Immortals: A Lister Kane Noir

     Dahlia had a craving for something that most women craved daily; she was unfortunately living up to a worldwide stereotype, she was craving chocolate. Cravings were nothing new to Dahlia, she had had to overcome many craving during her life, chocolate being one of the lesser ones, one she didn’t really mind and was happy to indulge and so as she tidied the files sat in front of her, stood and neatened out her crinkled dress she considered those other cravings and how they had impacted her life. When she was a child she had craved the bitter taste of the coffee beans that grew metres above her head, as she had grown coconut milk became popular and then the two mixed together. She would scramble to the top of trees as a child and pluck them or knock them free from their branches, her mother would often yell at her when she arrived home with her arms full and her knees bleeding but Dahlia was a slave to her cravings. While sat back at her desk the chocolate melting on her tongue, Dahlia though of her most destructive craving, the one that had been so strong it had ruled her life. Dahlia had grown up in a tribe, one that had remained free from western culture from many decades, even centuries; as a child she would bask in the heat of the burning sun, her dark coffee bean coloured skin felt safe from the perils of the sun’s rays and when she over heated she would swim in the sea so blue it glittered with life or she would take refuge in the shade of the rubbery deep green leaves that thrived beneath the sky reaching trees of the un touched jungle. Her life was perfect and then change came though it were not in the form of westerners, touting technology and modernity it came in the form of death and destruction in its purest form; nature.

     Dahlia finished her chocolate, she absently opened one of the earlier tidied files and stared blankly at the writing as it blurred before her eyes. She had been 16 years old when it had started, things began to dye, it originated with the plants and spread to the smaller insects that fed upon them, then to the larger animals the insects bit or came into contact with and then it spread to the people who ate the animal meat because the crops they had grown had already perished, soon there was nothing we felt safe eating and then people began to turn on one another, those who were believed to carry the disease were targeted and slaughtered. Dahlias family had run, taken refuge wit- in the hollowed trunk of one of the many giant trunks that had fallen in the jungle and they hid and they began to starve. It was dahlias father who had died first, not from the disease but from the starvation and then her little sister had followed; it was her mother who had fought for her and her twin brothers, her mother who had introduced Dahlia to the most controlling, most delicious of her cravings. They had not eaten in weeks and other than the murky water that they collected when the rain fell hot and thick in sheets of tropical nourishment there was nothing else for them to consume and then her mother left them, she stood up one day and walked into the jungle in a direction that they had never before taken. Dahlia had not shouted after her for fear that someone might hear her and locate them, she just stood and watched, listening to the sound of her mother’s feet as they crushed the foliage beneath them until she could no longer be heard over the sound of the laboured breathing of her twin brothers; they were dying.

     Three days later her mother still had not returned, Dahlia could think of only two reasons for this, either her mother could no longer watch the people she loved writhe in agony as they were dragged screaming from the world or she had died herself. Dahlia tried to stay strong as she watched her brothers weaken and she herself was ready to leave and then something appeared through the sheeting rain, Dahlia huddled close to her brothers afraid of the ‘monster’ that she had convinced herself was coming for them, she scolded herself for being a coward and quickly righted herself, pulling the thick fallen tree arm from its resting place and gripping it tightly she stood, poised ready to attack. She dropped the weapon, it landed just shy of her right foot but she didn’t notice the near miss as her eyes were trained intently on something else, someone else; it was her mother and she carried something upon her back, a second person or rather their body for even from her standing point, Dahlia could tell that the second person was dead. The day her mother had returned was the day that Dahlias life had changed forever, she had staggered over to them and dropped the body she had been carrying and then she had collapsed. As she had lain shivering and feverish her mother had muttered only one word,

“Eat” she had choked out the word over dried lips and swollen tongue and then she had pointed toward the dead body. At first Dahlia had been shocked and horrified but when she looked back down at her mother she knew what she had to do. Dahlia moved on her knees over to where the body had fallen, as she touched the skin it felt warm still; this person had died not long ago. Dahlia found the sharpest thing she could which was a splintered piece of rock and she used it to carve pieces of flesh from the cooling body and that was when she realised something else, as she piled the flesh in a bloody mass Dahlia realised that she had no way of cooking the raw meat. She could not build a fire for fear that it might be seen and so the only option she had was to eat the meat raw; it was a possibility that the person had contracted the disease that had ravaged their island though she held none of the signs and since Dahlia had no other choice she collect a thick piece of the meat and began to carve it into thin strips before she crawled back over to her mother and gingerly began to feed her the raw meat. Her mother ate hungrily, quickly despite her fragile state and then she drifted in a sleep like none Dahlia had ever witnessed; she moaned and shook with a cold sweat soaking her skin, Dahlia didn’t know what to do for the best but she chose to feed her brothers in a hope that they would gain their health and she would not lose them.

     Her mother had not woken again nor had her brothers, they had, all three of them, passed away. Dahlia had spent hours upon hours digging graves for them, burying them, grieving for them and laying stones upon their final resting places. Though she had not been able to grieve fully for the loss of her family; men came with spears and knives and Dahlia had had to run, carrying with her the remaining meat that she had picked clean from the bones, she had also buried the dean, unknown woman feeling that she deserved the respect. Dahlia had not been able to find out how her mother had come across the dead woman but she had a sickening feeling that she had in fact been the one who had killed her. As she ran from the men and their weapons Dahlia felt something with-in her change, she felt herself speed up running like she had never run before and soon she was miles from the men on a part of the island that she had never before come across. She had feasted on the meat before she had left the camp and now she felt more alive than she had ever felt before; her tribe had had a belief, one that she had, herself, never before believed in, they believed that if one were to consume the flesh of another then they also consumed their soul, their life force; Dahlia believed that this had happened that she had, by eating the flesh of the dead woman, taken into her body the life of the woman and by doing so she had added to herself the strength of the woman, the health and the spirit.                 

