tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65868456405476473592024-02-20T21:08:58.572-05:0020 MinStory
Short Order Writers Wanted. Must be willing to write for 20 minutes. No Grammar Snobs Need Apply.
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.comBlogger173125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-27980630346111172382017-01-19T14:15:00.001-05:002023-07-20T09:30:38.152-04:00Mocking The Afflicted<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(61, 89, 109); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #3d596d; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">First things first, obviously you have to sing the title to yourself to the tune of Elvis Costello’s Watching The Detectives. This has nothing whatsoever to do with what follows, it’s just that I’ve not been able to shake it since the title came to me and I’m saving you the trouble of thinking that you vaguely remember a song called Mocking The Afflicted but can’t recall the artist. It wasn’t, you can’t.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Back to the matter in hand. I’m a fairly ‘right on’ PC type but recently found myself questioning what is considered acceptable and whether I’d just crossed a line into bigoted, UKIP territory. Anyone who has had the good/misfortune of meeting me or happening upon my very occasional blog posts will know that I have MS and am registered blind. I am bona fide disabled, a proper spazmo as I've rather unkindly been told. However, during a conversation with a friend I began to wonder where the boundaries lay following his apparent horror at the description I gave my current state.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">December was shit, fucking shit - that’s a medical term. First couple of days were brilliant, I was smashing it at the gym and then within forty eight hours I couldn’t do a thing for myself. The details are tedious to all but those closest to me and me especially. Anyway, back to the conversation with said mate, I’ll call him Gaz, because his name is Gaz. Gaz knew I wasn’t doing too well and asked how I was. Whilst making light of it, I was being honest and we both laughed about it - he is a bastard. This started me thinking whether it was ok for disabled people to mock other disabled people. Having arrived at a title and recovered from the obvious comedic and literary brilliance of it I thought maybe I should delve a little deeper.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Now, contrary to wild speculation, I am in fact caucasian and as such wouldn’t consider using the N word. Snoop can do it; I’d be a horrible racist if I gave it a try. Can Snoop use the N word amongst those with every different hue of brown though? This rather led me to wonder whether as a disabled person I can only legitimately mock someone with the exact same disability as me or is every one of them fair game. I should add that even prior to disablement, gentle, general mocking (not of the disabled or any other minority groups) has always been my stock in trade, the target of which was more often than not, myself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Being a relatively new 'disabled' I don’t know the rules, is there some sort of sliding scale that determines mockability. Can I go for anyone who looks to be doing better than me rather than preying on the weak? Looks tend to mean little though, I look ace and have come to realise that others who look ace may similarly be hiding flaws. Where does this leave me? I’m at a post office trying to choose the quickest queue and we all know there’s no changing once you realise you’re in the wrong one. Right kids?</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I’m hoping that I can mock the disabled with complete profligacy and impunity in much the same way as, I hope, Snoop uses the N word with his kith and kin. The reaches of my blog tends not to be that great (I'm not multi platinum), this is good in that I’ll not be trolled by those less able or aresholes looking for offence, but I’ll be no closer to determining where the lines are and which I’m safely able to cross. I’ll just have to muddle through and feign offence and indignation should anyone chastise me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Tim McB</span></div>
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Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-18927370148992578392016-03-09T12:49:00.002-05:002023-07-20T09:35:31.418-04:00Shit<div data-mce-style="text-align: justify;" style="background-color: white; color: #3d596d; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 24px; text-align: justify;">
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Thankfully not my actual job although it might as well be. Since multiple sclerosis reduced my eyesight to something Magooesque last year I can hardly set foot outside without plunging the highest quality footwear into a steaming stool. The flip flop days of summer do not auger well.</span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I'll happily concede that people face much greater difficulties than a soiled trainer but I find the regularity somewhat tedious.</span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Losing your sight is not a joyous thing, one eye and you can get by with little more than minor adjustments and inconveniences. Two and you're fucked. Having said that, in spite of my often acerbic persona I am in fact an eternal optimist, I would ordinarily have used the phrase 'blindly optimistic' but I thought it might be considered in poor taste.</span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">As there must be some benefit I could derive from this, I tried to imagine positive situations not requiring sight. Bingo! Blindfolded sex. Not necessarily my bag but if E L James can amass such a fortune with the literary ability of a bonobo, there's obviously a place for it. Sadly I soon realised that walking into things, spilling drinks, falling over etc. did not benefit from a fifty shades type frisson just because I couldn't see. In retrospect I'd been rather naive; it's all about context and situation. You may find driving your car wildly exciting but should your lights fail in a tunnel, you'd be petrified. In a similar vein, an avid proponent of S&M may delight in having his nuts nailed to a dungeon wall by a consenting partner. Less so his boss stapling them to his work space during a weekly 'catch up'. One might say that I'd led myself down a blind alley.</span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Focus Timothy, focus, other positives will surface. And surface they did. I'm pumped full of steroids, or roided up to use the popular gym parlance. Not for me the steroids which sculpt the body into taught, rippling muscle and sinew. No no, I'm on the ones which create a ballon/moon face as favoured by ginger haired soul sensation Mick Hucknall. These have also resulted in the growth of two brand new tits – so far. I've mixed feelings about them as they're undoubtedly nice to have, it's just that they're located in my arm pits. Had they have been more centrally located on my torso I could have pulled off the feeding sow look quite well. Swings and roundabouts I suppose. On a separate note, the armpit tit is a huge evolutionary oversight. Should one be lactating, a swift birdie song style swing of the arm could dispense nutrition to hungry infants with ease.</span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">In much the same way as we remember James Dean, River Phoenix and Jeff Buckley as the handsome young talents they were, I too can find comfort in the fact that, to me at least, I will always be the forty two year old adonis of 2015 as that was the last time I saw myself clearly in the mirror.</span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Oh and as an aside, my body has come to represent the Syrian crisis as my leg hair has migrated to the 'Western Europe' of my back. Not sure if this is related or just more 'luck'.</span></div>
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Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-45038040796472385022015-03-25T10:24:00.000-04:002015-03-25T10:24:53.266-04:00Little Miss Kansas 1975<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Marie, pretty darlin’,” Hank snarled, “I will have another slice of that delicious blueberry pie.”</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The oaf’s saliva dangled on his chin, thick and full just like the late afternoon sun heating the parched lawn outside. 4<sup>th</sup> of July and the last stragglers who’d visited the Chicopee Parade were on their way home. Two young boys by the entrance threw cake muck at each other and their mother sat there, with the silent sun silhouetting her. She was defeated and her eyes hinted at bored delirium.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Marie felt no pity as she bent to tie her shoes, yawning whilst she had the chance. Force of habit, even if the boss was out anyway. She didn’t want Mr. McCrory noticing her fly-catching; the old pervert needed no excuse to take her out back for a ‘little talk’. She hated the way he closed the diner door just so, to breathe the smell of tar and day old cheeseburger on her white neck. A shaky hand would make its way onto her shoulder whilst his daughters played out front. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She tiptoed into the kitchen and didn’t know why, sliding the fridge door open to get to the two remaining slices of pie. That same old yellowish light spluttered into life, a failing engine at odds with the machine’s obvious baritone, Marie mused. Its monotonous hum was a comfort, hell sure it was, as dumb as that sounds. It sounded wise and constant and Marie wanted to stay listening to it, but knew better – she was the only one working right now after Jeanette ran off with the pastor’s son to her folks’ place in Oklahoma City, if Mrs. O’ Hare’s wicked tongue was to be believed. The place was a dump, but who was gonna whisk her away to Oklahoma City? </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mr. McCrory wasn’t due back for another half hour. Marie patted her apron pocket for her mirror. <i>Fuck</i>, <i>where did I leave it?</i>She sidled over to the worktop and bent over, the roundness of her breasts swelling against her blouse. She liked the way her body felt, still youthful at 32 against the crisp cotton. Sure, she’d been around. Three years here, two and a half in Mr. Delacour’s before that, five in Nashville with the band before it all broke down. Mr. Delacour had been a real gentleman and the memory of his ink-stained neckerchief with the Kansas State flag on it sure made her smile. But the cancer took him like the dark comes for the daytime and you can’t go back. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She picked up the pie and scrunched her face theatrically, plucking a chestnut red hair from the crust which could only be her own. She’d squidged a dollop of ice cream on top and it made her sick to look at it, but she didn’t know why. Hank didn’t take time to look up from the toothpick he fumbled with in his hands, but she sure knew that as soon as her back was turned his hot stare would be on her, ice cream melting in the constant heat, up and down, up and down…</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The door clanged its lullaby as another weary traveller stepped through the threshold, Marie was sure. She was examining her reflection in the back of an upturned spoon on the counter and was weirdly absorbed by its unnatural cleanness when he spoke. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Marie Burbank, unless my pretty blues do deceive me.” His eyes were pretty, just like they’d always been back in high school. Gosh, she hadn’t seen him in 15 years. The eyes were the same, the midriff a little wider, the boots and hat a little fancier. But it was him.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They spoke for what could have been five minutes or five hours. Time didn’t exist no more; even Hank left with three bucks slammed on the counter and without a word, for which she was grateful. He hardly said a word, staring at her lips as she talked. They didn’t tremble and she was relieved, but didn’t know how. And it felt like she hadn’t spoken in years, not really. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t been listened to in years, but she laughed, blushed, whispered and nodded with something that had been missing for too long and she was occasionally mindful of losing it. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It began to get dark and no one came – not even McCrory – and she shocked herself with fantasies of the bastard having a heart attack. He sat across from her and laughed so hard just as she thought of it and was reminded of a line: ‘hell is empty and all the devils are here’, but she had no idea where it came from or why she thought it, either.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Little Miss. Kansas, nine<i>-teen </i>seventy five” he boomed, jumping up and taking her hand. They danced in the near darkness, bumping into chairs and laughing all the while, knocking ketchup bottles to the floor. He whisked her back to that day when she’d stood on stage, just 16 and with rouge on her cheeks for the first time. The thorn in the roses they gave her had scratched her hand and she had to wipe it on the back of her burgundy dress when the judges weren’t looking. Even her daddy had made it to sit in the audience; they danced closer just at the moment she thought of this.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">McCrory had a bottle of Jack out back she knew, the old goon taking it out for a tumbler whenever his wife rang through to crow at him for something stupid the girls had done. She whispered into his ear that she was going to get a couple of glasses, and a dull shockwave went through her as she let go of his hand, brushing her thigh against him as she walked to the left of the counter, to the cupboard under the till where they kept the glasses. She thought she heard a stirring and turned before she knelt down, but he wasn’t looking. He rested on the counter, moving the rings on his knuckles. A distant firework exploded and then fizzled out to nothingness.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Her eyes burned and the floor rocked as another firework, and another, and another went off in quick succession. In her skull. Head smashed into counter crunched into glass. The white light of the moon shone on her, black liquid snaking on the floor underneath her temple. In a moment of complete lucidity, she realised that he had stepped over her to the till. It rang a sickly sweet note and he slid it shut again a moment later. Her bones moaned but she couldn’t move a muscle. Just then, or was it before, or after, the faint rumble of an engine distanced, distanced itself from her outstretched hand that grabbed only cool evening air.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She looked to her left and saw it. Her pocket mirror she’d misplaced hours ago had cracked, the glass peppering the blood-smudged floor like snowflakes in a field of flowers. Tucked behind the glass was a Polaroid with cracks at the edges but a young woman clearly visible, the unmistakeable words ‘Little Miss. Kansas, 1975’ screaming from the banner overhead. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The smashed glass had cut the picture down the middle. A firework went off. She finally began to sob.</span></div>
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Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-40010647618900896372014-11-29T08:10:00.001-05:002014-11-29T08:10:38.272-05:00Nightmare<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She rushed to the door. Her tiny feet like pitter patter on the wooden floor. The door swung open. She launched into the air. But landed in arms not of her father</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was Sara's day. She had the best surprise birthday breakfast. Long phone calls with favourite aunts made her day. Suddenly they were all leaving. Her worried expression was replaced with joy when a surprise was promised</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The stern looking police man helped her stand on her shaking legs. She tried to listen to the whispers but only heard her baby sitter's sobs. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She shook her mama but she did not open her eyes, she screamed at her brother but he did not shout back. She poked her baba but he did not laugh. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The driver with cuts on his arms looked at her struggle and went away, failed in his quest of forgiveness not only from the little girl but himself</span></div>
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Tired she closed her eyes. Wishing foolishly it was just a nightmare. But who says nightmare can not be true.</div>
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</span></span>Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-66079787640574111992014-11-22T04:00:00.000-05:002014-11-22T04:00:35.692-05:00Perimeter Fence<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 16px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sam looked on with resignation as the ball veered away from the makeshift goal of two piles of school bags. In his haste to capitalise on the open goal due to Cavan’s slip, he’d rushed his shot, his standing foot too far away from the ball when he struck it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ignoring the catcalls and pisstakes, he ran to recover the ball. Its resting place was the perimeter fence separating Cardinal Heenan Catholic High School and St Urbans Catholic Primary School.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He slowed as he approached the fence so as not to scare the Robin Redbreast he’d glimpsed through the fence. A bystander observing what was unfolding on the Primary School side.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just by the unadulterated shrieks of laughter, Sam sensed it was an altogether more carefree environment than the Cardinal Heenan playground. The younger children yet to be weighed down by the combined burden of exams, puberty, social media and being in or out of the ‘in crowd’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sam picked up the ball tucking it under his arm pausing and breathing in the air from the other side of the fence seeing if it could infect him and take him back to times when he was free of spots and blackheads, when he had a bum fluff free top lip, his armpits didn’t exude an odour of old tea bags and his hair didn’t need washing daily.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A ruddy faced boy flushed with joyous excitement in hot pursuit of a smaller pig tailed girl giggling uncontrollably. Neither likely to be subject to a Spanish inquisition from their friends at the end of play time of why they were playing together. Not having to run the gauntlet of questions, feeling your acne pock marked cheeks colouring and the burn of your neck reddening – “what were you doing with her? Are you seeing her or summat?”. The minefield of teenage boys, an age when it wasn’t sick to have friends who were girls.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sam’s bubble of innocent musing was punctured by Jordan’s bawling – “ere, there’s only 5 minutes of break time left, you fetching the ball back or gonna stay standing there staring into space with your gob open catching flies”. “Shut up nobhead” responded Sam launching the ball at Jordan, re-joining the fray.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Paul Jobson</span></span></div>
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-5713570069894105602014-11-22T03:58:00.000-05:002014-11-22T04:02:01.640-05:00The Liquor Store<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 16px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt 36pt; padding: 0px;">
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hetty and Jake had to run an errand for their mom whilst she was at work. They had to go to the store and get some groceries so mom could fix supper when she got home. They set-off in great spirits, laughing and joking as they walked on the sidewalk to the store. Their route took them past the Liquor Store. As they passed it, Jake shot into the yard beside it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Hetty, Hetty, look at all of the empty beer bottles, these are the ones you get money for returning”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Come on, we need to get the groceries and get home in time for mom”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Take these”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What are you doing?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“We’re going to earn ourselves some money. Mom will be pleased if we go back with all of the groceries and give all of her money back”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It’s stealing”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No, it’s not. It’s a killer idea. Anyhow, don’t be a square”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Just hold these and follow me”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hetty reluctantly held the bottles and followed Jake into the Store. Jake confidently placed his empty bottles onto the counter then took the others from Hetty and put them alongside. The Liquor Store owner ambled over, glancing quickly at Hetty and Jake over the top of his glasses. He counted the bottles – six in total, opened the cash register, picked out 6 coins and handed them into Jake’s outstretched palm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Thank you sir”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“So long kids”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jake could barely stifle his laughter as they were leaving the store. As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, he squealed “again, let’s do it again”. Hetty knew they shouldn’t but reasoned the owner had hardly looked at them, he probably wouldn’t recognise them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In their haste to gather another set of empties, Hetty dropped one of them, it smashed on the floor. Hetty and Jake didn’t have time to look at one another before the Liquor Store owner emerged into the yard from a door at the rear of the store.