Sunday, 19 March 2017

A Letter of Disappointment

Chuck asked us to write about Gods/Goddesses. I couldn't get to the computer last night - due to a few thunderstorms hanging around Brisbane City - so today, I had a good think over breakfast. I thought the Almighty would be a good person to write about. And he's pissed!

enjoy.


To the Human Race on Earth,

You know, being the Almighty isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. I have created a series of planets around the universe for you all to live on at some time – and you’re only just discovering their existence now?

Exactly what have you been doing?

Besides fighting amongst yourselves, killing off some of my favourite creatures (yes, the unicorn was a brilliant stroke of genius, but you just had to have things your way! And the dragon as well – trust you lot to hate something that could actually help you win a war from the air!) and you are systematically killing each other off as well with this thing I thought you’d love: technology.
You’re getting fatter, lazier, becoming bigger arseholes than I ever thought was possible and me forbid any of you ever have an original thought!

And don’t get me started on what happens to the good people on your puny, fucked-up planet I used to consider a Paradise.

I’ve seen some pure-hearted people actually go to the trouble of changing themselves for the better over a long period of time, only to have people step on them, treat them as though they’re nothing and call them all kinds of names and beat them up – mentally and physically.

This has got to stop!

After all I am your God and whether you like it or not, I can pull the whole damned pin on your existence and let Lucifer run the show for a while if you want... yes, he does exist and he almost took over what you think is Hell on Earth.  If you don’t believe me: read your Bible and find out what he was going to do to your home you all are so big on screwing over.

In case you’re wondering where I’ll be while you’re all screaming for my help? I’ll be off across the universe on a new planet I’ve been working on – a new project – that’s bigger, better and much more advanced than you squawking little rejects I made the mistake of handing over the controls to.
Oh... oh... you’re demanding an explanation of why I’m so mad.
Demanding – how dare you demand anything from me after I gave you everything you’d ever need to live where you are now.

I gave you life.

I gave you a place to live.

I gave you day and night.

I gave you water and food.

I gave you all you ever needed to survive.

Why couldn’t you just be happy to do that?

If you needed anything, all you needed to do was pray to me and I’d help you with it. I’d help you with your farming, your animals. I set up the seasons and which animals were best to eat... all you had to do was enjoy your life.

But of course, you wanted so much more – you became greedy!

I even sent my son to set things straight.
But you lot crucified him! You destroyed a man who was gentle, who didn’t wish for anything but peace and love and harmony amongst all men.

So, why should I save any of you and yours when your planet is so close to destruction? Why should I cry tears of compassion when you are all just in this for yourselves, for the bottom line... for the almighty dollar, for how much you can get into your pockets, for the biggest house, the most expensive car, the biggest television, loudest stereo system, for how many women you’ve bedded, how many tattoos you have, the most amount of land you own...

...need I go on?

You all have violated one of the Seven Deadly Sins and none of you can see you’re all Gluttons for wealth, for everything around you that’s shiny and pretty so you can fill your houses with more and more crap and not even think that when you die, your grave is going to be exactly the same size as the poor man you wouldn’t give a dollar to the week before.

You’ll just have more things to get rid of... that your family doesn’t want... and you don’t see how much this has destroyed my trust in you all:  my children.

You don’t remember that do you?

You are all my children – every one of you – from the very beginning of time when I created the oceans, the light and dark, the day and night and the animals, the trees, the fish... I still called you my children.

And like any parent, I still love you all very much.

But you have disappointed me so in the past two thousand years – and well beyond that as well – and you don’t see how much you have.

I have deployed my finest Archangels onto your Earth to work with a few of you; but many of you have lost faith in who I am, so you have ignored their signals. There have been only a few of you who have taken notice, whose minds were open enough to realise they were being touched, talked to and tethered to an Angel – but when they told somebody, they were told they were ‘crazy’ or ‘nuts’ or they have ‘an over-active imagination’.

This is really sad to hear from you all.

My chosen few of followers are quietly-spoken people who now go out and do good for people they have never met. They are people who do the charity work and never expect anything in return. They are the people who live on extremely frugal budgets, have no full-time employment and can barely get by; and yet they give everything away to those who have even less than they do – simply because they have a roof over their own head, clothes on their backs and food in their fridges – and there are people who are living worse off than they are.