The flood pt 2: The story of Johnny 99

     Johnny Winslow was a simple man, all he wanted from life was a wife and a family and a job to support his family and that was what he had; he worked selling tyres to rich fat men who didn’t know how to change the tyres on their shiny Cadillac’s, fat women with creaming children at their feet who likely hadn’t walked anywhere in years and gullible elderly women who didn’t really need new tyres. He was happy, his life was simple; he was providing for his family which was about to grow by one, his wife Sally was pregnant and he was over joyed however his joy was short lived when he arrived at work the next day ready to spread his news and instead found out that he was going to be laid off. Johnny didn’t know what to do, job’s were spars even in the biggest cities for a man who had no education and very few qualifications never mind a back alley town like Bishop Danced. He was terrified, lost and he had no idea how he was going to tell his wife. He needed to think of another way and one night as the bright blue summers day gave way to the violet, amber hues of the evening air something popped in to Johnny Winslow’s mind, an idea that would hopefully return his life to the simple, happy living that it had been, Johnny Winslow was going to rob a bank.

     He planned for only a short time, needing to carry them out quickly, he ensured his wife was safe by telling yet another lie and sending her to stay with her parents and then he dug out his father’s old colt, something he had so coveted when he was a young boy, something he had used to shoot innocent tin cans and green bottles when he was a teenager and now that he was a gown man and going to be a father himself he would used it to protect and provide for his family. It felt heavier than he had remembered though it was more likely that this was due to the fact that he hadn’t held it since his father had passed away when he was 16 years old. He twirled it in his hands warming the cool metal becoming familiar with it, reality hit him in the stomach and nausea swept over him when he finally realised what he was about to do, he drank to calm his nerves, drink after drink until his head swam slightly and then he tucked the into the waist of his jeans and set off into the blackest night he had seen in a long time. There were no stars, no moon swam in the midnight lake that rested above the world, to light the streets below and until Johnny had reached the centre of town there was very little light to guide his way and he soon became lost. Johnny ended up outside a busy bar, people swimming around him; he had not, in his inebriated state, considered that banks were not actually open in the dead of night and when he realised he seethed with anger. God had flipped him off again, Johnny’s anger grew as he watched people jostle around as though they had no care in the world, haemorrhaging money on over expensive drinks and outfits that cost more than his month’s rent and bills. He absently reached for the gun in his waist band and before he realised what he was doing he held it high in the air, pointed it toward the empty sky and fired, he wondered where the bullet would go as he moved the gun and pointed it into the hysterical crowd, most of whom were fleeing. He thought of the bullet tearing into the blackness above, ripping jagged holes, allowing the bright white light of the universe to flow through but no light fell upon him as he yelled at the crowd,

“They took my job, they took my life from me!” he swirled around in an uneven circle shooting again into the darkness above him, “My life is filled with 100 problems and you know nothing of them, nothing as you swan around as though the world were your oyster well believe me it will not be forever!” he screamed “98, I have 98 because you know what I still have my wife and my child” he corrected and as he thought about his wife and child his mind cleared slightly, if he didn’t run from this place he was going to lose them. Unfortunately Johnny’s clarity had come too late as a sharp blow struck the back of his neck and his hands were yanked behind his back, the gun dropping to the floor and spinning frantically without a hand to hold it. Johnny Winslow was under arrest.

     During his trial Johnny sat quietly, he waited for his wife to come but she never did and when the judge, who was renowned for being mean with his sentencing, called his name Johnny’s heart sank, he knew his life no longer going to be simple or happy and it would be a long time for it to even consider returning to that.

“Johnny Winslow you have conducted yourself in a selfish and reckless manner, you endangered the lives of others and have more than likely broken your wives heart, 98 problems are no excuse for this behaviour, for the terror you have caused, 100 problems maybe...” a chuckle ran around the small court room causing Johnny’s cheeks to flush bright red, hot and heated, “Quiet. Now we’ll meet in the middle and call it 98 and a year, Johnny, 99” the judge finished banging his gavel. Johnny did not speak, he did not cry or break down, he simply accepted his fate.

From then everyone referred to Johnny Winslow as Johnny 99.

“I can’t believe the old man’s still going, he must be 89 now; everyone talked about Johnny, we all knew about him even though none of us kids had met him, by the time I was born he had already paid off 25 years of his sentence and when I met him for the first time he was 60 years old, greying and haggard. He had been released after 35 years when the prisons had over-flowed with scum and those who were even close to being upstanding citizens were released. He was sat on his porch, this falling down, rotting, in need of a lick of paint porch, I could swear that with each drink his chain sunk lower into the wood, the first few times I visited Johnny I went only to see his chair fall and him tip backward spilling his beer over his shirt but he never did. He would tell that story to anyone who would listen to him and to me he told his war stories, the stories of his prison term, the things he had to do to survive but one thing he said would always stick with me,

"Gunner, there are things in life that will warp your mind, change the way you see things show you people for who they really are, these things will break your soul, fillet it and shove it back down your throat, they will shred you and then they will build you back up, build you into a man, a man ready to fight”  

As she watched him tell the story of Johnny 99 she saw something in him that she believed had not existed for many years, love, Johnny 99 had been like a father to him, a mentor and he was the reason that the Gunner was returning home. His eyes had softened as he relayed Johnny’s story but they quickly took on their hardened glaze when he noticed her staring at him, she looked away,
“Let’s go, now” he spat standing and throwing down a crumpled handful of dirty money. She stood quickly and ran after him, he terrified her but he had just showed her a softer side of himself, a human side, something that made her trust that he really was their saviour.           

