Monday, 31 December 2018


Tenderly, carefully, she placed her hand against the side of his face. She could feel the anger, the boiling rage within him, bellowing forward into the world in front of the both of them. He was rage, he was powerful, bestowed with the strength beyond her understanding. Her calming touch, slowly, drew his eyes to hers. She could feel his heartbeat, as her other hand held his chest. He was hers and she was his. Bonded. Fated. The cause of their effect together.

His eyes, full of hatred, the raw emotion embracing his every thought and action. He knew that he couldn't hold such feeling when she looked at him that way. The caring way. The loving way. She broke through all of his defences, all of his actions becoming nothing next to her smile. He fell to his knee, his face in front of hers, deeply embracing her smile within his heart and mind. She’d found him, sprawling, roaming, lost within the world and life. When no other would even contemplate being beside him, being as close as she’d become, she held his hand, embraced his lips upon her, she’d taken his body and made it hers, while whispering thoughts that truly changed his life.

She couldn't, however, erase the years of rage and destruction within his very blood. Discarded, forgotten, left to rot and fester, he’d nearly lost himself within the war of his feelings. He would be nothing without her, maybe she would be nothing without him, but he doubted that to his very core. She was so beautiful, with every word from her lips sounding like the sweetest song imaginable. The words, the moments, soothed him, bathed him with the luxury of someone caring for his very life. He knew that he was blessed, held, truly embraced by the beauty in front of him, despite being the beast of a man that he was.

She knew that she’d never erase the rage, the unfathomable destruction laid virulent within him, as it needed to be used. She smiled, touching the various scars upon his face, with her soft fingertips. He had been broken, crafted, re-defined as a destructive force, yet hidden from the world and then rejected. He knew how to destroy, to fight, yet she’d taught him how to love, to touch, to obey her bodies every command when making the love they both needed. She was, to him, so pure yet her light, her inner light, needed the strength of his frame beside her. Around her, within her, embracing her every desire. She loved him for that, adored him, realising that the balance between them worked beyond compare.

He saw her, bathed in her, as his fingers found hers while holding her hand. His arm moved around her as he lifted her from the ground. He turned, walked towards the building behind the both of them, partly destroyed, their home once again found by the aggressors of their simple life. The jealously, the apparent rage, from nowhere by people that should simply leave them alone. They led a simple life, of privacy, of grace, despite his lumbering strength. Jealously. The inability to accept that two people could simply exist together, to be happy, disturbed so many people. Those people, their own unhappiness defining them, tainting them, tempting them to cause such destruction yet blaming the accused for everything.

She knew that he had to do what he was about to do. It was inevitable. No amount of understanding, the many words that could be used, would pacify another’s heart that simply wanted destruction. They could be left alone. They caused no disruption. They caused no ill will. So be it. He placed her onto the stone wall, holding her lips to his. She felt like heaven. She was, to him, such a place made real within the world. His heaven. His reality the thing of beauty.

She felt his soft kiss, his apparent power falling to the softest touch she’d ever felt. He made her feel safe, wanted, needed, desired beyond belief and, most of all, empowered her to be everything she knew she could be. She could find this place without him but that, that thought, didn't bear thinking of. She’d never wish to be without him. She’d feel empty, alone, the world becoming but a shadow of itself without him. Her skin would feel cold, her lips vacant, her smile lost, as the cold nights mingled together. She nodded as he, again, intensely looked into her eyes. It was time.

Stepping back, he allowed the rage to flow through him. Become him. Every fibre of his being feeling the strength within his very heart. They’d attacked again. They wouldn't leave either of them alone. It was time to teach them, to make them understand through blood, pain and agony. She had tried all of the other ways to teach, but now it was his path. Turning, his body becoming the monster he didn't wish to be, he started to run towards the small army ahead of him.

She watched as he ran. The rage flowing through the air. She wished for another way, a better way, but the monster within the both of them, at times, simply had to feel the rage.

Saturday, 29 December 2018


That thing with life, despite the smiles, the laughter and the moments of crazy mirth and madness, is that we all have scars. Some admittedly beautiful, upon our skin and upon our very bodies, with tender fingertips running along all of them, lips kissing them, trying to show that we care and that the moment is done, over with, resolved, yet within each of us remains the other type of scar.