And these are the people I’m looking at.
These are the people I am staying on this Earth for.
These are the people who have given me the faith to stick around and see how this place will turn out.

These are the people who are not into politics, don’t like fads, they barely trust anyone and yet, they get along with everyone around them, are kind to all kinds and will help anyone no matter who they are.

These are the people who received regular death threats, are bullied every day, pushed around, treated like crap and are told to pull their heads in all the time by other people around them.

These are the Human Beings who will be changing the world.

Not the loud, rude, crude politicians or the racist people who think that indigenous people have no rights, nor the people who think that women have no rights to do what they wish with their bodies. Or that animals have feelings too (which they do, but most are there to be eaten – that’s why I created them for you. In the beginning, I created cows, pigs and basic livestock to eat, not to keep as pets).

So, as I’ve been watching from way up here in the Higher Choirs of Heaven, I have received report after report of my Paradise heading towards what you all have coined ‘Apocalypse’.

Only I pull the switch for one of those – and have done that more than twice in this planet’s long, long life. I call it ‘the reset button’ because it’s something I thought was called for.

This time, you are the cause of the planet’s problems.

You took the technology I thought you were ready for – and clearly you weren’t – and took it in a totally different direction. You all did something horrible with it.

I’m so terribly disappointed in you all.
You should all be ashamed of yourselves for your actions.

I will not help you any longer.

Your prayers will go unanswered.

The Angels who are tethered to the Humans will remain to help only those Humans and none other – once you get rid of those Humans, both the Angels and the Human come home to me.

By the time you all realise what you have done, Lucifer will have taken over your planet.

You want a wrathful God?

You have one.


Saturday, 11 March 2017

The Demon, The Host And the Vinyls

Chuck asked us to create a monster... so I did. Music is an amazing thing - or is it? I've used the main place of Liverpool, UK as my base of the storyline. I must apologise in advance for getting anything wrong. It's been 20 years since my last visit to both London and Liverpool. 

enjoy!



It was all over the papers today.

The rock concert massacre nobody saw coming. I read the headlines in three different papers. And they all said the same thing: ‘The concert hall was packed as the band began to play their first song. By halfway through the concert, something started to go terribly wrong. The music became a mantra, the lead singer transformed into another being and the drum beat turned the audience into zombies and locked the doors’.

I dreaded this very thing.

I knew who had taken over him, but had no way to get close.

Sitting at my breakfast table, I watched the sun rise over the city. I had to do something; and soon. Picking up the phone, I called one of the guys I used to play in a band with – hoping against hope he hadn’t attended that concert – and was relieved to hear his voice, “Robbie! So good to hear your voice, man!”
“Dude! Did you read the paper about the concert last night?” his gritty voice said, “I can’t believe it’s back!”
“We have to do something about this.”
“I’m good with the sound guys with the band. So, if you’re willing, we can put this crap back where it came from.” He suggested, “And have you got the same sounds we made way back when that worked last time?”
I turned and looked at the platinum vinyl framed up on the wall, “Sure do. But I think it’s going to take something more than that this time. He’s going to be expecting us.”
“I’ll be right over.”
As soon as I hung up, I pulled the platinum record off the wall and looked at it. We were going to do some serious work on this thing, but I had to have my coffee first.

Three hours passed and Robbie and I were downstairs in the recording studio with the platinum disk on the player. It had been years since either of us had played them – as he had brought along his to join the sounds together.
“I’ve asked a few of our wizard co-pats to help out, but they’ve all gone into hiding.” He sighed, “This thing is huge... bigger than it was in the 70’s.”
“Crap.” I groaned, “And we’re gettin’ too fuckin’ old for this shit.”
His faded blue eyes met mine, “I know. I vaguely remember Woodstock.”
Laughing I shook my head, “I don’t.” My smile fell off my face as fear replaced what we were up against, “Are we sure it’s the same thing? Or could it have brought along friends?”
“Fuck I hope not.” He leaned his elbows against his knees and looked down, “I really hope not.”

The dubbing went down well.
I don’t know where Robbie got his hands on a blank gold album, but he did. And we recorded more work onto the dubbing of the two vinyls and more chanting and exorcisms – layering them underneath the chords – to hide them more before cutting it all onto the gold vinyl.
“I hope this works.” Robbie whispered as we finished it up and slid it into a box of its own.
“So do I.” I said, “When’s the next concert?”
He pulled up the site of events around London, then around the UK, “Um... Liverpool.”