 

Memories of Sunny days

    When I was a little girl my mum and dad brought me and my sister a typewriter each, by that point I already loved to write but I loved my typewriter; a little like the one below:

Typewriter picture By D.D. Scott

 I would spend ever second I could tapping away on the keys and when I ran out of paper I would hunt around the whole house for more until I found some and then I would continue. I remember that typewriter like it was brought yesterday, I’d never had anything like it before and I remember sitting out in the sun at the old garden table with its dark, matte brown lacquer and rusting stand, its giant sun brolly that never sat straight, always leaning to one side and its old plastic pea green garden chairs, one of which we still own. I would sit there for hours with my mother at my side and one of the dogs seeking shade beneath the table and I would write. I would write all sorts, anything that took my fancy really and one thing that I would always do was write at the very bottom of the page of paper leaving a clear space above and in this space I would draw a corresponding picture, one relevant to the subject I had written about. One reason for this could have been that I wanted to illustrate my work, make it more pleasing to the eye however my true motive was to use as many pieces of paper as I could, so it looked like I had written more of course back then 5 pages looked like a lot to a 10 year old. Obviously my love of writing hasn't diminished though I no longer illustrate my work nor do 5 pages look like a novel to me and I, unfortunately, no longer have the typewriter though I do hope to own another one day, a vintage one from, my favourite era; I love this 1924 blue Corona No.4 typewriter: 

Corona No.4 courtesy of www.mytypewriter.com 

 it would not be used for writing but simply an object of memory, something to remind me of simple days spent in the sunshine, doing what I loved and not worrying about anyone else’s opinion of my stories, something simply for illustration.

  Another memory that popped up brought on by the monochrome fashion of the spring is that of my favourite dress, even to this day. It started life with my sister, a 50’s style dress with a full skirt, a shirt style top, sleeveless and a black waist belt. It was white with black polka dots and every time she wore it I was envious but I was too little and then was she was too big and I was just big enough it was passed down to me. I was ecstatic, I didn't care that it was a ‘hand-me-down’ I just couldn't wait to put it on. It was a special dress for special occasions; I remember wearing it a lot when we went away on holiday, I would be ready extra early just so i could spend longer in the dress. It made me feel so special, so pretty and when I twirled the skirt would flow, full and free, I felt as though I could fly away into the air. When I wore that dress I was the prettiest girl in the room, all eyes were on that dress. Of course I don’t own that any more either, not that I would fit into it anymore but in light of the recent fashion for the black and white I’m considering buying another just like it, a vintage one full of life and memories, one that made someone else feel like the most beautiful girl in the room.   

Gorgeous black and white polka dot dress courtesy of www.poshgirlvintage.com

The Flood

     She walked over to him her hair matted and limp from the recent rain storm, her cheeks were flushed from her climb and from her over cast green eyes he could tell that she was there to offer him bad news, news he wasn’t interested in,

“What are you doing here?” he asked his voice low and gravelly, he did not raise his eyes to meet hers but simply continued on with the task he had set himself; cleaning the barrel of his old Smith and Wesson

“You’re the Gunner, aren’t you?” she asked her eyes were set on him, unflinching

“And?” he asked his patience quickly wearing

“we need you, the town..” she began pausing as a tear rolled down over her cheek, he  looked up at her then and sneered but did not speak a word, “the town has been over ruled, over run, taken over by the priest. He calls himself the ‘American brother’ and he’s like a disease, spreading and killing and nobody can see it, everyone worships him I don’t know what to do. There are only a few of us who can see it and we live in terror, hidden away, it took me weeks to work my way through the sewers to escape to get to you. You’re the only one left who can free us, break him, please” she begged clasping his grubby hand in hers, the greasy oiled cloth crushed between them.  He looked her up and down, a thunderbolt scar had been burned into the flesh of her stomach, he knew exactly who she was, he knew where she was from and he knew the town she was talking of,

“Why should I?” he asked gravely, his eyes finally met hers,

“Oh! She gasped her hand falling from his and touched her bruised lips, his eyes were black like shadows at dawn, shaded grey and violet, they were near empty and hardened, no emotions lurked there,

“cause there are still people in that town who you care for, people who are relying on you like Mary” she said taking a step backward as she spoke the name but the step was not far enough and before she could take another breath the gunners left hand had clasped around her throat, he lifted her from her feet slamming her body down into the hot sand. Sharp stones send circles of pain spiralling through her body; she scratched and pulled at his thick fingers unable to speak to beg,

“you don’t get to say her name, do you understand me, you don’t think I know who you are, where you’re from you’re a whore, a dirty disease filled whore and you do not say her name, do you understand me” he snarled, she nodded as best she could and he finally released her. As she scrambled back away from him, coughing and rubbing her bruised throat she watched the gunner load his pistol, her heart hammered In her chest, he looked up and caught her eye, caught her thoughts and moved toward her though he did not do what she thought he was coming to do instead he knelt down on one knee, dust rose around him,

“you think I’m going to kill you…” he paused for a moment but it was not to let her answer instead he ran the butt of the pistol across her cheek “I wouldn’t waste one of my bullets on you sweetheart, no get up ‘cause you have until we reach the next town to tell me what happened and convince me that that shit hole deserves my time” he hissed the words in her ear before he stood and began to walk toward the setting sun.     

