Ride the fear

     Sometimes I find myself terrified, terrified that I will be here in the town I was born in forever, working behind the reception forever and it is not because I don’t love my life at the moment it is because when I think of note fulfilling my dream it scares me. This will happen to everyone because dreams are hard to come by, they are an endangered species and they are extremely hard to cage; whether you’re a writer, artist or singer it’s not easy and I am not afraid to say that I sometimes wonder f it will ever happen but I never give up because I have found that the fear only makes your work harder, imagine all of the publishers and agents who are kicking themselves for not taking on J.K.Rowling and Harry potter. Not giving up is key just because one, two or even ten people don’t like what you’re doing it does not mean that it is not good, I’m sat here now, I haven’t written in days because of work and I keep catching the CAPS Lock key but I don’t care because I love it, I love to write and one day I will be getting paid to do what I love. Don’t let the fear disable you and don’t just ‘follow’ your dream chase them and grab a hold and don’t let go. Be confident in what you are doing, in yourself people may look at me and think ‘wow someone really thinks she great’ but if I’m not confident then how can I expect anyone else to be, being positive is what it’s about.

     I have my first rejection letter framed on the wall, why? Because it makes me work harder, I look at it and I think ‘one day they will regret rejecting me’ you don’t let anyone who doesn’t have the same dream as you tell you that you cannot do it. I sit and I watch people on their way to work, to sit in an office all day and I wonder what happened to their dreams, did they die or maybe they just ran away, ran too fast for them, maybe they just gave up. It makes me sad, in think people forget that they had dreams and so it does not bother them, their dreams might change into something more reachable. I won’t do that, the fear of a mundane life won’t let me, I will be who I want to be, who I see myself being. I guess what I am saying is you can never be too confident in yourself, ride the fear and get your work out there for everyone to look upon, don’t let your dreams waste away, they are the most important things in the world, make sure they thrive.

Run, run as fast as you can...

I won’t lie to you all when I first started to write this I wanted to show you all something, something about the nature of man, the evil that exists with-in us all, some of us over come this evil the good with-in if much stronger, in some the evil is nurtured by those around us, our environment, some like me fall into evil when all good has abandoned us and some are simply born without good, pure evil. That’s how it started, then it evolved into some form of confession and now it is simply an account of the evil I do. I am no longer fighting it, I have lain in the bed of evil, curled up, snuggled in and settled and I shall not be climb out again. so what follows will be blood, it will be dark and I shall not apologise for it.         I have become fascinated with the female detective investigating my ‘horrific’ crimes, I watched at night and thought my in-human body no longer requires sleep I find myself drifting off and dreaming of her golden hair. It is not love that I am feeling, I know this, I am no longer capable of love, what I am feeling is obsession, it may even be lust. I find myself wondering what her flesh would taste like, buttery and sweet, like crumpets straight from the toaster, the butter melting, seeping through the bottom, she makes my mouth water. In desperate need to see her, to watch the gears of her mind tick, tick away as she wonders about me, I find myself prowling the streets not just for food, I watch the streets, the apartment blocks, the houses. Watch and wait until I find someone deserving enough and then I find someone or rather a group of ‘someone’s’. As I walk down the street I spot a group of young men harassing a woman, I knew what was on their mind, I could smell it and I could smell the fear pricking her skin. At first I was going to simply walk on by but then I saw a glimmer, caught the shine of a silver blade in the corner of my eye and that stopped me dead in my tracks; there was no way this woman was leaving the night alive.
     There is a small amount of humanity that urns just beneath the darkness with-in me and that’s why I walked up to them, my face blank, the fog that had hung in the air seemed to descend and thicken, I looked as a spectre would moving through the streets of smog covered 50’s London. I startled them, at first they looked as though they were unsure I was real or not and then they acted, the woman was thrown back and gagged by the hand of a man I could not quite see, and then I was confronted by the three others one stood slightly further forward then the others holding the knife, the alpha.
“move on” he growled holding the knife forward ensuring I had seen it, I had and it made no difference to me, I would snap the blade and then  would snap his neck. I move forward and he signalled for the two men flanking him to make their move a grin spread across my face and I think then even he realised though he made no move to stop his men and no move as my fist connected with one man’s jaw, the crack was audible it rang down the alleyway and out into the street, his face looked as though it had been twisted, I ripped the broken jaw from his face and as he began to pass out from the agony I broke his neck letting his body slump to the floor with-in the shadows, the other two men had run and so I turned my attention to the Alpha who was now holding the woman as some form of protection, the woman was screaming behind the hand clamped over her mouth not in fear of the knife held against her throat but instead from the horror of what she had just seen me do, I ignored her,
“I will slit her throat if you don’t let me walk out of her with her, you sick fucker” he spat the words at me, he seemed to hold no sadness for his fallen friend, this man was like me cold and dead inside, he had no soul his only though at that moment was survival unfortunately mine was not and I was not going to let him walk away with the woman nor was I going to let him leave the alleyway alive.
     I made my move before he made his, my palm grapes the blade of the knife, snapping it, we both let go letting it fall to the floor with a tinkle; next my palm was around his throat, his hands fell from the woman, she stood frozen in fear of me,
“Run” I hissed, the words jolted her to life and she took off down the alleyway and into the light of the street lamps, “Run, run as fast as you can…” I yelled after her a wide grin on my face, “…but you won’t out run me I’m the bloody bogey man” I hissed in the ear of the man I held by the throat before I ripped it out, I held his windpipe in my hand for a few seconds as I watched the life leave his body and then I used my own switch blade, the handle set with human bone, to carve as much as I could carry before I left them and returned home.
      I chose not to watch the crime scene, to wait for her and instead simply read of the murder’s in the newspapers over the next few days. The woman I had let go had given the m a description of me, an image had been drawn up, it did not look like me; I find myself wondering if she lied, I knew that she had looked upon my face, a face that would have been burned into her mind and so I wonder if she lied to keep me safe because I saved her, humanity is a confusing thing. Though she did tell the police something, something that the newspapers know and that now the whole world will know, my name, she must have hung back hidden around the corner, she must have heard me because now the whole world knows that I, the bogey man, I am real and I am in the darkness waiting.     

