@database "Forbidden.guide" @width 80 @node Main " Forbidden -2- © 1996 Andrew J Campbell " @prev CJV @next Intro F o r b i d d e n 2 * More Short Fiction By Andrew J Campbell With Contributions from * * Linette Voller, Jen Allen, Irfan Baig, Mike Richmond * © 1996 Black Dragon Design. Email: ajc@ajco.demon.co.uk @{" Introduction " link Intro} @{" Moonlight 1300 words " link Moon} @{" Connection 2800 words " link Con} @{" Imbibery 500 words " link Imb} @{" The Art Of Self Destruction 1100 words " link Self} @{" Fatal Delivery 1600 words " link Fatal} @{" Flickers 1300 words " link Flickers} @{" Whispers in the Night 900 words " link Whispers} @{" Always 1600 words " link Always} @{" Some Other Day 1000 words " link Trip} @{" Hello Marylou 1800 words " link Hello} @{" Fragments 1900 words " link Frag} @{" The Kiss 1100 words " link Kiss} @endnode @node Intro " Introduction By Andrew J Campbell " @next Moon I n t r o d u c t i o n Hello and welcome to this, the second edition of Forbidden, everyone's favourite AmigaGuide short story collection (probably because it's the only one of its kind... though correct me if I'm wrong, /please/. :) This time around the fiction isn't /all/ mine, in fact there's nearly as much contributory work as there is from my own hand. Admittedly the first release of Forbidden was crammed full of stories by myself and noone else - but to be quite honest I wasn't sure if the idea would take off. Thankfully it seems to have proved quite popular, so here's the deal: Forbidden is a platform for any writers who'd like to send me their work and have it distributed in this form. I won't take shit, so please don't send me anything pointlessly trivial, but I will accept a wide range of genres and styles. I am especially interested in experimental works. Send your stories (no word limits, but the shorter the better) to me in ascii format - and that means no alien fileformats, please - at this address: 4 Alloe Field Place, Illingworth, Halifax, HX2 9ES. Or if you've got email access: ajc@ajco.demon.co.uk. All contributors do, of course, get full credit, plus a copy of each new issue of Forbidden as and when they arrive. If in doubt, just get in touch, your stories and letters will be treated in the strictest confidence. As usual please may I remind you that some of the stories contained within this file contain strong language and scenes of a disturbing nature, ie: I wouldn't recommend putting a printed copy of Forbidden under your baby daughter's pillow. I also have a big problem with accurate spelling and grammar - these rules are thrown out of the window in the world of Forbidden, so if you spot a mistake, don't get orgasmic, the chances are I've seen it but don't give a toss. :) Feedback from the fiction is most welcome. All comments will be passed on to the relevant author. Until next time - enjoy. Andy @endnode @node Moon " Moonlight by Andrew J Campbell " @next Con M o o n l i g h t never silence. but peace. fading sky sparkling stars bright moon makes the landscape glow. and leaves seem to flow like funnels of water in the wind. trickling down to the waters edge the atmosphere and me balancing on a black wall almost too small for my legs to cope with. a rainbow fuzz churning curling I can't see out here only as far as my damaged eyes will allow. bits crumble and click my laces need tying. I totter wave and trip and keep trying as the air seeps across and over my long hair such a mess - me, such a ragged battered mess. the wall goes down three feet to my left slopes down for screaming ever on my right. I tell myself I'm alright: it's just the night play- ing tricks making me dizzy saying hi to all the monsters I was afraid of as a kid. aged eight I hid in the wardrobe from my brother leapt out on my mother scared her shitless as I feel now of what might happen when the wind blows harder... tries to nudge me ever closer to that edge opposite the three-foot edge. "fuckin watch my beer, okay?" "chris, oi," fingers snapping. music getting louder. some people in the corner dancing like twigs in a fire. "so he sez `which job joo want me to do? eh? akan do this one, or akan do that one.' and she-" "giz a cig, dave." "I ant got any." "oi, oi," "liar." "fuck off," pats his pockets. "you got one, jane? jane? got a cig?" "don't smoke." a smile. "oi, listen, and she sez `don't be cheeky wimee you little wanker,' right, and this is jason, right, he sez, just out't blue, he sez `fuck your job, fuck it you bitch,' right in't middle of't place, in front of everybody. I pissed myself when I heard." "what, you pissed in your pants?" "I, mop n bucket job," smoke speeds out of his mouth. "s'up with karl? karl, lad, you alright?" head slowly rises. glances. "sure." "joo want another beer?" "no thanks." "you sure?" "yeah." "alright folks, listen, got a joke for you, right, you listenin? this bloke goes into a pub, right?" I can see the darkening slice of the moorland against the sky from here on the wall. and I thought rain was starting to fall a moment ago hitting only my face I smeared it away with my sleeves. they're not flashbacks but they're close sometimes I think perhaps I sink into those thoughts sometimes, let them carry me away like a balloon. elements of some chemical composition throw in a girl and friends are no longer friends. the night's no longer full of wealth it's every man for himself and I'm no man. no being. just chopped and sliced remains at times being crushed by the feet of those I often think are my friends. is this beyond that madness is this an answer or just sadness am I breaking the rules should we be sat around a table on stools telling jokes taking the piss pointing and laughing is it funny to play tug-o- war with heartstrings till they bleed invisible blood that drowns all things except depression ever living ever thriving to conquer. laughter. "wherejoo get these fuckin jokes from danny?" "cool aren't they." "karl's are miles better, karl, you got any new ones?" "no, sorry." shakes his head. "s'up with him?" "s'up with you karlos you've only had one pint." "nothing, I'm fine, just tired." "jane, he's too tired tonight, I'll stand in," sniggering. laughter. bodies leaning, grinning, touching. "tell you what, karl, jane, you listenin? karl, oi. I'll give you two hundred quid, right." "what?" a confused smile. "two hundred quid. cash. for one night with jane." she punches his shoulder. "danny, piss off, alright?" "look at his face, dave, look at him, he's red raw man." "hey, karlos, you've got wankers' rash. lighten up." a hand slaps his face lightly. "he's just kiddin. you are aware of that, aren't you?" more laughter. "have you ever seen indecent proposal?" talking like a teacher to a pupil. "fuck off, who sez am kiddin?" picks up his pint. "am off for a piss. chris, shift your arse, I'm comin through." dave stands up and pretends to urinate in his beer. "siddown dave you fadge." "fuckin nobhead." inner-feelings screaming: cause confusion when there's people so many colours so many voices so many tongues licking arses. I close my eyes and smell the air - yes I sense ego they're still there sat in the pub eager to bomb it waiting for their brains to melt and vomit. s'good fun I really love it when the mixture's not so bitter. everything in life can be stolen except this... this natural dark- ness these stars this moon those clouds lingering near the horizon. sense in a world of nonsense. periodic peace that so few people know. a self-contained romantic universe. where words can be heard and dreams flow as freely as birds. the night although it's cold doesn't mind if I cry doesn't mind if I sigh against the chaos of the town. sometimes it's enough to see your father come in pissed as a rat's arse see the scars of drink on the streets tripping up falling down yelling abuse travelling around the world and hoping, I wonder, for an answer? "seriously, who'joo go for?" blinking. "I dunno, fuck off danny." "karl, you." "what?" "you. what about you?" "I dunno, what about me?" laughter. "fuckin hell, wake up flaphead." "s'not with us, are you karl?" "fuckin looks like he's been on drugs. bags under your eyes, karl, you not sleepin or somethin?" the move is made. his beer pours into another glass. he glances at jane and smiles. "I'll ring you sometime." "where's he goin?" "s'his round innit?" "karl, where you goin mate?" "away from here, that's for sure." shuffling past legs which tuck in for him to pass. some tutting. a few drips of laughter. puzzled looks are exchanged. he walks away without glancing back. "karl you shouldn't be-" "come on karl, wait up, s'just takin't piss-" the door swings closed. do you want to balance your friendships on ropes like this do you care if you bring flames to wires like this do you give a fuck if you treat your mates like piss I think not we're all alone it's just that some can't accept. they like to think they can share and tear and claw at feelings and memories they know nothing of. that's what it's all about isn't it a fragile light-hearted skin and you're afraid of my blade cutting through. I'll leave the room and stop talking I'll squeeze your hand and demand you cut squalking the utter bullshit you can't stem from your overactive mouth. I'll stand on this wall and explain nothing to you. I'll stand here and take it and say nothing to you. I have control what does that say for you. wanker. fuckhead. am I as bad as you now? show me, demon, what you can do. I'm waiting. and as I wait for an answer to come drifting across the water maybe a vision a flashback an electric whisper gentle hands circle my waist sharing this moment this escapeplace this dome this cosmos this den. I whisper to jane as she moves closer breathes nearer. it's because of mock-friends I'm ripped to pieces. because of drink I stand alone. my last hope and you want to steal her. you can't. you won't. @endnode @node Con " Connection by Andrew J Campbell" @next Imb C o n n e c t i o n "Hold him still." "I'm trying to but the fucker won't- ARGH-" "Jackson!" "I got him, I got him." "Come on Roberts we haven't got all fuckin day." Rain fell on the leaves, launching them down to us like yellow sky- boats as we held the child against the ugly wall of the stable. The playschool tinkle of a distant ice cream van transformed the glinting metal gun from an adult's toy to a shocking instrument of fear. "In his eye, Roberts." "The knackers, man, not the eye! You'll blind him." "You think I care Peterson?" "Shut up." I snapped, streaks of cold water rushing down my face. I put the barrell against the child's forehead and added pressure. A circle of white appeared. "What's in it?" Jackson wanted to know. He was always worried about something. "It's not darts is it?" "Just keep your cake-hole shut, Jackson." said Smith, always the most irritable of the three. I hated the lot of them really, but they were very good, very quick and efficient. I couldn't argue there. They'd caught this fuckface of a child jamming lit fireworks in first-year-girls' pockets. "Take your hand off his mouth." I demanded. "He'll scream, man." Peterson looked around worriedly. "The fucker'll scream like mad, I betcha." "Take your hand off his mouth." I repeated urgently. The hand slipped away. From that moment on I was standing against the wall of an old, abandoned stable - one in which my mother had kept her horse when she was little - with a very realistic-looking gun held at point blank range against a captured bully's forehead. My glasses had gone, not just because of the rain (identity, recognition) and I was wearing a black coat I'd found in the bins at school. It stunk like shit, but that was my