Category Archives: stories

When Country Was Western

22 Saturday Apr 2017

Posted by in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , ,

My name is Stanley Robinson.

But you might know me by my stage name ‘Swamp Dog’ Robinson.

I had a few minor hits back in the sixties

Everybody told me that i should of made it to the top.

But i didn’t quite make it.

My name is ‘Swamp Dog’ Robinson.

And this is my story.

I was born July 28 1947 in a mean little town.

Not all that far away from Nashville Tennesse

A mean little town where everybody did it tough.

My mother was the head of the house because dad was injured in the war.

She did all that she could to keep the wolves from the door.

We didn’t have any money so we lived with grandpa at his house.

And sometimes he would entertain us by playing his guitar and singing along.

He told that what he was playing was called country and western.

But my mama called it the blues.

I didn’t care what it was called.

I just loved the sound of that guitar and grandpa’s voice

I knew then and there that playing country and western was my career of choice.

I used to sneak into grandpa’s room and fool around with his guitar.

And dream about moving to Nashville and becoming the latest new sensation.

Having girls throwing themselves at my feet.

My songs would be played on all of the radio stations.

I will become inducted in the country and western hall of fame.

And everyone on Earth will scream and know my name.

One night grandpa caught me messing with his guitar.

And he offered to show me how to play.

I quickly learnt all of the basic chords i just couldn’t get enough.

Me and my grandpa were hanging tough.

I practised everyday until my fingers would bleed.

That guitar meant the world to me.

Except of course for mama papa and grandpa to.

But that goes without saying.

I just wanted the world to hear me playing.

For my fifteenth birthday i was given my very own second hand guitar.

And it soon became my pride and joy.

I knew that money was tight and that mama and papa were struggling.

So i gave them a kiss and a hug of thanks.

I loved to watch my fingers move up and down the fret.

I thought to myself ‘ You haven’t heard nothing yet’

I took my guitar to school so i could practise every chance i got.

One day a teacher heard me playing and asked if i wanted to play in the

school band?

I just shrugged my shoulders ‘sure’ but inside my stomach was doing cartwheels.

I was boarding the train of with silver wheels.

So i joined the band and after a week of practise we were ready to play our first show.

But at the last minute the singer got cold feet and quit on the spot.

The teacher started to panic and asked if any of us could sing?

I put my hand up thinking ‘How hard could it be?’

That is when i discovered that i had a voice.

So now i was playing guitar and singing lead.

Unfortunately that is when my ego started to feed.

The school band was good,but i knew that i was better than the others

It was good to play to my family and friends.

But i wanted to play to the masses.

A friend told me about a club that held a talent quest every Thursday night.

So i racked up the courage and went to this seedy little joint

And waited for my chance at the end of the line.

I knew that this was a great opportunity to shine.

When my time came i walked onto the stage as nervous as a kitten.

But i soon turned into a lion and began to roar.

I gave it everything that i had and a whole lot more

I just let the music do the talking

I was only supposed to play one song ,but i ended up doing three.

The noise from the crowd got the adrenaline pumping.

And my ego got a boost that it didn’t really need.

I was floating up on cloud number nine.

But as you know not every cloud has a silver lining.

Sometimes they can turn heavy and black.

I was now walking a very dangerous path.

And there was no going back.

After my set i waited around for the other contestants to do their thing.

And even though i was underage a local bought me a whiskey to calm my nerves.

It filled my stomach with fire but it settled me down.

I licked my lips i really could do with another taste of that soothing liquor.

Looking back now i should have walked out of that door without looking back.

Already my world was beginning to crack.

I won the competition with first prize being a chance to record a demo tape.

That would be sent off to all of the record companies.

An opportunity to hit the big time.

I could tour the world with the likes of Cash.Kristofferson,Rodgers and Cline.

The cream of the crop.

I was too busy living on the edge of tomorrow.

So i didn;t hear the penny drop.

When i arrived at the recording studio first thing i did was visit the bathroom.

The day before i had bought myself a hip flask and filled with Johnny Walker Red.

I sat there and had myself a tiny little sip.

Barely enough to wet my lip.

But it was enough.

I got through the session with flying colours.

A couple of my own songs were put down plus a Jimmy Reeve cover.

I layed them all down in one take i was played like a man possessed.

Feeling rather pleased with myself i snuck off to have another drink.

A toast to my success.

I raised the flask up and ‘God bless’.

My demo was sent off to all of the record labels.

And i was expecting an avalanche of replies.

Instead all i heard was the roaring sound of silence

To say i was disappointed is an under statement in the extreme

But i was still in my teens so all i could do was play the local bars.

I played and played for years waiting for my break.

My drinking was getting out of hand

But it was a crutch that i needed to keep me from going insane

It also helped me to forget my memories and forget the pain.

Than one night i was playing at a local dive trying to make a living.

But still dreaming the dream.

After my set i was sitting at the bar having another glass of temptation

When i felt a tap on my shoulder,i turned to see a guy in a suit.

He told me that he had enjoyed my show and had listened to my old demo.

Would i be interested in a recording contract with Warner Bros ?

He told me that he would drive me to Nashville and i could sign the deal

My dream once again was becoming very real.

After a month of rehearsal and a whole lot of drinking

I entered the studio to record my first album

But the recording session didn’t go so well.

A bottle of whiskey was in my left hand and the microphone in my right.

So we had to play take after take.

I could tell that the session musicians were getting pissed off with my

unprofessional attitude.

But i didn’t really give a shit.

I was a star on the rise it is now my time to shine.

I celebrated with a bottle of whiskey and few glasses of wine.

To my and the record companies surprise the album was a hit.

In the first week it sold over 100.000 copies

And after a month my album was sitting at number 10 on the country and western

chart.

My management quickly arranged an American tour to cash in on the success.

I did interviews after interviews with the music press getting my name out there.

There was also talk of touring Europe Australia and Japan.

I am living the dream i am the main man.

The first show was in Cleveland supporting Waylon Jennings.

We are off to a flying start.

My backing band is red hot and we blow Waylon off the stage.

We travelled from town to town city to city criss crossing the whole country

The headlines were calling me the new kid in town the latest sensation.

I was quickly becoming the toast of the nation.

The tour was a great success until we reached Atlanta Georgia

I walked out onto the stage with my guitar and a bottle of Johnny Walker.

But midway through my set i started to forget the lyrics and i hit a few wrong notes,

The crowd was getting restless and had started to boo.

I gave them the finger and screamed out ‘fuck you’

I was kicked off the tour.

And i went back home with my tail between my legs.

My manager told me that my drinking was really starting ti get out of hand.

And i agreed that i needed to tone it down.

So we came to a compromise,i could have a glass or two before the show.

But nothing while i was onstage.

But inside my alcohol fuelled brain was starting to rage.

After a week of recovery i was reinstated onto the tour.

On the condition that i clean up my act and behave.

I wholeheartedly agreed to their wishes.

My antics at the Atlanta show had made the headlines  and gave my record sales

a boost.

But i knew that if i didn;t behave myself my career would be over.

I would have a shot or two and play and sing with soul.

But i was teetering on the edge of a great big hole.