Back in black...

      Now that we are all caught, I know I may have missed a few years out there but all you need to know is that I went away, that physically I vanished for a short while. I say only physically because in spirit I went absolutely no where, in spirit I lived on in the minds and dreams of those children still getting mummy or daddy to check under the bed, those sleeping with the light on and even in some of the minds of those parents who reluctantly checked under the bed and kept their own light shinning while they slept, no I never truly went away. Now that I am back, I must catch you up on my recent activities, you see I have once again been up to no good. It began when I returned to England, London specifically, I had hardened, my soul become even blacker since my loss of love and happiness and I had fallen into the abyss a few years before now, I have become what I once was again, worse. I must admit to you all right now that I love it, the feeling, the freedom, the purest of evil flows through my blood and entwines with my soul. My first since arriving back was a man, he wore a smart black suit and crisp white shirt beneath, diamond cuff links and red tie; everything about him was perfect and neat, not a hair out of place nor a wrinkle in the fabric covering his body. I’m not sure why I chose him, he had this air of superiority about him, acted as though he were a king amongst men and I simply took a disliking to him. I followed him late one night, from his office full of lavish items of no use and back to his apartment. I waited then until the next day, watched him leave and then I snuck into his home. The rooms were just a lavishly filled with useless objects, his bed linen silk and slippery, it looked un-lived in though the fridge was stocked with thick cuts of steak and wedges of stinking French cheeses, on the rack sat bottles of deep burgundy wine, next to it stood whiskeys and gins, their crystal cut glassed waiting to be filled beside them. I remember laughing a hearty laugh, which I’m sure could be heard by the downstairs neighbour, thinking of the frivolity that this one place was filled with and how times had changed…for some.

       I waited for him all day, helped myself to a meal of raw steak and a bottle of the finest red, though nothing tasted as good as he did. When he finally arrived home at around 9:30, tossed his jaguar keys onto the counter and laid eyes upon my dirty dished his mouth dropped open, he picked up a large, previously unused carving knife and held it to his front,

“Whoever is there!” he yelled!” I am calling the police right now!” he added, I heard the first dial of a 9, he got no further than dialling the second when I pounced upon him like the animal that I am. I had the knife from his grip a second later, his eyes still wide with shock and fear as I slid the sharp blade across his throat. The phone fell from his hand, he tried to speak, to maybe ask why but only gurgles escaped his paling lips. I allowed him to die fully before I began to carver slivers of flesh from his body, some I ate as a meal with yet another bottle of his burgundy and the rest I packed and took home, though to be honest it didn’t take me long to get through. I read all about my ‘crimes’ in the news paper two days later, I walked past the apartment; police tape, people in white, uniforms and the female detective working the case, my case. I watched her, never before had I had a woman chasing me and she was beautiful. I had never seen a woman more beautiful, well I had but only once before, now I had to kill and I wanted to kill, my only reason being that I now had a need to see her again.    

