouldn't be here. & I shall not be here much longer. That I can promise.

Wednesday, 26 November 2008

We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up.

Short story, about someone who attempts to kill someone - because other wise another psycho will kill his one true love. Basically a tale of pain, heartbreak and death. Read if you wish for more detail.

I crept behind him - a gun in my hands and trembling. He just stood there - he did not notice my presence... He was completely oblivious. Surely it would be cowardly to shoot him from behind? Easier definately, but would that not make me a coward? Not able to even face the man whose life I was about to end? I waited too long. He turned around, that ever so frighteningly, familiar feeling of being watched. He looked at me with the ultimate distaste - either not noticing the fact I had a gun in my hand... Or not caring. Possibly he thought I wasn't going to use it... But I had to. I had to. To save my dear Beatrice. That evil, evil - sick... Words cannot describe that man. If I don't kill this poor innocent man in front of me, that monster will kill my... My dear. My love. My Beatrice.

The man in front of me spoke at last, a mocking edge to his voice. "Think you can kill someone? Think you've got... What it takes?" He chuckled. His voice was menacing, and despite how quietly he spoke - I heard every word. His voice was low, wheezing and had a tone to it that made it seem like he was telling a joke with a cruel, sick punchline. My fear must have shown in my eyes. Or he could probably hear my heartbeat - It provided the perfect percussion to this situation and I was certain it filled the whole room.

"I - I can! I - have... I have to!!" I stammered, my fingers slowly pulling the trigger. I had to - I had to! Beatrice couldn't die, because of me? Even though she never wanted to see me again, she hated me. I still love her with all my heart, I would never love anyone as much as her. I don't care if I never see her ever again... As long as she is happy.

"KILL ME!!" the man in front of me bellowed. My train of thought stopped at that very moment. Could he have possibly have just said... What I think he said?

"I- I'm... I'm sorry?" I said not quite believing this. I was terrified. He had an insane look in his eyes... I was starting to doubt the sanity of this man. Barely a minute ago he seemed, calm collected... How...?

"You heard me. KILL ME!!! I've been waiting for him to do it for a long time... Clearly he couldn't do it himself, so sent a gormless idiot to do his dirty work for him! No doubt he has some family member held hostage? Maybe I should do it myself... You are clearly not capable and it would save him the bother." He grinned, I couldn't quite believe he was talking about his life in this manner... Could he possibly mean what I think he means?

"I - I - I... I can't!" I yelled my face wet with tears. I threw my gun to the floor and stood there helplessly. Staring at the frustrated man in front of me. He gave me a strange look... Was it pity? No. It wasn't... He bent down and picked up the gun, in a most casual manner. He put the gun to his head.

"Do you really want to see this? I'd leave whilst you can." He smirked. How could he speak of his own life this way? How? Surely his own life meant more to him than this?

"NO!!!" I yelled. Not quite believing my own ears. He couldn't! He didn't have to die! Why did I do this? I should have save Beatrice... I shouldn't have even come here. He merely laughed at my reaction.

"C'est la vie." he whispered. What happened next was so... Terrible, life-scaring and painful to watch that I can't describe it in words. It is useless for me to describe what happened when you simply cannot imagine it - unless you have been in that situation. Which I very much hope you haven't.

I wanted to stop him, but I couldn't I just froze. I couldn't move. I just stared, trembling like a fool. Unable to take in what just happened. My entire body was wet with sweat and tears. Then I realised how I could save Beatrice... Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise... I wouldn't have to kill anyone.

I ran out of the room, down the stairs of the office block - banging into many people but didn't have time to apologise. I ran through the doors, past cars - past people, through crowds. Not stopping, a stitch growing in my side. Not stopping. A car speeding towards me. Not stopping. Nothing could stop me. I had to save her. I kept running. My lungs felt like they where going to implode, which was a good reason to stop - but the one I love was in danger... Which was a better reason to not.

I finally got there. I didn't take in my surroundings - I just ran at the door. Ran through the warehouse. When I saw her Beatrice... Lying there - covered in blood... Lifeless. I skidded across the floor and looked at her not wanting to believe it... No... No... Not... She can't be? No... He said - I had to kill that man. The man was dead. Surely, he would have spared her. Tears of raged ran from my eyes, I screamed in pain and anguish. Not wanting to believe it... When I saw it in the corner of my eye - smeared on the wall in her blood the words "too late".

