VOTE! 2009 SAMHUINN/BELTANE PROSE

[Earthwoman]

Notice: Please use the poll to cast vote(s) for your favorite prose. You cannot select more than three. ONLY those votes submitted to the poll will be tallied. Votes submitted as posts below will not be counted.

[Michael C. Page]

A choice most shaded

You know as I reflect upon my existence, it seems that I’m always visited about this time of year by many a teacher, relative or friend. They always come, you know, at this time, for that is the easiest for them, understandably so. Oh! Sorry. What time? Well the time of the Dark moon of course! Sorry I was not that specific – at my age, I tend to ramble a bit and take a lot of things for granted such as people being able to read my mind – sorry. I’ll attempt, therefore, to force myself to be more specific and if you have a question, please don’t hesitate to interrupt me!

Now, where was I…. Oh yes the time. Ah! This grand in between time! For some, you know, it’s a specific date or some such, though that has never made sense to me even when I was younger. I guess though, when you are as old as I, beliefs gently give way to the way things actually are! Many people can’t handle that you know…..seeing things for the way they are…..The look on their faces when they cross is so frightening that it gives you the coldest feeling of despair…. What was that? Why do people wait for a Dark moon to visit me? Well, bless you child, I thought you knew! Their…um what you would call …um…dead. Now, now – don’t be alarmed. They’re not all bad, you know. No they cross over and visit me and urge me to move along. My teachers and guides, especially, shake their heads in disappointment! “Come On!” they say. “You are ready already!” Ah! Bless them all for their love! Good ones they are. So, so …caring you know….and they never forget! They never forget.

What? What do I tell them? Well I tell them the truth, of course! I say: yes! I know I’m ready – of course I’m ready….but I just want to have a little more fun. You see….. I like flying over trees and moving though solid walls - It brings me joy to cause a non-believer to question their metaphysics as I appear before them and play little tricks – And, forgive me for on occasion I bask in delight when I help bring a living one to justice who has done ill to others! So, I’m ready to move on with my loved ones, but I do so love being what I am.

Hmmm? What am I??? Oh, well hadn’t you guessed???…..

[Sourdust]