We’re alive, living, surviving, grasping onto whatever and whomever we can find to sedate the thoughts within each and every single one of us. The tender balance, the moments where we show that little sliver of pain, all hidden behind the masks of our smile. Smile away, laugh until you can hardly breath, tell every single person that you love them, but deep within there’s that place where we hide so much.

We have scars. Parts of us, each of us, ripped apart and sewn together again with whatever we can fashion from the very moment we exist within. A hand, a body, a few words, an emotion filled kiss or a great big cry for help, we survive as that’s truly what we want to do. Never give up, never fall or, at least, sail the seven emotions of the sea within each of us until we reach the shore of safety.

I believe. I understand. I can ‘feel’ the scars all around me. Within the eyes of the people I care for, within the smiles of the people that I've never met, upon all the doubts and fears of the people holding onto their broken souvenirs. Shattered, recovered, never replaced, yet clinging on to the scraps of whatever we can find. We’re surviving, we’re living, we’re proof that no matter what happens we can carry on. No matter the scar, no matter how deep something cuts, we know that it’ll be okay.

The cuts from another, the words that hurt, the silence that suffocates, all mingled together with our own blades willingly cutting into us with words of dissatisfaction. A frenzy of self-doubt, striving to break us into small little slices of pain. Ignore them. Ignore the words. You've been there, we've been there, we've lost, while living, we've trusted, while falling, we've forgiven, yet obviously never forgotten any single part. We’re the sum of our scars. We’re the understanding of our lives. You let someone touch you, you let another within your reach, you risk the scars of life.

I love all of it. With each scar I'm learning, I'm living, while reaching a place where I have no choice but to heal. Heal yourself, struggle, climb, grasp, break the very nails upon your fingers and drag yourself through that scar. It’ll hurt, you’ll bleed, you’ll suffer like you've never suffered before, but I tell you this, I state the words, that you will become stronger than you've ever been. I understand, I appreciate, that there will always be drawbacks to having a scar, but that’s the beauty of healing. You can reminisce, relive, recall that experience and hopefully, gradually, learn to stand within a better place within your life.

The souvenirs, the spectacle of you, the offerings that you possess, are so very, very special. We’re floundering vessels of energy, the impulses of our hearts smashing into each other every single day. You’re bound to be broken, you’re bound to become bruised and battered. It’s inevitable. No matter how strong you are, no matter how tough the skin upon your feelings, eventually, profoundly, you’ll fall under the spell of another. Words are not just words. They’re intentions, they’re magical as well as mayhem. Fall. Touch the ground. Cry as much as you like, but when it’s all over, you’ll rise and proudly proclaim, in silence, that you have another scar.

Behold the moments, embrace the change, smile at the sadness and touch the very scar within your soul with your lips. We’re love, we’re more than what we believe we can be, we’re connected in ways that we're only barely understanding. Hold the hand of the most scar filled person you know and you’ll find an energy, a wealth of knowledge that should be held so very, very close. We’re beautiful, we’re a poetic mystery of words and moments. We’re the sum of scars internally and externally.

No matter what happens next, no matter how I feel or who we become, I'm holding my own scars as close to my heart as possible. They’re understanding, they’re gifts, they’re keeping me alive and, most of all, I am and always will be, my scars.

Thursday, 27 December 2018


A year. An entire year, done, dusted, forever gone and all that remains are memories, successes, failures and the lessons we’re supposed to learn. Did I say successes? (I'm currently smiling).  Being truthful I hardly remember anything about the start of the year, or the middle of the year, as the ending overshadowed everything.

We all know that we have ‘issues’, the big, the small, the ones we deny and the major moments that are pushed to the back of our minds. They’re there, waiting. I'm the type of person that wants answers. Needs answers. I'm not going to simply sit and do nothing, especially when the world around me crumbles into small little bits. I will seek a solution. There are, to me, no problems… only solutions. I'm surrounded by people that need answers, need those solutions, yet continue day to day with band aids while holding on by the skin of their teeth. I want peace. I don’t like the negative aspects of my personality and would prefer, profoundly prefer, to remove them forever. Or, at least, resolve what’s going on behind the scenes. Once you've done that, no matter how difficult, the mind does settle.  Believe me… I know that it can and does.