For the next few years i kept a low profile.

Building up my fan base and keeping out of trouble.

My album sales were steady and a had a couple of hits in my home town.

But don;t think that i have turned into an angel.

Because every now and then i will go on a bender.

That will sometimes last a whole week.

My throat was so hoarse i could barely speak.

Than my manager calls with some good news.

Willie Nelson is coming to town and he wants me to be his support act.

Willie at the time was one of the biggest stars on the planet.

So this is a big chance to kick start my career.

So i will have to be on my best behaviour.

This is the last throw of the dice.

I will never get another shot at the big time if i keep fucking up.

I have to stop drinking from the Devils cup.

After two weeks of rehearsal i am ready for the show.

But instead of the usual two shots i down half the bottle to settle my nerves.

My manager tells that the concert is being filmed for a TV special.

So i sneak a bottle onstage and hide it behind the amps.

Just for a little insurance you have to understand.

I walk onstage the stage with my great little band.

I get a good ovation when i finish the first song.

But by the fifth song my throat is getting dry,

So during the guitar solo i go behind the amps for a little taste.

A voice in my head is screaming  ‘What a fucking waste’

After a few more visits to the bottle i just say fuck it and take the bottle back with me

and put it near my microphone stand.

Like a security blanket.

I have a long slug before i start my final song.

The bottle is almost empty.

My brain is a little blurry and i struggle to remember the words.

The last thing i remember is hearing the jeers and heckles from the crowd.

I start to stumble and fall right off the stage.

My career is over i have reached the final page.

I am now 55 years old and i am still waiting for that phone call that will never come.

I still play guitar and sing country and western.

Or country as they call it now.

I had my chance at stardom but i drank it all away.

My demons are with me and they are here to stay.

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories and could you please make a donation so i can reach my goal of becoming a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.

THE END.

Watermelon Sam

24 Friday Mar 2017

Posted by in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , ,

If you are taking a drive along the lonely roads of southern Arkansas.

You will come across a wobbly old sign ‘Melons For Sale’

But let me give you a word of advice.

Just buy your melons and be on your way.

Better still ignore the sign and keep on going.

And don’t look back.

The owner of the melon farm is a cranky old timer named Sam Hendry.

He has a reputation as a man not to mess with.

But he sure does know his melons

He grows any type of melon that you could ever want.

But watermelons are his speciality.

They are his pride and joy.

Just hand over your money and be on your way

Don’t try to haggle over the price.

Water melon Sam got his nickname when he was a little lad.

He would eat up to ten watermelons every single day.

In fact nobody has ever seen him eat anything else.

He would demolish those melons seeds and all.

As the water ran down his chin Sam would stare off into space.

Rubbing his crotch with a creepy evil grin.

Sam Hendry has loved on the farm all of his life.

It has been in his family for five generations.

But this generation will be the last.

Watermelon Sam is now forty five years old.

And in that time he has never ventured more than fifty miles.

Once a month he drives into town to buy his supplies.

Then he scurries on back home.

The outside world doesn’t interest him at all.

All he wants is to be left alone with his melons.

If you leave him alone he will give you no harm

But if you disturb his isolation he will kill you in a heartbeat.

At fifteen Sam took a life for the first time.

In fact he took two.

He decided that his parents were getting in the way so they had to go.

He tied them to chairs in the kitchen and force fed them watermelon

until they choked.

He got all hard and excited as he watched his mother and father breathe

their last breath.

He never loved his parents when they were alive.

But he smiled and welcomed their death.

He left them tied to the chairs for over a week

Until they started to stink and become over ripe.

Than he buried them out in the water melon patch.

Over the following weeks he watched in amazement as his melons grew

like never before.

Obviously his new fertiliser is working wonders.

Nothing is better for your garden than human blood and bone.

Thirty years later and Sam is digging in his garden when a car drives into the farm.

He hates the intrusion,but at the same time he knows that the tourists supply him

with his needs.

They spend their money and take away a melon and a little taste of his ma and pa.

While others stay behind to supply nutrients for his melons.

You might of heard about the missing tourists on the evening news.

Every few months or so for the last thirty years.

A tourist has gone missing in Southern Arkansas.

The last tourist went missing three days ago.

Michael Tomkins was a businessman from Kansas who was on his way

home to his family.

But he made a huge mistake he decided to stop at a farm to buy some melons.

Watermelon Sam heard the car drive arrive and came to the decision that this tourist wasn’t going home.

So he put a smile on his face and acted real nice as the guy got out of his car.

‘Howdy there what can i do for ya? Michael is a little taken aback by this odd looking

old man.

But he smiles and says ‘Just a few Melons to take back to Kansas’

Watermelon Sam shows him over to the melon patch and tells the tourist to pick out the

melons that he wants.

Right in the middle of the patch is a freshly dug hole seven foot long and three foot deep.

Michael turns and asks and Sam ‘What is that hole for? Are you going to bury a dead calf?

Watermelon Sam shakes his head and says ‘No,I am going to bury a dead human’

It takes a second for the words to compute in Michael’s brain.

He goes to run but he doesn’t get very far.

Watermelon Sam picks up a pitchfork and runs it through Michael’s stomach.

Michael wriggles like fish on the end of a hook.

The pitchfork is stuck fast so Sam walks him over to the hole and drops him in.

Blood is gurgling from the tourists mouth but Sam couldn’t care less.

He puts his foot on his chest and after a struggle the pitchfork comes free.

Words are coming from the mouth of the dying man .

Sam doesn’t listen he covers him in three feet of dirt and walks away.

Sam is feeling mighty pleased with himself.

He is sitting on his front porch looking out over his garden.

If he owned a banjo he would be playing it right now.

But his hands are full.

He is devouring yet another watermelon.

He eats that melon like a man possessed.

But he is eating way too fast and one of the seeds goes down the wrong way.

Sam starts to choke he coughs and hacks trying to bring up that seed.

But all he achieves is to swallow that seed even further.

But at least he can breathe normally again.

Sam has no idea what is happening inside his body.

That seed has lodged inside his gut and has started to germinate.

A few days later Sam is starting to feel unwell and a bit bloated.

He hasn’t been to the toilet for two days.

He is backed up all the way to hell.

Sam rally needs to poo.

He stumbles around his watermelon patch like a crazy man.

Than he feels a tickle from his arsehole.

Maybe there is some relief after all.

He pulls down his pants and squats over his blessed earth.

A watermelon root sprouts from his arse and makes a bee line into the

dirt.

Sam tries to stand but he is stuck fast.

Mire roots appear from every orifice in his body.

Sam starts to panic.

Maybe if he can take a shit he can escape from this torture?

So he pushes and strains trying to open his bowels.

Sam is sweating with the effort God am i am shitting a bowling Ball?’

It isn’t a bowling ball but a huge watermelon.

Sams arsehole is stretched to the limit.

Then it snaps.

The watermelon plops out quickly followed by his intestines and something

that might be his colon or prostate.

Sam starts to pray and ask for forgiveness.

But it is way too little way too fucking late.

All of the roots have travelled down his body and taken anchor.

For watermelon Sam there is to be no escape.