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jake beat it, flat out up the sidewalk. Hetty was caught by surprise and the Store owner had positioned himself between the Hetty and the yard entrance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’ve called up the Cops, they’re on the way to throw you and your friend in jail for stealing”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hetty started to cry. She didn’t want to go to jail. Mom would go crazy. Mom hated stealing. Mom had never done anything wrong in her entire life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Store owner moved towards Hetty. Without warning, an empty beer bottle whistled by his ear, smashing on the ground between him and Hetty. Startled, the Store owner turned round to see where it had come from, this gave Hetty the split second she needed, Hetty darted past the distracted Owner, joining Jake on the sidewalk from where he’d launched the bottle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You cool?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yeah. C’mon. Let’s cut out”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They took flight back up the sidewalk towards home. They arrived back breathless at the tenement building where their apartment was, to see their mom crossing the road.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Watcha. What you been doing? You look hot”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“We’ve been running mom”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Be careful. Have you got the groceries like I asked?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hetty and Jake exchanged a look.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You’ve forgotten”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Let me change out of my work clothes, then I’ll go. You two carry on playing and enjoy the sunny weather. But no moaning about having a late supper"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.333332061767578px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Paul Jobson</span></span></div>
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Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-80195802850521542672014-10-15T00:15:00.001-04:002014-10-15T00:15:13.323-04:00A Warning<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Si’down,” the security guard said, throwing me on to the plastic chair in the middle of an office. The chair sat opposite a desk. I stumbled a bit, and then stood up straight, defiant. The security guard raised an eyebrow and then peered through her glasses perched on her nose. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">“Hmm.”</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What? I aint got nuffin on me.”<br />“Sit,” she said again.<br />Rolling my eyes, I plonked myself down onto the chair.<br />“Do you know where you are?” she asked, closing the door behind her and stepping behind the desk.<br />“Waitrose. For fucks sake I’m not thick.”<br />“Could’a fooled me.”<br />“Look can we just get on with this yeah,” I said, shifting in the chair. It was small and uncomfortable.<br />“Very well, then,” the security guard said, placing her hands on the desk and folding them. “Name?”<br />“John.”<br />“John?” She scoffed.<br />“Yeah John,” I sniffed, “Why not?” I said, watching as she rolled her eyes. I grinned. “Or you could call me Johnny, John boy – I’m not fussed.”<br />“How about prat,” came a male voice from the door. I craned my neck to see who had just come in but all I could see was the profile of his face. The man was relatively short, white, with dark blonde curly hair. From what I could see,<span class=""> </span>he looked like the prat to me.<br /><span class=""> </span>“Good one, Ron,” said the dickguard. I groaned. I had heard stories about this guy. Devon had said that he once had the shit beat out of him by a manager named Ron. Another mate, Kat, said he hunts down thieves himself.<span class=""> </span><i class="">You don’t wanna get caught by that one, </i><span class="">she had said. </span><span class=""> </span>“What did you steal?,” he said, stopping my thoughts dead. Back to business.<br />“Nothing,” I said, “I was already searched, I got nothing on me.” <i class="">This time</i>, I added in my head.<br />“Nah I’m not talking about today,” Ron said. He was still behind me – pacing, it was staring to freak me out. “I’m talking about the last time you were here.”<br />“What?” I said feigning ignorance.<br />“Don’t fucking play about. I’ve seen you here before, and people like you don’t come in here to shop, you come in here to steal –“<br />“Racial profiling,” I muttered under my breath.<br />The guard laughed. “You’re fucking white, you numpty.”<br />“So?”<br />“Shut up,” Ron said, placing his hands on the back of the chair. I fought the urge to turn around. “I’m gonna ask you again. What did you nick?”<br />I rolled my eyes, fed up with the games, now. “Wines, obvs.”<br />“Which ones?” Ron asked, removing his hand from the back of the chair.<br />“Dunno, just wines.” I said, feeling more and more uneasy by the second.<br />“Expensive?”<br />“Well yeah,” I snorted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="text-indent: 36pt;">He started to laugh, then. A big arrogant laugh as though he were laughing at what I just said. This man was such a tosser. I had had enough. I turned my head to the side to catch a glimpse of him. Suddenly I felt a blow to my cheek, swift and strong. It knocked me right out of my seat. I stumbled, dazed and ready to fight back, my fists drunkenly making circles in the air. Another punch, this time in my stomach, winded me. Another punch landed on the other side of my face. I dropped down to the floor. One more kick – right in the nuts – almost had me tearing up. I fought to breath right again, every breath feeling like another stab in all the places he hit me. Fucking hell the rumours were true. These people were crazy! A man couldn’t walk around suspiciously without ending up half dead on the street. My theory was confirmed when the guard got up and walked around the desk and chuckled.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="text-indent: 36pt;"><br /></span>“Good that’s what you get.” She walked out of the room. Ron rolled up his sleeves.<br />“Don’t fucking come back,” he said, as he dragged me up by my shirt. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One more punch and I was out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /> Shayanne Campbell</span><br />
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-1019335057985308092014-09-23T11:52:00.000-04:002014-09-23T11:52:04.784-04:00The Start Of Something New<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He came crashing up the stairs,
wrecking havoc along his path. His bulky body thumped against the
wall and the staircase railing back and forth with every uneven step
he took.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the room at the top of the
staircase, my eyelids flew open. I would recognize those muffled,
clumsy footsteps anywhere, even in my sleep. That was the sound I
dreaded the most. That was the sound I spent my waking hours worrying
about. That was the sound of the footsteps of a man whom I could not
bear to call my father.</span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As silently as I could, I got up from
my position at the foot of my mother’s queen-sized bed. A bed too
large for one person to sleep in. My mother looked so small sleeping
on her side of the bed, always leaving the other side empty, in the
hopes that that despicable man would one day climb back into bed and
lay by her side forever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh, he comes back, all right. He comes
back after he has drunk himself into oblivion and pounds on my
mother’s bedroom door, demanding for money. I have begged her
countless times never to hand him any of her savings. I told her that
he would only spend it all on drugs and alcohol and come back for
more, but she wouldn’t listen to me. That poor old soul, she was so
blinded by a non-existent love that she would even give her life to
him if she had to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I never worried much about my mother as
she always had ample money for that man. I always thought that he
would just take the money and leave, so I never bothered to include
myself in her twisted little affair.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I couldn’t have been more wrong.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It wasn’t until late last month that
I realized something was amiss. Fresh bruises and cuts started
appearing on my mother’s skin every time that man visited. It was
as if blue roses were blooming on her skin, blotching its smooth
surface with angry spots and cuts. I questioned her about the bruises
and cuts, but she would always brush it aside and cook up a feeble
excuse. Well, she did not fool me. I knew what was going on and I was
going to make it stop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I decided to take matters into my own
hands by sneaking into my mother’s room after she has fallen asleep
and sleeping at the foot of her bed so that if that man comes for
her, he would have to get past me first. We had a few peaceful
nights... until tonight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I locked my mother’s bedroom door
from the inside as I left the room to face that monster, to protect
her. Immediately, my gaze landed on a man with a bloated stomach and
messy hair who had just landed on the top of the staircase, swaying
about , trying to balance himself against the railing. He smelled
like vomit and cigarettes. The sheer sight and smell of him filled me
with hatred and disgust. I wanted to push him down the flight of
stairs so badly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Repressing those feelings, I walked
towards him and said as calmly as I could, “leave.” With his eyes
half-closed in a drunken stupor, he looked me over. “Don’t you
dare challenge me, son,” he said, his voice deep and his words
slurred. I glared at him, this ugly, resentful creature in front of
me. “I. Am. Not. Your. Son,” I spat each word at him as if they
were poison, “and leave my mother alone.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Before I knew it, his fist came flying
towards me and landed squarely on my nose. Instantly, I felt a sharp
pain and blood came gushing out of my nostrils in an angry stream.