The year 2018 will always be remembered and I don’t think I can ever forget it. I finally, thankfully, came to terms with the biggest loss in my life. I say that, while knowing nothing, or no-one, can ever pacify the emotions involved when your parent(s) pass away. The biggest, most influential platform that keeps you feeling safe within the world, one day, leaves. Typing this is emotional, as it should be, as I feel for anyone and everyone that has to face, or will face, this/these events. Brace yourself. Hold onto a hand that you love, as you will need them. I now, can finally, close my eyes and hold my Mother's hand and smile. It's a truly beautiful moment when you reach a place such as this.

I now battle my own self-worth. I'm complicated, I'm a bundle of fun, I've a heart that could (literally) love the entire world. I wouldn't hurt a fly, yet I’d fight until I could no longer stand, to protect the people I love. I'm a contradiction and I know it. I've hurt people… oh I truly have but, when all’s said and done, I never ‘meant’ to hurt anyone. Right now, I'm changing, as a person, due to various moments from the last two months. My self confidence is sitting in the corner, wondering what to do. Do I stop caring? Should I specifically only care for myself?  The answer to that is basically, yes, I should only care for myself and my close friends. The amount of love, that I've been shown, over the last two months has been quite difficult to accept. Or understand. I'm supposed to be the selfless one, trying to think of others, while slowly sinking into a place I dearly wished I never found.

I'm becoming my own platform. I do not ‘need’ anyone. At any stage. It’s an odd feeling. But, after saying that, I ‘want’ people to be within my life. No person is an Island. It cannot work. For long. Be strong, stay upright, clench your fists, deny the world, stand tall and be all you can be. This is the aim. This is where I was before and I'm right there again. But that self-worth, as mentioned above, nags at me. It only requires a simple answer and, as the days move forward, I realise that I'm  stupidly strong despite my own heart breaking in multiple ways at the same exact time. I took the brunt of the situation, with my Mother, placed it to the side and did what I always do. Survive. I won’t do that ever again. I will embrace the pain, straight away. I’ll rock, I’ll cry, I’ll go for that drive where you scream with rage and hatred for the world. How dare the universe break my heart and throw it back into my chest. How dare I ignore the hurt. How dare I push away the people that ‘do’ love me. How dare I be offered what I want and then have it vanish. How dare I think that my common sense overshadows the basic pain of life. As intelligent as I am, supposedly, I can be so overwhelmingly dumb at times.

But that was then and this, right now, is the current moment. From ashes, arises the will to re-build. Stronger bones and flesh. A cast iron heart with the smallest door, the tiniest key, for the pre-approved out there. I haven’t lost my heart and I haven’t lost my mind. Instead, like any survivor, I found the appropriate solution for me. It worked.  Nothing in 2019 will catch me by surprise, or so I say. I won’t be handing my heart to anyone soon (or maybe ever), I’ll be working on my body, as well as mental strength, each step of the way. I do not wish to lean on anyone from this point forward. I will be my own self-contained saviour, soul and heart. But friends… I want friends. I want good conversation, I want laughter, I want to be charming, filled with life and more. The sooner I love myself the sooner I’ll ‘allow’ myself to love another.

2018, to me, has actually been life changing. In a good way, in a bad way, in a dreadfully painful way, but that’s what we learn from. Learn from failures, learn from rejection, learn from the loss and, most of all, heal. Become more. Do more. Say less. Say it all. None of it matters unless you’re smiling and that, to me, is my only aim heading into 2019. To smile, to love, to be the person I'm meant to be. I was asked a question last month that stopped me in my tracks, “Do you even know who you are?”

Well… let’s finally find the answer to that question in 2019.

Click to listen

P.s. But after writing all of that... I'm healthy, I have a home, I have friends which means that I have absolutely nothing to complain about. I am so damn lucky to have the life I have. 

Monday, 24 December 2018


Father Christmas wriggled as much as he could, despite being jammed into the smallest chimney he’d ever experienced in all his years. He was, thankfully, grateful for the special fairy dust borrowed from the pixies. He could shrink, then expand, with but a thought. Wriggling again, finally feeling himself fall, he felt his feet hit the bottom. Brushing away the soot, from his face, he crawled from within the fireplace and coughed a few times. This was, as usual, hard work but the clock ticked and he had a deadline.