HERNE RIDES



A new chill permeated the walls and the restlessness of leaves entered with it. Guinevere paced and wept, paced and whined, and tossed like a lone leaf fallen into the Castle of Despair—yet she refused the new king nothing but her joy. In short—she seemed to have changed little—it was as if (to her) the face beneath the crown meant nothing, and her heart would always be elsewhere. Unlike Arthur, however, Mordred appeared unmoved by her moods, tears, or tempers.
Far away, Arthur sprawled like a turtle on Avalon’s head. He found the old female turtle to be good company, but he still pined for Camelot—and one person in particular. Oddly, it was Avalon who brought it up.
“You know you can’t interfere?” she said. “That world is no longer yours: it belongs to the living. You do know that, Arthur?”
His dream cracked . . . where was he? Ah yes, those golden tresses were blowing in the shining wind. “What? Oh, yes. Of course I know that. Everyone knows that.”
“It could make things harder, you know—but there are ways . . . times . . . when you could visit—just for a little while.”
“There are?” His interest was palpable.
The turtle laughed, and a gentle breeze rattled coconuts in the palms. “Have you forgotten so much? Have you forgotten the magic?”
“Necromancy?” He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t think anyone I care to see is into that—even Merlin had reservations—still, if I could slip out of the triangle . . . .”
She laughed again, but it was a deeper laugh, and the trees bent dangerously; it was not a funny laugh. “Oh boy-king—I don’t mean the darker magic, but the more natural magic of time: the seasonal turnings, the fire days. Have you forgotten so much? Perhaps the loss of blood from your wound . . .”
Arthur roused, and smiled as a ray of sunlight fell across his face. “Of course, Avalon. Of course!” He stood excitedly. “How could I forget autumn? She was so beautiful in autumn . . . how could I forget? And the thinning veil between the worlds—but she doesn’t perform the rites.” He sat with a plop.
“Pssht! I know that—did you think I didn’t? But she needn’t do anything. No, the rites will bloom across the land like flaming leaves as the fires are lit: small ones, large ones, public and private ones—the magic will be strong should you choose to ride.”
“Ride?”
“Yes, Your Majesty: ride. The Hunter rides on that night—and makes visitations, as well. You can be the Hunter—but it may not be not be easy.”
“And—I can see her?”
“You can call—and the call touches her heart she will come. That’s all I can promise—along with the fact that she will not be your only call. But Arthur, you cannot touch her, and you cannot linger—for the night will be short. Very short for all you must do.”
“But what else must I do? Who should I see? There are so many—and so few.”
“That I cannot tell you, for if you choose to become the Hunter, it is He who will guide you—not me. Do you accept this quest?”
“With all my heart!”
“Then let us hope you will not regret it. The time is soon.”
#
By Samhain the first scatterings of snow were falling—yet throughout the land, bonfires were blazing, and within the walls of Camelot a carnival of festivities replaced the brilliance of falling leaves. Vendors hawked their wares and fortunes, sold and told, as the sweetness of hot cider and warm bread mingled freely with the sharp scent of animal fats. Inside, the great hall prepared for a wedding feast, had never looked grander.
#
Avalon swam slowly into the mist. It was warm at first, but soon cool pockets appeared more and more frequently—and then they moved into fog, curling around the landmass silent and still as a sleeping cat. When waves began thrashing like the tail, and it was evident they were nearing landfall: Cornwall.
Arthur stood on the turtles great head, peering into the fog as if from a crow’s nest. “I can smell it!” he said. “Yes, yes I do: British soil—there’s nothing like it in all the world.”
Avalon’s deep voice cut through the fog. “Yes, Arthur, it’s nearly time: Britain needs you—so you will return for one night.”
Arthur knelt to kiss her great head, and then rose. Britain? I had thought only of Ginny—my Ginny.
Avalon shuddered. “Time changes many things, Arthur—though some things it does not. Tonight Britain needs you—and you need it equally, but remember—you will not be you—and yet you will. Now go—for when next the sun strikes the soil, you will return here.”
#
At once it was night and he was in a forest, mounted on a great black steed with blazing eyes. But where? A hoar frost covered the trees, and a fire blazed in the distance. He knew there would be many more fires this night—for this was the new year: Samhain, the night of the dead, and he had ridden through the veils as Herne. Yes, I am He, but—he could hear voices—and not only voices, but the thoughts of men—that campfire. Tears flooded his eyes, but when he reached to brush them away he felt the helmet and the great crown of antlers—and his face was dry. The dead have no tears—of course. It was a bitter irony, but as the voices grew louder his thoughts vanished.
“It’s an outrage! A wedding on a night like this—and Arthur’s wife?” Arthur recognized the speaker as Sir Bors.
Another knight poked at the fire. “I’ll not forgive him—if he wanted to reunite the country, this it not how it’s done.”
“It’s a huge celebration—torches lit all round the walls—a grand affair.” A young voice added hopefully, causing Arthur to smile.
“It’s that witch’s notion—her and her witch boy. My allegiance? Pah!” Pellinore spit into the fire—and it sizzled. “What do you think Lance? I say we should ride like the devil and break the whole thing up.”
Arthur inhaled deeply. Ginny married? To Mordred? He gripped the reins—and yelled. The men stood as he approached: a dark shape even by firelight. He called again, but this time softer, deeper, from a place he never knew he had. The men bowed low.
“This is the night of the king’s feast and wedding. Why do you tarry?” His voice came with the rustle of leaves in the wind.
It was Kei who spoke. “N-nay, he k-killed the rightful K-king and now takes his wife to wed on this night of the dead.”
A ripple ran through the king, as his voice rushed out like the wind. “And times change, Sir Kei, and the old passes away, and the new has its space for another day. Arthur is dead, and his son is a new king with much to learn—even as Arthur had much to learn in his time. The woman lives still—and is given another chance to prove a worthy queen. This night of the dead marks the end of the old and the beginning of a new year. The young king needs you.” He looked around—and his eyes rested on Lancelot.
Lance glanced up, but his eyes were misted and his heart too crushed to hear. For a moment, Arthur thought he saw a flicker of remembrance. “Lancelot?” he said.
“Yes, Your Majesty?” The knight smiled like a candle for a moment, but then it went out—and Arthur found himself riding hard between the trees. And he found that even a corpse can sometimes cry—but it becomes an empty howl, a lone keening commingled with wind and rain.