Enraged, I lifted my right fist, ready to throw a punch at him. But
before I could do it, his eyes widened in shock as he fell backwards,
tumbling down the flight of staircase.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No one treats my son with violence
and gets away with it,” a voice said from my side.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Surprised, I turned to my left only to
find my mother standing there with a grim expression on her face. She
pulled me into an embrace before kneeling down to inspect my nose
from various angles, concern woven into the creases on her forehead.
“Are you okay? Gosh, I can’t believe I’ve been so blinded all
this time,” she muttered as she wiped my blood with her sleeve.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was as
if a switch in her had flipped and suddenly, she had snapped out of
her fantasy world. The pain in my nose was nothing compared to the
joy I felt for my mother. I hugged her so tight that she laughed and
said, “okay now, you’re crushing my ribcage.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We called the police and the ambulance
who whisked that sick man away in a stretcher. We even got a reward
from the police for turning in a wanted felon. Then, my mother drove
me to a nearby clinic to get my nose fixed. A smile was plastered on
my face the entire journey even though my nose hurt, because I knew
that from this point onwards in life, the future will be much
brighter for my mother and I. Just the both of us, with no one else
tying us down.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mother glanced at me, caught my eye,
and smiled. It’s the start of something new.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Samantha Sim</span></div>
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-71932355810137404102014-09-10T06:53:00.000-04:002014-09-10T06:53:23.638-04:00Unloved<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I don’t love you.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Silence. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I waited in the darkness for the words to find their target. Hopeful. My heart beat against my chest in anticipation of the fallout to come. Fear and excitement pumped through my veins.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A soft snore reverberated across the still room, the arm clutching my waist moved higher, tightening around my chest, his face nuzzled into the back of my head as he settled himself. He murmured slightly, I couldn’t discern the words. He slept on oblivious to the disappointment and frustration cursing through me. I’m a coward. I should have spoken sooner. At dinner when he proposed would have been the preferable occasion. He asked if I want to spend the rest of my life with him. And I lied. I even managed to shed a tear over it all. But it was not a tear of joy. I was panicked. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And now here I am again, lying awake in the dark, him sleeping peacefully beside me, unaware. I am going to break his heart. And it frightens me because I don’t think I will be upset about it. I think I will be relieved. I know I will be relived. I feel guilty right now but more than that, more than anything else, I feel smothered. My hand is trapped under me, but if I move it I will only disturb his sleep again and if he wakes this time then at this ridiculous point I’m going to have to come clean about my feelings, or lack there of, and it’s 3am and all I really want to do is sleep. But I can’t because I feel trapped and uncomfortable and overwhelmingly hot with his body curled up around me. The body I no longer want anywhere near me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think I loved him, once, briefly perhaps. I don’t know when I stopped. I just know that that feeling, that strange buzz I once got when I so much as looked in his direction, the annoying red that filled my cheeks when he smiled at me, or said something even slightly flirtatious, is gone. And I can’t get it back. But I can get the courage to end it. I think.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Alice Elliot</span></div>
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-46643966804234534202014-08-12T06:42:00.000-04:002014-08-12T06:42:00.059-04:00Paris, Paris<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Earlier it rained more and warmer than usual.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A double rainbow scissored the sky and the city stood stained with colour as stale as a water-damaged nursery rhyme. Later, the sun spun fierce and piercing. Half-naked hipsters flooded the parks and every drop soaked back up to the blue like so many ascending souls.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">An elderly man, yellow raincoat, crosses the boulevard on his way to the bookshop. A blind woman of no fixed address plays the recorder badly for money.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The old man stops and turns back to his dog, to convince him of the safety of crossing the street. The damp and dizzy terrier steps carefully down and skips to the heel of his owner’s right boot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The boy’s death is not news yet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s a bank holiday and the bookshop is closed. Instead of discount shelves and browsing customers, prostitutes the wrong side of forty display in each staggered doorway: each one made up like a stolen car.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Their supervisors line the railings of the boarded up church next door. They smoke and talk, one eye on the women, and never let go of their phones.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The elderly man shouts for help.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@the_fliar</span></span></div>
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-57781715520011711552014-07-29T00:26:00.000-04:002014-07-29T00:26:35.575-04:00Project Eternal Love<span id="docs-internal-guid-70b7a4d7-804f-10fe-517f-645332135577"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He crept sneakily into the room, careful not to make any sound. He watched as the lights flickered on, wary of the lady sleeping on the mahogany bed. As he scuttled about the room, he brought in </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">a</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> tray into the room, careful not to drop it. He smiled as he tiptoed past the sleeping beauty. Even as she slept, the lady looked ever so elegant.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; white-space: pre-wrap;">He placed the tray on the table by her bed. He could not help himself but reach out and gently touch the lady's chestnut brown hair, soft as silk. He pulled the duvet up; afraid the frail lady would catch a cold. After making the final arrangements, touching up on what he would like to call his master plan, he waltzed out of the room, looking back only to blow the lady one last kiss. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Later, as the bright Sun </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">rose</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> up to greet him, he wondered if the lady </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">had</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> woken up yet. Being an </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">early eagle</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, she bet she would have. Did she like it? Would she scream and hop around with joy? He did not know. He hoped so. The lady was known for her terrible moods in the mornings, adding to the unpredictability of her personality. That was what he loved about her though. He stared into the orange sky, pondering whether this would be the last time </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">he admire the sky alone</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. He chided himself, for acting like a teenage girl.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I woke up, a terrible hangover in my head. I glanced around the bedroom floor. This would be the last time I sleep here, I guess. The once-littered </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">floor,</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> with all kinds of beer, vodka and wine bottles disappeared, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">becoming cleaner than it had ever been. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Never had my apartment been so clean! Had the cleaning fairy popped in? Of course not, I thought to myself, trying to remember how wasted I got at last night's party. I remembered that the next day was my wedding, so my girlfriends and I squandered my ever-lasting inheritance from the Daddy I never met, buying any pair of high heels that attracted me and spending the rest on my high need of alcohol.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; white-space: pre-wrap;">I remember shouting into my phone, "Ten bottles of Jacks, three bottles of vodka, five bottles of red and white wine each and seven bottles of brilliant Scotch." My, my. It had been quite a while since my satisfaction for alcohol had been fulfilled. How long was it since I last drank so merrily, till I experienced the lingering bitterness of beer in my mouth? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; white-space: pre-wrap;">I shook my head to clear it, and then my nose finally picked up on it. The sweet smell of freshly cooked scrambled eggs, pancakes stacked to resemble the Marina Bay Sands and bacon. Oh, the best bacon I've ever tasted. Countless bacon littered the plate, just the way I loved it. Digging in, I mercilessly attacked paradise breakfast, shoving and savoring each delicious mouthful. My dear Riley, how thoughtful of him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; white-space: pre-wrap;">After filling my stomach, I drained the hazelnut coffee as I wanted for the phone to get through. He did not pick up, that Riley. Nevertheless, I slid back under the covers, and into the safety of my soul mate. How similar, my soul mate was to Riley, warmly embracing me in his strong arms. Soon, I fell into the dreamy coma and hoped for the sweetest dream to meet me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; white-space: pre-wrap;">Spending the whole day in bed, I got up only the next morning. This was it, the final day of my freedom, gone like the wind, along with the wines down the drain. Would I regret it, the binds of marriage? Only the Lord knows. I slipped a glanced at the grandfather clock ticking in my room. 6 a.m., it said. Five hours to dawdle, one hour to prepare and half an hour to get to the place. I grabbed the vintage wine I saved up for the special occasion, sipping it and switching the television on. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Five dead bodies found dead in the canal near Jurong West, by eyewitness, John Tan.” The Barbie doll behind the screen chattered on, but the five dead bodies captured my attention. Ten years, since a good number of people had been murdered like that since my parents’ murder. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> peaceful, bustling serenity the Singapore had seen flew out the window just like that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I laughed as the usual statement </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">flashed</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> above the news anchor’s head. ‘</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Should the public have any information</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> about the murders, please contact the police immediately at this hotline.’ They did not even bother with my parents, declaring it a suicide. Well, now we have got a murderer on the loose, what more on my wedding day. I took a long drag of the sweet wine. It would always calm me down no matter what. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That moment, my phone buzzed. I </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">picked</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> it up, squinting to make out the small font of the text. “Sherlock, we need you on the case.” Damn </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> police. I scrolled down and scanned through the messages. Many flooded my inbox, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">saying</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, “Great party last night” or “Congrats”. Finding the correct message, it read, “Coming over </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">to</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> the penthouse, hope you liked the breakfast. Love Riley.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Love Riley, it brought up many memories of the past. We met back in Secondary School, where I was still foolish, and he was dense. Smart but dense. Many girls liked him, but he never noticed. He floats around, goofy smiles plastered on his face. The boys didn’t take to him that much. In fact, he was subjected to bullying by them, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">yet that blockhead did not sense anything</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. They teased and made fun of him, but he never lets it get to him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; white-space: pre-wrap;">I always stayed away from most people, never ever trusting them so easily. But he hopped through my barrier, breaking my guard down, convincing me that people weren’t always that bad. We got along well, and somewhere along the way, he blurted out his feelings for me. I did not know if he told the truth then, being so unromantic and all, but I liked seeing his beet red face, hiding his embarrassment. We were happy. I still remember when we leaned against each other, reading the stars.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I love you” He said. I ignored that, my face flushing just a tinge. “Don’t you dare change. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Idiots make the world a better place to live in after all. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I will come after you. I will kill you.” I said, but he’d already fallen asleep. Things progressed smoothly as time passed by, with our love growing sweeter as days went by.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The doorbell rang, and back to reality, I was dragged. It chanted its usual chorus around the house. I pressed the intercom, unlocking the door and letting him in. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We hugged and kissed;</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> the soon-to-be married couple. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.1500000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I did what you asked.” He whispered into my ear as we cuddled up to watch the movie screening on the television. I simply nodded my head, carefree and happy I was. A surgeon he was, so skillful and precise. “I killed and dumped five bodies into the canal.” </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.1500000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now that I expected. I held my hand out. His eyes lit up when he saw the ring I wore and he placed the murder weapon in my palm. A scalpel, the perfect torture equipment.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.1500000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; white-space: pre-wrap;">I stood up, ready to reward my masochistic dog. His hands clasped in mine, I led him into my guest room. He lay on the bed, as I glided the scalpel along his shirt, tearing to reveal strong taut muscles. I dragged the thin blade along his bicep; a thin trail of blood followed the knife. He winced in pain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; white-space: pre-wrap;">Slashing the knife across his body, I outlined and drew passionate red roses on his body. I was careful not to cut into any major veins or arteries. The beauty of art, such a meticulous and miraculous thing. I always signed off my works. I bend down, closer to his face, feeling the hot breath he huffed. On his face, decorated a red rose on his left cheek, I saw the crave for death in his eyes. </span></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline;">I reached for the liquid in the drawer by the bed. Feeding him through mouth to mouth, he swallowed the potion. I slit his wrist, before leaving him to die. I looked for my phone. Looking for “Chief Police” </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.1500000000000001; white-space: pre-wrap;">under my list of contacts, I texted him. Mark off the target as Murdered.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The deep passionate red wedding gown was placed in front of me, and I stared into the mirror. “What a beauty! </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Forever, I will stay like this</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.” I peered at the body on the bed, still and lifeless. It began to pale, as blood slowed down. His heart should have stopped and restarted, signaling his rebirth. His fingers twitched. He marked the 225th Experiment. Undercover, Project Eternal Love.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">S Empress</span></div>
</span></span>Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-16638991211586906942014-05-08T13:57:00.002-04:002014-05-08T13:57:39.484-04:00Third time this month on foreign TV<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">House interior. Somewhere in Europe. 1965. A man in his mid-thirties is sitting, smoking, on a cheap sofa. He's professionally lit. A film camera is running. He begins to speak.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"It was 20 years ago now and so you cannot expect me to remember too much. [Small laugh] But I can remember being hungry most of the time and as well, cold sometimes. There was constant talk of the Russians arriving. All the time. Everywhere. Fear of the Russians. You could hear distant guns firing, but I never saw a Russian at that time. Not at first.</span></div>
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<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So. We were all lined up like some pretend army korps? About a dozen of us, maybe more and I remember we didn't have long to wait. The first thing I noticed was how short he was and the way he held his arm and his hand behind his back, with the other arm. Like this. We later found out that at times it used to shake without any control. I imagine that could have been quite <i>comical</i>…is that the word? Yes? Thank you. Comical for such a serious man. And later my friend Karl made a joke about him and Axmann having one good set of arms if you added them all together. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, he came down the line and there were these truly amazing looking medals. I have since found out that at least one was an Iron Cross. Whatever lies we had heard in the past, it was true that these…medals were impressive. The sun had just about begun shining when he reached me, but still the whole area had a sad and cold feeling around it. </span></div>
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<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Axmann looked at the boy next to me and he shouted ‘Yesterday, this soldier destroyed two enemy tanks on his own.' I knew some of the older boys had gone out looking for Russian tanks on their bicycles, but I didn't really believe that they'd knocked out any. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He looked at this boy, pushed his hair and touched his face, here, with his fingertips. Then he said 'I wish my generals were as brave as you.' The medal was pinned to his coat, in a hurry and they moved down the line. A few days later we heard he was dead and the war was over. I heard the other boy threw the medal in the dustbin. The Russians had arrived by now and I don't think he wanted them to find him with it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Is that alright? I think that's everything."</span></div>
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<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Martin C</span></div>
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-64392879714059200352014-05-07T00:28:00.000-04:002014-05-07T00:28:09.564-04:00True Story<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The day after it was reported that someone had stolen a Mark Chagall painting from Manhattan’s Jewish Museum I was asked by the housekeeper of one of the tenants in the Upper Eastside apartment building I was working in as a handyman if I could hang a painting in the tenant’s study.</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The guy was a good tipper and as a consequence he rarely heard the words, ‘Sorry I can’t.’ Hell, he never heard it from me. I told the housekeeper I was a little busy but that I’d be up as soon as I was done. When The Jerry Springer Show finished I grabbed a few tools and asked the elevator operator (yep, one of those kinds of buildings) to take me to the 17</span><span class="s1" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><sup>th</sup></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> floor. I rang the back doorbell and let myself in. The housekeeper and the cook were having a bite to eat and a coffee. I was offered and accepted some food and a coffee. We sat and chatted for a while, the tenants were out and the chat was the usual gossip, mostly about the tenants and their family and a bit about the new nanny in 12D who had, the housekeeper informed me, a tattoo on her ankle!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
In the study was an envelope addressed to me that contained a note detailing instructions on where to hang the picture and a $50 bill. On the floor, leaning against the wall behind the tenant’s desk wrapped in brown paper and tied with cord was the painting in question. I knelt down and undid the packaging. That was the first time I’d ever seen a Chagall in the flesh.</div>
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</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
Jon L</div>
</span><br />
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-1399123937219272032014-03-21T10:31:00.000-04:002014-03-21T10:31:17.218-04:00The Barber Of Soldau<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Towards the end of the war he'd earned the nickname “The Barber Of Soldau”, due to the practice of hair removal at the Soldau concentration camp.</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Throughout his trial in Nuremburg, the newspaper headlines would make great creative use of this moniker, of which even he took a twisted enjoyment in reading. If the truth be told, he’d grown quite fond of his new name - The Barber - as he felt it alluded to some of his better qualities – namely his precise nature and adherence to personal hygiene. And with the benefit of hindsight, he knew his reputation could have spawned a name much uglier. For if his son were to live the rest of his life to only be known as the son of The Barber Of Soldau in hushed tones – well, it really wouldn't be so bad, all things considered.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With an irony not lost on him, he'd once considered this line of profession as a youth in Wolfsberg, Austria. But as was the case with so many like him, the outbreak of war put stop to these and any other aspirations. For the war would bestow it's own ambition on him – one for exacting death.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Contrary to his prosecution, he never saw himself as having much of a proactive involvement in the Nazi party during his tenure at Soldau. As his defense would put it – his role was one of administrative duties. Guilty of being a good soldier, it was often said. Or as he himself would put it – “I was a numbers man”, a suitably detached response which - albeit not without an element of truth - did not fair well with his own defense.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And with this, he found himself back in the Polish town of Działdowo on an unseasonably hot September day. Stood beneath the shadow of an acacia tree, to his left a dusty road leading to village of Rybno and to his right, the iron gates of the Soldau that he'd grown to know so well. Beneath his shackled ankles a wooden stool and in front of him; 5 guards busying themselves in the formalities of what was to be his own execution.</span></div>