Another root has sprouted from his shrivelled cock and out of his piss hole.

And it buries itself into the ground.

As Sam struggles for his life a hundred pair of hands appear from the tainted

earth.

His mother and father pull the hardest.

They want to make sure that their son cant hurt anybody else.

They pull and pull all the way down to the earths core.

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories and if you have the means could you make a donation so i can reach my goal of becoming a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.

THE END

The Weight Of Days

11 Sunday Dec 2016

Posted by in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , ,

It is five in the morning and the kookaburras are laughing

in the trees.

The crickets are scratching outside my bedroom window.

And the neighbours rooster is welcoming a brand new sunrise.

With the sun comes the flies and the heat.

Five in the morning and i am already feeling the weight of days.

Let me introduce myself.

My name is  Bart Matthews and i am a resident of an aged care facility.

I am 82 years old and i have lived in this place for over five years.

As i listen to the kookaburras and crickets that means that i get to live

another day on this earth.

But that rooster could do with a bullet to the head.

I also the sounds into my head.

Sounds that remind me of my yesterdays.

Oh the weight of days.

All kinds of human sounds resonate around the facility.

The sound of a nightmare.

The sad cries from the lonely.

And the sound of the tormented.

But the sound that i hate the most is the sound of silence.

That can only mean one thing.

Someone has just departed this planet.

And i know that it will be my turn soon.

Oh the weight of days.

I lie in bed thinking about my yesterdays.

Because at my age it is no use thinking too much about

tomorrow.

But when you think about the past the memories are twofold.

Most of my memories are good but every now and then a bad one

will creep up and have something to say.

Oh the weight of days.

After a little snooze i go over to my rocking chair to catch the afternoon sun.

Another day is almost done and dusted.

One more day spent staring out of my window.

The world outside is just there but still beyond my reach.

I cant escape from this place i am here to stay.

Oh the weight of days.

I remember back when i was a kid playing with my siblings and friends.

Getting into mischief and all kinds of trouble.

Going camping on nanny goat hill only five hundred matres from home.

But it was like we were in the middle of nowhere.

I remember the horrible years i spent at high school where i was treated

like a mongrel dog.

I can also remember smoking and drinking  and losing my virginity with a friends

sister.

I was slowly becoming a man leaving my childhood behind

Oh the weight of days.

I am thinking back to my marriage and the birth of my two children.

When a nurse taps me on the shoulder and tells me that it is time to take

my pills.

I swallow them down with some water.

Now where was i?

The interruption has messed with my train of thought.

I cant remember what i was thinking about.

Oh the weight of days.

The next morning i am having breakfast in the common room.

A bowl of gluggy porridge and a cold cup of tea.

I look at my fellow residents all frail and feeble.

And i realise that i must look exactly the same.

As i look at them  i know that every one of them will have their

own memories inside.

And maybe some stories to tell

But none of us get many visitors so their stories will go untold.

There is no one around to listen to any word they have to say.

Oh the weight of days.

I am laying in bed reading a well read magazine.

When the nurse tells me that it is time for a sponge bath.

All i can do is lie there as she washes me all over.

It is degrading not being able to wash myself.

Pretty soon i will start to forget things maybe even my own name.

Oh the weight of days.

When i go to bed at night i find it hard to go to sleep.

Usually i only manage two or three hours.

And with every hour that i am awake all i do is think.

Insomnia is the curse of a lot of old people.

They are afraid that when they go to sleep they might not wake up.

We all just lie there knowing that the end is nigh.

Oh the weight of days.

My wife died a long time ago and both of my children are middle

aged.

And between them they have given me six grandkids.

They all visit once a month looking at their watches like they need

to be someplace else.

While the grand kids look at me like i am an exhibit in a museum.

I know that i am a burden and that my family is waiting for me to die.

Oh the weight of days.

It is a pain in the arse getting old.

I am still young at heart but my mind and body refuse to co-operate

I need a walker to get around and glasses to watch the world flash past.

And my hearing isn’t what it used to be.

But worst of all sometimes i need to use a bedpan.

With the indignity of a nurse having to wipe my rear end.

My bodily functions are no longer my own.

Oh the weight of days.

It is the morning of the 20th of November 2017.

Just another day in the twilight zone.

I go to the common room for my usual breakfast.

I am talking to another resident when i start to feel dizzy and

lightheaded.

Than before i know i am on the floor.

I am rushed to the hospital in an ambulance.

In a lucid moment i hear the word STROKE.

I drift halfway between life and death.

And a white light at the end of a tunnel is calling my name.

There is no pain

Lust a blessed relief that my time has arrived.

I eyes are closed and i know that they will never reopen.

Even though i am dying.

I haven’t felt this good in years.

The weight of days no longer sits heavy on my shoulders.

I say goodbye and die with a smile on my face.

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories and now could you please help me reach my goal in becoming a fulltime writer by making a donation. Thanks again Steven.

Cereal Killer ( Part Three )

26 Saturday Nov 2016

Posted by in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , ,

Cereal can kill you in so many different way.

So be careful out there.

I am going away on my annual vacation next week

And i am a bit worried.

How am i going to survive overseas without my favourite

breakfast cereal?

I am sure that they wont sell weet bix in South Africa.

So what is a man to do?

Become a cereal smuggler of course.

On the morning of my flight i wake up early to prepare.

I slash the lining of my suitcase with a stanley knife.

And i place twenty four weet bix into the space.

And for good measure i tape another twenty four to my chest.

I am as nervous as a kitten when i arrive at the airport.

Than i realise that customs will be looking for contraband coming

in not going out.

Not that weet bix is contraband.

But it is addictive.

I arrive in South Africa after a long sixteen hour flight.

The plane lands with a thud and we all disembark.

I fill out the form stating that i am bringing no food into the country.

After all weet bix is really a food it is part of my existance.

The South African customs officer looks at me like i am Ted Bundy.

He searches my luggage like i am a drug smuggler.

But i am not smuggling drugs just fibre and a whole lot of goodness.

Surely customs will understand?

I breathe a sigh of relief when my passport is stamped.

And i wheel my trolley out of the terminal.

I cant wait to see the great outdoors and go on safari.

But i am really hanging for a taste.

It has been eighteen hours since i had my breakfast.

I really need a weet bix fix.

As soon as i reach my motel room i race to the bar fridge and

grab a bottle of milk.

I pour some over four weet bix and i immediately start to relax.

My heart beat returns to a normal rhythm.

Now that i have had my medicine i can start being a regular

tourist.

After a few hours sleep and a quick shower i am ready to join my tour

group.

Before i head downstairs i grab my wallet sunglasses and my backpack.

Which i fill with a bottle of water and sixteen weet bix.

Because you never know.

I meet my travelling companions downstairs and we all climb aboard

our tour bus.

Let the adventure begin.

We are on our way to kruger national park.

Where we can get nice and close to the local wildlife.

And we aren’t disappointed.

We soon see a pride of lions buffalo and wilderbeest.

A family of giraffe eat from the top branches of a tree.

And we see a herd of elephant in a waterhole.

I reach into my backpack and chew on a tasty weet bix.