From his pocket he produced a small tin and, once opened then placed onto the floor, a hundred ants crawled forward to find all of the random bits of soot spread across the room. Santa, of course, couldn't leave any proof or mess wherever he went. The Ants, once finished, hurried at the thought of appearing on Santa’s ‘naughty’ list. Finally, all returning to the tin, Santa started to chuckle, noticing that the last ant had managed to secure a nice amount of mince pie.

Looking around the room, locating the tree, Santa pulled the string that was attached to the full satchel on the roof. With a small amount of noise, a bang here, a smash there, the satchel landed onto his outstretched hands and he set to work. He had his list, his ever-secretive notes sent from parents all across the land, with this very house being at the top of the list.

He looked at his notes, not understanding why this house was special, but he knew that he’d find out why, as well as how, soon enough. Taking a step forward he paused, closing his eyes, knowing that he’d been seen. Opening one eye, slowly looking to his side, he noticed a small girl sitting on the chair. He swiftly turned, placing a finger to across his lips, “Shhhh, you never saw me!” but that motion was short lived as he noticed her tears. Solemn tears, truthful tears, the real tears of a child.

Sitting on the floor, crossing his legs, Santa smiled the gentlest smile he could find, “What’s wrong my Child?” he asked with warmth within every word. The tears kept on flowing, moving from her sad eyes, as she found the bravest part of herself to reply,
“I'm sad as there’s people out there without a Mummy, or Daddy!”
Santa, realising that this was why this house sat at the top of the list, replied, 
“My child, life is a beautiful thing, with moments of great sadness, overcome by the people that love us and care for us. Even a person with no Mommy, or Daddy, can do ‘one’ thing to make everything special again!”

The child, rubbing her eyes, titled her head ever so slightly, wondering what Santa would say next.
“You see, each of us, all of us, are given the gift of an imagination. Each time you close your eyes, you can dream of snow, reindeer, presents, your Mummy and Daddy holding your hand and more. As long as each person has a heart, which they do, they’ll never be alone. Ever. Now… isn't it time you took yourself back to bed?”

The child nodded, sleep filled eyes struggling to stay open, as she hopped off the chair. Hugging Santa, pointing towards the mince pies and milk, over in the corner, she walked up the stairs and away from Santa. He smiled. He truly, from within his heart, smiled at the innocence that existed within the world. A young heart, a pure heart, that cared for everyone and everything, was truly something to love within the world.

Santa shook his head, realising that time waited for no person, man or woman, within the world he inhabited. Rushing, finding the various presents and items within the satchel, he placed them under the tree and pressed the magic buzzer. As he shrank, the string whisking him up the chimney, he ticked the list and placed a star next to the house and occupant name. Maybe, just maybe, this small person, would one day get to visit the greatest place within the world… Love from all.

Happy Christmas xx

Tuesday, 18 December 2018


Mathew stood by the old dusty mirrored cabinet, solemn, reminiscing of moments long gone. Behind him, after removing the dust cover, his grandson sat silently staring at his mobile phone. The youth of the moment, occupied, creating different memories that would all fade with time. Smiling, while turning to face the cabinet, he closed his eyes for a few seconds. Searching. Recalling. Remembering the moments spent in this very place.

For many, many years, each day, she’d return home and stand in this very spot, just in front of the cabinet. Those days were filled with laughter, flirting, kisses and much, much more. He could almost sense her perfume drifting through the air, filling him with warmth and the image of her. He returned to the very moment, on that special day, when he first spoke the words within his heart.

She’d arrived home, on the dot as she was a punctual person, wearing one of her beautiful outfits. Her hair, flowing as usual, with her smile lifting his mood, heart, body and mind. If they were together as one, she, without question, would be the best part of his life. Everything changed once she’d arrived. He’d wrapped his arms around her, pressing himself to her, kissing her neck softly, the moments of warmth embracing the both of them. At that very moment, for some unknown reason, he looked into the cabinet’s mirror and simply blurted, “I love you!”