full intention. "Don't..." trembled the boy, his eyes full of terror. I could see how utterly petrified he was: to him the gun I held was /real/ and if I pulled the trigger his brains would blast out of the back of his head and slide down the wall. "You want to hurt," I told him. I did a different speech every time, just to make sure the others didn't lose interest. They were in it for the violence, the airguns and the chases, but they also found my words intriguing. "Do you want some money?" the kid offered, white bubbles of spit forming at the corners of his lips. "I can get you money. Do you know my sister? She's a fifth former, I can get you in bed with her. I can get you loads of stuff, gimme a chance." "What a sick fadge." Jackson cried. "Filthy twat," Smith agreed, slapping the kid around the mouth. "We think your sister's a slut, so keep your mouth closed, fuck-o." I fired the gun. The boy screamed. "Shit!" Peterson hissed, bending at the knees. "Oh man, I bet that went right into his fuckin skull!" "Roberts, what've you done?" "/Jesus/." I pulled the gun away. A small, round, plastic pellet had fixed firmly into the child's skin. Blood was forming around the edges. "Get it out-" "/Leave it/," I shouted, pocketing the gun, bringing out a pen- knife. "Lift up his jumper." "WHAT?" "Lift up his fucking jumper, /now/." "Roberts-" "I want to see his stomach." The kid started to bawl. Jackson paced up and down, looking up at the rain clouds as though wishing God would intervine. Peterson and Smith held the child's jumper up whilst I stepped forwards with a shining blade. Immediately there was a struggle. "Keep him still." "I'm trying man, I'm trying-" "Don't cut him, Roberts-" "No, don't." They secured him again, this time by holding his head back by the hair... and... and... part of me wanted to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness for putting a child through such a nightmarish ordeal And the other part... it wanted to keep going... just a little longer, just to make sure- /I MUST MAKE SURE I MUST MAKE SURE I MUST MAKE-/ "I'm going to cut your belly wide open," I whispered, close to tears. "You're going to reach down with your hands and run your fingers through your own guts, do you understand?" "No." was the thick, stunned reply. "Are you ready? You'll hear me cutting. It sounds like a zip. Doesn'it Peterson?" "Wha..?" Peterson blinked and slipped his tongue back in. "Er, yeah. Like a zip. /Zzzzzzzzzzzzup!/" he cackled. "After three. Smith? Are you ready to catch the lad's innards?" Smith nodded, seeing my wink. "One..." "No, please I beg you don't do that it'll hurt-" "Two..." "-don't want you to do it-" "/Three/." I pressed the cold blade sideways against the child's stomach, and Jackson zipped up his coat. The three of them laughed. I nearly puked. "Let him go." I wheezed, squeezing my neck. They released the boy, kicking him up the arse several times in the proccess. I usually liked that little extra touch of punishment. This time, however, I knew I'd gone a bit too far. That was the last time I remember and they held a party you know, they held a party in the sports centre on the last day before the summer holidays. All afternoon. What few remaining friends I had went home. I stayed... sat up to a table full of rainbow-coloured glasses at the edge of the dance floor. "Hey, gorgeous!" someone shouted. I stopped twirling the straw in my fizzy orange and glanced up. I didn't recognise the girl who'd shouted so I lowered my eyes again and carried on playing with my drink. They sat around me. Four of them. Smelling of purfume and chewing gum and lemonade and shampoo. I watched the bubbles in the orange juice rise and explode. "Carl innit?" one of the girls asked another, who nodded and faced the empty dancefloor, which was alive with rushing circles of coloured light. I could tell Charlie had been releaved of his job as the Dj - the music at the moment was plain old dance, and he hated the fucking stuff. Nobody was dancing anyway. "Are you okay?" the girl who'd seated herself beside me shouted in my ear. I turned my head and smiled a bit. She was plastered up to the eyeballs with make-up. In fact it made her look quite silly. (whether this was her intention I wasn't too sure). She was wearing a pink tee-shirt that looked too small for her, and red jeans with lollypops and sweet-wrappers sticking out of all pockets. "Headache," I shouted back, tapping my head and grinning. The girl laughed hysterically and looked at her friends. They laughed too. `If making girls laugh is /this/ easy,' I remember thinking, `hell, I've not got much to worry about.' "D'you want to be the first to use this floor?" I shook my head. "Oh come oooon," she gave me a nudge. I blushed a bit. "Nah, can't dance to save my life." "I'll show you." "Yeah, right," I took swig of orange. "No-o, I'm being serious!" she dragged me off my chair, giggling like mad, until I gave in and stood against her. She was about a foot smaller than me, but didn't seem to mind. Her hands were small and cold and she felt too young, too fragile, but we wandered across the floor moving ourselves like crazy and lashing our heads around. Three other couples joined in, then a guy on his own, then a teacher. After about three minutes, the music cut out and everyone moaned. I took the opportunity to go wheezing back to my chair. "Can't dance!" she sat next to me, closer than I would have liked. Her obviously-impressed friends leaned across the table and started asking me questions like, "what's your last name", "what class are you in", "where do you hang out", "what's your favourite song". I did my best to answer them but they never seemed satisfied. "Who're you going out with?" "Nobody," was my answer to that. It always had been, and a part of me said it always would be. "D'you want to come to my party? Well, it's my sister's but you can come along if you want. I'd like you to, in fact." I smiled at her. "You're sweet." They all laughed at that, but it wasn't sarcastic or mock-laughter, it was real, friendly, happy laughter and I joined in, blushing like hell. "Sorry," I said and pretended to smack my head against the wall. "I don't mind," she nudged me again. She seemed to enjoy doing that. Every nudge was becoming softer, nicer, too. "But aren't you going to ask me what my name is?" "Oh yeah." I sniggered, drinking the last of my orange. I swallowed a semi-melted ice cube and coughed. "What's your name?" "Gemma. That's Kate, Helen and Sam." They all said hello as if we'd only just met, even though two of them were in my class. "Hi." I returned the gesture, no eye-contact. "Do you want another drink?" she started jangling coins in her pockets. "I've got plenty cash." "No, thanks." I refused politely. "I should get going." "Hey wait," she stopped me from getting up. "Hey, what-what about my party? Don't you want to know where I live?" "Look," I moistened my lips. "I'd love to come, it sounds great, but I don't know whether I... I'll be able to make it." She wouldn't take no for an answer. Whilst I made up excuses, she obtained a scrap of paper from a friend and wrote down a date, her address and a telephone number on it. She gave it to me, opening my hand, closing it up again. "Can you get hold of any beer?" I shrugged. "Dunno, why?" She and her friends burst out laughing. "It's a /party/, Carl, that's why! We're gonna rock the house down and get pissed, it'll be a laugh. You'd better come, I'll be heart-broken if you don't." "We'll see." I said pocketing the scrap of paper. "But I must go, can I get past you please?" "Cost you." she teased. I sniggered, "What?" "Cost you." she lowered her voice. "Kiss me and I'll let you past." "Come on, Gemma, I don't even know you." "You're not getting past-" Before she could finish, I was up on the seat, then on the table. A glass toppled when I jumped down but didn't smash. I didn't turn around, I just kept going, pushing through crowds of people, heading to that bright green EXIT sign. So So So So So So why did I let her kiss the hell out of me round the back of the sports centre then? Why did I stand there with my hands up her tee- -shirt pushing her to my body like I wanted us to become one, single lifeform? Maybe I did it for the attention. The brief moments of love that for so many years I hadn't re-experienced. I don't know... I don't know why I did it. "Fucking hell." she gasped and pulled away from me, lipstick smeared down the side of her mouth. "What?" I swallowed, looking around. We were hidden by bushes and brickwork, nobody could have known we were here. "Are you okay? Your make-up's gone all messy." "Yeah..." she touched her chest. "Sorry... it's just... nothing, God, look, do you want to do it right here?" "Do what?" "You know!" she eyed me from head to foot. "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about, do you want to or not?" "I-I'm... not sure..." "Look, I've got some in my bag. Hang on here while I get them." "Get what?" "What do you /think/ Carl?" she turned to run off, but I grabbed her arm. Her smile dropped. "Okay then, you don't have to get rough, we can do without-" "No, you don't understand." I cleared my throat. "I don't want to do that stuff with you, I'm sorry. I like kissing you, I like holding you, I think you're very nice, but I don't want to do that stuff, not now, not out here. And certainly not without- you know." "Okay, okay," she seemed completely shocked about what I'd just said. In fact a few seconds later, after staring at me for so long I thought I might turn to stone, she said, "You mean you're queer?" "No-o," I laughed heartily. "I just don't think you we should do it. What's wrong with that?" She did something then that I'll never, ever forget: she let two tears, one faster than the other, race down her cheeks and ran away. and the day after the ground was yellow, the sky was deep, darkening blue, and the tree... the tree was black. I stood alone at the edge of the field, looking at it (talking to it) watching those last few red, beaten prisoner-leaves struggle in the wind. I swear I heard them squealing. The trunk of this giant began thickly, coarsely, with solid bark and deep, powerful roots. It rose as high as a house into the air, lashing out at either side like a frozen ink spillage. And down below - me, alone in my untucked school uniform, bag over my shoulder, dangling straps, sleeves and hair flickering like flames. "Nobody left!" I shouted, grinning. The tree blinked. ---so what? "You don't have to hate me! I'm never going back! I just wanted you to know that!" ---three years have passed, you are not a child. Of course you will not go back. What would be the point? An elderly couple live there now: the friend you once had no longer exists, just as your childhood no longer exists. "Or my friends." ---the last of them turned against you, did he? "Yes." I looked down at myself... the grey tie, the white shirt, the black trousers. What did it mean? I was afraid to leave school? Was a part of me so happy to be in that final, safe realm - sixth form - that it rendered me unable to step out of teenage life? ---you can cut yourself loose from this madness if you try, Roberts. You are trapped in your own dying world and the only way out is to forget. Write if you must, but for God's sake let go. "And do what? Turn to who?" ---you will find other friends. You have always been good at that. In the grown-up world, they don't all turn against you. Violence is more real, sex is more real, but gradually you will learn to accept that. It might take years, it might take decades, but you will become what could be classed as normal. You /will/. "What about... eighty-eight?" ---You will find somebody else! Somebody better, somebody who will /let/ you forget. "What if she comes-" ---/no/. Worlds cannot be crossed, and you are about to leave the one in which that memory is trapped. Do not forget the love, but forget /her/. Put your foot out of this dimension. "But," I shivered. "I feel so alone. There's nobody out there who likes me. I always end up on my own." ---There are many, but you must find them. I'm going to leave you now Roberts. I'm going to leave you. "I'm going to leave you... I'm going to-" I breathed out harshly, slamming my hand over my mouth. Had I been speaking to myself all this time? Was I really insane? No! Fucking no no no no! I looked up at the tree again. It was ferociously alive but silent, motionless... and most definitely speechless. Cold, tired, but in a new, slightly different world, I walked home. @endnode @node Imb " Imbibery by Mike Richmond " @next Self I m b i b e r y falling falling go to sleep or will i die? --*-- Lost in the night, ears throbbing, looking past the tangled bodies of lovers, the darkness between the spotlights open up and form the image of someone I once knew. "Awright, Shrimpman, what're you doin' 'ere?" asked the semi- stranger. The one who had never spoken to him before in a non- intimidatory way. "Just sittin' 'round, hangin' out, you know, mate," I reply, mocking him at a level he could never understand, "What're you doing with yourself these days?" "I'm workin' at Smith an' Nephews," he answers, surprisingly unthreateningly, as if my being there proves something about my character (dickhead, wimp, wanker) I'd been expected to reveal over the years. "How much?" "Three-fifty," Not able to calculate what he is saying in the grungy, slow motiontrance of drunkeness, I nod and he goes on his way. The reserved friends (Dancing? In a nightclub? No way, we just want to talk: Talk, in this noise? No, make a fool of yourself) stand/slide up and made their way to the dancefloor. I join them, laughing at a joke I haven't heard yet. Wave arms, move legs, smile at people I don't want to know, push past bodies who do not (yet) push back. Is this fun or fantasy? Will I regret it tomorrow? Do the pairs of people (tongue in cheek) care for each other because of who they are or what they are? Will they walk past me? Making my way, exhausted (How long? Five minutes? An hour?) from the dancefloor I pass a girl I knew. Hands on my face, down my chest, down, but my friends have gone, and I go too (Where am I? Which way am I facing? Where will I end up?) Sit down, beside somebody I have not seen before, singing the words to a song, perfecting my party trick (Tsssoood-hay), funny looks from the "normal" party-goers. I stand up, walk to the bar (Only had to prove my age once today), but am stopped by the reserved friends. Instead I walk to another friend. "Yo, mate? Done yer English homework?" I ask, sarcastically, playing on the image I know I have no chance of shruggin off, "Wassat?" pointing at his drink. He murmurs something, so I take a gulp, perfecting my new- found person-annoyer: close lips fully around bottle, take a quick swig to agitate the contents and hand straight back, making it froth over its owner. It has worked all but twice tonight. Watch: Half past one: "We" leave. I take a taxi to my friends house, twenty minutes away and walk the rest. Disappointed I hope to walk in front of a car. --*-- falling falling am I still awake? maybe @endnode @node Self " The Art Of Self Destruction by Andrew J Campbell" @next Fatal T h e A r t O f S e l f - D e s t r u c t i o n dhwiqndsjdothisdmpwemspdoakwirjrjisldroeanoejdexperimentjsidmoqnjemdda skfnaklflfalmost as soon as they were out the fuckin door i started oe making plans. this was gonna be fun. good, agonising fun. nobody seems to look at killing yourself in that light. it's a sin it's a tradgedy* it's a parent's ultimate nightmare, it's bad, it's wrong i want every- one to forget maaaa fuck that bollocks! it's a laugh! nobody's hurt me nobody's ditched me i don't feel like a zombie with no will to live i- guess i'm just bored i think i've done everything you get tired of sex and drugs and tv and tappin your fingers and creativity, it sucks - AI you reach that point when you realise it's goin nowhere, none of it, = you might as well pack up your bags and turn the red light in on your own flesh check out the final thing, the mysteries within, how much dj can you stand, how deep can you go? jsofnakkdpafejqlfjopaafsaoodjaouae wisskqiqdhdyou know they all expect clear cut people with crystal fine tuned directions realise what you want to do at the age of sixteen and go out- there and get it, why why why whatchoo gonna do whatchoo gonna find for yourself happiness or a cardboard box in a trolley climb in q roll away ignore the universe for another day, turn on yourself, peel* your skin you'll get there eventually in this, the darkest hour, do U* not think there's too many of us on this planet don't you think we erq find salvation in some of the most stupid fuckin things you could ever imagine don't you hate this badbadbad shitholemotherfucker world god*- how can you want to stay how can you love yourself how can you want to go on doing loops munching junkfood watching neighbours talking small- time laughing at people you wish you were, christ wake up you stupid * cunt this shit's fuckin pointless the whole thing's a game gone wrong- a bad egg fallen on the floor grab a knife slice into your own flesh a it#ll make more sense than this government this society these diseased fun-seeking drugpushers nothing better to do have you awwwww dearqkdie iediediediediedie!sometimes i scream see flashes of heaven+sometimes i choke see a glimpse of hell, don#t think I'll end up going either plac e to be honest with youaojfwndkwpdkflfowksddgod this fuckin stuff burn s your skin, twist the knife will you friend twist the knife dhwiqndsk jdothisdmpwemspdoakwirjrjisldit strikes me holding my hand over the ga s that nobody ever thought of this before, it's about turning nature f against itseIf you want to live you want to survive, you touch your 0/ body you like yourself. how do you turn that backwards how do you grab the chain and pull, does it take a cut-slice from another person to do this perhaps a girlfriend chucks you your parents reject you it must * take something to do, is it possible on your own no reason just boredo m I think it is and i think you'll agree it#s quite an achievement!!!- qnrosegreat writers take their words down the river on the surface and those with power hold their breath and duck under/they can live with n o recognition they keep going knowing this won't entertain this will b ox people in they won't like this idea cos it#s a sin to write without rules without a reason to key in on a keyboard when your wrists are e* bleeding this machine's gonna crash the fronts already maroon my eyes- are burning i can see a fuzzy blue moon everywhere i look sq0qsksp=[wa kkeswgives you a new perspective on things to imagine you#re inside a/ body and mind you hate, flowers seem sweeter the sky looks darker the" world out there is a hundred times more hostile/is this how a bullied? child feels, a naked scream a different scene everyday the thoughts of self-destruction when mum#s at the supermarket and dadda#s at work oh- to be a kid again to cut a purple vein in the dining room, pour the bl blblblood into a green-plastic-cupperhapsovermygreasy lunch see the OO wideyeswide of the teachers ajksjksjkdjddfunnywhatwedreamofnowdjsadkss there's nothing more terrifying than sinking a stanley knife into the* flabbyflabbyflesh of your own fuckin stomach you want white-knucklecum and watch me open myself like a whale's circle-mouth see thebitsinside dfkdpafjewocarve my english essay on my armssdsldslwwwnail my fingers/ to the table knowing noone will be home till the midnight houraldfjssa skstarve myself for days see the anger on my face in the mirror see my skin peel open like a rotten fruit is there nothing left to do on this rockholeblackholefuckholeshitholebitchholewhoreholeplanet can i begfor change on the street have the homeless got it right cheap thrills smal lthings from those ignorant and rich. i feel sorry for the not yet Ded djsa[rjwoddddfuckwnw0-rjdjke[arnothing here to do can i strive to be a writer nothing i want to say what's the point of being a writer i dont want to reproduce from my own perspective there#s no reason no point i don't want to become another author on the shelves what#s the problem0 can't you hack that chinaman sit staring as i bleed here from your hap ppyhappyhappylittle nest on this burning fireball/oblivious to the wet shining puddles all around you what's the point, get a job, get a life getaCAReer fuckin loser fucking wanker self-indulger greasy trailer an anand i want to fuck your sister in the fridge where it#s warmkdoejoOo foweJssaschoolkid once told me that the answer was in the drinking of* one's blood keep the cycle going/by becoming a self-sufficient lifefor mmmmmliketheEarth you became and these are his words mothernature like theEarthjdaprhkwqlfnioaepfnesa'djkfgod it hurts now really hurts now i can't breath now i want to stop now i can't write now hurts my fingers can feel my bones protruding through.,sjfaerntghis room's a mess going blurry need a piss already had one right here inm the chair allwetwarm niceandcosyfgnrkslfnwejejejejejeseeeee you later aligator like my ways withwordsyou love me i love you sweet wet dreamsfkeohtfpa\izhfkldfhdfd dfjkldasfjoeanfreap[nfek;ajpeoplednfgeararejkdnasrtiuspwimdLL>>sweqwee @endnode @node Fatal " Fatal Delivery by Jen Allen" @next Flickers F a t a l D e l i v e r y Old Bert shuffled across the feed barn, his ever-present smouldering pipe leaving a thin trail of glowing smoke in the early-morning half-dark. Fred padded silently behind him, knowing that Bert's habitual clatterings and mumblings would rouse a few rats and mice from their refuges amongst the clutter round the feed bins. Fred was a typical farm cat - big and scrawny, cunning and aloof, belonging and beholden to no-one, he just WAS. Bert filled the buckets up and stood them in a row by the door and swept the loose feed back onto the heap. The broom echoed noisily against the metal sides of the feedbin, causing the pigeons pecking around by the door to flutter up to the safety of the nearby rooftop. "Mornin Bert," Joel the young foreman strode in. "They're s'posed to be delivering the winter bullock grub this week, is t'other bin empty?" "Hmph!" - Bert's grunt could have indicated anything, but Joel took it as yes and continued on his way, leaving the old man to carry on in his own dependable unchanging fashion, same as he had done for as long as anyone on the place could remember. As Bert returned with the empty buckets he had an uneasy feeling he was not alone in the barn, yet everything was quiet nothing had changed. Fred sat by the door thoughtfully eyeing the pigeons scratching around by the bins. He stacked the buckets in the corner and ambled across to the workshop. He was standing at the workbench, absentmindedly searching for a screwdriver when he was jolted back to reality by an unearthly screech - seemingly coming from the feed-barn. He stood, undecided as to what course of action to take, and was still wondering when Graham, the cowman, came running in - "Got a cow down in the yard, come'n gi' us a hand to roll her over, can yer!" The urgency in Graham's voice galvanised Bert into action, and stopping just to grab a wagon-rope off the hook by the door, he followed the younger man quickly up to the