After a week of sightseeing and stocking up on souviners

My supply of weet bix is getting mighty low.

I only have four left.

I will have to search the local markets for a worthy substitute.

After searching high and low i come across a wheat biscuit in a

supermarket.

Flakes of wheat compressed into a shape similar to a bar of soap.

I take the wheat biscuits back to my room

But what do i eat first?

Do i consume my last remaining weet bix?

Or try the local variety?

I decide to meet my needs with the local product.

I open the box of wheat biscuits and put them in a bowl with some milk.

And do you know what? They aren’t half bad.

The local supplier has come through i want have withdrawals after all.

I was worried about night sweats and going cold turkey.

But these wheat biscuits will do just fine.

In the morning i wake up to a brand new day.

The sun is shining and i am feeling good.

What sort of adventure will i have today?

I eat my four remaining weet bix and race downstairs.

I say hello to the tour group and we are on our way.

Today i think that we are going canoeing on the nile river.

Hopefully i will see some hippo.

Sometimes you shouldn’t wish too hard because it might just come true.

After about an hour the tour guide yells at me to watch out.

I look behind me and see a huge hippo charging my canoe.

He attacks my canoe tearing it in half and throwing me into the water.

When i come back to the surface all i can see is my supply of wheat biscuits

floating all around me.

But i am worried about the hippo coming coming back.

As i have a look all around me i notice that the wheat biscuits are starting to

break down and turn gluggy.

I try to swim to the shore but the water isn’t water anymore.

Those wheat biscuits have turned the water into quick sand.

I kick and fight with all of my might.

But it is no use.

I soon start to tire with only my nose above the surface.

I have a last breath than i am swallowed on down.

Those damn wheat biscuits were the devil in disguise.

In the back of my mind i knew there was something about them.

They didn’t taste quite right.

And i have paid the ultimate price.

Hopefully you can all make it to my funeral.

Goodbye.

I have become the latest victim of a silent epidemic.

So keep your wits about you and be careful with what you eat

Because there is a killer out there.

A evil cunning cereal killer.

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories and now could you please make a donation to help me reach my goal of becoming a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.

My Favourite New Addiction

12 Saturday Nov 2016

Posted by in stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , ,

This is a story about addictions whether good or bad

both physical and emotional.

The first that i saw you my heart almost exploded from

my chest.

I couldn’t think straight and my palms were all moist and sweaty.

 

I first i thought that i was coming down with something.

But than i realised all that i had was a bad dose of that thing

called love.

I tried to shake it off.

But it really had a hold on me.

I don’t know  who you are or what your name is.

But sparks are exploding and colliding deep in my brain.

Causing a whole lot of pain and friction.

You are now officially my favourite new addiction.

 

I walk around in a daze feeling like i have been hit by a sledgehammer

and a marshmallow at the same time.

My heart is beating at a very fast rate pitter patter pitter patter.

I am finding it hard to think and breathe at the same time.

God i can barely function.

I wander around like a zombie trying to keep it all together.

I am riding a roller coaster in very stormy weather.

 

The second time that i saw you i came out in hives.

You were coming out of the movies looking all cool and sexy

Your hair was flowing in the breeze and your lip stick shone

a bright cherry red.

You are the most beautiful girl in the universe.

Our eyes make contact and the world spun off its axis.

You don’t seem to notice and keep on walking.

Maybe i should forget all about love and take up stalking.

 

If i remember correctly my first addiction started when i was

fourteen

Puberty hit  me hard and i discovered the joy of masterbation

I didn’t realise that playing with your penis could feel so good.

I used to go into my room pull my pants down and go for it.

I would sometimes go into my room about six or seven times a day.

A few months later a local girl took me into the bushes and she taught

me all about sex.

 

My second and third addictions were smoking and drinking.

I was sixteen at the time and i fell to the temptation of peer group

pressure.

I took my first drag on a cigarette and had my first mouthful of beer.

The cigarette made me sick and the beer left me feeling light headed

and drunk.

But i didn’t care i kept going back for more and more.

Another smoke behind the basketball courts and a beer behind the

garden shed.

Two more addictions have gone straight to my head

 

While i was smoking and drinking and fooling around with girls.

I used to listen to my favourite music which was hard rock.

I used to play air guitar and sing very very bad.

 

I am now eighteen and i am laying on my bed naked listening to my

music and thinking about you my favourite new addiction.

I can smell your smell and remember the way your butt moved when

you walk.

How the sun dances through your hair and how my world lights up

when you smile.

But what i really want is to taste your taste

I want our lips to be sealed together forever

To be together until the twelveth of never.

 

As i think about you i start to play with myself and smoke a cigarette

and drink a glass of beer.

Addictions one two and three.

Nicotine and alcohol have part of my life for three years now.

Like two destructive friends they hang around me causing all kinds

of havoc and false emotions

My heart is still beating like a runaway locomotion.

 

All i can think about is you my favourite new addiction

For five months i have wanders the streets trying to find you

Will we ever meet?

Or are we destined to be like two ships passing in the night.

Hopefully the two ships will have a small collision.

And my lonely heart can send out an SOS

Than the harbour master will give us safe passage.

Will we sail to a deserted island full of palm trees coconuts

surrounded by pristine white sand

Or will i continue to fly around in circles and never land.

 

Maybe one day i will finally get to know your name

I will nuzzle your ear and smell your smell

And run my fingers through your hair and taste your taste

My favourite new addiction is almost within my grasp.

You will be the needle that fills me with euphoria

The bullet in the head that puts me to sleep

You can be the razor blade to my wrist

My one and only blood red mist.

 

 

I cant stop thinking about you my favourite new addiction

When i get out i will walk the streets seeking you out.

And when i find you i will once again take up my favourite

pastime stalking.

 

You are the reason why i am stuck behind these prison walls.

All i wanted to do was tell you that we will be together forever

But you kept on pushing me away.

Why couldn’t you be nice and just talk to me so we could maybe

have become friends?

But no you had to call the police and tell them that i wouldn’t leave you

alone.

How could i leave you alone when we are soulmates?

Now you have turned my addiction into a whole lot of hate.

 

Oh by the way since i have been in prison i have got myself another

favourite new addiction.

My body is covered in black ink tattoo’s .

I started with one on my arm but i couldn’t stop and now i am covered from

head to toe in prison issue ink

I lay in my cell all day with nothing much to do.

 

So my mind always goes back to thinking about you my former favourite

new addiction

I cant wait till the day when i am finally released

Will i walk the streets an angry man

Or will i finally find some peace/

THE END

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories and now if you could please make a donation to help me reach my dream of becoming a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.

Dream The Dream

21 Friday Oct 2016

Posted by in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , ,

The year is 1966 in the land of the free.

And everything is nice and peachy.

All of the people are living on easy street.

They all own two story houses with central heating

and an in ground pool.

1966 is the year of the dragon.

And it seems also the year of the fool.

 

Because you would be foolish to think that all is well in

the american nation.

Racism is rife all over the country.

But most of the hate comes from the south.

Just because your skin is a darker colour you get treated

like a second class citizen.

Dr Martin Luther King said that he had a dream.