The world stopped. Her expression changing, her eyes softening, she turned to kiss him deeper than he’d possibly been kissed before. He had never imagined that would happen as, being truthful, he had no idea what would happen. He’d known how he felt for the longest of months. He’d wanted to say the words so many times, but waited. Waited until it became too much to hold inside of him. He’d practised saying the words, in this very spot, when he was on his own. “I love you.  I… love you. I love… you!”  No matter how he said the words, they seemed empty, vacant, said within a moment that simply didn't seem worthy without her being present. He wanted to say more, to express, to explain, but he didn't have a chance until later.

They’d made love the very next second. Filling each other’s worlds with the heightened emotion created from those three small, important, frightening, craze filled words. It was different, touching, holding each other, when you knew that each of you cared to that level. That place. He’d never regretted any single second with her, standing beside her, holding her hand until that day they had no choice but to part. Life, as they said, was transitory. Love while you could, for today, was but the possibility of your last moment.

Mathew smiled again, running a finger along the edge of the cabinet, brushing his fingers together to remove the thick dust. This place, this very spot, could possibly be the most important and influential place within his entire life. This was where she first turned to him, smiling, with a deep fear within her eyes as well as vibrant hope for the future. She was pregnant, their first, their love becoming something real within the world. He nearly fell to his knees with joy, a few tears appearing, as they both cried while kissing each other with happiness.

There had been further tears. Of joy. Sadness. Tears of life, the etching of moments that could never be removed from either of their hearts. He believed in a better way, they both did. They lived within such a world that the both of them created.

Turning, while stepping away from the cabinet, he removed a dust sheet from the chair next to his grandson. “What are you looking at?” he asked with genuine inquisitiveness, as he watched his grandson’s fingers zoom across the screen, like some deranged person.
“I'm breaking the bubbles with my fingers. On level 32!”

Mathew shook his head, wondering what would become of them all, as the game on the screen ended. It was time for a new adventure, despite his age, which would encompass all new things, “Can I play?” asked Mathew, as the phone quickly found his hands. Pressing the screen to start, the bubbles soon popped.

He missed this place. He missed her. More than anything within this world, but life was life and he knew the order of things. Even though this place, full of memories and moments, would soon form new memories for the new owners, he’d made sure that the one item, that one item that meant so much to the both of them, would stay with him until his very last breath. The cabinet.

Tuesday, 11 December 2018


Frank smiled, then nodded, as the family left the subway train. He liked a chat, a chance to smile, as he’d enjoyed life so far. Of course, as was sometimes the case, he didn't wish to intrude but the life of an 84-year-old pensioner wasn't that exciting any more. The same day, each day, the morning subway journey for food and maybe, just maybe, he’d bump into friends.

It was a Tuesday. A solitary Tuesday within his week. He liked Tuesday, for no apparent reason, other than it was another day that life allowed him to remain in this place. He had family, a few remaining friends, who seemed to have drifted further away with the distance increasing. The warmth, however, remained. He was a good man, so they said, as he dare not assume anything other than to be down to earth. Frank closed his eyes, for a second, smelling the pie that someone had brought onto the train. It smelled like heaven, a meaty heaven, which quickly meant that he’d soon have the same food. It was always a choice between the shopping mall’s food compendium. Chicken, salad, beef burgers or, possibly, a hot dog from the van outside. Choices. Everything a choice.

The subway train stopped again, with only three more stops to go, as a whole new selection of people arrived onto the train. Opening his eyes as the doors shut, he glanced along the train’s interior welcoming the new faces with his ever-present smile. He loved this, all of this, the people watching, the new hairstyles, the crazy clothes and more. He could spot distress within the calmest of faces. He’d seen so many tears, usually as the youngster’s face pressed their eyeballs to their phones, which was the latest trend that didn't seem to be going anywhere. People and their phones. Constantly avoiding other people without even knowing the causality of their actions.

Frank watched as three youngsters walked towards where he was sitting and, with ease, jump onto the seats around him. He smiled and nodded at the supposed main character of the bunch, who’s hair seemed to have a life of its own. He was chewing gum with his mouth open, with a look of mischievousness about him, obviously making a statement wherever he went. The other two, slightly younger, following his lead.