I'm banging my fist against a door that won't open...

     Writers block…what can I say about writers block; well to start every writer will at some point experience the numbing, irrational dread of writers block and if there is a writer out there who hasn’t at least felt the terrifying tingle then I would love to know their secret. Writers block is, as defined by the Oxford English dictionary, the condition of being unable to think of what to write or how to proceed with writing. It can last from 12 minutes to 2 years, or even longer; it is the disease of writers, rendering us helpless; depressed and angry. It’s a phenomena, an enigma of the mind and if you haven’t had it, yet, than you probably like me and many others simply do not believe in it or maybe we do not want to believe in it after all it is a terrifying thought not being able to write a word, to do what we love the most. Of some consolation is the fact that even the great have suffered, Stephen King once admitted to ‘feeling like one of his characters’ when writers block settled in ‘the words would not come’ he declared, I’ve been there I know and many of you out there know too. The wasted hours sat staring at a computer screen, begging for a word, an idea, a single cognitive though relating to your work but nothing and nothing comes and I have found that it will not, not while you are forcing it not while you are trying to jam a triangular peg into a circular hole.

     So why is it so frustrating? Other than the fact that writing is you life, there is the fact that every other time of the day and night our mind never stops; it’s always tick-tick ticking away, the cogs are turning and the cuckoo often announces that there is something in need of jotting down at all hours. I have often woken at 2 in the morning and quickly, sleepily written something down, I used to keep a pen and paper by my bed but it became too much of an effort to switch the light on especially when after 20 minutes of trying to get back to sleep and having to write down three more ideas and so I reverted to using my phone instead. Anyway the irritation of writers block is more so because, like I noted earlier, any other time our minds are churning out idea after idea and some are even worth using.

     So why then does it stamp its feet and refuse to create? I found that my mind, it being a creative thing, and I refer to it as a thing as most of the time I feel that it acts as a separate entity to my body, it often runs away with itself and almost always is very stubborn. Trying to tell my mind to do something is like trying to tell a feline to do something, they will at their own leisure whether you like it or not. Therefore I have taken the stance that telling my mind or rather demanding that it develop a paragraph of writing good enough for the page only results the exact opposite; a paragraph worth of nothing other than the recycle bin and eventually non-existance altogether. So when a bout of Writers block attacks I simply walk away whether it be physically or mentally, I close the laptop, put down my pen and leave the room and I busy myself with tasks that do not relate in any way. Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘it doesn’t matter what you do you’re still going to think about it’ this may be true I’ve spent may a lunch time in a haze of writers block not even tasting the food I am eating and I have always found that as soon as I have forgotten it the mind springs back into action like a child begging for attention. So put on your music, dance and sing and forget about it trust me it will come grovelling back halfway through your rendition of ‘Total eclipse of the heart’ and then you will be back at it, writing page after page after page.

   

    

A Love too good to last

     Marisol and I fell in love instantly, it felt differently to anything I had ever felt before; that day I kissed her on a whim became the most wonderful of my life and sure many people gained fame from it, claiming they were us but we didn’t mind; we had each other. We married only a few months later and stayed in San Francisco, I got a job in a garage and she remained a nurse working with the vets, I couldn’t have been happier, my dark days were behind me, I finally had someone to change for though I could not fully change. I told Marisol everything, nearly everything, the one thing I could not bring myself to tell her was who I truly was; how do you tell your wife that you over centuries old, that you have feasted on every kind of human flesh, children and their mothers, husbands and wives. How do you tell her that you are the bogey man, the dark shadow every child fears and sings about, the monster in the wardrobe, under the bed waiting to pounce and swallow you up. No, I could not tell her though my plan was flawed; I do not age, I do not die, I do not get ill nor do I suffer greatly from injury I am in-human, a monster, a myth; I could not break her heart. Yes I knew that one day she would notice that something was wrong and I knew that I would have to tell her then but I decided that I would deal with that when I came to it and I hoped that it would not be for many years and this worked perfectly; she may have noticed that my hair did not grey, that wrinkled did not crisscross my face, my bones did not begin to ache and that I did not suffer from disease or virus but she never mentioned it, she simply loved me.