It was only after Arthur had ridden through several hamlets, stopping at each small blaze of light, that his steed was willing to turn towards Camelot. Not that he minded, in fact to his own amazement he enjoyed it immensely. He found that he knew each sole he found by name and by heart—and though most saw only the Hunter—there were a few who seemed to recognize the old king as himself.
When at last he turned towards Camelot, there was no turning back. The walls were ablaze with torches, and small bonfires, and he wondered if others would find it strange for the wild god to venture so far into the light—but he rode through the gates without challenge—and only a few appeared to see him at all, and this only when he was silhouetted by the flames, leaving it to be discussed if indeed, they had seen anything at all.
He hesitated at the hall—and turned away, winding his way instead towards the chapel. The rose garden he remembered from when it was only a patch of snow; he had missed the last blossoming—but red hips stood like berries or flame on the bushes. Then he realized he was being observed.
“Yes, one would almost think they had died” a familiar voice said, “and so the blooms have, but the hips remain—like small flames of memory to keep us warm—and of course they’re medicinal as well.” Arthur turned to Father Aiden, and nodded towards the door. “She’s—I mean to say no one is in the chapel tonight. Tonight is festival and feast.”
“And a wedding?” Arthur asked.
“Yes. That is what I hear—although I will not be officiating.” Arthur nodded. “Here,” the priest said plucking a small twig of hips, “take this—for memory, if you will.”
“Thank you,” Arthur said. “I now have one more . . . beautiful memory—but I must go. I wish you well.”
“And I you, Your Majesty—I believe you who you seek in the Queen’s Garden.”
Arthur turned, and then hesitated. “You know me, and yet are neither afraid nor surprised.”
“Your Majesty,” the priest bowed, “if I have learned one thing in all my years, it is that God’s mysteries are not to be fathomed by the likes of me—and I scorn no man’s creed: the Creator has many faces and many wondrous workings. Fare thee well—and blessed be.”
“Blessed be, my friend. I hope the young king will grow to admire you as I have.”
Again he started to go, but turned back. “But I advise caution.”
As he entered the garden, the moon was waxing to full with only enough small veils of cloud to lend mystery to the night, and he could not, for a moment see her face, though she was looking at him.
“Herne,” she whispered, “Arthur’s Herne. I didn’t think you were real—but I never thought a lot. Not really.”
She spoke as if speaking to herself—and he wasn’t sure if she knew he was there—or if she thought she was dreaming. “Guinevere,” he began.
“And you speak with his voice,” her voice cracked. “Oh! I hope he can’t see me now! This spectacle—this wicked night! I thought I was through with all of this.” Arthur inhaled sharply, but held his tongue. “I’m afraid, you see,” she said. “I’m afraid of failing yet again.”
“But do you love him? And will he care for your children?” The words came out before Arthur could form the thought. Children? he thought, I had forgotten.
“Of course I love him—I’ve always loved him. Of course I loved Arthur too—and Lancelot as well—but not the same way. And—of course he loves my children: they’re all his, and another on the way. But can I be queen? Can I ever be strong enough to be queen? I failed Arthur miserably. I fail everyone.”
“You didn’t fail. And you certainly didn’t fail Arthur. You were a girl in an arranged marriage—and he was a boy infatuated with your beauty and your charm. You’re older now—and understand.”
“I must understand if I can see Herne the Hunter—or else I am mad.”
“You aren’t mad, Guinevere, my love,” a new voice said, “but thrice blessed.” A large shadow moved swiftly into the garden, and put a protective arm around the once and future queen—giving Herne wide berth as he did so. Then he removed his crown and knelt.
Arthur regarded him in slowly. His mane of red gold hair fell freely and reached the ground as he knelt. He was large, and well proportioned, and, Arthur realized, not unkind—but a wildness and hurt which only Herne could understand. “Rise, Your Majesty King Mordred.” He heard himself say. “Hail and blessed be.”
“Hail Herne, and blessed be.” The new king hesitated. “I don’t suppose you could officiate at the wedding—and join our feast?”
The voice was young and hopeful, and Herne laughed a deep full laugh. “The invitation is not without charm, Your Majesty. But my rule is not of this world—and to see such fine lovers meet as king and queen is feast enough.” And feast on them he did: a handsome couple—and if her age was beginning to show, his eyes did not find her less beautiful. “Hail and farewell.” And he left in a mighty gust of wind.
#
Were there more visits that night? He couldn’t remember, nor could he remember how he got back to Avalon anymore that when or how he left—but the fog soon dissipated and he was at sea once more—holding a twig of rose hips. It made him smile. Yes, he thought, sometimes it’s good to be dead.