     As they walked into the night which had fallen hotter than the day had felt she recounted a story, a story that made a cold sweat prickle the gunner’s palms, a story of the devil in human disguise tormenting a town much too small to matter...

                      

...When the American brother arrived he was broken and torn and bloody, covered in earth and agony, he was not a man to be afraid of, he was a man to pity, a man housewives accepted into their homes and nursed him in their spare bedrooms, they let him lay upon their best linen and eat from their finest china; they trusted him. Though he did not divulge his story and would not tell his secrets to anyone not even the sheriff; the whole town trusted him. He arrived on a day when the rain fell in light pin prick droplets, the air was warm and the sun shone brightly casting a multi-coloured crown over the town, he limped down the quiet lane passing by two people before anyone took notice of the stranger and that person was a child. The whole town heard how the little girl who had been walking along with her father had stopped just as they had passed the American brother, she had looked up at him with her innocent blue eyes, reached out and taken his hand as though she had known him for a life time. Apparently at the touch of the little girl the American brother had collapsed, he had been unconscious for nearly two weeks before he woke and finally told them his name, until that time they had referred to him as the ‘American Brother’ for wrapped around a festering wound on his torso was an American flag. Of course this was not his name, his real name was Priest, Priest Blakely, though he was in fact American and that had been all they had learned about the American brother. Two months later he was back to full health and the town had begun to fall under his spell.

 

She had been telling her story for only 30 minutes but already they had been walking for nearly an hour and a half, she had been reluctant to begin at first because of his earlier displayed fiery temper and it had taken her almost 45 minutes to begin then throughout the re-telling of the tale she had stopped and remained silent for seconds which had built into minutes. Now intrigued to know more about the American brother, the Gunner had forced himself to be patient and now that they had stopped to eat she continued on with her story...

 

...By the third month Priest had half of the town mesmerised with his charms, it had begun simply with the children, they sat and listened to him tell stories from the hood of an old mustang, they were completely engrossed as he told his tales and they followed him around like the rats had followed the pied piper, like the children had in the fairytale. Then it spread to their parents no doubt through the tales of their children who would have so enthusiastically talked of the American brother, the adults soon became obsessed with him, he was who they spoke of, who they dreamt of. They gave him the things he wanted though he never asked too much of them and so nobody noticed what was going on. Soon only a few were left, a few who pretended, who wore their masks of compliance so that they could survive, though he had never made any move of violence toward anyone they knew something, they knew that there were people disappearing, people who were on the street one day and were not the next. She knew that girls from the thunder rooms, who had conveniently left town, had not and she knew that the town was changing, discretely morphing...

 

“Changing how?” he asked the thick black coffee making his voice seem even more rough and haggard

“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling, he had this effect upon everyone” she answered back

“But not you, not your friends” he snarled back his trust faltering

“I don’t know why just listen please” she begged regretting instantly the sharp tone she had taken with him as he glared at her over the rim of the white coffee mug, she knew that neither the table between them nor the people in the diner would stop him from slamming her face into the lemon table top...

...4 months after he had arrived Priest the American brother, who did in fact speak with a southern New Orleans accent, began to buy up the property in the small town and by the 6^th month he owned the whole town, people an all. The town and its people had begun to resemble that of a cult though nobody from the outside seemed to notice and those who did either disappeared or quickly became integrated. By the 7^th months passing those who didn’t believe; those who hadn’t become integrated had taken to the sewers, they had gone into hiding in fear of their lives. The American brother had somehow convinced everyone that he was going to create the ‘American dream’ right there in their little town and then he had somehow replaced the dreams of the towns people with that of his own, it seemed as though they had become one singular mind. Those hiding in the darkness, stealing food and water gradually began to dwindle, no one knew if they had been killed or if they had turned and some had sworn that they had seen their old friends laughing in the windows of bars.

 

“They gave up” he said coldly

“that’s what I think, we were all beginning to consider giving up, turning…” she replied though she did not make eye contact with him, his eyes scared her, she didn’t know why but there was something with-in them, something dark lurking just beneath the surface.  

“What stopped you?” he asked

“A rumour, a myth” she replied with a slight smile...

 

...Just when all hope was near gone a myth began to surface, a rumour of a man, no one knew where it came from or what its origins were or even if it were true but it gave the people left something to live for. It began with a name, The Gunner, and developed into a story of a man, a man who had been born in the town, born into loneliness and nothingness, his mother having died during birth and his father a dead beat who turned up deceased only a week later, his life was thwart with agony and despair but despite this he grew up wiser than his years, strong and determined. Some believed that he was a titan, un-touchable, kind and selfless and then one day everything changed, he loather the town and its people who had amongst them raised him, he became cold and despondent; rumours told of a broken heart of a whipping whirlwind had come along one day a ripped it to shreds, he had be lost in the storm, his love and kindness, his soul lost in the flood.