The city hadn’t changed that much in the last twenty years. It was an industrial city to start with and the council had worked hard to get Liverpool to look like a pretty nice place to be.
Robbie and I climbed off the train and made our way towards Cissy’s place. She was another band member from way back in the 70’s we used to hang with – and the only witch who hadn’t gone into hiding. She wanted in on our game to close down the massacres surrounding this band that it seemed nobody could stop.
“Welcome to my home.” She smiled, “I’m so glad you guys could make it.” She hugged us both and let us into her little cottage, “I was nervous you had been caught on the way by the band members.”
“Nope... they flew, we trained it.” I said.
“No, they trained it too... on the same one you were on.” She said.
“What?” Robbie and I both turned, looking at her.
“I did a location spell and watched the map, you were all two carriages from each other and didn’t even know it.” She said.
My mate – the old bass guitarist from my band – turned pale, “Dude, we have to work fast... we have to get to the hall now!”
“It’s at the University of Liverpool... at the main hall.” Cissy said, “And if you want in, one of you will have to know a roadie to get your butts anywhere near it.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Robbie smiled, “If we can’t get inside it, we can do one better.”
I turned to him, “How?”
He looked at Cissy, “Do you still have that platinum vinyl we all cut when this happened last time?”
“Of course I do. Why?”
“We need your larger turntable. I’ll explain on the way.”

We didn’t need to say much to get into the university hall. Us three looked like older students who had made the wrong turn somewhere on campus and ended up in the main hall at the university where the band was setting up.
Robbie acted like the sound engineer – as he always did, even though he was the bass player – and ordered people around. They jumped when he told them to and he took over the sound area of the whole concert hall. But we had one problem: we couldn’t try out the two vinyls without somebody getting suspicious of what we were doing.
We needed the concert to be in full swing for the exorcism to work as that was when the Demon was about to feed – when it was at its weakest and most vulnerable.  
And now, all we needed to do was wait.


The concert hall filled to capacity.

The turnout was amazing.

There was a quick sound-check – which Robbie did with another guy – and the band started playing straight away.

The place jump. It thrummed. It pounded with the sound of the drums and people singing and chanting... and this was when we realised one thing: this is how the demon came about in the lead singer. 

He was the host for it, and had to be called forward.

We waited until the Demon had taken him over.

We waited until the singer had begun to feed on the mosh pit.

With shaking hands, I turned off the sound... the lights... everything and Cissy dropped both needles at the same time on the gold vinyls; blasting the Gaia Melody Song through over a dozen speakers.
We broke the spell the Demon had over the public in three of the longest minutes of our lives.
The Demon was exorcised in a huge, fiery explosion, which killed the lead singer – and his host – in a massive bloody mess.

We saved so many people that night.

We hid the vinyls in a safe place and made a vow to never speak of this night ever again to each other.

But we had one problem: Cissy, Robbie and I have never been the same since that night. None of us can sleep anymore because the Demon’s screams from Hell invades our dreams every night.

It’s been three years since that night. Cissy was found dead at her house. She couldn’t stand the screaming in her head. Robbie and I have put ourselves into the right places to be helped... but I haven’t seen Robbie today, doc... is he okay? Oh, my god. No. Not you. You were exorcised by Cissy, Robbie and me!

I’m not telling you where those vinyls are...

... tell me where Robbie is.


Saturday, 4 March 2017

The Deal

Chuck has us writing about Right vs Wrong. He put down two choices: 1. Doing a good thing sometimes means being evil, and 2. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. I picked the first one - I think.

enjoy.

I listened at the door of my bedroom as my folks sat down with their financial advisor, Christopher, and realised with dread that they couldn’t afford to keep the house anymore.

It wasn’t late, but I had been sent to my room almost after dinner.

Dad was on his fourth scotch for the night.

Mum looked like she had been crying all day.