I screamed louder, tears running down my face. I held onto Beatrice, even though I knew she was dead. She was my life, I lived through her. I breathed her breath. Without her I was nothing, I would never let her go. I held her body close to mine, rocking her gently. I shall never let her go. Ever. Together in life, together in death.

Tuesday, 25 November 2008

Here there be poems

The First Snowfall

The stars fall around me, landing around me...
Creating a white shining blanket.
Footsteps dotted artistically,
My skin a light purple...
The snow clouds heavy above me -
Protecting it's dark master...
The moon barely visible.
As I watch the night...
In amazement.

Falling Into Dreamland

I lay awake... Wide-eyed...
Awaiting... Waiting... Still waiting...
Time moves like it's dragging the day behind it...
Humming birds wings flutter inside of me...
Waiting... My eyes become slowly heavier...
Time passes... Creeping past unnoticed,
Sleep joins it... As I slowly...
Fall into a deep, deep sleep.

Monday, 24 November 2008

The boys of the NYPD choir, where singing Gallway bay - and the bells where ringing out... For christmas day!

Christmas time is nearly upon us - well, a month and a day anyway. & for some odd reason... I'm coming into the "Christmas mood" early this year. The good thing is about this is I can listen to Fairytale Of New York with no objections! & watch one of my favourite films. A Nightmare Before Christmas (Tim Burton of course...)... Two of my favourite parts:

Now I'm really in the Christmas mood! :-D

I actually feel a poem coming on... Hmmm...
Probably to be posted in my next blog!!

Thursday, 20 November 2008

* * Freedom is not of use to those who do not know how to employ it.

(Yet to have a name... Hence the quote as a title)

Darkness crept into the room... Slowly...
Barely recognised - until it was there.
Not noticed. Just there.
The atmosphere changes,
my joints begin to ache...
My eyes slowly grow heavier.
Moving clumsily.
Barely there.
Only the body is there...
The rest is far away...
Everything moves so slowly... So slowly...
All alone... Yet the feeling of being watched -
never quite goes away.

Tuesday, 18 November 2008

Films & Animation

So lately I've been rather interested in animation, film-making and, of course, play-writing. There is one main culprit for the film-making ambition, the genius director that is more commonly known as Tim Burton. Watch the following video and you may see why, or not. Everyone is inspired by different things, maybe this only inspires me!

Unfortunately, I haven't had much practice in writing plays and it is definately not my strength in writing - whenever I try, I always get a little carried away with the stage directions... Or think up a new idea for poem or short story. This is a bit of a problem as I am incredibly interested in film-making. However; I think the main problem is I was never really shown how to write plays. Well, I was - but more emphasis was put upon stories and poems... Maybe if plays had been involved... I might find it easier.

Although, I think I really should be actually doing something about this thirst for film-making... As everytime I see a film by an amazing director... (TB, Stephen Spielberg and some other J-Horror directors that I don't think I shall post the videos of as the majority are rather, for lack of a better word, gory.) the desire to make a film is even stronger. I should probably spend more time writing plays and so on ... Perhaps then I shall learn the ways of film-making!

Monday, 17 November 2008

My Doll House

Surrounded by my doll house -
my life-size living doll house!
The figures surround me, drown me.
Clones all around me!
They're almost identical, they do not seem to know.
They're barely alive, they do not seem to know.
Their day lies ahead - never changing,
years of awful monotony.

My living dolls live up to expectations,
Never shock, surprise... But occasionally,
They repeat, repeat, repeat.
Their death would not change much!
They think themselves unique -
Of some kind of importance.
They are not,
they are clones.
All clones.
They are as important as a child's toy,
and have about as much impact!

They live there days in tedious monotony.
Barely there - barely aware,
alive only just - no change.
Scared of change in fact, scared of the different -
scared of the noses on their faces.
Living in a carefully molded rountine,
carefully sculpted - free of excitement, change -
the same as the dolls in a child's doll house.

Like my life size living doll house.