But already the people seem to have forgotten.

The white folks ride around in fancy cars.

While the negro’s still pick the cotton.

 

14 year old Calvin Jackson is a skinny little black kid.

Who lives in a small bungalow in a bad neighbourhood in

Mobile Alabama.

His clothes are clean but threadbare.

Five brothers have worn these same clothes.

Now it is Calvin’s turn.

 

Calvin is watching TV on a small black and white set with his mama

beside him.

A black man has been shot down for no apparent reason.

Except for the colour of his skin.

Another black man guilty of a trumped up crime.

Why does this shit have to happen all of the time?

 

As Calvin watches the news his shoulders start to slump

And his sense of worth crashes.

He cant watch no more.

So he goes outside to shoot some hoops with his brothers.

Calvin weaves and fakes past his brothers time and time again.

Scoring basket after basket .

After a half hour of humiliation Calvin’s brothers wander off

defeated.

Calvin puffs out his chest with pride.

And he dreams about playing in the NBA one day.

If only the white folks would just let him play.

 

At Calvin knows that he should and could be getting better grades

.He used to be an A grade student.

Now all he does is look out the classroom window.

Dreaming his dream.

Calvin knows that basketball is his only way out of the slums and

ghetto’s.

And into the big time.

Than he could buy his mama a nice house.

And get himself a brand new souped up car.

Dreaming your dream is good.

But it will only get you so far.

 

Calvin is dreaming the dream along with other millions of other

young people.

Everybody dreams foe a better life for themselves and family.

But Mobile Alabama along with towns and cities all over America.

Are full of discrimination and segregation.

Whites and blacks go to different schools and ride on separate bus’es.

All because some peoples skin has a darker hue.

Racism affects everybody ordinary people just like me and you.

 

America is the land of the great divide.

A country with very narrow minded views.

There is a big division between the haves and the have not’s.

Calvin knows that because he is black he will have to work twice as hard

as the white folks do.

If he wants to make it in this world.

But Calvin’s mind is full of hope and optimism

He is just dreaming his dream.

He would do anything that he can.

To try and be a better man.

 

Walking home from school a few weeks later.

Calvin comes across the local basketball courts.

He goes to walk right on by like he always has.

But this time he stops and has a seat on a bench.

He pretends to tie his shoe laces as he takes in the game.

One day all of the white homey’s will all know his name.

 

Just than the ball rolls over and stops at Calvin’s feet.

Calvin is stuck in two minds.

Should he just throw the ball back?

Or show all these white boys how to play?

Then the decision is taken out of his hands.

‘Come on nigger show us what you can do’

 

Calvin hates that word but he accepts the challenge with relish.

And for the next hour Calvin completely dominates his opponents.

He scores baskets at will running rings around his helpless foes.

The white boys are exhausted and call an end to the game.

Calvin starts to walk away than turns back ‘I am Calvin Jackson

remember my name’

 

At seventeen Calvin is already six foot tall

And for the last three years he has been his school’s MVP.

His exploits on the court hasn’t gone unnoticed at some of the more

prestigious schools.

After a practice Calvin is called into the coaches office.

He is told to take a seat.

And the coach gets right down to business ‘Calvin you are probably the best

player that this school has ever produced’

But if you want to achieve your dream you will have to move away from home’

And the only way to do this is to gain a full scholarship’

Calvin knows that he cant let this opportunity slip.

 

Calvin’s mind is racing he is thinking about being first draft pick in the NBA.

And playing in the olympic’s with the dream team

The coach is still talking ‘But to get a scholarship you will have to improve your grades’

‘At the moment your grades are very poor,so if you want to reach your goal’

‘You will really have to improve big time,do it now Calvin before it is too late’

‘Because if you don’t you will never ever get out of this state’

 

Calvin walks out of the door.

Will his dream be crushed before it has even started?

Or will Calvin hit the books and really knuckle down?

Well there really isn’t any choose so for twelve hours everyday Calvin

studies hard.

When he is not studying Calvin shoots 20 thousand hoops.

After a few hours of sleep Calvin wakes up and does it all again.

And even though it hurts it is a good pain.

 

Calvin has applied for scholarships at colleges in New York Washington

and Chicago.

But to achieve his goal his grades have to be 90% or better.

For over a week he sits for exam after exam.

Calvin knows that he has tried his best and that is all he can do.

Now all he can do is wait.

And rely on the hand of fate.

 

Back at home he can’t sit still waiting for the results to come back.

He paces back and forth day after day waiting for the postman.

Than one day the postie pushes a bulky package through the front door

slot.

Will the news be good or bad?

Calvin rips open the envelope as fast as he can and he has a quick read.

Than he does a little dance of jot?

92%.

 

A month later Calvin is accepted at Stanford college New York.

He is now one step closer to living his dream.

Playing in the NBA.

Now no one can get in his way.

 

It doesn’t matter if your skin is white black brown red or yellow

Everybody on this earth has a right to dream.

So dream all that you want

Because one day your dream might just come true.

 

THE END.

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories and now if you have the means could you please make a donation to help me reach my goal of becoming a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.

Attic To The Past

28 Wednesday Sep 2016

Posted by in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , ,

Today is a very special day for me.

It is my 78th birthday.

I jump out of bed as fast as i can.

But it isn’t that easy at my age.

Than i sit at the kitchen and drink a

hot cup of tea.

As i sit there my mind starts to look back

All i have now is half remembered memories.

Well i cant sit here all day.

Maybe someone will pay me a visit?

I will have to make sure that the house is nice and clean

Surely my son and daughter will bring the grandchildren

around.

I haven’t seen them in quite a long time.

The only person who visits is the nice lady from meals on wheels.

I wonder if she knows how lonliness feels?

I go from room to room tidying as i go.

Than i comb my hair and brush my teeth.

And use some aftershave.

Now all i can do is wait.

Hang on was that a knock on the front door?

I rush to open it up but there is nobody there

Just a lot of undisturbed air.

I sit on my lounge and turn on the TV

I need to calm down.

There will be a phone call any minute.

Than i hear a noise coming from upstairs.

It sounded like foot steps up in the attic.

As i make my way towards that upper room

My heart is beating fast boom boom boom.

When i enter the attic all i see is dust motes and cob webs

I haven’t been up here in more than twenty years.

Nobody is up here except maybe some ghosts.

Even though the attic is full of memories.

I am starting to have second thoughts.

Because as you know not all memories are good.

Than i notice a favourite piece of wood.

In the corner near an old possum nest is my old cricket

bat.

I pick it up and start to play some shots.

Than my arthritis tells me that i am not twenty one anymore.

I sit down on an old wooden chest and think back.

And my face does something it hasn’t done for a while.

It transforms itself and turns into a smile.

Near my feet lies an old rubber ball.

That belonged to a neighbours dog that adopted me as it’s owner.

It was old and cranky with a grey muzzle.

But to me Cass was always kind and gentle.

A black doberman Cass was the best dog in the world.

We used to run around and play in the park.

And as i listen now i can still hear him bark.

I hang my head as i think back.

Than i feel a change in the air.

I look up to see the dust motes dancing and forming shapes.