I had finished my homework and didn’t need to study for anything important. So listening at the door was my way of keeping in with what was going on in the place.
“I’m sorry. But you’ve stretched your money too thin. Marcey is going to the local high school. You’ve paid off your debt and the new car was something you shouldn’t have bought.” He said.
“It’s a company car.” Dad muttered.
“Oh... I see. So, the other one is the family car?”
“Yes.” Mum whispered, “I don’t understand where we went wrong. Darcy told us last year that we were going well... really well. After he left the company, and you took over our account, we seemed to be losing money left and right.”
I wondered about this too. How could my folks be floundering so much in just one year when they really didn’t spend any money on big things? Sure I was only seventeen, but I knew my folks weren’t big spenders. Dad was always fixing things around the place. Mum was forever pointing out that second-hand clothes were groovier than brand new (and sometimes she was right). Our whole house was filled with pre-loved items from all over the city; and Dad had built my bedroom frame from leftover steel pieces he found at the dump – and I loved it!

I had to find out why we were so damned broke. Peering between the door and the jamb, I saw they had finished up for the night and my folks were alone.
I packed my backpack with my ritualistic witchcraft things; along with a knife, a wand, blessing crystals and my spell book; then walked out to the living area towards the front door.
“Where are you going? It’s late.” Dad’s voice asked.
“I’m going to Tina’s house and it’s only 7:30, Dad.” I said.
Mum nodded, “It’s on the calendar. They’re going to study.”
“Oh... keep your phone on you.”
I walked out to the footpath where Christopher’s car was still parked as he leaned against it. In the dark, I thought he was as creepy as he was in normal light – so it wasn’t just my imagination.
“Hey, kid.” He called out, “Can we talk for a bit?”
I stopped, feeling nervous, “I don’t see how you’d be interested in me. You’re an adult here talking about adult things.”
“You’re almost an adult.” He grinned, “We can talk.”
I shrugged, “What about?”
“You’re folks don’t have any money.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“I’m the financial advisor, not you.” He snapped, “But they could be swimming in it if you do a little something for me.”
“What?”
“Get your Dad outa the picture and the money will come flooding back in.” Christopher said.
“As life insurance.” I retorted, “And no.” I turned to leave, when his hand landed on my shoulder, gripping it hard as I felt the heat emanate from it and smelled my skin begin to burn.
“Now, we’re going to make a deal and you’re going to say yes, you little witch.” His voice growled into my ear.
“How did you..?” I turned to find not Christopher next to me, but a demon. His grin wasn’t the only thing lighting up his face. His eyes... oh my god, his eyes were... “Christo.”
“Oh the little witch has done her homework alright! You know my name in Latin, wonderful.” He chortled.
Shoving his hand off me, I backed away, “I make no deal with a demon.”
"A little late for that, young lady... your mother already did. Why do you think she looks so tired all the time? I’ve been showing up here during the day when you and your Daddikins have been out at work... at school... and well, now, she’s...” he turned smiling, “...you know.”
“No... not that.” I dropped my bag and the first thing that fell out was my ceremonial knife. It was long, and shining and beautiful. But it wasn’t until the streetlight caught its blade that I noticed it and I picked it up.
“Oh... you’ve got a knife.” He made fun of the athame until he spotted the dark jewels and hilt of the weapon, “Oh shit.”
Making a lunge for my hand, I swept my free hand in front of me, “Protectis!” and a force field surrounded me as he ran straight into it, bounced off it and onto his arse.
“I hate you witches! You don’t fight fair.”
Letting down the force field, I nodded, “Neither do you. But then my folks don’t know about me.”
“Marcey?” Dad’s voice asked in the darkness, “Did I just see you create a force field out of nothing? And what are you doing with a knife?”
I glanced his way just for a moment.
It was just enough time for Christopher to make his move.

I saw him...

...and I...

... there was blood

...everywhere!

The courts told my parents I wasn’t in my right mind to answer any questions. The police told the lawyers I had been under the influence of drugs – or something – and yet they found nothing in my bedroom to show of that fact. The financial company told my folks they had never heard of Christopher before and Darcy never left the company (my folks just didn’t call for another appointment). Their money was fine and there was nothing wrong.
I was put into a heavy security psychiatric hospital for the rest of my life because I kept on seeing Christopher – Christo – in the court room.

I still see him.

He keeps me awake at night...

....trying to make a deal with me...

...this time, he wants me to do something for him... 

he still wants me to kill for him.

I must be getting better...



because I still say no.

Saturday, 25 February 2017

Into The Woods...