 

 “If that’s what the myth held then why believe that I would come back or even give a half a god dam?” the gunner said, he spat the words at her,

“I found where the rumours started, with a small boy, a boy who has never met you, who has never been told heart warming, censored bed time stories about a handsome hero; a boy who found a name carved into a n old oak tree, ‘Gunner Man’, he adopted this name, this person as his hero, his superhero and he began to tell a story, a story of a Gunner Man returned from the pointless bloody battles that rage on only to find his home unrecognisable, preached over by a priest, a town in a hypnotic trance. He watches from the shadows, caked to the ankles in oil and mud mixed with the blood of stolen innocence, he breathes deep, his breath thick and smouldering as he exhales, his eyes fixed and dark, blacker than night turned so by all of the terror he has seen. He waits and watches and at the right time he makes his move raging like a feverish stallion, burning into the night to take back his town” She fought not to make eye contact as she recounted the young boys story, one she had heard him tell many times but she could not help it and as she looked into his nightshade eyes she was sure that she caught a glimpse of the bright, electric blue that they had once been, “he told that story to everyone, child and adult until one day he vanished and when he did they, we started to believe that what he said, the man he spoke of was real. It didn’t take us long to find proof that you were,  though we were warned that you were far from the hero the boy made you out to be” she regretted saying the last few words as she watched him grind hid coffee cup into the table top,

“And which thoughtful citizen told you that?” he asked through gritted teeth,

“An old guy by the name of John though mostly people just call him Johnny 99” she replied and what he did next shocked her; he answered her with a slight grunt and then a smile played at the edges of his lips,

"Old bastards still alive, huh” he said almost to himself, “how about I tell you a story” he said catching her eye” and so unfolded the story of Johnny 99.       

A 200 word story: Julias place

     This place had once been filled with happiness; it had been a place of joy and youth and of innocence. At Julia’s place the air had characteristically smelt of cooking chocolate cake and strawberries. The sun always shone on Julia’s place, impossibly illuminating every room and every inch of the house, the birds in the grand oak trees that always cast a happy shadow, had always sung sweet melodies to dance to during the day and soft lullaby’s when the twilight fell. In the Garden summer sky blue bluebells grew among the fresh snow white snow drops and daisies mingled with sun kissed daffodils. It had been a magical, unbelievable place however one day great galloping hulking storm clouds rolled in over the sky of Julia’s place, drowning the sunlight, choking it with a thick, rolling smoke stained, purple smog; Dirty droplets of fetid rain began to fall acidic to the touch like the tears of a heartbroken child, it scorched the emerald green grass and withered the bright and hopeful flowers.

Julia’s place had once been a place of great promise and adventure now it is a ruin, a broken, splintered wreck holding only despair and anguish.  

 

Forget me not pt 3

     Leigh didn’t know where best to turn next; bombarding him with friends and their versions of his life was not helpful and since then she had hit a wall miles high and Leigh was finding it hard to scale. Then came a long awaited epiphany in the form of a book, a book of photography. Leigh found it while Charlie was sleeping, it was stacked haphazardly on one of the bursting bookshelves, an a4 sized   book full of photographs ranging in subject and style, colour and black and white images; in the very centre Leigh found a photograph by Charlie. As she stared down at the faded black and white photograph an idea formed and so she quickly set to work. Leigh spent hours working, searching, printing, photocopying and talking quietly on the phone as not to wake him and when she was done with everything it was time to bring Charlie into the loop. She wake him gently,

“get up, we’re going out” she said and before he could protest she added, “hurry up we don’t have a lot of time, move it” 30 minutes late he was ready and together with Beau they left for a destination that was no more known to Charlie than were his memories.

     The building was marred by a thick fog that had lain upon the city for a few days, Inside it appeared to be a simple block of flats however it was what occurred with-in the individual apartments that made it so special. The flats had not been lived in for many years, the building had been long ago condemned as living quarters however after one man had poured in years and millions of dollars worth of money for the apartments to still be unliveable he turned them into workspaces instead, work spaces for artist. Leigh had rented one of the spaces just for a few hours so that her plan could come to fruition and as she led Charlie into the space she believed that her plan would work and it did though not in the way that she had wanted. The room they walked into was papered wall to wall, floor to ceiling with photocopies and print outs of images that Charlie had created or rather photographs he had taken. As he walked over then, turned and examined the images and stared up at them his eyes widened and for a second Leigh was sure that he was remembering something but then he turned to her,

“What is all this?” he asked

“This is you, your photographs” she replied gesturing to the room

“Me, wow, um...” he said falling silent

“This doesn’t jolt anything back to life, does it?” she asked, he turned with a look of worry in his eyes

“I’m sorry” he said touching her arm gently, “I know you must have spent so long doing this...” he started

“It’s fine Charlie, let’s go home” she said begging to leave the room

“wait” he said grabbing hold of her hand “this didn’t dislodge anything but it made me fall in love, with photography, again; this is all so beautiful, these images, the people I want to do this” he said, Leigh smiled,

“Well you have all of the equipment so why don’t we go home and get started” she replied

“Don’t you think I should take some kind of lessons?” he said as they began to leave the room once more,

“No I think that what the mind forgets the hands and eyes remember” she turned and smiled.

     Leigh watched Charlie as he ran his fingers over the camera he held, he owned more than a few but this one had taken his fancy, he had been looking at it for nearly an hour, with his lap top by his side and numerous web pages open all containing information about the camera.