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<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The noose around his neck hung limply as it awaited the afternoons main event, the noose no less an instrument of death than the men before him, or the tree above. His death was simply the full stop in a chain of events he could not control, this much he knew. As the stool got kicked away from beneath him, this thought would stay with him as he hung rigid. His body absorbing the energy of a lifetimes misfortune. For the short while he was still able to see, he saw the branches of the acacia tree. Such a beautiful tree, he thought.</span></div>
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<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tobias Prior</span></div>
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-1702558598088761022014-02-11T03:32:00.001-05:002014-02-11T03:32:44.477-05:00A Food Encounter<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Have you got any steak and onion baguettes?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"No. Sorry. Sold out pal."</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Ok, what about the chicken strips one?"</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"No, all gone. Only hot food I got is jacket tatties. Hot fillings are chilli or baked beans. Cold is tuna or cheese."</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"What sort of chilli is it?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"What sort! It's normal chilli."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"But what sort of chilli? There's different types."</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Is there? This is the same chilli I make every day and have been doing for 6 years."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Ok. Please can I have a tuna mayo baguette."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yeah, sure. Anything else?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"No thanks."</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"That's £2.50 please."</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Ok, there you go. Cheers. See you later."</span></div>
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<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Bye. Take care."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Paul Jobson</span></div>
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-52052842593229043742014-01-29T13:53:00.000-05:002014-01-29T13:54:29.185-05:00Drinks, Doubts and Lager Louts...<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"A one, two, three, four...". The bartender recited my change with military precision.</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Deploying the copper soldiers into my outstretched, eager palm, his voice flickered with a false enthusiasm. His acne accentuated face dripped with disinterest as he muttered his scripted pleasantry.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't really mind, as I had long before shifted my gaze to his forearm tattoo - its sharp, jagged points wrapping and warping like arms through bars, trying to escape an inky prison.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a permanent, fleshy name badge, reading 'Brad'.</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why had I asked for lager again? I don't even hold much of a candle for the fizzy variety, much less the tasteless vase of warm glow presented before me.</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Perhaps my inexplicable request had stemmed from my inability to cope with the pressure of a quiet bar and an impatient barman.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In those situations, it seems that I am pre-programmed to select a default choice - lager. Of course, 'Brad' was only too happy to oblige.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, underwhelmed by my hasty purchase, and having tardily processed the fact that, actually, I quite fancied a mojito.</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's something about the kind of person who can confidently stride into a bar and sit alone, sipping a mojito. </span></div>
<div class="p2" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I often conclude that it is almost exclusively the activity of rare James Bond characters - the men who pull bawling babies from burning buildings, gracefully jump into a stategically-parked top down convertible, and then speed home to read GQ in their penthouse. All whilst wearing a tux.</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I looked on as he hastily married his dry towel to the moist marble surface, and did for a moment consider requesting an alternative - but quickly surrendered that bold notion.</span></div>
<div class="p4" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It wasn't Brad's fault, after all. What power did he have if the bubbles refused to cooperate? He wasn't even a supervisor.</span></div>
<div class="p6" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Instead, I merely knocked back his sympathetic glance with a knowing nod, and bitterly began to swallow down my dead purchase in the most mournful manner I could reasonably muster, considering my lack of acting ability.</span></div>
<div class="p6" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I theatrically choked down a likely unhealthy swill of my flat treat, I was quickly distracted by an angst-sodden group of teenagers entering stage left.</span></div>
<div class="p6" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The ringleader, approximately ten stone of problem child, was a walking black mood housed under a Burberry roof.</span></div>
<div class="p6" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Apparently thriving in this clammy climate, and spurred on by the poisonous plip of his Euro trance ringtone, he strode quickly toward the bar.</span></div>
<div class="p6" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As his large feet went crashing forth, as though surfing on steel toe capped Rockport waves, he boomed a noisy request for three pints of lager, and I did for a moment wonder if the pressure had affected him too.</span></div>
<div class="p6" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ordinarily, I would have offered him a helpful review of my negative experience, but as he cast me a murderous look, I thought better of it.</span></div>
<div class="p6" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"What?" he grunted in my direction. As the threat of a happy slap shocked me out of my grumpy trance and back into an uneasy reality, I concluded that I must have failed to hide my amusement at their antics.</span></div>
<div class="p6" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, as mentioned previously, acting isn't my strongpoint.</span></div>
<div class="p6" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shrugging and sinking back into the familiar frothy depths of my golden enemy, I counted my blessing as the thirsty inquistor turned away to review the status of his pending transaction.</span></div>
<div class="p6" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ironically, it seemed that my misplaced choice - our only common ground - had probably saved me. </span></div>
<div class="p6" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p5" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Imagine if I'd ordered the mojito.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jonno Turner</span></div>
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-73429206985493069922014-01-29T10:36:00.000-05:002014-01-29T10:36:05.525-05:00The Room<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The room wasn’t familiar to Nick in the real sense of the word, yet in his recurrent dream he knew every inch of the dust filled single room under his bedroom rug. The paisley patterned rug that he had walked on every day of his short life had suddenly become a no go area to the eight year old youth. Each night required a series of hop, step and jumps to negotiate landing on his bed without touching the seemingly innocuous looking piece of carpet. You see Nick’s dream always involved him falling through the rug as if there were no floorboards underneath and landing perfectly unharmed in an imagined room below. Not much of a nightmare you might think but to Nick it was beyond terrifying. The feeling that once in the room, it was impossible to get out. The room came across as cold with all the colours seeming ‘off’. Everything in the room, from the single bed to the pictures on the wall to the small chair in the corner didn’t quite appear the right shade, almost as if they were living objects that were dying and fading with time. Even the small stuffed teddy bear on the end of the bed had lost its honey brown lustre and appeared flat and insipid. Nick feared that once he fell into this room he would end up like the objects and slowly fade into nothingness. . Every night after Nick had kissed his Mum goodnight he felt the unease of ascending the stairs to his bedroom and the leap over the rug into his bed. Once in his bed he often imagined he could hear a gentle sob from his Mother and the consoling tones of his Dad. Once lying down on his comfy duvet though, he never struggled to find sleep. The sleep was always broken with the feeling that he had stepped out of his bed and fell through the rug into the imagined room below. Nick always awoke with a start and gasping for breath each night. With much anxiety though, each time Nick would pull himself together and sleep an untroubled sleep for the rest of the night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nick managed to pluck up enough courage to tell his mum who listened with watery eyes as she reassured him as best she could that it was all just a dream and that it will fade with time.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then Nick’s mum told me the story.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I, by the way go by the name of Dr Mayweather who diagnosed Nick’s weak heart just after he was born. I’m afraid Nick died in his sleep last night and was found lying on the rug by his mum first thing this morning…..</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Colin Elliott</span></div>
