Journal Entries

Just a Jingle bit more.

More or Less.

We are what we eat, the more we eat, the more we are!

The less we eat, the less.

More or Less.

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Latest reply: Oct 21, 2004

Vengeance is Mine.

"Vengeance is mine!" said the child silently, after the School Dentist with the smelly, cigarette stained fingers had painfully ripped out a back tooth, damaging the tender young mouth. I will be bigger than you quite soon, and I will be back.

"Vengeance is mine!" said the child, now a little taller but still silent, after the brutal sadistic headmaster had delivered one of his normal, extremely heavy handed strokes of the Strap to a quivering right hand, the bottom lip also quivering but the tears in check. I will be bigger and stronger than you quite soon, and I will be back.

"Vengeance is mine!" said the slim youth, still silently, as he discovered that his precious, hard earned wage had been stolen from his jacket pocket. This time a little bolder, but still cautious as he looked the suspect thief directly in his eyes. I will be bigger and stronger than you quite soon, and I will be back.

"Vengeance is mine!" said the man, now confident with authority, as he knocked on the unpainted door of a neglected, dingy looking house. The well established,
official sounding, extremely confident rat a tat tat of the door knocker ringing throughout the empty sounding house.

A faint rustling sound betrayed the fact that there was someone behind the unpainted door, then it slowly opened to expose the figure of a man framed in the open doorway. Alcohol abuse and old age had shrunken the previously enormous figure to a shadow of its former self, and the weakened old eyes did not recognise the figure of absolute authority at his door.

"Sorry to have bothered you Sir, I appear to have the wrong address," as the handcuffs were slipped silently back into a pocket, and the well rehearsed words of the official caution cast aside together with the remainder of the ancient quest. Offences of theft may remain on the books indefinitely, but
vengeance has no place there-in.

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Latest reply: Oct 21, 2004

The City by Night

A poet and a far better writer than I will ever be asked, "What is the City really like at night, having told him one of my stories, comprising two A4 sheets, he said "why don't you write a poem on this fantastic subject. So I took the same story, and condensed it to nine short paragraphs. The result is far deeper than first appears, and covers a side of the City completely unknown to the average commuter and night life visiter. In this format, the story could be used as a guide for any writer to use imagination, and any personal experience to expand it back into a short story of merit. Any offers?

The City by Night.

With crowds long gone, phases of the night pass by until silence reigns supreme, and nature makes one more futile attempt to regain her Kingdom.

The Observer-Hunter's wait, a shadow to the right appears and two heads turn as one, just a large rat as it slowly crosses the cobbled, dimly lit street, and starts to feed on the pile of bones left in the Tatter's yard

The two resume their patient watch, the second rat ignored as it joins its fellow at the feast.

The next silent shadow is the quarry, a thief just visible on the skyline as he makes his greedy way, just once too often. Soon he returns from the warehouse with his prize, then another and another, the pile grows and still he goes back for more.

The trickle of rats has become a stream, a flood. They are in front of us,behind us, Hell! they are even under the van. Thousands of them, fighting, squeaking, squealing.

The silence of the night has gone. The pile of bones a heaving mass of bodies, boring and ripping, stripping marrow and flesh from rotting bone.

At last the cobbled street is clear, the party is complete, Then the trap is sprung; the thief's adrenaline charged body has wings, To no avail, this Hunter is the best.

A scream of fear drowns out the feeding frenzy of the horde squabbling over rancid flesh, brief respite, a moment of silence, and then the morbid feast resumes.

Nature has reclaimed her throne until the final phase has passed, and returning crowds in ignorance take charge once more.

The end.

We never know just what we can achieve, this little piece is actually in The Buckingham Palace Library, part of H.M. collection that includes all of my thirty years of work, pleasure really.

Cheers H.

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Latest reply: Oct 1, 2004


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