cow yard. The cow had managed to get herself under the end of the feedmanger, and was now firmly wedged there, unable to move. They arrived simultaneously with Joel. "Bloody 'ell! Wotamess!, hang on, I'll go get the forklift 'n we'll hoik the manger out the way." Bert shot down the road and returned thirty seconds later with the forklift with the pallet prongs on the front. In no time he had deftly raised the manger, allowing the others to drag the cow out and roll her over. She sat on the concrete for a while before getting shakily to her feet. "Er'll be a bit wobbly f'r'abit, Graham - y'better keep a good eye on her." commented Bert. "still, coulda bin a lot wuss." * Halfway across the feedbarn Fred stopped dead in his tracks. He stood stockstill, back arched, hair standing on end staring towards the empty feed bins hissing and fizzing like a dowsed bonfire. "S'truth! Wass'matter wi' thee, Fred?" mumbled Bert as he crossed the barn with his load of feed-buckets, continuing across to the yard, leaving the cat to solve it's own problems. As the final bucketful of cake rattled noisily into the manger to be quickly wolfed down by the last group of eager calves the chill morning air was shattered by the same unearthly screech that had come from seemingly nowhere a couple of days ago. "What the hell was THAT?" exclaimed Joel climbing out of his tractor at the end of the yard. Bert emitted the usual non-commital grunt. "Sounds like it came from in the barn." The feed barn was it's familiar untidy self, nothing moving, nothing out of place - eerily peaceful. * "You seen Fred s'mornin', Bert?" enquired Joel "Nope, wasn't around yesterday either," the old man replied "He'll come when he comes - that's his way." "Hmm. S'pect you're right. Not like him to disappear for long though." There was a sudden kerfuffle in the barn behind them. They turned to see a shower of feathers floating gently to the ground in front of the empty feedbin as a couple of pigeons flew squarking with fear across the yard. A strangled gasping sound came from the direction of the bin. * Ten-thirty next day the bulk feed delivery lorry rumbled into the yard. The driver leaned out of the window as Joel approached: "Ten ton of 'Supergrow 20' " "Yeah, s'right. In the big bin half way down the barn. S'all ready." Joel sauntered off towards the workshop. The man backed the big vehical up to the barn with practised accuracy and uncoiled the long unloading pipe. He swung it over the side of the bin and returned to the controls in the cab to start the blower. Up in the cowyard Bert and Graham were busy blocking off the gap at the end of the manger. Graham finished hammering and stood back to view his handiwork. "Thassbetter, shouldn't get no more o' the silly buggers gettin' 'emselves wedged in THERE any more." "Don't bloody want to, either," commented Bert "Didn't do the ole gal a lotta good. She milkin OK?" "Knocked 'er back a bit, but she's comin back up again." Graham replied as he walked back down to the yard. In the distance, the drone of the feedwagon was suddenly interrupted by a strangled, high-pitched roar, the drone rose to a shrieking crescendo before cutting off with a sound of grinding metal. "S'truth, sounds like the blower's blown a gasket!" The two men arrived at the yard gate in time to see the feedlorry hurtling down the lane at an impossible speed, lurching manically from side to side. Joel was standing, dazed, outside the feedbarn, his face ghostly white. "It's alive..." he stammered, staring at the second feedbin. "Huh?" "Soon as the grub went in, it went mad! S'got the driver..." Joel keeled over. Inside the barn, everything had gone deathly quiet. The silence was blown apart by a crash followed almost immediately by an enormous explosion - the lorry had hit the bridge. "Oh God.." Joel struggled to his feet, and swayed unsteadily across to the workshop, Bert helped him over to the bench. "Better phone the firebrigade and ambulance!" yelled Graham, running up from the gate. "Wagon's gone over t'bridge and the dieseltank's gone up!" * Earsplitting sirens rent the peaceful air of the quiet village as the emergency services descended on the place en masse. A couple of hours later the big feedwagon was just a heap of charred, twisted metal in a field. There were two full feedbins in the barn and Joel was sitting on the couch with a mug of tea. The driver was never found, it was assumed he died in the crash. * Bert shuffled across the barn. Fred was conspicuous by his absence. A mouse ran popped out from behind some sacks and scuttled quickly away. Everything was sleepily normal. "S'no good, Jo' " said Bert wearily, returning with his feed- buckets as Joel came into the barn. "They wont touch that new lot of grub." "Why? Wassamatter withit?" "Search me - looks OK, smells OK. But they wont even look at it." Joel went in to look at the offending feed. "Can't see nowt wrong wi' it - I'll give the feed firm a ring, mebbe they can come up with something." * "Right, that's completely cleared that bloody stuff! Now lets hope the next lot's better." Joel leant on his shovel as Bert backed the tractor round and deposited the last loadful of feed into the trailer outside. The two men stood looking at the now empty feedbin. A chill gust of wind swirled across the barn. "Pretty damn wierd." commented Joel. Bert just "hrmphed" through his unlit pipe. * Next morning a fresh-faced young driver carefully swung a brand-new bulk feed delivery wagon into the farmyard. "In the second bin just inside that big door up there to the left," Joel pointed across the yard, as the driver handed him the delivery ticket. "Right-oh." The blower-motor hummed up to speed and the feed whizzed noisily up the delivery pipe and over into the bin; the driver sat in his cab unconcernedly sipping a mug of coffee. Half an hour later the lorry edged slowly out of the yard and made its way slowly back up the lane. The driver noticed a wide gap in the fence and a big charred patch in the field by the bridge and wondered idly to himself what had happened there. * Old Bert shuffled across the feed barn, his ever-present smouldering pipe leaving a thin trail of glowing smoke in the early-morning half-dark. He filled up the usual succession of feedbuckets and carried them down to the calf-yards, emptying them one by one into the long line of mangers. He stood watching for a moment as the animals hungrily wolfed down their breakfast, shaking his head as he picked up the buckets and made his way back to the barn. Everything was quiet and still, same as always. @endnode @node Flickers " Flickers by Andrew J Campbell " @next Whispers F l i c k e r s for the first time in a long time when she looked down at her body she saw no traces of self-abuse. only golden curves in the candlelight. an eggshell stomach. scar-free wrists. she caught sight of herself in the mirror and smiled a little. hate drowned by hope. beyond that skin and deep within, a flame now burning. thriving. look with number three and we can see far more than this physical world will allow. and now, taken from the battlefield outoftheblue, she could view herself objectively. engage in self-study. a program of self-repair. eighteen years, and her chance had come. "enjoy your bath?" she stands in the doorway, clothes back on, hair combed straight down. tidy. "yeah. thanks." "siddown if you like. I made you a sandwich," his face flickers amber like the rest of the room. he's a part of his surroundings. he belongs here. she is new. "you alright? what's wrong?" she jumps, as if she's been nipped. "Oh... nothing, sorry, day- dreaming." she approaches him cautiously, sits down opposite him, avoiding his eyes. "thanks, wow, looks nice." she examines the food, hands fidgetting. "don't mention it." her tongue moistens her lips. thoughts are spinning. this treatment is alien to her. can't understand it yet. "you look nice... with- with your hair like that, I mean. sorry, I- I just thought I'd say." she shivers. excitement. shock. confusion. and she manages to smile, forever staring at the food, as if it might turn into something alive or shining and precious. "my last one," he whispers, running his fingernails gently down the candle in the middle of the table. "when this goes out..." he offers her a sparkling glance, which she absorbs energetically. "the world ends," he finishes and reveals his teeth. "let's pretend," he elaborates quickly. "what do you say?" she nods, not quite sure what he means, but content to play his game, at least for now. "okay," she whispers back. "do you think the world /will/ end one day?" he inquires. she shrugs. "I dunno... why? do you?" "yes. oh yes, most definitely." "when? how?" she is slightly intrigued by his answer. he touches the candle again with his fingernails. delicately. "when there's no more hope. no more light," he tells her, then with- out pausing, "tell me, why do you write?" she fumbles mentally for an answer until his eyes meet hers again. she tries to smile. "well?" he prompts her eventually. her expression folds and dies. "oh, I... I don't know, it's just something I've always done." "since...?" "since I was at junior school. I always got high marks in english, it was my best subject, I... just enjoyed it, I guess. I dunno." she laughs a little, embarrassed by her own unawareness. "you used to write... didn't you?" she can't remember now. the writing class seems like a thousand years ago. "yes. used to." there is an apprehensive silence. "my grandparents once described me as weird," he tells her, rubbing one side of his face. "yeah but... everybody's weird," she offers hesitantly. "yes but they said I was weird simply because I didn't want any chocolate icecream," he chuckles, running his fingers gently over his eyelids. "no other reason. I must've been about thirteen, maybe fourteen, paying them a visit with the whole family, you know? and I wasn't hungry at dinner time. not after the main course, anyway. my brother's face lit up as soon as my gran told us we had icecream for pudding... only when she turned her attention to me, I said thanks, but that I was /full/, you know? I said I didn't /want/ any pudding. and my gran, she kind of... looked at me as if I'd just insulted her. it was strange, you know?" "you mean weird," she smiles at him. he smiles back. "yes," he chuckles. "it was weird." "I once got out of PE for six months when I was at school," she puts her elbows on the table, food now forgotten. "and joo know how? I didn't pretend to be ill. I didn't play truant. I didn't get my mum to go apeshit with the written excuses... I just went the other way at the beginning of term when the teams were being decided. like... everybody went to the hall, right, and so I went to the library, I mean, that's it, that's all I did." he laughs again, softly. she is pleased and encouraged by his reaction, and continues with greater enthusiasm. "and you know the best bit about it was the fact that, eventually, when I /was/ found out, the teachers said they couldn't understand how I could possibly have slipped through the net. it was a total mystery to them. it was really-" "weird?" he interjects with a grin. the joke is still amusing; they laugh some more. "yeah. totally weird." the end of the world candle has depleted somewhat considerably. less than an inch of wax remains. the room has grown darker. the air seems colder. "holes," he whispers and she frowns and shivers. "what?" "holes... in life. society. whatever," he shrugs. "the things we've just been talking about, I mean. do you understand?" she nods. "yeah, I guess so." "writing is a method of pointing out those holes," he