    Our love flourished for 20 years, no children were ever bore but we were happy as far as I know I am unable to father a child, probably a good thing. Instead we owned many pets great and small and we built a beautiful home. Marisol retired early and opened a florist and we were so happy, so content; I could have remained that way forever unfortunately it was not to be and fate once again intervened in my life, punishing me for many a life time of sins.  

     I didn’t retire, though we had the money, I have accumulated quite a bit over the many years of my life but I didn’t want to retire I wanted to keep every human thing I could, grip hold of it and keep it close this was to be my downfall. On a normal day my whole world was crushed, literally, I had been working on a car when the lever had given way, the car plunged down upon me, it crushed my entire middle, I could not breath, I tasted the iron of blood in my mouth and upon my lips and I thought I was actually going to die. Usually I would have been happy, I would have welcomed this but on that day I begged not to, I had gained everything I wanted and I was not ready to give it up and I did not. An injury that would have killed a normal human being with-in seconds did not take my life; I was rushed to the hospital, operated upon and watched over by my love and I woke up though my chances had been dire. I recovered in record time, I baffled doctors and geniuses and I terrified my wife. When I returned home I knew something had changed, she did not want my touch, she did not even want to look upon me and I could see the terror in her eyes,

“what are you?” she asked me gravely and I so desperately wanted to lie, fain shock and confusion but I loved her too much to do that and so I told her the truth, I began with the beginning, I watched as her face turned from terror to disgust to shock and disbelief, from anger and heartbreak to rage and to nothing. Counted the tears as they streamed down her face and I had to hold myself back from embracing her in my arms. She had asked me why and I knew to what she referred, why had I let her fall in love with me, make a life with me but I could not answer her. I wanted to make her feel better, I wanted her to turn to me and say she didn’t care, she didn’t care that I had consumed enough humans to start a small country, that she didn’t care that I was never going to grow old but she did not. Instead she walked away from me, my heart shattered into a thousand pieces and I fell to my knees.

     I remained on my knees until she returned, in her hand was my suitcase,

“you leave tonight and I never hear from you ever again, do you understand? She had asked

“yes” I answered knowing that there was nothing I could do or say to change her mind, “why” I had added and she knew what I was asking

“because no matter how hard I try or how much you revolt me I love you, loved you, now leave” she said a single set of tears toughed at her eyes, millions fell from mine. I took my case and I left, I left the country the next morning and returned back to England, my heart was broken, my soul had shrivelled and I could feel a familiar tugging with-in my stomach.

     Marisol died 10 years later, cancer took her, I had never gone against her wish, though I did occasionally look to see what she was doing; she never re-married, never found love again, though she did remain a successful florist. I went to her funeral, hung back in the shadows and watched from afar, I did not cry, I think by then I could no longer cry but I missed her, I place a single yellow rose upon her grave when she had been left by her mourners and said once more how sorry I was for all I had done before I met her, for all I had done to her, for all I had done since I had left her and for all I would do.        

Polyvore

I'm a writer, mostly fictional, and often I find it useful to have an image of the thing I'm writing about in my mind for example the bedroom or the way someone dresses and I've found one particular website helpful; Polyvore. This website allows people to create inspiration boards for pretty much everything and I used it mainly for inspiration but I was not a member nor did I create. Then one day I decided why not, I'm naturally creative and so I joined up, for free, and began creating. What dawned on me the other day while I was creating a 'winter wedding' inspiration board, is that this website is pure genius...for those men who do not have a clue. One simple look on you're girlfriend/wife's polvore and you'll be able to find that dress that she wants, that perfect engagement ring, set of earrings and most importantly that pair of shoes she's been craving. A woman need never make discreet hints or leave magazines lying around conveniently open at the page, we need not be disappointed with the gift we gets; not that we don't appreciate them but we'd rather the pair of shoes we just saw in the shop window.

So head over to www.polyvore.com create an account and get creating.
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone on O2