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Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-87582388225325795162014-01-27T07:35:00.001-05:002014-01-27T07:35:53.661-05:00Ladder #4 (Volunteers) Gets A New Driver<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Now listen kid, I don’t want you getting all excited and running red lights and shit, it’s better we get to a fire in one piece a minute or two later than get in a fucking crash at some intersection just because you wanted to drive like fucking Steve McQueen outa Bullet ok?</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Steve McQ….</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Oh fuck you’s fucking kids. Christ I’m too old for this shit. Too fast too fucking furious whatever that shite is yous kids watch these days. It’s not an Xbox, it’s a fucking fire engine. It’s fucking big and it’s heavy and it can do a lot of damage if it hits another vehicle.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Yeah, I got that Captain. Nice and steady.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Right kid, nice and steady. We’re heroes but we don’t have to act the fucking hero. We get a call, we get on the truck, yous drive us there nice and steady, no panic no adrenaline rush, we’re no good to anyone if were wrapped round a fucking streetlight.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Point of order there Cap, he’ll destroy a fucking street light if he hits it with the engine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Fuck you you fucking hump.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-So you got that kid? This is a good crew, you can be a big part of it. I knew your old man he was a good firefighter to. Measured. I see a bit of him in you.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-There goes the fucking alarm baby, Capt, Jr, you’re up kid.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Now remember slow and steady.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-I got you Captain.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-O’Connell, leave the fucking food we’ve got a call.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Come on Cap, it’s chilli.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-It’ll keep.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Slow and steady.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-What’s the address?</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-203 South Mountainside Ave. Report of a turkey roaster tipped over, deck on fire.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Fuck! Hey kid, remember all that bullshit I just told you, slow steady, fuck all that, hit the fucking gas, that’s my fucking house!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Johnny L</span></div>
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-66844574479109632322014-01-26T08:49:00.000-05:002014-01-26T08:49:44.868-05:00The Lady And The Bird...<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She comes out of the plane, "It's ok Jane, it's ok." is what she reassures herself with.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Out through immigration, passing with a breeze and through to the luggage carousel.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Where is it?! WHERE IS IT?!" screams in her head, panic erupting in waves like volcanoes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A familiar blue luggage bag in pristine quality is thrown onto the carousel roughly. The one with the red and green tag.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Round and around and around it went until it arrived at the lady's feet...</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And out she goes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tourists like herself stare at her as she</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">walks out the doors, bag being pulled just behind. Peculiar, it seemed to them. And, yes. Indeed that briefcase was.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That briefcase had previously stowed away live birds, all shapes and sizes. Cockatoos to rainbow lorrikeets, all ending up alive in the end. It was a briefcase that had endured everything, pain and hardship as of a human. But still, to her, it seemed downright normal for her.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She rushed out, needing to get to her point of destination. She was holding, in her briefcase, the world's very first mutant bird. A miniature peacock crossed with a crow. For the first few days in her custody, it had</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">stared at her, those beady eyes clawing their way to her soul. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fond of the bird, you Say?</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes. She was.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She stopped for a moment to check if it was still alive, opening the bag to a 'CACAW!'</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Your taxi is here ma'am, where to?"</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The rush of the airport closed around her, encasing her thoughts and movements.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You know why? Because she had no idea where she was going!</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She was lost in Papua New Guinea. With a mutant bird!</span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Great job, Ali!" she muttered to herself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Isabelle</span></div>
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-84852975535521752812014-01-23T09:40:00.001-05:002014-01-23T09:40:53.400-05:00Shame<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m eight years old, my life is a simple cycle of eating, sleeping, playing and state enforced learning. These activities all take place within the protective cocoon of a small village on the Welsh border. Little concerns me; I’m a poor loser but given that there are only four boys in my year at school and I am the don, this doesn’t happen with any great regularity. My mind is free of troubles, to use the early eighties vernacular, my life is skill!</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-2ad9a4a0-bf86-ca68-9a9d-93db93cd7ce7" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On any given day my unfettered joy can consist of football, cycling and tree climbing but without fail there must always be a large dose torment dished out to my sisters. One older, one younger. The older one’s feeling towards me oscillate regularly between antipathy and abhorrence. The younger one blindly adores me. To me this matters not one whit; I will inflict irritation on whichever one is nearest. They are both ticklish so a swift grab of an unguarded foot can be hugely satisfying for me and distressing for whichever sister is on the receiving end. At this stage in my life I am unfamiliar with karma.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s Sunday morning and having eaten all that I can reach in the kitchen, I wait impatiently for the remainder of the family to wake up. Finally mum appears and makes a pot of tea to take upstairs. This indicates the start of the ten minute notice period before we can all go and pile into their bed. At last having watched the minutes slowly pass we’re in the bed. The older sister has long eschewed this family fun and as I’m not yet bold enough to torment my parents, annoying my younger sister is the only option. Like a cat sizing up prey I wait for the perfect moment. I strike for the foot, the foot feels strange and my dad has just leapt like a salmon, spilling his and everyone else’s tea.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After the commotion subsides my parents don’t make a big deal of it and all my younger sister knows is that I missed her foot. I will carry this burden of shame with me for the rest of my life, I touched a man’s penis and not just any man’s, my dad’s! I am now familiar with karma.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tim McB</span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
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</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span>Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-44296691165276987662014-01-17T10:59:00.001-05:002023-07-20T09:40:20.612-04:00Tourists versus Travellers<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Or rather, me versus travellers. You’re on holiday, I’m on holiday. You might not like your sojourn being reduced to the same level as mine but its an inescapable truth.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Let us begin with some simple definitions:</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">holiday </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">n </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">time spent away from home for rest or recreation; day or other period of rest from work or studies</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">tourist </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">n </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">person travelling for pleasure</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">travel </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">v</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">to go from one place to another, as by car, train, plane, or ship</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">traveller </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">n</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> person who travels</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">As you can see, the above definitions apply to both groups yet they, or we, consider one another with contempt.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">There was a time when travel was the preserve of the wealthy and adventurous, the children of industrialists with ready made careers and fortunes ahead of them. It is now available to us all and we have become rather tribal about the whole thing.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">We no longer set off with great fanfare at The Royal Geographical Society, you can of course but it is much easier embarking from one of a number of provincial airports which are allied to larger towns and cities with little or no discernible link. At least Leeds and Bradford are relatively close but London Luton?</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">You sneer at my holiday just because I’m choosing comfort, comfort is hugely underrated. It would take a lot of persuading for me to consider swapping a fortnight of comfort for six months in something lifted from the set of Tenko. If you want an authentic experience living like the natives try it in some of the shit holes the UK has to offer, I’m sure there are many people in Merthyr Tydfil, Hull and Salford for example who would happily take your money and let you share their squalor - Britain could well be your oyster.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">If you’re so enamoured of travel for the sake of it I can heartily recommend the Circle line and to give it a Bangkok flavour just try it on any weekday at 8.30am with a couple of wheeled cases and a rucksack. No one will speak to you, you’ll feel distinctly alien and sweat will actually spray rather than seep from you. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">At the airport you take up too much space in check-in, creating a sort of mini walled city out of luggage whilst sleeping on the floor. This might be acceptable during an eight hour stopover in Accra but it seems a little unnecessary having just been dropped off by parents at Stansted. Once aboard the plane you get on with your traveller's checklist; talk loudly about travel experiences, go to great lengths to ignore flight attendants and safety instructions and swaddle yourself in blankets to illustrate warm climes being your natural environment. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Travelling seems to bring about the desire to sport badges of honour. Much better to get yourself tattooed with a crusty stick in a festering sewer in Vientiane, and if it isn’t Lao for twat it might as well be because that is how I’ll read it when you get back to sign on. Maybe it’s just more exciting getting it done on your travels in much the same way that the fun never ends when contracting HIV or hepatitis C abroad as opposed to back in Blighty. Très exotique!