explains carefully. she listens, a little bewildered but unquestionably fascinated. "only it's like trying to tell a hedgehog to get out of the road, you know? the same's happening now. you - as a writer - are pointing out the holes, and society - your audience - is ignoring you. not hearing you. pretending you're not there. after all, why should it listen to you?" "I'm... not really trying to change things," she challenges his suggestion. "I just enjoy telling stories, I don't expect what I write to be taken very seriously. it's entertainment, that's all. like... you go to the cinema to watch a film, why? to be entertained." "then you too are ignoring the holes," he looks down at his hands. toys with his fingers. "I've heard a good many of your stories, you point out the problems and you do it well, but you don't seem to care if the audience takes a blind bit of notice." "but... you said yourself nobody's interested," she puts in swiftly. "I mean, surely it's down to the individual. whether or not the story affects them personally. do you get what I mean?" "yes," he smiles vaguely. "yes." only a soft glow remains. in a few moments, she realises, the darkness in the room will be complete. "you will stop doing it eventually," he whispers. "stop doing what?" "writing. it'll all fit into place, like it did for me. you'll... fall down a hole, and you won't be able to get back out." she can see only his chin in the near-dead candlelight, a smooth curve of yellow-orange that bobs up and down as he talks. "imagine it, you're flying, flying through bookshops, soaring past the shelves, facing them, reading the names and titles on the sides and covers. maybe after a few years of flying you'll skim past your own name, your own book title, just another bundle of pages, another author complaining about being weird, another individual who got out of PE class for six months. we're everywhere, us - all over the world, why cry out when so many others do the same? what can we change? what can we do? nothing. just live. be. tell dead-end tales." she feels his hand slide across hers. it is wet, she assumes with tears. he squeezes her gently but she doesn't return it. she can't. she is too confused. in the next silence, the world flickers, glows... and dies. @endnode @node Whispers " Whispers in the Night by Irfan Baig " @next Always W h i s p e r s i n t h e N i g h t The trouble with Janet was that she was dumb. It made him smile a little, because this was the umpteenth girl he'd been initially attracted to who then ended up being nothing but a shit-stick with a pretty face wrapped like plastic around it. Yes, Janet was dumb, and it showed whenever they talked. Lulls in conversation everytime he brought up the most interesting things he could think of. She didn't say "Wow, that's amazing!" like she was supposed to - no, she was dumb, so she didn't say anything. She just looked away bored, or stared into a sudden vacuum in front of them. Janet was dumb, which was why she was not interested in all the things he liked to talk about. She was dumb, so she couldn't appreciate his unique sense of humour. Janet liked to have sex, that's what she liked best. Janet liked you to have a big car and drive her around. Take her to the nightclubs so she could dance with all the other guys there, dancing images bleached permanently onto his mind, so that when he was alone he'd have the time to play them all over in his head. Rewind, rewind, play. Rewind, rewind, play. This time it wasn't Janet, it was someone else, and this film was black and white with age. No colour, no light - just the two of them dancing alone in the darkness, happily. This was not a club - there were no other guys - there was no one he had to watch Janet dance with. In this dark room Janet only danced with him. In this dark room he could hear her tinkling laughter as she floated around him. She was laughing at his jokes. In the dark room, though he could not see her face, he knew she was smiling because she was glad to be with him. He could not see but she was glad. Glad to be with him. Softly he spoke to her, and she listened. Her silhouette in the black turned towards him, and behind the invisible mask she was wearing he saw her eyes look into his, and listen to what he said. The world doesn't matter anymore, he told her, we're all alone and there's no one to listen. He waited for the distant smile, he waited for her dark head to turn to the vacuum and banish him there with that one gesture. But before his wait was over, she caressed him on the cheek. She took hold of his face and, in the dark, she started to kiss him tenderly. Thoughtless, endless kiss that lasted forever because it was full of words that flooded into his head and resonated there for the rest of his life. You are not alone, she kissed into him, look who's kissing you, baby, look. I'm here, and you're not alone, and you'll never be, oh, no, words, just, keep spinning, dizzily in his head, I love you again, and again, in the dark I cannot see but i love you yes! Wake up and see me, darling, you're not alone there's someone waiting for you here. Wake up and see. When he woke up, it was still dark, but he could see...behind the darkness, behind the shroud, hiding and waiting, waiting and hiding. He crept to the flowing black curtains slowly, dreading the sounds his feet made as he tapped the floor quietly in his tiptoe. Dreading that he might scare her away. Somehow, the figure behind the curtain remained until he was right in front of her. He lifted his hands gingerly, to draw back the darkness, to see her face for once, for the first time. Suddenly he stoppped. Took his handkercheif out and dabbed his forehead. Had to look perfect. Combed his hair as best he could with his fingers, straightened the tie he was, for some reason, wearing over his t-shirt. Took a deep breath. Took hold of the curtains, and in a single gasp, they were parted and he stared into the face of the girl he loved more than anything in the world. Looked at the girl who loved him in the same way. The tie was straight, the hair combed back half-perfectly, as if with the fingers. New beads of sweat lined his forehead, and dripped down it. He smiled back at himself, and stepped out. "Shocking, isn't it?" he smiled, and walked out of the front door and into a street wrought with a thousand natural professionals. He left himself standing there, mouth wide-open because all this time, it had been himself in the dark, understanding him, talking to him, laughing with him. Laughing at his jokes. Now that he'd been found out, there was nothing for him to do but walk out of the door and into the rest of the world, where people would never know, and where people never had to see himself behind the curtains. In the rest of the world, people look for the curtains out of dark- ness, and when they find them, they discover Janet waiting behind. Janet waits, she doesn't walk out the front door. @endnode @node Always " Always by Linette Voller " @next Trip A l w a y s Abbey walked slowly towards the window, the carpet poking intrusively through her toes. She stood behind the curtain with the certain dread of what she was about to see. As if possessed of its own free will, her hand reached up towards the edge of the curtain. She grasped it firmly, and stopped. She knew what she would see, maybe if this time she didn't look then she could convince herself that he wasn't there. Her hand pulled aside the curtain. He was there. His shadow crossed the boundaries of the tree below the window. The rain obscured the view but she could tell he would be looking up at her. Conscious of the eyes on her, Abbey quickly stepped back out of sight and drew the curtains. If she had wanted to cast the image from her mind, she had failed. She could see the scene below as if it had been physically burned onto her mind. She could see the rain whipped tree, shaking in the uneven wind. She could almost feel the intrusion of the shadow that lurked beneath the weaving fringes of the tree's edge. A year ago, smiling, joking. "Hows you?" "Not too bad, and you?" Busy, loud, pounding music, hard to hear hard to see. Meeting friends. "My cousin, hes new to the area". Look. Tall. Long hair. Blonde. Quite funny though. Interesting. Abbey walked away from the window. She guided herself to the chair and sat down heavily. She lent on the desk infront of her, her head resting on her hands. Looking up into empty space, she smoothed the wisps of hair advancing on her face out of the way. Every nerve, every muscle wanted to get up and run, run away, far away from the man under the tree. Her body ached for release, for that moment when she would sprint away, away from HIM. Her mind knew that would never happen. She knew him now, he was obsessed. Where ever she ran she knew that the figure would re-appear. Maybe not straight away, he might wait for a while, get her thinking, but then he would be there. Watching. "Whats your name then?" "Oh, Richard, thats a nice name.. do you mind if I call you Dick?" "Oh. Sorry I didnt know... So Richard what do you think of Camberney?" "Yes, it is rather isnt it!" Closer. "Wow! I thought exactly the something last week..." Closer. "Thats so strange! You like that too?" Close. She looked at the picture of herself with her mates from college. The smiles, the careless arms flung around each other, and the obvious freedom of summer. Reaching up, she took the picture from the wall, and put it down in front of her. She traced the familiar faces of her friends with her finger. Moving over the smiles and laughter, ruined by a mad man's dream. She remembered each of her friends' funerals all different and yet the same. The weeping, the crying, the talk of the lives wasted and the whispers of the monstrosities that the deceased must have been put through before death. Everyone knew about the marks, the cuts and the burns. A drop of water landed on the photo encircling her picture with a salty halo. She didnt notice. She held the photo and tore, ripping and shredding the last record of happiness from her life. She looked at the scattered tiny remains. Her tears flowed for them all. "This is great. I havent done this since I was a kid, this is the best." Together. Friends. " Yes, you bring out the more spontaneous side in me too." "Really? Erm, well hey, we dont know what will happen in the future so lets not think of that just yet." Hes angry. "Well... look were really good friends, so we probably will be friends for a long time, for always." He was always outside now. It hadnt always been this way. She remembered the fun they had. Remembered her increased awareness of the figure that she tended to see when she looked around whilst out walking. When she asked him about it. Of course he always denied it. Abbey reached into the drawer set under the desk. Her hand groped blindly, until she found the edges of the box. She pulled it up on to the desk. Her hands encircled the edge of the lid. Pausing, whilst the memories flew thick and fast, she took off the lid. Inside had the musty smell of things not used often. There were wads of papers, all starting to brown at the corners. She lifted the top on out. It was the first letter. "Here, Anna, look at this." "It came this morning, what do you think?" "Yes I thought it was a bit creepy too." "Youre right it probably is a trick. In fact I think it might have been Dave, you know how he is." Still slightly worried. "Oh, hes in America. Oh. Well it must have been somebody like that." Looking at the letter. "I'll be there. Always." "I'll be there. Always." It was true the sentence on the sheet in front of her. He