I see my late wife Cindy in her wedding dress

She was always glowing as pretty as a picture.

I start to weep god i really miss her.

About a decade ago Cindy found a lump in her breast.

She fought the best that she could.

But cancer is a really hard disease to beat.

The radiation and chemo took a heavy toll on her body.

And just three months after the diagnosis

My darling Cindy was gone.

Taken by that god awful disease.

With a heavy heart i fall to my knees.

The dust motes are still dancing and mingling with the moon

beams.

And my deceased brother and sister appear.

Greg is riding his motorbike.

While Sue is cuddling her kids.

They are both doing what they liked to do the most.

Greg rode his motorbike into heaven.

And 28 years later Sue joined him in the big sky.

Both of them were taken way too soon.

The dust motes still dance and swoon.

As i look at those dust motes.

My brother and sister sort of fade away.

I want to run into those motes and make them re arrange

How dare those motes take my brother and sister away again.

But i know that one day i will once again see my brother sister

and wife.

Because after death there is life.

The dust has finally settled.

But my memories are still strong.

The attic to the past has stirred up a lot of thoughts.

Memories of long lost souls.

Names and faces that i will never forget as long as i live.

Why do people have to die?

I head back downstairs before i start to cry.

I turn on the kettle and have another cup of tea.

Before my offspring and grand children arrive.

Hopefully they will bring beer and some chocolate cake.

I go and make myself a sandwich.

But as i eat my brain has too much time to think.

I wash my thoughts and dishes down the sink.

Three o’clock and my phone still hasn’t rung.

Maybe my family is stuck in heavy traffic?

Or they are still shopping for my present?

But deep down in my heart i know that they have forgotten

My family will not visit for my birthday.

I will just have to celebrate alone.

There isn’t any birthday cake or candles to blow out.

Nor any presents to unwrap.

So i just lie down and have a little nap.

But i cant sleep.

All i can think about is that attic to the past.

I was happy sitting there amongst the dust motes.

So i go back upstairs to that special room

I sit on that wooden chest but nothing happens

The dust motes and the magic has gone.

The attic is now nothing more than a room full of mould.

I just slink downstairs to my lonely little household.

I sit in my chair watching the sun go down.

Waiting for my TV dinner to cook in the oven.

Than i will have an early night.

Or maybe have a few beers to drown my sorrows

Than headlights appears in the driveway.

My loving family is finally here.

I am really had any doubts.

From feeling way down in the dumps.

I am now way up in the clouds.

And they say that every cloud has a sliver lining.

And even though it is dark.

The sun is surely shining.

Hugs and kisses are exchanged.

And i confess that i didn’t think that they were coming.

That i was just about to go to bed.

My daughter pipes up ‘But dad i told you that we are taking

you out for chinese’

‘So go grab your jacket we have a birthday to celebrate’

‘I have booked a table and we dont want to be late’

The grand Kids are jumping up and down raring to go.

I grab my keys and jacket and head out the door.

Surrounded by my loving family.

But i cant resist one last look up to that attic to the past.

I know that my memories will last and last.

Memories remind you of your yesterdays.

But you cant live in the past.

You have to live in the here and now.

So i close my front door.

And we all head on our way

To celebrate my 78th birthday.

THE END

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories and now if you have the means could you please help me achieve my dream of becoming a fulltime writer by making a small donation i would really appreciate it. Thanks again Steven.

Komodo

09 Friday Sep 2016

Posted by in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , ,

I am on the holiday of a lifetime cruising around the  Indonesian

Islands.

I cant believe how beautiful and sunny it is.

Everyone is sitting around having some lunch talking and enjoying

the scenery.

When out of the corner of my eye i notice a speed boat approaching.

I dont think too much about until it gets closer

Than the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

On board the boat are four men wearing military uniforms.

Carrying what looks to be AK47 rifles.

PIRATES.

Before i can even shout out a warning the pirates start to shoot

across the bow.

People start running around screaming in panic.

Than a grappling hook comes over the side.

I know i only have a few seconds to find a weapon.

A steak knife even a piece of wood.

But there is nothing.

Than the pirates start shooting at the tourists.

People are falling like dominoes

Blood and gore is flying everywhere.

Luckily i am standing right near the opposite gunwale.

So i just slip over the side into the water.

Hopefully the pirates wont notice or hear the splash.

I am soon joined by seven other survivors.

We float right up against the cruise boat so we want be seen

While up above our fellow holiday makers are slaughtered.

Soon all the cries and screams die down

As the pirates go from body to body stealing and looting.

They empty wallets and handbags  and rip jewellery from fingers.

All that murder and mayhem for a few lousy dollars.

After they have done the dirty the pirates jump into their speed

boat and race away.

Maybe it is not too late to climb aboard and check for any survivors

And get onto the radio and send a mayday for help.

But the arsehole pirates have damaged the hull and the boat is sinking

fast.

After only a couple of minutes the stern points to the sky.

And our cruise boat sinks to the bottom.

The ocean fills with bullet riddled bodies.

And their blood leaves a dark red stain.

The eight of us look on stunned.

All we wanted was to have a great vacation

Now we are surrounded by our dead colleagues.

Than i see a huge dorsal fin holy crap SHARKS.

We need to get away from the bodies as fast as we can.

So we don’t get caught up in the feeding frenzy.

Lucky for us a cooler and a few life jackets float to the

surface right near us.

So i grab a cooler while a few of the others put on the

life jackets.

Soon two of the others join me hanging onto the cooler.

As we start to float away we notice an island in the distance

shrouded in a mist of mystery.

By the looks of it the island is about ten miles away.

That island is our only hope for survival.

So we swim towards it as fast as we can.

We slowly swim towards our goal.

But four of the other survivors have started to fall behind.

I scream at them to try and keep up.

But they have already drifted a hundred metres away.

I cant do anything for them.

All i can do is help the others reach the island.

We jettison the cooler and life jackets and start to swim unaided

Just as we are about to hit our limit

We reach the breakers and are washed up onto the beach.

Slowly we crawl up the sand until we reach the shelter of a huge

palm tree.

There we collapse completely exhausted.

Until hunger and thirst drives us to explore the island.

As we struggle through the jungle my companions introduce

themselves.

One is a young British girl named Sally Richards.

While the other two are a married couple from New York.

Clive and Margot Barker.

Sally and i are just getting to know each other when she stumbles

and falls.

I look back thinking it was just a vine or a loose rock.

But it isn’t a vine or a loose rock  there is a large footprint in the dirt.

The print is about 16 inches wide and 2 inches deep.

To me it looks like the footprint of a very large lizard or bird.

Jesus have we landed in jurassic park?

But i keep my thoughts to myself as we continue our search.

As we get further into the interior the mist and the clouds hang heavy.

God i hope it rains it will squench our thirst.

And take the edge off our sunburn.

Sally’s face is all puffed up from her fall.

Her nose is bleeding and i am pretty sure that it is broken.

I just hope that the smell of the blood doesn’t attract the attention

of that very large lizard. or bird.

Than another smell hit’s my nose.

The smell of fresh water.

We all run to the source of the scent a large isolated lake.