</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">I’m not suggesting that you are the worst of our exports, a trip to the Spanish Costas will soon find you amongst many Brits of whom we should be all be ashamed - the ignorati. Quite often these are the same folks who bemoan immigrants, the ghettos they create and their failure/refusal to learn the language and integrate. No obvious parallels.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">You are infinitely preferable to the ignorati but puzzling nonetheless. <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: start; white-space: normal;">Why</span> are you always adorned with string? Wrists, ankles, neck, string everywhere. Is it to signify your individuality or to help me identify you and thus give you a wide berth. Maybe my resentment stems from the acknowledgement of a long faded youth but let's not stop sneering and sniping at each other, I enjoy it and you’re positively dripping with superiority.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Tim McB</span></span></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span>Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-53901686514092966492014-01-16T09:27:00.000-05:002014-01-16T09:27:24.658-05:00Waiting For Jojo<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When the family dog went missing, no one slept that night. The kids were running round the streets, shouting, "Jojo! Come home!" in their pitiful voices. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Their parents neglected the fact that it was a school night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the weeks went on, Jojo's face appeared on posters around the neighbourhood, above the brightly crayoned letters: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"HAVE YOU SEEN JOJO?" The desperate family knocked on doors after school and work, and every dog that had even the faintest resemblance to Jojo was chased down the street, until the distance between the children and the dog was closed enough so they could see that no matter how many dogs they saw that looked like Jojo, none would replace him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then came the dreams.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the early hours of the morning, the youngest crawled into his mother's bed, whispering, "I dreamed that we had Jojo again." His mother sighed. "We all want Jojo back."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Months passed, and the crayon posters warped in the rain, sliding hopelessly down the power poles and lampposts they were taped to. The crayon colours faded and became waxy memories, ground desperately into the miserable notepaper and attached to a once bright photo.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The sheer love of Jojo led the family to find themselves outside a news station. "You have to help us find Jojo, it's the only choice we have left!" pleaded the mother. "Please, Mr man, please help us find our doggie," said the youngest. "Just one show," added the middle daughter. "It's our only hope," finished the oldest. The presenter sighed. If they were going to make so much of a drama about it, well, they may as well do the presenting themselves.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few nights later, an advertisement flashed on an old couple's television set. A family of five stood and reminisced about Jojo - a beloved family pet who was lost a year to this day, and if anyone had found a dog like theirs, call them on this number. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The dog they had picked up from the streets a long time ago padded into the room, looking for comfort and perhaps a biscuit. "Oh, Muggins, you cheeky boy!" - he had evidently tried to open the back flywire door, and unsuccessfully at that. The old woman did a double take - Muggins looked so much like that dog on the telly - what was his name, Jojo? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No, Muggins wasn't the dog the family described...but they were so similar...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She pushed the thought out of her head and answered her husband's request for a hammer, nails and a cup of tea.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Natasha Gill</span></div>
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-83671061773187801102014-01-14T07:45:00.001-05:002014-01-14T07:45:24.125-05:00The Mysterious House<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In our street lives an elderly man in old dilapidated house. Every year on Halloween he does not sleep well. When the fog descends, he hears strange noises coming from the timbers of the house. Chains seem to be dragged and clanged against the walls. Marbles seem to be dropped and rolled across the floor. Last year on Halloween the elderly man decided to take walk in the fog. He carried an old Polaroid camera with him. The further he walked the louder noise of the chains and marbles became. He turned back to look a look at his house. The house looked no different, but he still decided to take a photo of it. As he clicked the shutter of the camera a chill went down his spine and what little hair he had on his head stood on end. He shuffled as fast as he could back into his house. As he sat in his armchair he watched the Polaroid photo develop under his reading lamp. To his horror, instead of the house being in the photo, there was a ghastly face and two ghostly figures staring back at him. The poor old man now spends his days in an old age home. He still clings to the Polaroid photo, showing it to anyone who is willing to listen to his story. All see a house surrounded by fog. Only the old man still sees the ghastly face and two ghostly figures. This year on Halloween he still did not sleep well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wei Song</span></div>
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-19552278308093548102013-11-07T03:51:00.000-05:002013-11-07T03:51:01.294-05:00Gone Too Soon<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The bedsheet. The sofa. The tray. The television. The trees. The walls.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everything seemed so dull at that moment. It was as if colour ceased existing altogether.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I rested my hands on my stomach. Felt the flatness of it under my palms. As if it had always stayed that way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As if it hadn’t once ballooned into a humongous thing, protruding out of my body, an obstacle which latched itself to me everywhere I went.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As if there had never been life in it before. A tiny human being kicking and squirming when I least expected it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What’s left of it is a layer of over-stretched skin and…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nothingness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wrenched away from me faster than I could blink. Leaving me dumbstruck, lost, speechless. Empty.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A careless trip on the stairs. That was all that I could remember. The rest was a blur.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I stared blankly into the distance. Thinking that nothing could compare to the guilt I was feeling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For being so careless. For losing him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I might as well have murdered him with my very own hands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I glanced forlornly towards my stomach, where he should have been kicking, squirming, doing anything to show that he’s alive.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Slowly, tears trickled down my face. I made no move to wipe them away, allowing them to flow towards my mouth until I could taste the saltiness on my tongue.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And broke down sobbing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Samantha Sim</span></div>
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586845640547647359.post-65444024167670515212013-11-01T05:40:00.002-04:002013-11-01T05:40:51.712-04:00The Final Goodbye - Prequel<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Riley, you gotta help me.' I said to Riley as I got in touch with her after so many attempts trying to find her. I was at her house, finally able to find her after a week of MIA.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Riley is my best friend who is also a witch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'You know you can't interfere with Fate. I can't help you.' She said with sorrow in her voice, obviously sad about James dying.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'There's a way. You know there's a way.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'There is but it's too dangerous for me to do it. It'll also bring harm to you.' As Riley said those words, I knew there was something bitter about them. Maybe she has experience, although she never mentioned any of this to me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'I don't care. I just want James back.' I let out a bitter cry. I loves James. If it weren't not for me, James would still be alive now. If it weren't not for me, James wouldn't be in the accident in the first place.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">James was involved in a car accident when trying to get me the dress at the boutique - the dress i desperately needed to wear for the gala the following day. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I hadn't asked him to pick it up, he wouldn't have been in an accident.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Are you sure, Alex? You know you could die If i do it, are you willing to leave James?'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'It's better than him leaving me. I can't stand the idea of losing him.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Alright, if you say so.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Come in, follow me, if you want to do it. I need to gather some stuff for this.' </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Riley brought me to her living room while she grabbed the things she needed to perform the spell.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Alright, I'm ready, let's get started.' </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She began the spell and moments later i collapsed. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Riley looked exhausted when I awoke.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Is it done? Am I a ghost now?' </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The answer was obvious as I could see my body </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">looking so peaceful and serene </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">laid on the couch of her living room.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Can I visit James for a second before he wakes up? I know that it takes some times for him to regain his consciousness, let me visit him in his dream. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is my last wish then I will rest peacefully on the other side'.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'I can arrange that.' Riley said above her weariness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Oh, Riley! Can I ask you another favour? I want you to tell my family that you found me on your doorstep this morning already cold and tell them how much i love them'.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nadratul S</span></div>
Hourshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11345134121516679519noreply@blogger.com0