will be. Everything else he said came true. She looked at the other letters. She picked up the fifth, the start of the prophecies. "You see Anna a lot, I know, I follow you. Well dont worry about it soon you wont see Anna anymore, and then you can see me more often." It came true. Anna was killed two days later. The newspapers linked it to some animal deaths that happened around the area, the marks were the same. The horrendous fate had move to Homo Sapiens now. The burning of specific areas, the cuts in bizarre shapes and the mutilations to bad to even think about. She saw him at the funeral. She didnt realise. They talked. They had drifted apart as friendships tend to do. This was the first time she had spoken to him in a month. He was glad to see her. She thought he had changed. She felt suffocated. Trapped. She made her excuses and left. "Oh my god." Next letter. "I must warn him." Phone. "Dave you're in terrible danger, you have to run away, today." "Well, a letter told me." "Look I am shaken by Anna's death, but this is not hysterical ramblings." "Dave, please..." Dead phone. Look out the window. See a figure watching, face hidden. Run outside. Gone. Daves funeral had been similar to Annas. Same people, same mutterings same death. She knew who it was now. She knew he was following her. She tried to tell people but they thought she was going mad. Driven, by the psychological trauma of having her two best friends killed within days of each other. In fact they thought she was so unstable they sent her for counselling sessions. After Sarah's death they kept her in for observation at St. Marys. After Johns death, St. Marys became her home. She didnt mind. Maybe he would go away now. He didn't. She had tried to tell the staff but they just upped the dosage. So in the end she kept quiet. She knew who he was. He wasnt there always though, so she couldnt show the staff. Her friends kept dying. They thought she got madder. She didnt, she got too sane. "Look I know who is committing the murders, wont you just check it out?" "No! I dont want to see doctor Stileth, you know what he does as well as I do" Medications. Hands. Blackness. Abbey got up from her chair and put her slippers on. She didnt need shoes, she didnt go outside any more. He was there. Always. Her door was open and she walked down the corridor. She noticed the picture out of the corner of her eye. The new warden was coming soon and there were pictures of him, with the other staff on the staff photo board. The picture looked at her. "Well be together, Abbey, always." Her eyes fixed on the board, she started screaming. She collapsed slowly, but didnt stop screaming. He wasn't always around, but he was today. She was walking in the garden and saw him. Usually he would only be there every other day. He had killed her friends and she had been waiting for this moment. He was facing the other way seated on a bench. She slowly walked up behind him. Her shoes making no sound, the weight of the stolen knife heavy in her hands. She stood behind him. Alerted by some strange and unexplainable sense, he turned round. She slashed at the throat and cut true. Blood started pouring down his front. "Abbey?" He looked suprised. She had stabbed him lots. His face continued to stare in the old familiar way, full of friendship and adoration. She couldnt stand it, she cut his face. She cut his face so much you couldnt tell that her had one. He finally slumped to the ground, uttering his last breath and word, "Always". When the hospital staff found her she was laughing. It didnt take long for her to be transported to Vanguards, a high security prison for the insane. Abbey was still screaming. Her eyes were fixed on the Vanguards staff staff board. She didnt stop screaming. @endnode @node Trip " Some Other Day by Andrew J Campbell " @next Hello S o m e O t h e r D a y hate yourself. because that's what they'll make you do, eventually. your family, your friends, the one you love but she doesn't care. it was a random strike in the old days, you know - dots of self-hate in an ocean of happiness, and now it's the opposite way around - speckles of optimism in a swirling, black whirlpool of bleakness, and most people keep it hidden in their soul pockets, too, clean out of sight, afraid of revealing their own charred, crumbling hearts to a world equally as packed with them. what gives me the right to spew out this garbage? what gives people the right to do anything? listen to my bullshit or fuck off, see if i give a rat's arse. i'll tell you now, friend, i no longer reside with anyone. i sit here on cold concrete, staring into the sky, waiting patiently for the armageddon. because that's what's coming... but it's not going to scream down from where my tired eyes wander. nah. i just like to watch the clouds. the final conflict will come from within, friend. look hard. observe colour and form. the rise of insanity, of crime and statistics. the slow oblitoration of hope and care, of love and respect. the wheel is turning: to care is wrong. to love is to be foolish. to be "mental" is to be admired. split-second appreciation, pour in some emotion and the world shatters into pieces. suicide and self- abuse: bred by social rejection - social ignorance. but from which side of the fence? and ignorance of what? of self-study? of looking in the mirror and seeing deep beyond the flesh? i wonder. the thoughts inside our abnormal minds - fused and twisted and corrupted by one another - secrete and slide down our skin as real as a bead of sweat. then, the spider strikes. then, this hidden world is revealed. never studied. but shown. pulled back like a curtain concealing an unknown that has been with us since the dawn of time. today many children died. blown to pieces by their fathers-to-be. men destroyed by women destroyed by men destroyed by children and we grieve only for the victims on the surface. they were never to be. this is the warning call. the piper's wail. and the special services set sail for an island that, by them, will never be reached. fools, this ocean's waves crash with blood! the jagged rocks are the houses and pavements outside your own homes! the storm won't come from the heavens but from here within the human eye! and you - /you/ are the seacreatures! the horrors of the deep! the stealers of innocence! the eternally starved. but we're /all/ starved, aren't we? deprived of something - always. happiness so often comes from others. others who are as charcoaled inside as ourselves. differences and similarities connect and stick randomly like lucky building bricks, but we constantly strive for something better. dragged through thick and thin, expecting more, desiring better. we trail away and unplug the wires that, unknown to us, were right. god so strong and worthwhile. ruined. left behind. abandoned for what? for something better. better. better. it seems strange to me to think back to the time when i was happy to be a part of the system. nineteen years of age, no direction, a handful of friends, hopes and aspirations i was so sure would one day hit the nail. i stopped several times to exchange words with some guy on the street, begging for change, just enough to live off, shuffling around to cope with the cold and the rejection. he had a diamond more than me, that torn and battered guy, he had a plan, an escape route, a focused adventure. a reality, not a fantasy, not dream of fame and fortune. just enough to fend off greed, just enough to float above depression. what i would not give to be like him. thoughts force-fed things came into perspective when i finally met the one i thought was right. gentle and caring forget the exterior it didn't matter, i needed touch i needed hope i needed whispers to comfort and choke back the tears i wish i didn't have to cry. the world's magic when you walk alone, yet not alone, knowing that someone out there, a stranger, /does/ care, for how long it doesn't matter - it's the present that counts. but she tired of me as we tire of one another, sick of my sickness, familiar with my thoughts, my dreams, my soul, my body. "move along, lad, move along, i want somebody else now. what's that? you love me? shut the fuck up, you don't know what love is - you'll be okay, take it easy, see you around some other day." when quickfire casual person-to-person becomes as fast as modern day information, then things click into place, then one knows what to expect, then the world becomes a superficial superhighway and emotions become a thing of the past. i sit here now and think think think sometimes my sanity totters on the brink of lashing out in killer-form down the streets of this town. chop up children, batter grannies, punch schoolboys, rape girls, make drama, after all, isn't that what you want? gossip and horror and things to explore, people like me who sit on the floor watching you swinging shopping bags, not giving a fuck. like me, you moan and complain but you don't give a fuck. you're the corrupted. don't give me a second look or you'll see your own reflection glittering like silver across my face. the apocalypse is inside you. and it's healthy not to care. @endnode @node Hello " Hello Marylou by Jen Allen " @next Frag H e l l o M a r y l o u Hey-ey - watchit!" I jumped hastily to the right, narrowly avoiding an unwanted dip. The skinny heifer rubbed playfully against me as walked along beside the river. Marylou was lucky to be alive - born the day before christmas, Ian the cowman had found her lying abandoned, half-frozen and plastered in shit, out in the yard. "Here y'are - dunno if you can do anything with this," he grimaced as he plonked the filthy, bedraggled little object on the straw at my feet. "The cow just doesn't want to know..." The calf lay bemused for a couple of minutes, wide dark eyes trying to make sense of the situation. She made an unsuccessful attempt at standing up just as Ian returned with a bucket of milk. "Think she must've fallen down the steps," he said "she doesn't seem too steady on her legs." This seemed to me to be something of an understatement; however, I picked the calf up and she stood precariously against my legs. This achievement breathed new life and confidence into the frail little creature beside me and she promptly emitted a surprisingly hearty bellow to indicate that her uncaring mother had neglected to feed her and she expected someone to put that right - immediately. The tinny transistor on the shelf blared out a `golden oldie' - "Hello Marylou". The calf repeated her vociferous demand. Marylou had arrived. Two days later dawn broke on a thickly snow-blanketed, bright white world, so any thoughts of vet or knackers' yard as a destination for Marylou were erased. It was almost two weeks before she was able to get up unaided - though once upright she was pretty mobile. As ever, Mother Nature cared for her own: Marylou quickly grew a long, thick coat to keep out the bitter cold of what turned out to be the most freezing January this century. Her appetite and intelligence seemed to be just that bit above average, as if to compensate for her physical shortcomings. By the time all the December-born calves were ready to go across to the big yard she was as strong and lively as the rest of the bunch. That spring the young stock were turned out early as both hay and straw had all but depleted. Unfortunately, no sooner had they all gone out than the weather turned to non-stop rain. By Easter weekend the Brooks had become one vast lake. "Never rains but it pours!" observed George, the manager - somewhat unnecessarily, under the circumstances, as we all gazed disconsolately at the leaden grey