“Will you help?” he asked suddenly, Leigh had moved from his side to the kitchen she returned carrying two cups of tea, “both of you, will you help me?” he asked again looking at her as he absently stroked Beaus soft ears

“Of course we will, wont we Beau” Leigh replied, an hour later they left the apartment and made their way into the city. They spent hours, Leigh and Beau watching as Charlie took photographs of random people, statues, trees, stray animals and sweeping birds, the night fell dark, the air chilled in the summers eve and suddenly without warning it began to rain. Fat cool shimmering droplets pattered against Leigh’s naked arms, the water ran from Beaus shining coat as it grew heavier, she turned to search for Charlie who had been snapping pictures of a fresh faced, newly in love couple however he was not there now and they had begun to run for cover from the ever-changing weather, panic set in instantly like that of a child whose mother had turned a corner in a shop without their knowledge, she turned frantically her skin heated in the cool rain, and there she found Charlie taking cover under a towering oak tree with Beau by his side, he smiled at her, Leigh did not smile back instead she began to make for the dry cover of the fully blooming oak,

“Wait, stop!” he yelled as she began to pass beneath a street lamp, “stay there please” he added

“What, I’m soaked already, Charlie..” Leigh started to protest

“It’s the perfect picture; I took one just like this, 4 years ago. Pleas  I’ll be just a few minutes” he said and with those words Leigh froze, she smiled and she stayed still; he had remembered something she was sure though she did not mention this fact until after he had finished pulling his jacket up over his head to shield his camera, until he had taken more than a few photographs and turned her in numerous directions and until after he had included a reluctant Beau in the final shot then she mentioned it,

“Charlie” she said as they made their way home

“Yes” he said glancing at her through the poker straight rods of rain

“Do you realise what just happened?” she said pulling Beaus lead in preventing her from snuffling at the hands of a young woman sheltering in a shop doorway from the rain,

“What?” he asked stopping and staring at her

“You remembered something back there, you said ‘a photo you took 4 years ago’ you might have seen a picture like that in the room but there was no indication of year” she replied. He stopped suddenly and at first Leigh though he might be angry or upset but then he smiled in fact he grinned,

“You’re right I did, I remembered something” he declared happily wrapping his arms around her and lifting her from the floor twirling around,

“put me down you fool” she laughed, the few people on the streets threw funny glances their way but Leigh didn’t care,

“Thank you” he said, “I wouldn’t have remembered that without you” he added

“No, you wouldn’t have remembered that without following your gut, your instincts and your heart” she replied taking his hand as they continued to walk home.

     After returning to the warmth of the apartment and showering Leigh curled up beneath the fresh duvets on her bed, she had spent most of the night planning the room for Charlie and her eyelids were heavy with sleep. She had been gone only two hours when a strange clicking, snapping noise filled the broken dream she was having, she tried to ignore it, to sleep through it but it became too regular to block out. Her eyes flickered open slowly to the blurred image of Charlie holding what seemed to be an old school Polaroid camera, on the floor lay numerous photographs framed in white each showing a photograph in a different stage of development,

“Charlie stop, you’re being extremely creepy” she said waving a hand lazily at him,

“Creepy, really, well maybe if you woke up little miss sleepy” he laughed setting the camera down, he began to tickle her. It was playful and innocent, effortless and fun as they laughed and giggled together, as his eyes locked with hers and she lost herself in the dusky blue of his eyes, his mouth met hers and she sank into him, the heat of his body, of their bodies growing with every second that passed between them. As hands wandered, tongues traced and moans filled the air something other than euphoria filled Charlie Winters mind; memories began flooding back from every inch of his mind riding on a wave of her breathing, the rhythmic sound of her heart beat providing the sound track to his life as it returned to him; in that singular moment he never felt closer to someone, they were one and she gave him his memory back.                

Something I found but I couldn't place so I thought I'd share it

     Every once in a while the world needs saving and I don’t mean the world needs saving from any form of natural disaster or nuclear attack, it does not need rescuing from the perils of global warming or other man made atrocities; it needs rescuing from the age old threat posed by the unknown, unseen supernatural that lies just low enough beneath the surface of sanity not to be noticed by those who have a firm grip on their mental stability. For the most nobody notices, nobody sees what is happening around them, the destruction caused by the ashes or the light cast by the burning embers that are usually tasked with rectifying what has been done, cleaning up after the ashes but there are a few with the sight, those who are suffering from a break in their mental clarity, those who look at the world in a different way; children, the deaf, the blind and often some who have come face to face with death himself and returned to the living world and then there are those with-in the bloodlines.

     Since man walked upon the earth with freewill, free though and free movement evil has also walked and so had good. In the beginning it was nothing, people were oblivious but they were neutral until evil began to breathe the darkness into their souls, turning them black and rotten and since this had been then there had always been a need for the bloodlines. As per usual the bloodlines are passed down to each generation however the children who carry the abilities and knowledge passed down through the centuries may never need make use of it; they are for lack of a better word sleeper cells. They only come-in ‘use’ if they are needed and very often this does not occur, as an example I might use a better known bloodline, Pandora. Most people will know the Greek myth of Pandora’s box and as per usual this had been cast as a myth, a story offering a moral and just like all the others that lurk just out of sight, it had become a simple story that to you has no truth but Pandora was a real person. She was given a box to guard, a box filled with all the sorrow in the world, all the hate and plagues, the anger and dread all of those things that make you feel blue or cause you to feel hate or cast judgement upon others they lived in the box. Imprisoned there for the sake of human beings however as you know Pandora’s curiosity got the better of her and she opened the box unleashing all of the pain and darkness it held inside. Even though she was never able to trap the evil back in the box Pandora did the job that had been passed down in her bloodline, she helped spread the only thing left in the bottom of the dark box, hope and with hope people were able to rise above the bad, they fought through the depression that had wrapped its fingers around them because the belief that things can get better, the hope for a brighter day is always stronger.