Chuck asked us to use one of the photos he put up the link for on Flickr. However the one I chose isn't there anymore. I've clicked through for over 20 minutes and I just can't find it... and I did download it, but it's not on my computer to put on Pinterest. Damn! 

Anyway, it's a photo of a very overgrown glen; bright green, no pathways in or out; very pretty to say the least - or is it?

26th, Feb - Woohoo! I found it! I cancelled the download by accident and found it in the history on the computer! Yay! Link time! 

The Great Protector by Mark LittleJohn

enjoy!

What will we find, as we go into the woods today?
Will we be in for a big surprise?
Will the tall trees tower way over above us today?
Or will the vines be covered in poison ivy?
Will a bear coming rushing at us, tearing us limb from limb?
Leaving our bloody entrails all over the lovely greenery for nobody to find for weeks; unless it rains?

What will we find, as we go into the woods today?
Will we be in for an unusual surprise?
Will we follow a path for miles and miles?
Will we get ourselves lost, never to be found by anyone?
Will we find ourselves at the very edge of a cliff and ... fall... the bottom of the undiscovered, unmapped terrain be our resting place?

What will we find as we go into the woods today?
Will we be in for a great surprise?
Will we be hunted by Wendigo howling from the woods surrounding us, and they put us in their caves for when they want us for a meal?
Will they hide us away from the prying eyes of the Rangers where we will never be found?

What will we find as we go into the woods today?
Will we be in for some kind of surprise?
Will there be a swamp with the back bumper of a car sticking out with the sound of somebody screaming from inside as it sinks below its dark, slimy surface?
Will we be able to help them before we become the next....?

What will we find as we go into the woods today?
Are we going into the woods today?
Stop the fucking car.
Turn it around and take me the fuck back to civilisation!
I don’t want to go into the damned woods today!

There’s too much out there I don’t want to know about!

Saturday, 18 February 2017

Sincerely, your Mortician

Last week, Chuck gave us 10 titles to pick from... this week, there's another 10 titles to pick from. I chose 'Sincerely, your Mortician'

enjoy!

Last week, I checked the letterbox to find an envelope inside it with the words, ‘Sincerely, Your Mortician’ written on the front in very nice calligraphy.
I had no idea what to make of this, as it wasn’t something you’d normally find in a letterbox. Was this something of a joke that the kids around the neighbourhood were playing, as they filmed me on their phones from a distance? Did they put a live spider inside it waiting for me to open it and jump out at me; scaring the crap out of me as the poor critter raced off in fear – or bit me and caused me to get sick?
Opening it carefully, I held it away from me, gave it a shake and out fell a letter – and nothing else.
Well... okay.
I picked it up, opened it and found it was addressed to me.

‘Dear Cecilly,
It is time for you to be ready.
Is your dress organised?
Is your Will in order?
Have you told everyone you love them?
Sincerely,
Your Mortician’

Shaking, I folded the letter along its creases and pushed it back into the envelope, looked around the street.
A bird sang from a tree.
A car putted by as it was about to turn the corner.
A child’s laugh was heard from the house next door.
I turned and walked back inside my house. I put the letter away in a place where I didn’t have to see it.

Two weeks past.
The letter’s meaning began to fade.
I had begun to get back into a normal routine again.
Then I checked my letterbox again and there was another letter with the same words on it in the same calligraphy. Inside it was the same letter addressed to me.
I called the police as I found the other letter in the drawer in the sideboard.
They came and looked at them side by side.
“They’re exactly the same.” One said taking notes.
“How long have you lived here, Miss...”
“Oh, just call me Cecilly.” I said, “Everyone around here does. And I’ve been here around forty years in this very same house.”
They asked me all kinds of questions. From how well I get along with my neighbours to who would hate me enough to scare me. I had no idea who’d want to scare me and as far as I knew, nobody had anything against me to cause this kind of thing to happen.
The two rose from the kitchen chairs, thanking me for the tea, saying they’d let me know if they find anything. They took one letter with them in a sleeve and left the other with me.
However I felt as though it wasn’t much use getting them here. I still felt fear in my heart because of what’s happened.

So, I called my daughter.
She wasn’t home.... I wished she was, I really needed her.

A week later, I found another letter of the same kind in my letterbox. My gut turned cold as I didn’t want to touch it. Pulling out my phone, I called the police from my footpath and they arrived immediately.

It was the very same as the other two.

They were grateful I hadn’t touched it.