Notice: Please add your original essays, short stories and philosophical works for the current Eisteddfod here.

Notice: Please add your original essays, short stories and philosophical works for the current Eisteddfod here.

[inis]

Not again

Oh no, not again. My consciousness starts to glim in a new body, tiny, but I can feel I'm there.
I'm nearly deprived of memories, struggling to remember... the ever pleasant stay in the Otherworld, the relief that comes with entering it... and all these lives on earth, already past... what a huge number of lives. Most souls from these times, back then when I first entered life on earth, seem to have completed the spiral already.

Well, I know I haven't been a saint, but I thought I did better the last times... and I so hoped I might finally be done with reincarnation, with my tasks, with self-development...
And now - the next round. I will have to learn again, what I already knew, what I have learnt over and over again. Will have to face new tasks and old ones, will meet the same people again and make new friends. Back to the beginning... I'm so tired. Maybe this incarnation was just a mistake. Maybe there's still time to slip away, out of this situation.

When am I due? November 1st? Oh no, birth and labour in that special night... when the worlds come so closely together, that nearly everybody and everything can cross the line. Dangerous... and scary.
And what kind of person will I become by that? Please, no, I don't want to be the Nemesis again, the Death-bringer... that's not fair! I deserve a fair chance to change! I want to become softer and nicer and considerate... only some three weeks to go. Gotta hurry... I have to get out of here. I. Have. To. Get. Out. Of. Here. I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!


Postscript.

In former times I would have died during that birth, and the mother, too. But now it was simply the worst, demanding and most frightening birth I've ever experienced. Well, congrats - even by arriving I have already disregarded one of the things I should have learnt by now... don't try to change your fate once it's settled. Sigh. This promises to be a hard go again. Gods, I'm SO tired...


by inis on October 17th 2009

[Mafalda]