     It neither started nor does it end with Pandora, this began at the beginning of time, it began with the first human beings; Adam and Lilith. The is an age old misconception that Eve was Adams first wife, that he who created all is infallible, Lilith was born as Adams first wife and like many women of the world she was strong, she was independent and she was far from happy being told how to do things. She left him. This led Lilith into evil, though ultimately this began one of the most important bloodlines for though the evil over came her she was able to fight her way back to the light unfortunately, as with any ‘rags to riches’ story there was a down side for the light that broke into the darkness that had swallowed Lilith up touched the withered, venomous soul of another and it showed him the way, a way to rule to break the human world down and to take over and so the bloodline was created.

     It is now that he will strike and so it is now that she will awaken, she will begin to see the things that hide with-in the time between one second and another, the things that conceal them in the space between one breath and another. They will try to stop her and for centuries there have been no embers in the waking world to help guide those of bloodlines only ashes remain and they will do whatever they can to turn her.   

 

  

Forget Me Not Pt 2

      It was another week before Charlie was ready to leave the hospital, Leigh and Beau much to Mary Winters discontent all picked up Charlie together of course Beau and Leigh had to wait outside but luckily the sun had decided to grace them with its presence and so she managed to look half descent when Charlie and his mother walked through the large plate glass sliding doors,
“Hi” she said smiling pulling Beau close stopping her from jumping up though it was only her way of greeting him, of greeting anyone.
“Hi” he mimicked pulling her in for an unexpected hug, “Hi Beau” he added kneeling down and stroking Beau, pulling her in for a hug too, she licked at his face,
“Beau!” Leigh scolded
“It’s fine” Charlie confirmed and smiled once again, the same infective smile he always held.
“Charlie honey why don’t you sit up front with me” Mary said as they reached the car. She had blanketed the back seat to protect the expensive upholstery from Beaus feet and hairs,
“No its fine I want to sit in back with B” Charlie said pulling open the door, “come on Beau” he said, Leigh passed him the lead and opened the passenger door she climbed into the hot car which had filled with the sweet sickly scent of the air freshener attached to the dash board. They rode in silence all the way to Charlie’s apartment, which luckily wasn’t along drive away and once they were inside the dram that unfolded soon wiped the dyer awkward silence from their minds.

     Leigh’s things were being delivered later that day along with Beaus belongings to allow Charlie to settled back in before being overwhelmed with moving Leigh in, as they rode up in the life to his fourth floor apartment he stood close to her knowing how much she hated elevators, this made Leigh smile and it made her feel secure in the moving metal box. When they reach the fourth floor and were finally in the warm apartment everything erupted,

“Things aren’t right” Charlie said walking into the apartment and looking around,

“Sweetheart everything is fine, you probably just forgot because of the accident” his mother cooed

“No I remember my apartment and things have moved, been moved by you, is this what you do? Interfere with things, move things around when people haven’t asked you to!” he turned, anger furrowing his brow and yelled the words at her,

“Charlie please I was just...” she began clearly flustered

“No!, get out, I didn’t ask you to come here and change my things around this is my home, one of the things that I do remember and you come in and change it!” His anger had grown and Leigh felt as though she should step in, she moved to him placing her hand on his shoulder,

“Charlie” she said simply and he fell quiet

“I think it is best I leave” Mary Winters, Leigh smiled and walked her to the door,

“I’m sure he just needs to settle in” Leigh reasoned

“Hmm, thank you Leigh” Mary winters said as she closed the door behind herself. For the next hour or so they replaced the things that Mary Winters had moved and made space for both Leigh and Beaus things something that Charlie seemed quite happy to do. Though once they had done this things fell quiet and Leigh wasn’t sure what it was she should do; she had spent time thinking about what might be good for bringing Charlie’s forgotten memories to the surface if they had in face simply sunk down beneath his mind and not disintegrated in the accident entirely. She had considered his facebook and the photographs that might hold memories of friends, birthdays, night outs but then she reconsidered, Leigh did not want to over load Charlie’s mind with images of things he couldn’t remember she knew that this would only make him retreat even more. In the end she decided that the best thing to do was nothing,

“Do you want to go out?” she asked Charlie who was half laid on the sofa with Beau

“Not so much” he replied

“Want to see what on the TV?” she tried again

“Sure” he said with a sweet smile, he lifted the remote from the coffee table and pushed in the red button, the TV flickered to life, apparently how to use the TV was something that had not fled from his mind when the cars had collided, along with his address, his birthday, his middle name and of course Leigh and Beau. They settled for a channel that showed old games shows all day and with-in a few minutes both Leigh and Charlie were shouting out answers, to anyone on the outside looking in it would seem as though they had lived together for years.    

     After a few hours the sun was high in the sky and was flooding the room with bright white light and heat, Leigh pulled the curtains to block out the intruding light however this only lead to the room heating up which lead to them feeling lethargic and eventually falling asleep. Leigh dreamt of very little other than snow as though her mind was transmitting what her body wanted to feel in the heat of the room and these dreams did not last long for she was woken by the sound of rolling thunder in the form of Charlie who was suffering from a nightmare. Beau had been woken too; she was now sat at Charlie’s feet with a look of worry and concern in her almond eyes. Leigh took a moment to wake fully and then she grasped his hand and shook his arm gradually building in force until he jolted awake, a look of relief on his face. Beau jumped up instantly to comfort him,

“You okay?” Leigh asked, he took a moment to consider his answer and then he offered only a nod in reply. For the remainder of the day they continued to watch whatever they could find on the TV from old black and white movies to day time chat shows; soon the time had flow by and out beyond the thick curtains the sun had begun it descent down behind the horizon casting the land in a bloody red hew. Leigh check her watch, realising that Beau would be hungry and then realising that she too was hungry,