As we drink our fill we start to relax and skylark around.

For a few minutes we can forget that we are stranded on a deserted

giant lizard infested island.

Sally hasn’t joined the festivities.

Her nose is now a deep purple colour and is bleeding worse than ever.

She is sitting all morose at the edge of the lake.

Than as she goes to dry off she is grabbed by a very large lizard.

Who has a hold on Sally’s face and it isn’t letting go.

The lizards saliva is dripping from its mouth like the devil’s sperm.

Sally’s face dissolves and she is torn to pieces and swallowed down.

That lizard is the size of a tank.

With an appetite of a carnivious elephant.

There is nothing we can do for Sally

All we can do is try to save ourselves from that reptile.

The lizard walks back and forth watching us with its dead black eyes.

Flicking its tongue out tasting the air.

Tasting our flesh.

The three of us swim to the centre of the lagoon.

Maybe the lizard will get bored and just wander off?

Or maybe lie down and have a three hour siesta?

But the lizard has other ideas

It just stands there at the edge of the lagoon giving us the death

stare.

Than it dives into the water like an olympic swimmer

And it is heading straight towards us.

Holy fuck.

We turn around and swim in the opposite direction.

It is only about thirty metres to the bank.

But it feels like a mile.

We dont dare look back

It is now a matter of life and death

As soon as we reach the bank we scramble out and run.

But Clive is grabbed by a foot.

His wife and i go back grab his arm and pull with all of our might.

And to our surprise the lizard lets go.

I look at that fucking lizard and i swear it is actually smiling.

Then i know what we are dealing with.

This lizard isnt an ordinary lizard it is a komodo dragon.

It’s saliva is full of deadly bacteria.

Clive is now a dead man walking only he doesn’t know it.

Soon his flesh will start to fester and putrify.

And the smell of his dying flesh will make it easy for the komodo

to follow us.

We move as fast as we can but Clive is delirious and fading fast.

And the stench is horrendous.

Clive knows that he is dying so he screams at us to’Get the fuck

out of here before that lizard comes back’

Margot is distressed but surprisingly calm.

She says goodbye to her husband and with a last ‘I love you’

We are gone.

And not a moment too soon.

The giant komodo storms out from the undergrowth.

And precedes to eat Clive alive.

His screams echo off the mountains and through the valley

Than they finally die down down.

Margot and i shiver with dread.

We are stuck on an island so there is nowhere to run.

But hopefully we can find someplace to hide until help arrives.

But i know that help isnt coming anytime soon.

Because nobody knows where we are.

But if we can make it back to the beach

We can make a fire or send an SOS from gathered rocks.

I know it is a long shot.

But somehow i just know we have to make it to the beach.

We both hear that komodo trampling through the trees

We try to escape but you cant out run a hungry komodo.

Margot is taken down hard and she struggles for her life.

But the komodo is to big and strong.

I try to save her but i know that it is useless.

And as i go to scramble away the komodo swings its head.

I jump back but i am a split second too late.

It nips me on the forearm but it is enough.

I stagger away but i know that my time is up.

My arm is already double its normal size and is starting to stink.

And it has turned a nasty yellow green purple colour.

I turn to face my adversary but i have no energy left.

My inner strength has been sapped away

I feel myself falling to my knees.

The komodo walks up to me grabs hold of my infested arm.

And it is ripped out of its socket.

But funnily enough i feel no pain i am resigned to my fate.

Limb by limb i am torn apart.

Then the komodo opens up my stomach and swallows my entrails

Like i am a human sausage sizzle.

I look at that komodo as it eats me bit by bit.

But i am kind of detached from the situation.

But i know one thing for sure.

Later today or first thing tomorrow.

I will have become nothing more than a steaming pile of komodo

shit.

THE END

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories and now if you could make a donation and help me achieve my dream of becoming a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.

Bower (By The Hour )

26 Friday Aug 2016

Posted by in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , ,

For all of my overseas readers a Bower is a ground dwelling Australian

native bird.

It builds a big nest that is also called a Bower and the male of the species

collects objects usually blue in colour to attract female Bowers.

 

In a rain forest in far north Queensland lives a lonely male Bower bird

But at the moment he is feeling lonely and dejected.

Every time that he builds a bower trying to impress a female.

All they do is give his bower a cursory glance.

Than turn their back and fly away.

 

It is now four mating seasons in a row that his bower has failed to

attract a single female.

He learnt bower building skills from his father.

The best bower builder in the whole state of Queensland.

He doesnt understand what he is doing wrong

All of the blue shiny objects are arranged just so.

But still he spends his nights alone.

 

The male bower bird is weighing up his options.

Maybe he could watch a ‘How to build a bower on You Tube?

Or go old school and read all about it the the bower  builders

owners manual?

 

He is sitting there moping when he is hit in the head by a small

piece of paper.

It is from the ‘Public Notice page of the local newspaper.

 

He puts on his glasses and reads’Having trouble with your bower?

Call me on 1800bower no job too big or small’

 

The male bower thinks long and hard but comes to a decision

So he flies to the top of the tree and makes the call.

And from the other side of the forest his call is returned

It is a long distance call.

 

The bower bird calls and calls explaining the situation.

There is silence from the other end.

Maybe the bower building expert has hung up ?

 

Than the call is returned .

It is Kenneth from bower builder Pty Ltd

‘I am on my way to fix your bower

But i must warn you i charge by the hour’

 

The male bower bird doesn’t care how much it costs

As long as he sees some results.

He is still waiting half an hour later

Surely Kenneth should have been here by Now?

 

Than there is a call from below’Hello are you there?’

The male bower bird hops down branch by branch

When he gets close to the ground he sees Kenneth

And he cant believe his eyes.

 

But at the same time he should have known

Cause before struts a large peacock

Kenneth i presume.

 

From the way Kenneth is prancing about shaking his tail

feathers.

It is obvious that he is batting for the other team

He is really flamboyant

If you know what i mean?

 

But the male bower bird doesn’t care.

As long as Kenneth can help him attract female bowers

He couldnt care less if Kenneth is a Bette Midler fan or not.

As long as he gets the job done.

Who gives a fuck?

 

The male bower bird explains once more about his inability to

attract female bowers to his bower.

Kenneth the flamboyant peacock preens his shiny feathers

than replies’Well darling i think i can help you with your dilemma

You just have to arrange all of your shiny blue objects in a more

Chi Fu way

There is too much ying and not enough yang

Too much dark and not enough light’

 

They stroll over to the bower

And Kenneth the flamboyant peacock gives it a critical eye

‘Yes i can help you.

But like i said during the call i dont come cheap

I charge not by the assignment but by the hour”I think that if i arrange

all of the blue objects so they catch the afternoon sun

It will attract the female eye.

Your bower will shine like a huge diamond ring.’

 

So for the next six hours the flamboyant peacock arranges the blue objects

just so.

Than he pouts his lips stands back and takes a look.

‘Well Kenneth you have done it again’

 

At 2 pm the sun is at the precise angle.

And the bower is shines in a blue light.

Female bower birds fly in from all around.

And even though the male bower is old in bird years.

