She

After failing the practical, she sat down and revisited the theory. Armed with determination and drive, she pursues her dream again stepping instead of leaping like she did before.  Thankful and amazed that she has come out the other side she keeps the pain of the first attempt close by to ensure she doesn’t follow the same pattern. For lest she forget the probability of survival is minimal. Drawing on strength she didn't know she had, tears saying more than her mouth could ever muster, loneliness consuming her social appetite and her perspective turning into darkness.  She mustn't go back there, she can’t go back there, she will do everything she possibly can not to go back there. Preparation, Organisation and Conversation.  If exercised the three components to her triumph if ignored the components of her downfall. She is enticing, exuberant and wild. Hasty, juvenile and benevolent. She is might just be me.

VisDare 34: Fearless

I think I am way too funny. 

‘Follow me and I’ll show you where the greenest grass is’ he said.  I should have never listened to that boy; he was always talking nonsense and going on about wolves. Mary is going to have a field day when she realises I’m gone, I follow her everywhere. And what on earth am I going to do when the people walk in? Maybe I should pretend to be the center piece, unless they're having lamb in which case my presence may become a little bit awkward.  Oh Dolly, how do you get yourself into these baaad situations? Sometimes I'm good and sometimes I'm bad, its like there are 2 of me. 

My World.

Living in a world where it’s better to be rich and guilty than poor and innocent. The historically oppressed whose ancestors fought for their social freedom, equality and right to normality catapulted back into an age of conspiratorial discrimination.  

Living in a world where the matters of the heart are dictated to us by those we, ironically, put in position to ensure our freedom of thought, expression and speech.  Love is Love and our hearts are ours to give to whomever we choose yet if we want to honour that bond we must ensure we have the politically correct type of love.

Living in a world where religion dictates peace and is the catalyst to death and destruction. As long as there has been any sort of God there has been killing in his name. Countries stained with the blood of the innocent who have paid the price in the name of divinity.

But then I also live in a world where the amazing courage of a select and noble few has enabled yolks to be broken and burdens lifted liberating people and propelling them into greatness.  Smiling in the face of segregation and ignoring the plea of ignorance.

I also live in a world where the institution doesn't stop people giving their hearts away freely, easily and unconditionally. Honouring the fundamental principles of the covenant more so than those granted with the privilege in the first place.

A world where, the world itself can take your happiness, your freedom, even your life but it can’t take away your faith. Faith so strong it would have the mother of a boy shot in cold blood offering nothing but forgiveness to the perpetrator.

The End.

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Waking up with that feeling of confusion, fear and relief is a feeling that I have only felt once in my life. That Sunny September Sunday I woke with a hazed recollection of a disguised nightmare from the night before and a longing for the events of that dream to be fictitious.  A new start, a new season I was telling myself, stay positive and keep moving forward.  For me at that time everything was starting to get better.  Taking it upon myself to repeat my last year alone and carry on till the end with a perseverance I know was passed down to me from an expert. The sun rose on my face as I kicked the sheets away from my body I stopped and thought, and in an instance dismissed the dream I had like any other given day.  I rose, packed my bag and went downstairs to see mum. Walking down the stairs the sunlight from her room caught my eye and momentarily blinded me, still unable to see her face, I walked into the office which had no become and was to continue to be the sick ward of St Andrews. A morbid silence fell as I entered the room and faced her unnerving stare. She gazed at me as if I was her most prized possession. As if all of her life had lead up to this point, the moment of realization that I was ready. Ready for what you ask? I am still trying to figure that out. I always look back and wonder if she knew. Was that look a look of a finished woman. A woman who knew the sun was setting on her life?  I left feeling something wasn’t quite right, not with her but with me.

Then it happened, the world shook anger and hatred turned my heart to stone. I was no longer able to see the beauty as I once did. Now it was the pain, in everything I saw pain. Was she punished for my un-lawful, sinful acts? IS it really true that bad things happen to good people, or is it that Good people love the bad and that they end up being collateral damage?

I know it had to happen but I wish it didn't have to happen so soon. It sounds selfish to wish for more. More time, more love, more her. I just wasn’t prepared, I know she was but I wasn’t.  I know that heaven has gained my pain and I will continue to strive for perfection, but until I get there I’ll see you soon.

This Thing.

This thing will make you feel on top of the world, fill you with an emphatic, euphoric high you think is real. You suddenly question any doubts you had about fulfilment in life and wonder why you were ever down. The more you have the more of your soul you risk to lose. You don’t have to graft any more; you lose the idea of accomplishment.  You don’t have to do anything for yourself any more; you lose your common touch. You suddenly feel as if you are important and have a right to question norms and typical social behaviour because now you are a socially superior.  You are blind to the damage to your capital because your tool for destruction is only an 85.60 × 53.98 mm rectangle of smooth, slender polymer ready to be used. You can use it whenever, to obtain whatever and you can have it forever.

But then It stops, you fall and keep falling and are shocked because you didn't realise you were so high. You didn't realise it put you on the highest of pedestals and took away the ladder. All the old feelings of sadness and lack of drive begin to seep back into your brain warming the cockles of your heart putting you right back where you used to be. Your heart yearning for more wanting more like an addict you have to find more, but how? All you have is your, self respect, your morals, your faith and heart. Do you sell one of these to get back up there? Or do you remain content with what you have understanding that what you have to offer has more worth? You decide....

The Charade.

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If I could be as happy as we once were time would be a luxury, not a friend of torture.  Knowing that the end was coming would haunt my dreams not bring me such comfort. Forever means nothing if you only live a day, if your heart only beats for a day if you only know love for a day. Piercing sounds of hate and the distant echoes of joy play round in my head making me so out of touch with what is going on in this world. You did that. If I run you will find me If I stay I will lose me. Little by little I fade into the darkness of this marriage, the toxic gases filling our four walls as we go on playing this charade. I have let you go in my heart; you can no longer hurt me with your iron fists or your words of anguish. I gave you my body, my heart, my kindness and love my freedom and yet you still want more. Will you only be happy when you have crippled my soul? I’m afraid I cannot stay to find out, I have a higher calling in this life than your glorified punch bag. I have life. A gift I must no longer take for granted. 

Free Gifts.

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I needed someone to blame, I needed someone or something for my hatred to feed on. I couldn’t bare it in my body any more it was eating me up, a foreign body gaining strength as I got weaker. I had to let it out.

I knew she’d be alone you see, I’d been watching her. Every night she’d go home, kick off her shoes and throw a ready meal in the microwave. I watched as she glided across her apartment like a noble bird soaring the skies looking down on the weak and inadequate below. Who did she think she was? Did she think she was better than the rest of us?  How could she, when she went to bed every night with her hands drenched in the blood of a good man, an honest man who paid the price of love with his life.

That night I could see her sat in front of the television her long golden hair draped over the back of the chair flowing softly as she ran her hands through it. Getting in wasn’t hard, that stupid bitch’s door was always open, in more ways than one as I’m sure you know.  I was just going to scare her at first but then I saw she’d replaced the photo of where my brother’s picture hung, with a picture of herself in the nude, what a conceited whore. So I took my scarf from my neck and I strangled her. I held it tight, so valiantly, as she struggled. Kicking and screaming, sweat pouring from every orifice of her body I held it tighter and tighter, as her body began to shake, tighter and tighter, as she scratched and drew blood from my skin tighter and tighter until. Immobility, perfect silence and tranquillity, the balance of life had been restored.

Take that as my confession detective I am not afraid. You may think I have confused the lines between justice and revenge but I have not. Revenge is what I intended to acquire, justice was the free gift.