skies on Easter Sunday morning. "Them heifers down t'Brooks is all along the far end under t'wood. If the water gets any higher they're gonna be completely marooned, we'll try and drive them back along the headland and across to the gate." This sounded to me to be a somewhat optimistic plan - cattle are not renowned for their amphibious ambitions. The bunch of heifers, Marylou amongst them, had no intention of moving from their rapidly- shrinking island of mud, and even less intention of going anywhere together. Half-way along a pair of pheasants flew up right under the feet of the leading animal, in a squawking, flapping explosion of feathery panic and thirty heifers launched out across the floods in thirty different directions. After what seemed like an eternity of floundering and splashing about, rattling feed-buckets, and shouting ourselves hoarse, we wound up with twenty-nine heifers and a tractor with a puncture on the dry land near the road. We re-counted. Several times. One animal short... Marylou. The temporary silence was shattered by a desperate bellow from somewhere across the expanse of muddy water which had until last week been a large grassy meadow. I climbed up on the gate and looked back towards the wood. It all looked still and wet. Another bellow. I focussed on the source of the sound - it sounded very close to the swirling rush of the swollen river. Then I saw what I had dreaded: a black and white head just above the water, fighting to stay afloat. "You got'ny ropes on yer tractor?" I called to Fred, the rotund and unflappable tractor-driver. "Coupla wagon ropes. Oh, and the harrow chain," came the reply. George joined me on the gate as I pointed across the field, "Stuck," I said, blankly. Fred squelched across with an armful of ropes, followed by Nathan, the cowman, who was looking at his watch and muttering something about breakfast. "Oh shut-up, Nathe, you're always bloody hungry - you got worms or summat?" George took one of the ropes, "C'mon, or she's gonna be washed down t'bloody sea 'fore we get to 'er. This lot ain't gonna go nowhere," He gestured back towards the group of drenched heifers by the gate. "You better nip back and bring the Farmhand down, Fred, - we'll want the fork for that tractor wheel anyway." Fred strode off up the track, fumbling in his jacket pocket for a cigarette as he went. We splashed off across the floods towards the the stricken heifer, hoping she wouldn't panic as we approached. She didn't move as we reached her - further investigations revealed that this was because she was /unable/ to move - she was stuck fast in the thick black clay of the crumbled riverbank. It took almost half an hour to get a rope round her, just as Fred came churning out across the field with the loader. He parked on the nearest patch of almost-dry-land - just within reach if we tied two ropes together. "Right, take it /very/ steady Fred, we gotta just ease 'er out really gentle - okay." George gesticulated to Fred to ease forward. The stout wagon-rope pulled taut, Marylou stayed put. "'ang on!" said Nathan; he went and rummaged around in the hedge behind the loader, returning with a long fence-stake. He leaned across and drove it deep into the mud behind Marylou's backside. "Try again, Fred!" yelled George. The rope creaked as we each held one side to keep it even. Nathan heaved on the stake. I looked at the knot joining the two ropes together and prayed. There was a gurgling squelch from the river as slowly but surely the evil dark mud relinquished its captive "Keep it steady Fred." George gestured again. Very slowly we hauled the exhausted heifer free of the mud and across the water-logged ground to the safety of the headland. For what seemed an eternity Marylou was too shocked and exhausted to even move. Fred lit yet another fag. "C'mon gal," Nathan prodded the prone animal gently with his boot "Y'ain't dead yet, ye jus /think/ y'are!" The heifer finally made an effort to get up - and failed - her back legs simply crumpled under her. George bent down and felt down the length of one leg - it was ice-cold and seemed to be completely devoid of feeling. "Can't feel no breaks though," he muttered and he turned to me. "Can you stay 'ere with 'er while we take the rest of 'em back up, then I reckon we'll have to put 'er on the plank and cart 'er 'ome." He didn't wait for me to answer. Fred revved the loader and they trundled off across to the gate. I reached down and rubbed Marylou's cold soggy ears "Silly mutt! Why couldntya 'a stayed on the dry, where we was drivin' ya?" She rubbed her head on my legs. "Nemmind, we'll have ya back in the dry soon," I hoped that George was right and that she didn't have any internal injuries. It seemed like hours before I heard the sound of the loader chugging back down the track. Fred pulled up in front of Marylou and let the loader-arm, now with an old door roped across it, down onto the ground. We hauled the heifer onto her makeshift stretcher and Fred gently eased the arm upwards. "You wanna ride with 'er? - she's one a' yer bloody pets, ain't she?" enquired George, with a grin. He always teased me about any calves that recieved "special attention", being of the opinion that sentiment had no place in profitable farming. I hopped on the muddy board beside Marylou and we trundled back across the field. Three hours later the vet straightened up. He rubbed his back. "Must be gettin' old... Anyway, yeah, she'll be alright, that right leg's pretty badly twisted, but there's nuthin' broken. She'll hobble a bit f'r'awhile though - you best keep her on her own so she doesn't get knocked around." "S'okay, she can go in the calving yard fr'a week or two,there's nowt due to calve till next month. Give Jen an excuse to spoil the bloody thing even more!" George laughed as he closed the loosebox door. Life, however, is never /that/ simple, and two days later the vet was back - Marylou had developed pneumonia. "You trying to kill this animal off, or what?" he enquired with a smile as he returned from his car with a large syringe full of antibiotic. Marylou winced as he jabbed the needle into her backside. "Do ya good ol' gal," he said, pushing the plunger down. He turned to me: "I'll leave you enough for a couple more doses - I think we've caught it in time - she oughtta be back on track by the end of the week, give me a ring if she isn't." It was nearly two months before Marylou was fit - by which time the weather had finally got its act together and the wet spring was turning into a hot dry summer. "I reckon that damn thing can go back down the Brooks with the others today," said George, gesturing towards Marylou "She's gettin' too used to 'avin' 'er own way all the time. We'll drive her down the track after Ian's fetched t'cows up fer milkin' s'afternoon." Marylou ambled down the dusty track - she could see the other heifers in the field and was impatient to join them. They clustered excitedly round the gate as we let her through, and there followed the usual pushing and shoving and racing around to decide just where the newcomer fitted into the herd scheme of things. Later that evening I walked down to check that the heifers were all OK. They were all grazing contentedly along the riverbank - a very different scene from the swirling mudflats of a few months ago. As I climbed the gate the radio DJ intruded into my thoughts from my Walkman headphones "-and for tonight's `golden oldie' we go way back to nineteen sixty-one and it's Ricky Nelson with `Hello Marylou'..." I glanced across at the ungainly-looking creature grazing a few yards away and laughed. @endnode @node Frag " Fragments " @next Kiss F r a g m e n t s I can see what he's doin. Right now. Clear as a bell." "And what's he doing, Keith? Tell me." The boy's lips quiver. "He's... Stood. Thinking." "About what?" The boys eyes dart everywhere, as if he's searching for hidden messages on the walls of his subconscious. His tongue slips out, runs smoothly across his top lip, left to right. "Thinkin about... Some girl in a school uniform. `A hole in the wall, a hole in the wall, it comes out of a hole in the wall,' she's screaming jesus- oh shit- oh hell she's screaming, man, screaming like- shit I can't-" The boy pauses to snatch a breath of air. "A- a building. Some kind of... Museum, maybe a library, I dunno, he's waitin outside it, I think he's seen somebody he used to know from school or... Work, perhaps, I'm not sure, my host is walking away, I'm gonna have to pull out, where's the bucket? Get me the bucket, for fuck's sake get me the buck- ah god-" The boy jerks forward as if he's been whacked across the back of the head with an iron bar. "Lights, Billy, put the lights on!" "Get his head up!" "Gerrout of ma way! Keith, Keith shift your head back man, I've got the bucket." The boy's head comes back up. His eyes are all white. He shudders, burps, gargles. Vomit explodes from his mouth, spills down his shirt, slides awkwardly into the bucket. "Wayne." "Yeah." "Hold this. Jimmy?" . "What." . "Me, you and Kathryn, : library, now, : let's go:" : : `-----------. : _ .----' \: _ \/ Midday. The sun was at its highest in the sky, beaming down on the stranded kids as though intent on burning them up. Both were sick, starving and in the midst of severe depression. "Wendy?" John whispered. "Mmm." she murmoured, eyes closed firmly. John hesitated. "You know... we could try..." "What?" she whispered, unmoving. "Well, I... don't know much about it but... the thing that we could do is like... well, I'm a boy, you're a girl..." Wendy's eyes drifted open. John grew nervous. "So?" said the girl in anti-climax. John looked away, a little scared of what he was trying to imply. "So, well, you know." "What are you trying to tell me?" She said. He shrugged, "I... was trying to say, that we could... do it." "Do what?" "It. You know. The thing... boys and girls do." She pulled a face, "Are you losing your head?" He nodded, "If you want to know the truth, yes, I'm going mad." "Well so am I, so just go to sleep or something." John sighed and looked out across the glittering sea. He realised he had nothing to lose. "I think we should have sex." he said at last. Wendy jolted with surprise, sitting forward a little. She cocked her head away from the sun and looked at John. The boy had his back turned and was fidgeting furiously with the sleeve of his jumper. "You think what?" Wendy gasped. "Forget it. Just an idea. I thought, maybe... You'd be interested, but forget it, I'm going crazy." "You're suggesting me and you have it off on this boat, stranded in the ocean, no food, no water, no anything?" John almost found it amusing too. He laughed faintly. "Sorry." The girl went on, "And you said sex? Me and you?" "Look, forget it!" He snapped and banged his hand down on the side of the boat. A feeling of death came over him again. He had nothing now to look forward to. Everything had been destroyed. Even the friendship he had gained with his only company. Surely after this Wendy would not speak to him ever again. He had been stupid to suggest they should try it, they were too young even to understand it. Much too young. Time passed. "You wouldn't even know where to begin." Wendy said. John didn't answer, though in actual fact he was thinking about her words very intensely. "/I/ would, though," Wendy continued after a brief pause. "You were serious weren't you? You really did want to." John still didn't answer. To him, she was just teasing. "What if I said yes? What would you do then?" "Don't Wendy." John warned her. "Just forget it, okay." "Hey, you started this sex stuff, let's finish it. Come on, what would you