Now all of a sudden he is the new kid on the block.

 

The blue light shines through the forest.

Female bower birds are even flying in from New Guinea

To see the new kid in town.The male bower cant believe his luck

He is getting more action than he can handle.

 

The male bower bird is walking the red carpet.

He is now so popular that wherever he goes .

He has to wear some cheap sunglasses.

He has that many female suitors he has installed turnstiles

And is charging one dollar for admission.

 

At least that will cover Kenneth’s outrageous charges

Thank Christ he didn’t charge by the minute.

 

The male bower bird doesn’t care.

As long as he has some female company

And a huge shiny lit up bower.

He couldn’t give a shit

With the help from a flamboyant peacock his wish has come true.

So he will gladly pay by the hour.

 

The End.

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories, now if you could make a donation so i can achieve my goal of becoming a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.

A Foetus And Me

12 Friday Aug 2016

Posted by in poems, stories, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , ,

My name is Brett Stevens

And i am Fourteen years of age

As i leaving home to go to School my parents told me that

when i got Home.

We needed to have a talk.

 

God i hope it is not that talk

Because they are way too late.

I lost my virginity last week

So talking about sex will be a complete waste of time.

And yes i did wear a condom.

 

I couldn’t concentrate at school i was worried

I hope there is nothing wrong with my parents

So when the school bell rings

I ride home with my heart in my throat

I park my push bike in the garage

And walk inside.

 

My parents are waiting for me at the kitchen table

I go to walk past like i haven’t seen them.

But my mother calls me back.

 

I sit down opposite them

And my mother starts to talk

‘Brett there is something important we need to tell you’

I yell out ‘Too late i had sex last week’

God did i say that out loud?

 

My parents look at me

‘Brett what are you talking about?

‘We need to talk about another matter’

 

‘O h sorry forget that i said anything’

 

My parents look at one another and than my mother starts

to talk.

‘Brett what we have to say is very difficult

We have waited until you are were old enough to comprehend

When you developing inside me before you were born

Another baby was developing at the same time

But the other baby died when it was a foetus

And your body absorbed it’

 

My mind is doing tailspins

What is my mother talking about?

 

Than my father puts a large X ray on the table

‘Brett remember when you broke a rib playing soccer a few

years ago?

This is the X ray that was taken at the time’

 

I look at the X ray and i can clearly see a skeletal foetus attached

to the bottom rib on the right side.

 

This is all too much to take in

I run into my room and throw myself onto the bed

Than i quickly roll over onto my back

I don’t wont to crush my little brother

Jesus what am i thinking about?

My little brother is a dead foetus

A dead foetus inside my body

 

As i lay there on my bed

I cant help but scratch my bottom rib

Maybe if i can scratch hard enough

I can bring my little brother back to life?

 

Wherever i go i scratch and scratch and scratch

I am scratching my skin red raw

But i just keep on scratching

I couldn’t stop even if i tried.

 

Over the following days and weeks i thought that i was

going insane.

But i just couldn’t stop scratching.

Is something moving inside me?

Or have i gone over the Edge?

 

Finally my parents have had enough

And they take me to see a Psychologist

So here i am in the waiting room

Waiting to see a shrink.

 

After introducing himself as Dr Ferguson

The Psychologist asks me to lay down on a couch

Than he starts with the questions about my obsession with

scratching

And how am i dealing with having a foetus inside me?

 

I dont know how to answer all of the questions

I just want to go home.

Than i feel a massive pain in my right side

I lift up my shirt

And a large lump is pushing out

 

The Shrink and i cant believe our eyes

Like a giant pimple or blackhead the lump is getting

bigger and bigger.

Than it erupts

And with a splat the foetus lands on the Shrinks face.

 

The Shrink tumbles and and falls back striking his head against

a coffee table.

And judging by all the blood and brain tissue

I am  fairly sure that he is dead.

 

The foetus runs around the room like a demented chucky

Attached to what looks like a bungee rope.

Than i realise that it must be an umbilical cord

I scream at the top of my lungs

And the foetus springs back into my body

Like a cord of a vacuum cleaner.

 

My screams have probably been heard five miles away

The Receptionist and my parents rush into the room

I quickly pull my shirt back down

Then they see the Psychologist on the floor

 

I tell that we were just talking

When he went all white clutching at his chest.

Than he fell back hitting his head on the coffee table.

 

The Receptionist calls the police

And after they check the scene and ask me questions

I am told that i am free to go home

I sure am glad to get out of there

 

At home i go straight to my room

And lay face up on my bed.

I lift up my shirt and wait.

And soon enough the foetus pokes his head out

 

He looks out at me

Then squirms out onto my chest

Than the foetus starts to talk Thanks for all the scratching

and rubbing’

‘You brought me to life and i will never forget it’

‘What is your name brother?’

 

Than the foetus starts to yawn.

He tells me that he is going to have a snooze

So he crawls back inside.

 

I just lay there thinking.

Than i go out to the garage to get a roll of duct tape

Maybe if i can cover up the hole the foetus will suffocate?

 

Back in my room i apply the duct tape

Than i to decide to have a snooze

And hopefully when i wake up the foetus will be dead.

 

But after a while i feel the duct tape being pulled away from

the hole.

‘You will have to do better than that Brett

I can breathe through your skin and from your mouth and

your nose

‘I can even breathe from your pee hole and arsehole’

 

I dont know what to do

Maybe i should ask my parents to cut it out with a knife?

Or call a priest to perform an exorcism?

Maybe if i take a bath the foetus will drown?

So i fill the bath tub with water

And i climb right in.

 

A few bubbles come from the hole in my side

Than the foetus comes out and dives into the water

And proceeds to swim back stroke

 

Nice try Brett nice try’

 

Than the foetus climbs up onto my stomach

Reaches back and grabs hold of my little shrivelled dick

‘That was your last chance Brett

If you try to destroy me again

I will rip this thing off

And ram it down your throat’

 

Than the foetus tries to climb back into the hole

But he want fit

Than for the first time i notice that he put on a lot of weight

 

‘Looks like i am staying out here from now on

And do you know why Brett?’

And he holds up the umbilical cord

 

‘Every time that you eat most of the nutrients will enter

my bloodstream

‘I will grow bigger and bigger

Than i will take over your body completly’

 

‘No’ I scream at the top of my lungs

Before i can stop them my parents race into the bathroom

My father goes to say ‘What in the fuck?’

When the foetus springs out and grabs a pair of Scissors

from the vanity

And stabs my father in the left eye

My mother is hysterical and screaming to the heavens

The foetus clamps onto her throat

And rips it out.

 

I am hyperventilating i can barely function

But i have the presence of mind to grab the scissors

Then i grab hold of the umbilical cord and make eye contact

with the foetus standing on the vanity.

 

‘Dont do it Brett

If you cut the cord both of us will die

Is that what you wont Brett?

 

Again i dont know what to do

I cant think straight.

I look down at the scissors and start to squeeze

 

Will i cut the cord?

Will we both die?

 

The answers will be revealed

But you will have to come back and read

Part Two.

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories, now if you have the means could you please make a donation so i can achieve my dream of becoming a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.