A BASKET WITH BERRIES

I was walking in the forest in a foggy day. Despite foggy, the weather was pleasant, it was not too cold, and it was a good day for a walk. That forest touched me more than any other place. I began to walk along a river bank, and the colors ... ah the colors ... were wonderful, all kinds of green, yellow, brown, especially with the fall coming. The day was coming to an end, so the shadows were beginning to take over the place. Still, a few rays of sunlight could penetrate the clouds and when they touched the trees their involvement was magical and impressive.
In the distance, every now and then, I heard a crow or other bird, that were preparing themselves for the night to come. Moreover I only listened to the waters of a small stream running into the sea or the trees been wrapped, as happy to receive the last rays of the sun.
I felt protected there. It was my magical place, where I felt happy and welcomed when I needed to be alone. I knew the forest and I knew that I had not much more than half an hour to turn back and go home because the night would come soon. Then I stopped and sat by the creek, and just let me stay there contemplating the harmony of sounds that crisscrossed each other.
I was thinking about my daily routine and started thinking about what I would do in the next day. However the sounds began to take over me and slowly I could only perceive my own breath, just enjoying the moment. These were rare moments when I could finally feel grounded and feel what was surrounding me. I could even hear the drum beat of the earth, it was a magnificent sound.
I was so focused on the drums when I heard someone singing. I turned myself to the sound a little upset because it broke my concentration, but did not see anyone. I continued to hear the sound but saw no one where the sound was supposed to come from. The sound became louder as if it was just a few steps away from me, but when I looked I only saw brambles and blackberries, which hugged a tree who fell towards the creek.
Gradually, over the sound of someone singing, I heard sounds coming from the brambles, as if some animal was there. I approached the brambles so the animal would go away and I could continue listening to the sound of that clear voice. A song That was taking me to the center of myself, as if it was awakening something primitive in me.
As I approached, I heard a scream, when I looked in the direction of my feet I saw a little being in a shape of a man with his hands on his mouth. He looked like a gnome. The berries that he had been catching were now scattered in the middle of the floor. I lowered myself stunned, not knowing if I was having a daydream or if I was having any kind of vision. I touched the little basket that had fallen. It looked like a toy basket because it was really small. However, it looked like it was manufactured by the best craftsman. The gnome was scared as I was picking the blackberries back to the basket. When I finished, I pointed him the basket:
"There you go!"
Slowly he took his hands from his mouth and held out his arms to the side with the palms facing in my direction, his expression was still dazed.
"You can see me? How?"
I smile at him and said:
"Probably you are part of my dream… If so, I do not want to wake up so quickly! There is a long time since I saw someone like you"
"Have you seen more like me? How? When" He really looked surprised.
"I did… A long time ago… I was younger. The last time I was 10 years old… I thought it was a dream, or just my imagination, but why am I seeing you now"
"I cannot talk to you! It is forbidden… we cannot show ourselves, and normally you do not see us anyway"
"So this is not a dream?"
"No… Yes… I have to go before I say something that I should not! I do not know what can be said or not, this has never happened… at least the last time was many years ago, long before my grandfather was born… it is just a story… ops… I have to go"
And he began to move away.
"Wait! Do not go, please! Why is it forbidden? What is your name" And he stopped, pondering... after some moments he answered.
"If I tell you my name, I will be linked to you! That means that you will know everything about me... about yourself... but I am not allow to do so, because you are not prepared yet! We normally speak and appear to children yes… but never to an adult"
"But why? I was suspicious that you existed… but I stopped seeing you… You have never played with me anymore" I felt like a child asking my best friend why he did not want to play with me anymore... but images from the past were rushing in my head!
"No… we did not stop playing with you… you just forgot about us, that we existed! You grew up and with that all your openess and purity slowly became weak until they disappear. Then you only believed in what was in front of your eyes and not what it was already part of you… you just forgot…"
"So… Why can I see you now"
"I do not know! Maybe you want to remember... I cannot explain it… I have to go now… I said already more than I should have!"
He grabbed the basket and ran away from me. I stopped seeing him soon he went into the bushes and, soon after, I stopped hearing him also. When I looked around it was night. I had to go home… and so it was. I turned away from the stream, but first I thanked for this small gift. Was it a dream, a vision or reality, it had awakened something inside me, which I thought I had lost long time ago.
From that day my life started to change, little things. I stopped been so depressed and really began having a different relationship with my children. I allowed myself to let them show me how it was to be a child again. I never saw the gnome again, even going every week to the forest since that day now. My kids go with me now, and I am teaching them some things that I thought I had forgotten, how I liked to create stories. I taught them also how to observe and respect what was around them, such as trees, animals, the creek, the course of life and how everything is part of us, that all is connected. I also told them that we have to try not to forget, since we tend to do it, to forget this little and important aspects of our lives.
I did not tell them about the gnome, there was no need, and probably they would not believe me anyway. Two years after I saw him, my life was completely different. I was working on something that I liked and believed: writing. My relationship with my family improved by the day, especially with my kids, who, before, only saw me once a week, as I always arrived home after they go to bed and because of that I hardly knew them. I started to look at myself and slowly I rediscovered who I was and what I should really appreciate.
Last week I was on my way home, from a walk in the forest, with my children and my youngest touches my shoulder. I looked at him from the rearview mirror; he smiles at me and says:
"Father… Ruhin asked me to tell you that you already know! He said that you would understand this when you hear it… What does that mean?"
My eyes were filled with tears and I let one out and run through my face… I did not answer my son, it was a rhetorical question. And even if it was not, he would understand it one day… but not today! Today was a day that I was touched. What I did not realize until then was that I was touched two years ago, but only now I could understand the whole of that day. I knew that name already. I just did not want to remember it… I did not want to remember who I was...

[Papillon]

Warning, The dark side of my muse is still in the ascendent, so please don't be shocked or offended by this little horror story...

Help me father

I see your face in the darkness. Sad. Filled with fear, and betrayal. Closing my eyes doesn’t help. I pray, pray for forgiveness, for release, but nothing helps. In the darkness, in my room, I am no longer alone. Conversely I must go out into the night, where I can be distracted by people in order to be alone.

*****

He was a kid, just a kid. His close cropped hair covered by a green baseball cap decorated with a shamrock to pander to his Irish pride. He flicked the butt of the cigarette he had been smoking up into the air to land where it would, with the uncaring arrogance of youth. Today’s youth anyway. It was late and there were few pedestrians about, but there was the impression that he would have done the same even had the pavement been full.