have done? What would you /do/ to me?" John looked down at the boat. He knew what to do - or at least thought he knew - but a part of him was sure that, given the chance, he'd break down into tears or in some way be unable to do it. Thinking of the act was enough to drive him crazy. Actually doing it would be something quite different. `It would be frightening,' a gentle voice whispered from his heart. "Oh bollocks, then," Wendy said and huddled back down. "If you don't wanna talk to me, bollocks, I'm off to sleep." More time passed. "I guess I'd start with a kiss." John said, eyes closed. The answer was weak and tiring: "Yeah, I thought so." "Well, I've answered your question." "Hmmm. Then what?" Wendy probed. "Then..." John thought quickly. "Then I'd hold you, tightly." She seemed to wake up a little. "Hold me?" "Yeah." "That's nice. Most boys would get right to the part when-" "Yeah, I know what they'd do. But I wouldn't do that." "Oh?" She was interested, "What /would/ you do then?" "I'd be gentle. Make it last. Maybe... we could just be... close. Not actually do it. Because when you actually do it, you can make a baby." "I thought you didn't know the facts." "I'm just saying." "Yeah, and then?" "Then, it's my turn. What would /you/ do?" "Me?" Wendy giggled, "Whatjoo mean? Girls don't /do/ anything. They let it be done." "Bullshit," John said, knowing they had to do /something/. "They don't just lay back and say `do sex with me', they-" Wendy broke down laughing. John stopped talking. "You're serious as well, arn't you!" She cried. "God, you've got a nerve, I bet your dick's like a maggot! I'd never have it off with you for god's sake! You're not even /old/ enough. Besides, what if the rescue comes when we're trying to have a shag? That would look good on the headlines wouldn't it? `Kids rescued whilst bonking'-" "Piss off," John whispered, thinking of all the things he'd done for Wendy during last night's storm. How he'd held her, thought about giving his own miserable life for her. Now, she was angrily abusing him, telling him to go to hell, to get a life - to drown himself, basically. "One day John, you'll find some girl who'll beg you to have her." Wendy said, still laughing. . Eventually, she relaxed again and . began to pick h:r nails. : : : `-----------. : _ .----' \: _ \/ Danny Potts was crying when he wandered into his parents' bedroom. He was topless, his arms were held out in front of him, spit was dribbling down his chin and his feet were shuffling jerkily across the carpet. "Muuuuummie...." he wailed. "Janie cut meeee... Janie cut me..." Susan bolted upright, "Danny? Is that you?" The kid cried harder. "Mummieee... it hurts..." David moaned in his sleep. Susan gave him a hard nudge before leaning across his body in search of the light switch. Moments later, he cried out in protest. "Jesus Susan!" he cursed and rolled onto his back. "Do you have to switch the fucking-" "I heard Danny you fool!" she barked viciously. "Mummmieeee," the kid wailed. He was standing limply beside the bed, both arms held out, blood staining the quilt. Susan screamed. David bolted upright. "What the-" "DANNIEEE! Oh my GOD! Get to the bathroom!" Susan flew out of bed, stopped, stared at her son. His arms were coated in thick, dark crimson and he was crying so hard, tears were flowing into his mouth. "Do as Mummy said," David shouted, dragging back the covers. . . . Danny's arms flopped into the sink like two amputated limbs - quivering and oozing with gore. "The tap, turn on the tap, turn it on." Susan blabbered. David spun the cold water into action and Danny shrieked. He juddered and trembled and his pale chest splattered with blood. Susan held him from behind, kissing his cheek, his hair, his back, whilst David cupped and splashed water. "What did you do?" Susan whispered. "Oh Danny just what did you /do/?" "He's cut himself to fuck," David said, still working frantically. "I can see that!" Susan barked, then softly: "Oh Danny, honey, baby, sweetie..." She intensified her kisses. "It's clearing up now." David said. His broad, hairy chest was glistening with sweat. Susan gave him a glance - which quickly became a stare - and felt her briefly extinguished love for him re-ignite. "I'm sorry for shouting." she said and reached out to touch him. Danny put an end to his wailing and began to sob instead. "Jesus," David said, staring into the basin. "Look Susan, look at that for god's sake. He's been /cutting himself/. This shit's self- inflicted, it has to be." Susan shook her head, even before she laid eyes on the scars. Danny was a good boy, at least to her knowledge. The last thing he would do was whip a blade across his own skin. "David, he wouldn't do anything like that." she said mechanically. "He's been writing things on his arms," David insisted, holding up Danny's wounds to the light. Danny began to cry again because the blood rushed out - this time he stamped his feet and shook his head. "Shall I call an ambulance?" Susan suggested in a high-pitched voice. Her eyes were huge, glistening and bloodshot. David looked at Danny and gritted his teeth together. "You stupid boy! What did you do this for? Eh? What the fuck did you do it for?" "Leave him alone!" Susan cried. "He's done this to /himself/!" David shrieked. "He--" Susan's breath caught. She stared at the jagged, criss-cross scratches and blinked. "What... does it say, David? What's he put?" "Something stupid," David shrugged, wiping his sticky hands on the bathroom towel. "He's just being an awkward little sod." "It says Moh... Mag... Magnus..." Susan said, then turned to her son, bewildered. "Danny? What does `Magnus' mean?" David laughed dryly. "He's flipped his fucking top, Susan." "Shut up!" Susan hissed. "Go look in his bedroom, see if you can find anything." Whilst David, with some silent protest, carried out his orders, Susan cupped Danny's cheeks in her hands. "I want you to tell Mummy what you did this for. Okay? Tell me /right now/." "War..." Danny whimpered, shaking his head. "War...druh-drobe..." "Wardrobe?" Susan blinked. "What about your wardrobe?" "Cuh-cuh-came out... suh... suh-ome thuh-thing ca-came out." Danny stuttered, his eyes staring past his mother beyond the bathroom. into another, darker world. @endnode @node Kiss " The Kiss by Linette Voller " T h e K i s s She turns around, her hair describing an arc of irridescent gold. She looks into my eyes. I look back. I see a life of joy, hope and love reflected in the dark blue circles of her eyes. A little touch of mischief sparkles from somewhere deep within, just hinting of its presence on the surface of her eye. She looks at me with mock- seriousness. I hold out my hand. She playfully wrinkles her nose. I gather her up in my arms holding her tight, trying to imagine that I could just sink into her and be so close we could never be separate. We look at each other. We both pause for a moment, and then sink into a kisses abyss. Aiden became aware of his surroundings. He was in the front room again. He had no idea how he came to be there. He stood up confused. As he looked around the room he noticed how empty it looked. It wasnt the same now they werent together. The shelves had gaps where photos had stood that were now to painful to look at. Somehow, although the room was still relatively full, there was a noticeable absence. A presence that used to be so strong had all but faded from the scenery of the room. He slowly approached the table. There was a furry outline of dust depicting were a picture once stood. Their wedding photo. In some way, he thought, the absence of the photo just reminded him of her absence from his world. He knew he should start getting over it, but it was very hard. After seven years of marriage they had still been so much in love, like the teenagers they were when they met. He could feel the lump rising to his throat. Why did he have to lose her? The sun is shining brightly. There is a blanket on the ground nestled into the overgrown grass surrounding it. The basket is nearly empty, the food from inside weighing heavily on my stomach. I lie down on the blanket my head resting on my hands, my back finding the most comfortable position to relax in. The surrounding bushes give some shelter but my eyes still screw up to minimise the suns glare. Oi, lazy! She says as she prods me delicately with her toe. Are you just going fall asleep there? I grunt and screw up my nose and eyes. I listen to the sound of the slight breeze disturbing the trees. I hear the noise of something dropping. I open my eyes slightly to workout what the noise was. She is standing with an innocent look on her face. Sunlight gently caresses the smooth and naked curves of her body. Her skin seems to glow warmly with the suns light. My eyes open wider. I open my mouth to say something about the public, but she crouches down and puts a finger on my lips. Her hair falls like a waterfall in front of her body, showing only tantalising glimpses of the golden flesh beyond. She sits astride my stomach, and replaces her finger with her lips. Aiden knew that he had to move on. When somebody dies, one day you must leave them in the past, and start a new life. Aiden knew this but he still found the bereavement painful. He looked around at his surroundings, the surroundings they once shared. The couch where they had christened the house. The black glass vase, the first wedding present they had opened. He remembered the way she had bounded across the room and looked out the window. He remembered the face full of joy telling him that it was their view. Soon it would not be their house anymore. Somebody would fill the gap. He knew that the memories they shared would live on, even when their marriage couldnt. The sky starts to become dark, and the breeze turns into wind. I look over at my wife, her body moving rhythmically to the music of sleep. Her eyelids flutter occasionally, and she rolls over and smiles. I spend a few minutes just looking at her. The way the curves of her face all come together to create the face of the one I love. I trace my finger lightly down her cheek. She stirs slightly and a lose tendril of hair falls down and touches her soft lips. I have never felt this in love in my life. I am happy. I am content. I lean down and kiss delicately the hair covered lips. Her eyes flutter open, and in that brief moment between sleep and wakefulness I see the young innocent eyes that I first fell in love with. I stroke her hair. Come on, its time to go now, come on.. I gently help her up with my hand. I put my arm round her and we head back for the car. The car has trouble starting. I eventually get it started and we start home. I am, as ever, surprised at how quickly it gets dark. The roads wind like devious sleeping snakes. She looks at me. Aiden? What? I love you. She looks at me and gives me a tender kiss. I am amazed that I could have such a wife. I look up at the face of the driver of the oncoming truck. For a brief moment I scream. Aiden woke up with a start. A knowledge hit him on that moment of consciousness. Today was the day. Today the period of mourning was over. Today their marriage was officially dead. Aiden moved out toward the hallway wondering what the day would hold. The sun was shining as it had on their last day together. Yes, he could feel it, today was the time to move on. This knowledge was imbedded deep inside of him, in the place where their love still lived. Although he still loved her he knew that it was now the right time. Aiden moved toward the door. At that moment the door swung inwards. As his old wife kissed her new love, Aiden died for final time. @endnode