The world at war...again

Every so often the world, our world is plunged into darkness and the good have to fight, they have to go to battle and those who may not have seen eye to eye in the past have to join together and stand side by side on the bloody battle field, 1939 was a year of great darkness. The world had already survived one world war and people had just gotten used to the idea that everything was okay when whispers of war began to spread. I had high tailed it back to England, a new identity and a new life ready when I heard, I saw women hysterical in the street, men and boys lining up once again to fight and children quiet with confusion. Now I know that I could write this whole account without once mentioning the name of the man who spawned this war because his name is so well known, so well taught and well spoken and that name is Adolf Hitler.  Adolf Hitler was born on 20^th April 1889 to an Austrian father who he despised and a German Mother who, some people have theorised, was to blame for his unimaginable god complex. His dream was one of Art and he applied to many art collages, all rejected his applications leaving him penniless and selling hand-made postcards in Vienna this subsequently led him to become involved in much political activity; you might be wondering how I know this, I lived a lot of your history yet I cannot tell you the birth date of many great figures, Hitler was something else and I will tell all later on. Now back to Adolf’ rise to power; Hitler left Austria to evade military service and ended up in Germany where the course of his life changed forever, he signed up to fight in the first world war. After the first world war he became involved in the political publicity of the German workers party which he renamed the National Socialist German Workers Party (Nazi for short) he soon became the leader for the party and remained so until he was imprisoned. However once released he re-found the party after this things began to snowball, he became a German citizen, then chancellor and then after a fire and a general election Hitler’s cabinet was given power making him a virtual dictator; this is where he declares the Nazi party the only political party permitted in Germany. From this individual German states lost power and Nazi officials became state governors.      Still with me? I’m getting there but to understand what happened to me you have to know the history, know the man who nearly brought a world to its knees.  Now I don’t want you to think that I have forgotten my legacy, that of the bogeyman but I have lived for so long that the event of the world have knocked me from my pathway, I find my way back eventually though, so bare with me.  
     Over the next 2 years Hitler banned the communist party, socialist, trade unions and strikes; he withdrew from the league of nations and somehow trebled the size of the German army, he eliminated his rivals became Fuehrer and Reich chancellor of Germany, abolished the title of president and in order to unite the German peoples he rearmed Germany and introduced Military conscription.

     Some people say that the British Prime Minister was naïve to think that he could negotiate with Hitler and some people knew this for a fact but it didn’t stop Britain, France and Italy signing the Munich agreement, handing Sudetenland to Germany. Then came Crystal Night: 7,500 Jewish shops were destroyed and 400 synagogues are burnt, all orchestrated by the Nazi party who also sent 20,000 Jews to concentration camps. After this the Nazis spread like a plague and on 3^rd September 1939 two day after the German army invaded Poland and refused to withdraw, British Prime minister Neville Chamberlain announced that the country was at war, similarly France also gave the Germans an ultimatum, one which was also ignored causing France to also declare war. I remember where I was that day when the announcement rang out across the airways; I knew it was coming, so many did and yet when it came my heart hurt so much I thought it might actually stop, no such luck. I join up as soon as I could, I had a lot to make up for, a lot to repent for. In 1940 the man that saved the world stepped up as British prime minister, Winston Churchill, we couldn’t have done it without him.

     I met many people during the war, young boys and bereft mothers, I met German troops terrified for their lives, they just wanted to go home; young boys dragged into a war they didn’t want to fight by a twisted man. I met Hitler once, that’s where this story was going, right before he died, I had been captured and tortured and he had been alerted to the fact that I was something different and he wanted me, like a child demanding to have a toy, he wanted to keep my like a possession. I sat a cross from him one night, at a table and listened to him able on and on about life, he seemed almost euphoric, convinced that he was going to win even as his world was being torn down; he was this deluded man with an ego that had been fed so much there was barely room for anything else. Where I had felt despise and hatred I felt sorry for him, he was pathetic, sat in this grand room with his own image 12ft high on the wall, with red and gold draped around him and still he was so sad. I wonder now what might have been different if he had been accepted into art school, how the world might have been different or maybe he was destined to do what he did.
      Then war was declared on America, Pearl Harbour happened, more tragedy and more death, I thought about the friends I had left, wondered if they were there ready to fight. it was the Americans who saved me, not that I wouldn’t have just waited, waited until he had run, like a roach from the day light. Hitler had hightailed it when the American had invaded; all I remember was the sound of their accent, I saw their guns before I saw them. After that it was all a blur, Hitler killed himself, the war was diminishing again, millions of lives had been lost, had been taken and millions had to begin the fight to repair, to return to a relative normalcy. I stayed with the troops who had saved me, went back to America, but it was far from over, Japan was still raging a war with America and I chose to fight with them. You would think that I had had my share of fighting but I owed them, the fight didn’t last much longer and three months after the war in Europe had ended America declared victory over Japan. All over the world was celebrating, it was united in victory, we had defeated one of the most evil men to have ever breathed but now we had to start again.
     Now is where I get to the part you will all sit and go ‘oh my god, that was you’, the 15^th August 1945, VJ-Day, Time Square, New York. I was stood amongst a mass of people celebrating, victory had been announced, I stood overwhelmed by the sheer euphoria and elation, I saw a woman in the crowd, with eyes so blue they twinkled as tears of happiness rolled down over her blushed cheeks, her lips were painted with a deep red and her hair was made up perfectly, she was a nurse, walking alone through the street; in that second I acted on impulse it was a time to take a chance; I walked over, she smiled at me unawares; I kissed her and together we created one of the most iconic imaged of the 1940s. Many people have claimed to be that nurse, that sailor, that couple and I have let them, I did not feel the need to stand up, from that moment I gained something much more precious, a gained the love of a woman, I gained happiness.  