Speaking of full, the effects of the beer he had drunk earlier were beginning to be felt, at least in his bladder. He turned off the main street, and into a darker alley. A few yards up a recessed gateway hid him from casual gaze and he prepared to relieve himself.

In full flow, eyes closed and enjoying the experience of urinating in the open air, he didn’t hear the soft footfall behind him. He felt a slight nudge on his shoulder as a hand passed over it from behind, but before he could react the knife’s sharp blade was slicing through the flesh of his throat, silencing his outcry even before he had thought of making one. Already dead, he was not even aware of being supported from behind whilst the hand holding the knife moved down his body, and with a swift flick, amputated his penis. Blissfully unaware of his emasculation, he slid to the floor to lie crumpled in the puddle of his own urine.

*****

The darkened room, once a sanctuary, is no longer safe for me. Whenever I return there I am filled with shame, because you follow me there. Your sweet young face surrounded by blond curls. Such a beautiful girl you were. Even I, who had never known the touch of a woman’s body had felt you to be something special.

Another face, also young and surrounded by blond curls, but this one not sweet, not innocent. A cheeky world wise teenage boy. A choirboy, with cherubic good looks, who had grown into a teenage terror, who worshipped only power, and wielded that power with a strange unholy joy. Even the fact that I had never truly fallen into his trap, does not prevent him from exerting a power over me that I find difficult to break. In today’s society, the mere suggestion of impropriety was enough to damn such as I, especially by one with such evil knowledge of so called unnatural acts, and the influence of a powerful father.

I curse the day that I first saw him dominate one of his younger choir mates. I watched in disbelief as he cuddled, cajoled and finally bullied the smaller boy into acts that I had only read about. I stared, dumbfounded knowing that I should raise an outcry and stop this atrocity, but somehow unable to, any more than I was able to turn my back on it and walk away. Was it truly for the protection of the younger boy that I kept my silence, as I later comforted myself? Or was I in fact “turned on” by watching the two boys, as the older boy later told me?

Oh yes. He told me that. He must have seen me watching them but instead of being ashamed, he seemed instead proud of what he had achieved, not just with this boy, he told me, but with several others. He tried hard, with flattery, and bullying. Even blackmail. I was strong, and didn’t give in to temptation. Was there a temptation to give in to? I still wonder. That is why this boy is so evil. He even makes me doubt my own intentions. Despite his failure – Perhaps because of it – He left me with a parting shot. If I said anything, he would tell everyone that he was only initiating the boy in the same way as I had initiated him. He left me in no doubt that everyone would believe him, mainly because they wanted to. I believe him. I reported the incident to the Bishop, asking for guidance, but heard nothing

Yes I know. It is no excuse, your face tells me that. Wherever I look you are there in front of me. I kneel and start to pray to a god who appears, like his earthly representatives, no longer to listen…

*****

Despite the warm evening the youngster shivered. Somehow his confidence seemed to drain away whenever he was out without his older friends, and as he walked home he tried to blend into the background so as not to call attention to himself. He had always been a shy and fearful boy, and James had found him easy to dominate from the start. The son of a prominent local politician, James had the self confidence and arrogance that only wealth could bring. If things went wrong he knew his father would be on hand to smooth over any troubles and get him out of trouble, as he had so many times before.

Tom had no such luck, his parents were just boring ordinary folks who made sure he went to school and had pressed him into becoming a choirboy. He smiled ruefully. Should he be grateful to them for that at least? If he hadn’t become a choirboy he probably would never have met James. He blushed slightly at the thought. James certainly had wide ranging tastes. He had been just as eager to taste that bitch the other week as he always had been for Tom. Or had that just been an act for Patrick’s sake?

He had been so comforting afterwards, after Pat had gone home. He was a hard one alright, that Patrick. Didn’t seem to be affected at all by what had happened. Tom had thrown up afterwards, and later, after Pat had gone, had cried on James’ shoulder. Of course that had got James hard again. It always did. Still, that gave Tom some comfort.

Lost in his thoughts he had not been paying any attention to his surroundings, and when a hand went over his eyes, and an arm round his middle from behind, effectively imprisoning him, he jumped. Not as much as he might have done had he not been treated this way so often by James. In fact, he was so convinced that this was James that he said nothing and allowed himself to be guided, blind as he was, wherever his companion wanted.

