Hollow

The air throbs with silence, broken only by the methodical ticking of the antique clock on the mantel piece. Its brass pendulum swings in a hypnotic rhythm, never faltering, never stopping. Like my heartbeat, as I continue on: to move, to breathe, to live. But this is no life.

I’m a shell of a human, hollowed out by the death of you. Emptied of all emotion since you left. I feel nothing. Not love, not pain, not the rain on my skin. My life is on autopilot, completing menial daily routines until my body gives up and I can be with you once more.

The ticking gets louder, invading my head with heavy noise, pulsating until I explode. With swift hands I lash out at the clock, sending it flying from its perch and shattering against the wall. As the springs, cogs and coils rain down on the carpet I see a yellowed note covered in a familiar scrawl. And that’s how I discovered your secret.

Underground

28/5/13

This is a piece I wrote when I was experimenting with punctuation. A similar storyline to 'The Dark'.

Silence. Eerie silence. Soft footsteps. Click-clack, click-clack. Hiding. Darkness. Holding breath. Footsteps quieter. Eyes squinting. More darkness. Bodies huddled. Strained moans. Pretending is futile. They’re coming. We know it. No escape. Impossible. Never stop trying. Stuttered movements. Rearranging cramped muscles. Sharp hiss. Collective jump. Air vent. Laughter. Disbelief.

Tunnels. A labyrinth. Maze. Unplanned. No direction. Lost. Spontaneous fortune. Still alive. Somehow. Slimy stones. Sturdy walls. Arched roof. Erosion. Moss. Algae. Death trap underfoot. Uneven surface. Tripping. Tumbling. Stumbling. Mumbling. Stop running, certain death. Constant drip. Sudden gush. Foul smell. Heavy air. Burdened lungs. Singed nostrils. Intoxication. Unsafe. Not for human dwelling. Forced by circumstance. Cold. Shivers wrack everybody. No relief.  Sweltering heat. Sweat engulfs pores. No control. Feet splash. Weary. Fatigue. Must sleep. Find temporary safe-haven. Night shift. Terrors. Tremors. Jolt awake. Shaky breathing. Surrounded. Allies. Eyes closing. Shuffling. Packing. Moving on. Another day.

No light. No shadows. No fresh air. No life. How? Blind Hell. Chaos for the senses. Visually numb. Still not accustomed. Soldier on. Get past this. Self-pity won’t help. Shake it off. Feel strength. Balled fists. Surge of belief. Look round. No use. Try to sense comrades. Inspire them to continue. Leadership. Unwanted. But accepted. Drive onwards. Pushing weary legs. We must find it. Defeat them. At all costs. Severely outnumbered. Definitely easily overpowered. No real chance. Striving for survival. Seemingly pointless. No time to think. To try and predict fate. Altering destiny is the only hope. The only way. These people. Refugees. Forced out of civilization. Salvation has been earned. It’s deserved. So we battle. Freedom fighting. In the shelter. Shelter of darkness. Cocooned by it’s anonymity. All-consuming. It used to be scary. Now it’s our refuge.

Barking. Gnashing. Jaws. Teeth. Foam. Sinister sniffing. Ears pricked. On the hunt. Blood-thirsty. Attack is imminent. No hesitation. No endurance. Piercing eyes. All-seeing. Cutting through the eternal night. Watching. Waiting. Searching. A scurry of little feet. Heads snap upwards. Eyes locking on prey. Not the target. Pointless game. Poised to pounce. Muscles quivering. Claws gripping. Lips rippling. Growls ricocheting. Chills. The beasts. The hounds of hell. Messengers of death. Delivering suffering to all on their list. Master’s orders. They patrol nightly. The only known exit. Tendrils of light. Creeping through cracks. Illumination is so rare. We stand. In awe. A heavenly glow. Instills new faith. Deep breaths. Staggered steps. We recount the plan. How to tackle the beasts? Bait. Sick. Twisted. Stomach churning. But necessary. Sacrifice for salvation. In the half-light I notice my comrades. Each dirty face. Scarred by life here. Terrified. Unsure. And I know. It’s me. My time. I want this. To die a hero. A proud demise. With a loud whistle I seal my fate. Stepping from the black. I reveal myself. The animals howl. Blood-curdling. Running. Sprinting. Ripping through the tunnels. Nothing stops me. Until. A snarl. Right behind me. Hot panting breath. The ground abruptly breaks. A leap of faith.

Fan

28/5/13

She stares at the poster adorning the wall,

Love in her eyes, she releases a sigh.

Soon, so soon, head over heels he’ll fall,

And at their wedding she’ll surely cry.

At each new love match she writes a letter,

‘Dear Mrs. Homewrecker, I hope you die’.

You’d think reality would make her see better,

That he doesn’t know her to even say hi.

She waits outside in the pouring rain,

A sodden notepad clutched to her breast.

Slowly, slowly, she goes insane,

But to meet her idol she’ll do her best.

She’ll wait every time to get her chance,

But her face is just a ghost in a sea of fans.

He passes by without a second glance,

And with that final blow she makes her plans.

She rips all his posters and tears down the shrine,

As if she is no longer his biggest fan.

In her mind he’s crossed a line,

And she vows revenge on an innocent man.

Driven insane by the lack of attention,

She buys all the tools for her plot of redemption.

She’ll kidnap her idol and force him to see,

That he should love her, together they’ll be.

Locked in a basement, he trembles with fear,

Whilst she chooses a knife and begins to sneer.

The fame and looks have clouded her vision,

And on the tied-up star she’ll make an incision.

‘I want you to love me!’ She screams through the tears,

Pain takes hold and the hostage barely hears.

She raises the knife to slash skin once more,

When with a loud thud, police burst through the door.

They contain the girl in a steely grip,

And help her hero hobble to the drip.

Her face changes as she sees what she’s done:

The result of fame and its power to stun.

She’s led outside and into the van,

But she’s not the last obsessive fan.

'It's The Way She Moves'

28/04/13

The room is quiet, dark and still

There is no sound or movement until

A small girl enters in dancing attire

She looks so somber but in her heart there’s a fire

A dream to succeed and so practice she will

As the moon shines down lighting every lace, every frill

She comes in the dark and the comfort of night

For in the day she’s criticized, try as she might

The others are arrogant and coated in tan

She works the hardest doing all that she can

Her feet sweep the floor in a majestic fashion

A floating perfection, the result of her passion

In the dark of the night her true colours show

An effortless plié, but no one will know

Conscience

27/04/13

Solitude. Isolation. I roam the countryside, searching through the bitter wilderness, watching. Waiting. My goal is to rid the world of the malevolence that secretes from every orifice, every pore of this living Earth, right to its core. Remove all trace of the ceaseless violence that plagues the inhabitants and haunts my subconscious. For once, I was one. A small, seemingly insignificant piece in their game, manipulated and twisted. Ordered to hurt. Although I simply obeyed I can never undo the injustice I caused, the fate I initiated, the destiny I created.

The abused and the wronged never forget, so I want to be remembered for a different reason: for love, for humanity, for salvation. So I venture on, tracking these new kind of villains and their monstrous plan of torture and treason. Details. Intricate details. Winding their way through loops, weaving and whirling a pattern so complex that even an insider can barely decipher direction. Betrayal is so taboo that it is punishable by worse than execution, a providence that I am certain to suffer in the face of success. But I must succeed. Failure is not an option with what’s at stake.

Faces surround me, enveloping my senses and incapacitating my being. The victims of my blind faith and cruel enslavement, the innocent who I once condemned to eternal damnation and for whom I now seek supreme redemption.