The eye of the storm

     I had found myself in America, In the midst of New York City, the war had ended though over the world countries were still suffering, Germany and Great Britain were suffering greatly, America however seemed to be prospering, its streets were line with gold and glittered with opportunity and with the birth of the 1920s the world was on the verge of great change. I had fought through my addiction during the war and now lived a relatively normal life, I owned a luxurious home and all of the finest things a man could need, yes the 20s was a time for freedom and fun, women wore revealing dresses, they smoked, they drank and they danced the night away; life was good once more. Though in America it was viewed as being a little too good, with the men  who had been away fighting, who had lost their lives fighting officials were worried that young men without any stability or rules may ‘lose t’ so to speak and so Prohibition was born. What is it? Not good is what it was, Prohibition meant that the making, distribution and consumption of alcohol was illegal and anyone found partaking in any of these activities was arrested by a special branch of the police force. Unfortunately as many of us know when you tell someone not to do something they are much more likely to do it and Prohibition was no different. Illegal still were formed, alcohol was brought across borders and sold for extortionate prices, men who drank, drank more, many drank spirits and even those who had never touched a drop began to drink and it lead to the making of some of the most notorious criminals.

     Now I’m going to go off on a tangent here so bare with me, I am going to tell you a story, a story about a man by the name off John H. Dillinger Jnr. Born, June 22 1903, died, well that’s why I’m sharing this little story with you. From around 1933-1934 John Dillinger became one of the most notorious criminals known; forget Capone, bonnie and Clyde and don’t even consider baby face and pretty boy; Dillinger cast a shadow across all of them, he was ruthless and mean but most of all he had liquid charisma flowing through his veins. Many people loved Dillinger because he did not rob the poor, after prohibition was repealed in ’33 gangs simply turned to other ‘hobbies’ such as gambling, prostitution and loan sharking plus with the damaged and misery that had come with the depression an old type of criminal made a comeback and with it came Dillinger; it became the time of the armed bank robber. When I say Dillinger was loved because he did not rob from the poor I mean he robbed from those who got rich by robbing the poor and in today’s society I’m guessing there are more than a few Dillinger fans out there. Dillinger eluded the police for over a year before he was wounded though still managed to escape, though a few months later on July 22^nd  John Dillinger was shot dead by federal agents; or so they reported.
     Now this is where the tangent rejoins the main story, if I told you that John Herbert Dillinger was in fact alive and kicking though walking with a slight limp; would you be surprised considering the story so far. Over the length of time I’ve been alive, in order to live a relatively normal life and once I had broken free of the ‘habit’ I had to change names, discover new identities and I also regrettably fell into the darker parts of being a human, I went to jail, I murdered and not to eat and I became John Dillinger. I created a whole life for him, a birth, a family back then it was easy, men though dead during the war were finally coming home alive, it was simple for me to turn up and declare than I was in fact John Dillinger Jnr, parents were so distraught at the loss that they accepted it, a son had returned. Life was good during the 20s, id been married and happy but when the depression hit everything seemed to fall apart, I couldn’t return home, I had no job and so I did what a lot of men though about, I attempted a robbery and ended in jail. After that things spiralled and John Dillinger became notorious, he became loved.
     You’re probably wondering who died that night, well the federal agents had become angry, they were pissed they had been made fools of during the prohibition and now the whole country was overrun by gangs and robbers and so they needed a win and that came in the form of me. Unfortunately when Ana Cumpanas attempted to turn me over I heard her, I sent someone else to that theatre and when I didn’t come out they decided to take out the other guy and they lied. Now I took the chance and I disappeared, got a new life; the majority of the world believed I was dead, the feds got a win and my life was about to start again. I left America that night bound for England amidst fears and threats of a new world war; it felt like the eye of the storm was finally passing and life was about to shatter once again.