They took it away for me.

I tried to call my daughter again; but found her mobile went straight to voice mail, and her answering machine at home told me it was full and I couldn’t leave a message.
I decided to go to church as I always found this a place of solace and where I often found peace. But as I walked through the doors, I found they were fixing up the place for a funeral. A casket was down the front with the most gorgeous flowers all around. People were beginning to arrive.
There was one problem: I knew all these people. They all walked up to the lovely casket and chatted about ‘how could this happen to her?’
Then, I saw my daughter and my two sons and rose, but a hand caught my arm. Turning, I saw a man dressed in a mortician’s suit, “I wouldn’t.” He said.
Pulling free, I walked off, “Leave me alone. I don’t know you.” I approached Lilly, Davin and Gary, “Oh my children, I’m so sorry for your loss... I have no words to express how horrible this must be for you all.”
“They can’t hear you.” He stood by my side, “And they can’t see you either; or me for that matter.”
I ignored him as I reached out to touched my darling Lilly and she suddenly pulled away from me, rubbing her arm frowning at me – through me – as she searched the crowd for who touched her... and yet... who didn’t.
“Lil, you okay?” Davin was by her side in a moment, his arm around his little sister, knowing she was a person who was known as a ‘sensitive’.
“I think Mum’s here. She touched my arm and I heard her voice calling me ‘darling Lilly’, but it was at a whisper; I couldn’t hear it above the noise here.”
“Of course I’m here, sweetheart.” I stood right in front of her, “Why can’t you see me?” I turned to the man in the suit, “Why can’t they see me? What did you do to me?”
“Here.” He handed me an envelope. It was the same as the ones I found in my letterbox at my house.
“I don’t want your stupid prank letters!” I screamed at him and the light on the wall nearby exploded as my anger showed itself clearly.
“I’m so sorry you don’t remember how you died.” His deep voice whispered through the audience of the people I know here today, “I think it’s best you take a seat before we take a nice walk. You have to calm down.”
I sat at the back of my church, where I had frequented for most of my life as the funeral procession started.
The pastor stood up the front in his formal robes, admired the lovely flowers on the casket and turned toward the full church, “We are gathered here today to celebrate the life and the death of Cecilly Lilly Archer. She was a loving mother of three children and unfortunately left this life far too soon; having been found on her footpath by passing joggers last week as she checked her letterbox. She suffered a massive heart attack and was gone into our Father’s hands before the ambulance arrived.” His voice droned on as he started talking about my life.
I turned to the man next to me, “I’m dead?”
He nodded, “And I’m your mortician.”
“I don’t understand.”
He smiled, “I’m your guide to the other side. This is normal to be attending your service... let’s stay awhile. It’s usually fun to find out what people think of you when you’re not around.” He handed me a letter, “Open it.”
I pulled it open slowly and read the contents:

'Dear Cecilly,

Yes, you are dead. Yes this is your funeral. No, this is nothing to be afraid of, and don’t worry, we’re going to be good friends. I am somebody you knew in life.

Sincerely,

Your Mortician.'

Time went on a bit of a blur really. I couldn’t keep track of anything – the past and the present were starting to melt together in a dizzying kind of bubble. I didn’t like it. But I knew it was time to leave, time to find out who this mortician man was soon.
One day, I found myself in my house and it was empty. There was no furniture in it. No carpet, no paint, no light and no life... it was time to move on. The mortician arrived at my side and I took his hand, closing my eyes against a blinding light, “You said I knew you.”
“And you do, Cecilly.” His voice was low and at a whisper still, “Open your eyes.”
I did and found myself in a gorgeous garden; one I almost didn’t recognise. It was one I hadn’t seen in over twenty years! Looking down at my hand where his hand had been, I found it empty. The mortician had left me alone in this paradise... without a companion.
“Where are you!” I shouted turning in a panic as my eyes fell upon my lovely sweet husband, George. He was standing next to the mortician, “Is it really you?”
“Oh, Cecilly... I heard you had passed and wondered if you were going to come home.” He walked to me, holding me; his wonderful scent bringing me home to him, “So, I began sending you the letters to let you know it was almost time... because I know how much you love receiving mail.”
“But why didn’t you sign it with your own name?”
“The mortician wouldn’t let me... I didn’t want to spook you.”
“She died before the other letters arrived.” The mortician said, “Only one got through.”
George turned to him, “Well, I think it’s time we enjoyed our time alone. Thank you for your services.”
The darkly-dressed man nodded, tipping his hat a little, “If you ever need me again, just call. I am both your guides.”
My darling George turned to me, “Welcome home, sweetheart.” 