“You hungry Charlie?” she asked him as she sat up on the sofa motivating herself to move, he looked over at her, absently stroking Beaus ears

“I could eat” he said

“Alright what do you fancy because you don’t have anything in other than dog food, so we’ll order” she replied, he fell silent and she knew why,

“I don’t know” he said,

“Alright well I’ll sort Beau out and see if I can find some menus” Leigh said, she did not want to make a big deal out of it, drawing attention to what he couldn’t remember didn’t seem like it would be helpful. She stood and moved to the kitchen pouring a half tin of dog meat mixed with cat meat into Beaus dish and then Leigh began to look for menus, this task did not take her long. She would often order in and knew that usually there was only two places to find take out menu’s, either in one of the kitchen draws or in a draw of the table holding the phone however Charlie’s phone sat atop a bookshelf and there were no take out menus stored on it amongst the books and so she figured they must be in one of the draws and there were only three draws in the kitchen, one held cutlery, the other towels, cloths and bin bags and in the third she found the take out menus amongst pens and note books.

“Okay do you want, Chinese, Italian, Indian or good ol’ British?” she said as she returned with a handful of menus, she passed them to him and watched as he read and re-read each one and then he closed his eyes, he was trying to remember,

“How about we order a few dishes off of each and then we can try them all” Leigh offered,

“Okay” he said with a smile “what about the leftover food?” he asked as though he had never before eaten cold pizza,

“We save it and we eat it tomorrow” she said “what shall we try, 2 dishes from each, any two” she said happy to let him choose, though he insisted she chose one from each and he chose one from each.

     They ate until they could not eat any more and it had been a very amusing meal time, watching each other eat a little from each dish, laughing at the faces pulled over dishes that were not what they had been expecting and each trying to win the last spoonful of the dishes they did like, things that weren’t eaten that were liked were stored to be divvied out for breakfast the next morning and once again they all settled down. This time they chose to watch a film from Charlie’s vast collection, one he chose out at random,

“I think I love this film” he said suddenly when after they had watched near half the movie, a grin had spread across his face,

“What makes you think that?” she asked

“I just get this feeling of excitement even though things feel very familiar with it, it’s almost like deja  vu” he said still grinning,

“That’s good” Leigh smiled “we’ll start off small and work our way up” she added now too grinning like a crazy fool. That night they slept mostly on the sofa having once again drifted off to sleep, around 3:30 Leigh was woken, not by Charlie’s nightmares for he seemed to be sleeping soundly but by beau who was nosing at her arm, she wanted the bathroom. Leigh snuck out quietly, the night was warm and quiet and so she stood for a while watching Beau sniffing at patches of grass and odd fallen leaves, she felt over whelmed by the ‘job’ she had been given though she couldn’t imagine what he was feeling.

     As time passed between them many insignificant things resurfaced though not one significant memory was regained; the things he had spent half his life loving, the friends and his family, those memories were still all AWOL. Leigh was lost for ideas, Charlie and herself were getting along well, he loved Beau, Leigh knew this for sure, almost if not as much as she did and they had also started to venture out more often to the cinema or bowling or for food; Leigh had managed to get him to participate in normal activities once again. However in spite of all of the good progress Charlie was still suffering from sporadic mind splitting headaches and he refused to go and talk to a therapist and then one very bad decision led to Charlie becoming with drawn again. His mother had come up with the idea that a dinner party with his friends would be a good thing though she had not mentioned this to either Leigh or Charlie. She had invited them around under the premise of a family dinner; Charlie had refused to go if Beau was not invited and so she had gone along to much to his mothers’ dismay. However when they had walked into the dining room the cliché long mahogany table, with its two twin silver candle sticks that had been set up for ten and around it sat ten of Charlie’s friends, friends he could no longer remember. They laughed and smiled and greeted him with awkward hugs that Charlie didn’t want though accepted out of politeness and then they went back to discussing things that Charlie didn’t remember and that Leigh had never known.

“You’ll have to introduce yourselves” his mother announced with a smile as she backed out of the room, Leigh looked over at Charlie, already she could see the panic starting to fill his eyes.

“We can go” she offered with a whisper

“No” he shook his head in response and began to walk toward the table, he turned “maybe give it an hour” he added with a slight uneasy smile. They sat down with Beau underneath the table at their feet, they listened to the list of names as they were given one after the other as though in some form of attendance.

     The night began okay, Beau had eventually curled up next to the fire and Leigh had managed to make awkward conversation with people she had never met and would likely never choose to meet and Charlie for the most part sat quietly occasionally passing Beau unwanted tid-bits of food, he did not start any conversations nor did he carry them on for very long. They were just finishing the fourth course of six when things fell to pieces or rather they shattered sending shards of glistening glass across the room and Leigh was surprised that Charlie had lasted for so long. Once the awkwardness of the situation had dissipated the group barring Charlie and Leigh had erupted into conversation regurgitating tales of Charlie and bombarding him with memories that he had managed to loose and this was when he snapped. He stood forcing his chair backward with a long and ear bursting screech,

“Look as much as I appreciate this and I’m sure we were all very close but I do not remember you and I do not remember the things that you are talking about, the things that we did together, this-this is too much” he said raising his voice only an octave and then he walked out with Beau close at his heels. Leigh stood a second later; she offered a nervous smile,

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry he just can’t handle this yet, I’m sorry that he doesn’t remember you, you all seem great and I’m sure he will remember you he just needs time to heal” with that apology Leigh left. She found Charlie and Beau outside, he had called a taxi and soon they were home and he felt secure and safe again.