Another story that got started and then hit the wall of lost inspiration. It's called Sin.
I’ve often dealt with the more negative forces of the universe, being turned ever more cynical by the curve-balls that life had thrown at me one after another. You remember that old saying ‘some people are just never happy’? Well, I laugh at that statement. Happy? Fuck you. It turns out that I just hate.
Waging wars of prejudice upon weak minded puppets used to be my sport. I’d slit the throat of the snake tongued liars and sever any thread of corrupt justice meted out arbitrarily without even a glimpse behind; not a second thought. But as fate would weave it, I turned into mine own enemy. I used to believe that there were good people in the world and that if you tried hard enough you’d succeed in life. You wouldn’t become like one of those other dregs you see on the train every morning; lifeless and grey with their expensive suits and shitty little haircuts. I didn’t want to be like that at all.
I wanted to be somebody who would make a difference to the world and be remembered forever as a saviour. The guy who cured the big C or the guy who reversed the effects of aging so we’d never grow old again. The guy who could bring joy to a child’s face when she sees her recently deceased dog running through the back door again. I want I want I want. Obviously none of this turned out how I’d planned it.
What really happened was a brain tumour.
It thrust my life in to an equivocal paradox where I began to see the cloud on every silver lining. It’d do the same to you too. Sure it would. Imagine being told you’ve only got so long to live before you’re going to keel over. That’s it. Finished. Hope you’ve enjoyed your stay. I never even got the chance to raise a family because science nerds don’t get girlfriends. They’re too wimpy. They get married to Clearasil and to their computers. They don’t get hot porn-star women chasing after them because beauty really is in the eye of the beholder. He who doesn’t judge on appearance is truly the shallow. I don’t remember who said that.
The doctor said he didn’t know how long I’d have, only that it wouldn’t be very long and I should start making arrangements. I sat there for a few moments, him staring at me from under his turban quietly whilst I took the information in. I just stared. It was like being shot; the world seeming to screech to a halt. My heart beat in my chest like an animal trying to break through, my insignificant life being diminished to that of a flicker amongst the halo that is the universe. The little things important to you are obsolete, the fears just jokes with sour punch-lines.
“I’m sorry to have to give you this news Mr. Morris”.
He almost had to say it twice; I don’t think I heard him the first time.
“There is nothing we can do I’m afraid. The tumour is aggressive”.
It was funny hearing this through a bad English/Indian accent. It was then that I just got up and left. I have no idea what he was saying to me when I closed his office door, but he didn’t come after me. I suppose he didn’t think it worth it. I was just another name being crossed off. He still gets paid so why does he care? I drove back to the lab.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention through my sob story. I’m a scientist.
It stinks. The rain only tends to make it worse…and here, it rains continuously. The morose grey gets its daily downpour but it doesn’t bother me. You get used to it. But that smell…that smell you can never get rid of. It’s a mixture of blood, piss and defecation.
That’s all this place stands for now. That and sin.
Friday, 4 February 2011
I'm currently working on a project that's a little out of the ordinary for me. Instead of trying to write a gripping novel I'm approaching writing with an almost child-like view. This means letting the images do almost as much talking as the rhyming does. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, it's all limericks and rhymes. It's not the final version, I still need to edit and get artwork sorted for it. But as far as understanding the story itself...well, you find out.
The Tale of Two Lovers Lost
Covered a mid-summers night-sky
It laid a roaring blanket
Over two lovers and their demise
Heaven cries when angels die
Yet none fall from above
And the only thing that could not be so lost
Were the pains of the lover’s undying love
So tales were told in the bars and taverns
Of a terrible vengeful plight
That two spectres should readily appear
On the eve of their ill-fated night
Moans are heard and figures are seen
To those eyes who happen by
Yet few have ever set foot on the grounds
‘less one should lose his life!
That is until one young lad had dared
And made his way to their home
A foolhardy boy with air ‘tween the ears
He made the journey alone
The night sky was clad with fog
Yet the haunting moon still leered
But it was not this horrid atmosphere
That he truly had feared
He’d be the first and for sure the last
But it was the dreadful thought
That he might not return alive
And get the fame he had surely sought
He’d be forever gone
And missing, like the others
He’d be just another fatal victim
Of the vengeful lovers
He approached wearily
His eyes crept as he scanned
No living soul was present here
Just the dust and debris of the damned
The echo as he entered
Of that long un-used front door
Had surely awoken any who dwell
If he had not before
Inside the house it was damp
And it clutched hold of his melancholy
Yet adrenalin still raced his veins
Should his quest be his folly
But he persevered and pushed ahead
Just like mummy’s little soldier
He was bold alright, and rightly so
He told himself as he looked over his shoulder
And then, an aching hollow gripped him
And he received the spinal shivers
As the soft resonance of a females voice
Came to him from amongst all that withers
He froze in his place
And realised his groin had released
For there she stood, impossibly so
The previously deceased!
Yet there he stay
As the spectre approached by the by
His throat dry and his skin pale
As the boy started to cry
And now stood he, face to face
Looking at the beautiful dead maid
And in her face he could read none
Except for her undying rage
“For you, young man, he who dares
Such a discourteous trespass,
A tale of woe and sin and blood
And of love that will forever last”
The horrid maiden
She reached out and touched the boys cheek
He did not flinch or squint his eye
And was shown her tale so bleak
The two lovers were in their prime
So striking and grossly pure
And she, the fair maiden here
Attracted many with her glowing allure
Yet there was one, there always was
Who did not understand
That he could not have the maiden fair
For she had chosen her man
The disgruntled creature grew callous
His intentions were becoming desperate
For he had proposed on many occasion
And hated that they were to be separate
For the man was wealthy
And had reaped the fat of the land
Yet he was a lonely greedy creature
And love he could not understand
The town, they laughed and jeered him by
His pride a blackened smudge
But this only fuelled his woeful glee
As he calculated his grudge
His eye gleamed with evil intent
And his mind worked a design
For a way that she would be his alone
In which she could never decline
Under the cloak of night trodden sky
And a murderous storm of thunder
The loathsome man in a jealous rage
Sliced the eyes of the maidens lover
And from her he stole for himself
After the rape and hurt she endured
The heart cut from her voluptuous chest
For him, his lusting cured
He locked her heart in a wooden box
And made sure it was only he
Who had access to fair maiden’s heart
Making he made sure he’d lost the key
And as if in a dream, the young boy snapped
Out of his morbid reverie
The dead maiden was gone and the sun arise
As he felt his heart break dearly
The tale of the two lovers lost
Dried as the young cocks crowed
The daring young man had surely returned
To his quiet and humble abode
Yet the young lad who had seen the ghost
Of the maiden who was filled with sorrow
Failed to see in his idling day-dream
That it was now his chest that was hollow!