Sunday, 12 February 2017

The Gallows Girls

Last week, Chuck had us throwing 3-word titles at him. This week, he's asked us to pick one out 10 he's put up on his blog. I picked 'The Gallows Girls'. But I concentrated on one of the girls' lives not all three... 

enjoy!


You don’t know me.

You never will.

You don’t take much notice of me when your time has come.

Your attention is directed out on the crowds in front.

Your eyes fall to the block in front of you – stained brown with the blood of those who have gone before you.

You can see us prepare your fate from the window of your cell; and I love it that we make you so nervous.
Every time we bring out the gallows, it’s checked over by the other three girls who have to maintain it.
Yes, it’s us girls who are in control of this death machine... as it was our Daddy’s responsibility before us. When they did not have sons, it fell to their daughters to care for the gallows.
At first, I didn’t want to take up my Daddy’s way of living; but it was the money that pulled me into it. I really didn’t know he earned so much to do that to criminals. So, I learned to do my part – and I learned the hard way: I learned after Daddy died how to swing an axe properly. One of the King’s guards taught me all I needed to know; and he was good enough to teach me how to use a sword in close combat as well as other weaponry.
Then, he tried to have his way with me – as most guards do with the women – and regretted it immediately as I slit his throat. 
It was amazing to kill my first human. 
The power I felt was incredible as I watched the life drain from his eyes... as he struggled to keep me from...

... it was such a thrill!

But the blood didn’t bother me by then.

I had killed so many pigs through practice that slitting that pig’s throat was just as easy. However when I turned, I found another guard standing nearby watching on.
“I saw what he was doing.” He said, his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to fight me if needs be, “He deserved every bit of what you did.”
I glanced at the dead guard, “What now?”
He smiled, “We weight him and throw him into the moat.”

I liked this guard.

He was going to be useful to me.

Two weeks passed by and the door of our hut was kicked down by one of the King’s Guards. Mother moved quickly to one side as I turned from sharpening my dirk, saw them standing nearby and went back to my wet stone.
“Gallows Girl, rise to your feet in the presence of your King.” The Guard snapped as he grabbed my arm.
I stopped what I was doing, looked at his hand, glanced up at him, “You’re hurting me.” He let go and I put my dirk down on the table and stood keeping my hand near it just in case things turned around on me, “Majesty, why did you kick in my door?”
He looked around at the hut, “One of my guards has been found dead in the moat with his throat slit.” His eyes rested on me, “From memory, I ordered him to train you in hand-to-hand combat; and how to swing an axe so as to do your work properly.”
“Yes, and he did his work well, Majesty.” I replied, “But I did not kill him.”
Sighing, he walked over to me, “The guard who witnessed the murder has admitted to helping you dispose of the body.”
“He was attacking me. I did what I did to survive.”
His eyes moved to the floor for a moment before they locked with mine, and he grunted, “I see.” Turning, he walked to the door, “Arrest her!”

I have a nice view of the Gallows.

My cell is across from the guard who was trying to help me.

But there are a few problems with what will happen this day.

I am with child... that guard left me with his disgusting seed inside me, and my stomach has begun to swell.

And I am the Executioner.

“It just occurred to me.” The King’s voice said from the door, “You are the Executioner.”
“Yes.”
“No guard wishes to dispose of you.” He rolled his eyes, “I have no real choice but to remove you from this castle and Kingdom.”
“You still need an Executioner.”
He nodded, “We cannot train one in such a short amount of time.” He looked to his right, “Let her out.”
The door opened and I walked out slowly, bowing to him, “I am forever in your dept, Majesty.”
“You have a job to do today. I advise you do your job and stay away from the people in future.” He handed me my mask, “Your family will move away from the castle and into the woods. I will only send for you when I need an Executioner.”
“Yes, Sire.”

You don’t know me.

You never will.

You don’t take much notice of me when your time has come.

Your attention is directed out on the crowds in front.

Your eyes fall to the block in front of you – stained brown with the blood of those who have gone before you.