The natural hubbub from the main road grew quieter as they moved slowly away from the busier streets. After what seemed an age, but was probably only a few minutes, they stopped, and Tom felt a hand fumbling uncertainly at his trouser front. With a sigh and a small smile, Tom undid his own trousers, fully trusting that his friend had led him to somewhere where it was safe to do so. The hand over his eyes was removed, but he kept his eyes closed. Part of the game was that you must not cheat. James was very particular about that.. A hand found his already half aroused penis, and he smiled again, before a flash of excruciating pain wrenched his eyes open to see his penis dangling in front of his face. He became aware of a strangely muted croaking sound, before realising it was coming from his own throat. From somewhere beyond the agony he was aware that he was trying to scream, but all that was emerging was an almost silent croak. Eyes and mouth wide, he looked back over his shoulder. His eyes widened further with recognition, before the knife ripped through his throat almost severing his head.

*****

I can sense you watching me as I kneel in an attitude of prayer. I deliberately do not look. I don’t need to look to see your accusing eyes. Better that than how I had last seen them in true life; Pleading for my help. Help I lacked the courage to give. Kneeling in an attitude of prayer, but not praying. What was the point? How could I expect that highest of superiors to heed me, when even my immediate contacts had stopped listening?

*****

The blond curly haired youth walked into the church as though he owned it, took a swig from the can of beer in his hand, before resting it on the nearest pew and walking up to the covered font. He removed the wooden cover, leaving it on the floor next to the font, before unzipping his fly and preparing to urinate in the font.

He smiled slightly as he heard a slight noise behind him, and felt the closeness of another person, but didn’t look round. “I knew you would come round to my way of thinking in the end.” He said, as he felt an arm slip around his body from behind.

The other remained silent, merely pulling the youth back into a firmer embrace, his left hand going up to the boy’s throat, gently caressing his jaw line and neck. His right roaming downward. The youth’s eyes suddenly opened wide as he realised that what had made contact with his exposed manhood was not the soft warm flesh of a friendly hand, but the cold, hard sharpness of a knife. Before he could utter a protest, all coherent thoughts were ripped from his mind by the excruciating agony of his loss. The knife which ripped through his throat was more of a release than further torment, and he slipped to the ground in front of the font, blood spreading in a pool around him.

*****

The grave is fresh, and covered in flowers. Do I see some sign of forgiveness in your eyes? I lay my trophies - three strange flowers which would never bloom again – next to the more traditional offerings. I’d asked the bishop to conduct the funeral himself, but he had instructed the priest from a neighbouring parish to conduct the simple ceremony. Without even telling me. I know. I am an embarrassment to him, and he is far too busy to interest himself in our little world. You look serious but understanding, as I prepare to make my final offering to your grave. The knife feels cold against my skin, but the pain I expected does not come. How can mere physical pain compare with the hurt of the knowledge of my betrayal and the shame of what I had allowed to happen? I feel the sticky wetness of blood soaking into my clothing, and allow myself to drift. My body, no longer wanted, collapses onto the grave.

*****

EVENING STANDARD

Suicide Priest kills four in sick spree. MP’s son murdered and mutilated along with friends. Shocked Bishop completely unaware of danger to parishioners…

The End

[Mellinda]

Not today please

The door opens I step out onto the path I look up at the sky, a cold bright February day the sun is shining but a mist is upon my eyes; people are gathering around then I see the lovely flowers, yes today now is the day.

My life has been turn upside down this last week, new this day would come, but pushed it away into the bottom corner of my heart. Deep down so as not to feel the rising pain the Doctors said this day would come, I thought if I didn’t think about this day it would never come so I banish it from my world.

A word is whispered in my ear, I feel the pain rising its so overwhelming I try to keep it down, then again “Are you ready”? Someone takes my hand I feel dizzy can hardly stand. "Do you need a moment more?" The man asks I stand there my head spinning.

My heart is breaking I can no longer push the pain into that corner so deep down, I try to speak but can only hear my heart beating. I try to hold back the tears welling up inside, the pain now filling every part of my body.

I look up at the sky such a lovely day. I look then at the kind man standing here holding out his hand.
I take it and nod as I can not speech, yes now is the day the day I tried so hard to forget, I look at the coffin draped in flowers of every colour. Now its time to say good bye to my beautiful special son, the day I wished would never come.

Leon 1973-1998

[Earthwoman]

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