Frank looked out of the window, noticing the main boy gathering the attention of the other two and, as expected, the boy leaned forward, “Hey, old man, that’s my seat you’re in?”  Frank would laugh but he knew that would intimidate the boy. He’d lived a long time, had his arguments, his fights, even punched a few people, but he’d remain calm as he was in no real position to argue. Facts, to Frank, usually worked. Leaning forward to within a few inches of the boy, Frank calmly spoke in a clear and precise fashion,

“My boy, I've been travelling on this train for over 12 years, each and every single day. This is the first time I've seen you!”

The boy smiled, looking to the others for some type or moral support or confirmation, as Frank rested back onto his seat. The boy, obviously not expecting the reply, repeated his statement, “Old man, that’s my seat!” Frank, shaking his head, placed his hands together, finger to finger, palm to palm, then, lowering his head slightly, started to say a phrase just under his breath. The boy, confused, didn't quite know what to say, “I can’t hear you, old man?”

Frank continued to repeat the phrase, each time increasing the volume slightly, calling upon something that he’d not touched for many a year. In his day to day life, many years previous, he was a priest, a self-sacrificing priest, until he’d found a very old, dusty book. He’d read that book, cover to cover, over and over again. It destroyed his faith. It removed his ability to try and dissolve other’s pain and fear. It meant that he’d turned his faith into a new life. The book explained emotions, the path of how to feel, how not to feel, as well as channel aggression and hatred into a new form of energy. He knew that everything, as well as everyone, were connected but he also knew that each person had the chance to become judge, jury and executioner of their own lives.

‘Free will’, was how he summarised the book. Free will removed the need for gods and deities, the reasoning behind so many things, falling into an abyss. His life changed, his entire view of things evolved, every moment of his life becoming clearer. Cause and effect, everything happening for a reason, the usual placid statements repeated by so many people, becoming real. Everything connected.

Frank repeated the chant, again and again, much to the boy’s frustration. Finally, the words could be heard, “Leave us alone!” repeated Frank. Over and over. As the moments moved, the boys watched as the other train passengers stood, all chanting the same sentence. The same words. The boy pressed himself into his seat, moving closer to the side of the interior. The boys felt fear rise within them, wanted to hide, as all the passengers appeared next to the four of them. All chanting.

“Leave us alone!”
“Leave us alone!”
“Leave us alone!”
“Leave us alone!”
“Leave us alone!”
“Leave us alone!”

Frank’s voice started to fade as the other passengers turned to walk back to their seats, the words returning to a whisper, then a murmur, finally ending as he closed his mouth. Placing his hands to either side of his legs he smiled at the boy, “Would you like this seat?” The boy, shaking his head, the look of fear across his face, pushed his friend out of his seat as the three of them quickly walked away from Frank.

He knew, Frank damn well knew, that no bully, no matter how fierce or strong, or even stupid or away with the fairies, could stand up to the ‘force of many’. Strong in numbers, together, removing the fear of the single man. All it needed was someone, anyone, to simply make a stand. Frank returned to looking out of the window.

Today was going to be a good day. A fun day. With possibly a pie of some description. This, the simple things in life, made Frank happy.

Thursday, 6 December 2018


Simon watched as the room filled with nearly every single person available. The feeling, within that space, was one of grief and sorrow. He’d heard the stories, the losses, despite their supposed technical advantage. The enemy was simply far too aggressive, adaptable, which meant for all their bravado, numbers and armour, they didn't stand a chance.

He noticed the room falling into silence, every single person standing to attention, as the commandant arrived to take the stand. His face looked forlorn, despondent, the look of a broken man. Simon had never seen him look this way, in all their years serving together, but times changed, and people changed. Everyone sat, the various coughing breaking the silent for moments at a time.

The commander stood in front of them, just looking at the many faces, the memories, the moments that they’d all shared together. Of course, as Simon knew, most of those moments involved jamming a gun into a face and pulling the trigger but nevertheless, they’d all bonded. They all had each other’s back despite often wanting to knock each other out. Humanity, rats in a cage, seldom allowing themselves to think of a better day.

Opening a folder, on the stand, the commander pressed the com button and started to speak, “At zero-eight-zero-zero hours, yesterday, we received news that the last colony on this planet was decimated by the enemy. No survivors. Not one soul.” The commander looked down at the ground, fighting his emotion, knowing what he’d lost the day before. His family, everything he’d cared for, all gone. “In the next few hours we will have the fight of our lives unless, one person, takes part in an experimental mission. The volunteer will not be returning.”

Simon grasped the implications of what was being asked, instantly, as he glanced around the room. The commander continued speaking as Simon weighed his options and, without thinking or waiting for the details to be provided, he stood, “I accept the mission, Sir.” The entire room looked at him, in silence, as the commander stopped speaking. Normally, to interrupt a meeting in this fashion, would receive penalties but, in this case, he, as well as everyone else within the room, knew what the outcome would be.

The commander slowly closed his folder, throwing a side look to his immediate staff, then returning his view to Simon. “Son,” he said with respect in his voice, “If I could go on this mission I would but I'm not physically suitable. You have done your country a great service on this day and I salute you!” As soon as the words escaped from the commander’s mouth the entire room stood, saluted, then fell deafly silent once more.

Simon walked from the hall, slowly, dazed, thoughts trying to find him, but it was now too late. The freedom of his life, taken from him, by his actions, resonated within his mind. He walked along the corridor, the dark, green, rusting metal, seeming alien to him. His home for the last few years, a place that now felt cold.

He opened the door to the locker room, walked inside, to be greeted by a vacant space. No other soul, all probably in the food hall chatting about what had just happened. Simon sat on the end of the long wooden seat, resting his left shoulder against the cold wall, questioning his actions. The merits of doing such a thing, surely, to him, meant that his life was worth something. He wondered if everything he’d ever done, in his life, actually brought him to this moment. He searched within himself, for the reason as to why he’d done what he’d done, but couldn't magically find anything solid.

The door opened and in walked Bruce, his oldest friend. Simon looked up to the ceiling, for the briefest second, knowing that Bruce had an uncanny way of saying nothing, while saying everything. He was a man of little words. Instead of ‘hello’ you would always get a nod but when Bruce spoke, no matter the words, people listened. A thinker, the one that knew so much yet, as stated, said little. Simon smiled at Bruce, a lost smile, a sad smile, as Bruce sat across from him on the other long wooden seat.

Simon had seen violence, caused violence, yet deep within him rested an emotional person that simply wanted the violence to stop. Somehow. Someday. Simon looked at Bruce, reading his face, knowing that he might as well give in as Bruce could read him like a book. “I know. I know Bruce,” said Simon feeling a mixture of emotion, “Why did I do it? Truth be told I don’t know. I fight day in, day out, doing what’s right. I'm a good man. I respect everyone, within reason. I’d give anyone the world, if I could, yet who am I really?  The life of one child. You can’t compare that to my own. I've no wife, no children, an empty heart. I've pushed everyone away Bruce.  The big strong man hurting. Not able to let go of his Mother’s face, the love he’s lost. So damn me for wanting to do what’s right. The next time you see a child smile, think of me!”

The emotion, getting the better of him, escaped into the room. Simon knew that Bruce would never judge him, mock him, or run from emotion. This was not the person he was. Simon closed his eyes, not wanting to hurt any further, or to feel, as he hated that side of him with a passion. Bruce, concern written all over his face, leaned forward and said five words, “you’re doing the right thing.” Simon laughed through the emotion, knowing that, once again, Bruce was right. Simon held out his fist, to which Bruce fist bumped him back. The silly moments such as this, always made them smile.

Simon stood upright, the testing phase coming to an end. It had hurt, a few needles here and there causing issues, but so far everything had taken place without any issues. He’d never felt so strong, his body pulsing with whatever they’d done to him. It seemed odd, with all the tech around them, that it still came down to one man finishing the fight. The enemy could detect most of their advanced weaponry, which lead to bio-organic side arms being created. Virtual weapons made from bone. Gristle. Grown human parts made into something else. A near miracle found due to war, hunger, pain and suffering. He knew that this was the way of things, advancements mainly accelerated due to wars, for survival, which didn't make any of this any easier.
The scientist in front of Simon removed the last chest sensor, as he zipped up his flight suit. He’d never seen an outfit such as the one he was wearing, but appreciated the snug, elastic fit. The commander walked over to Simon, a proud look on his face, “You've been here a long time. Are you ready for this?”
“Yes Sir!”
“Are you sure? We could find ten other replacements? You’re an asset that we shouldn't lose!”
“Sir, it’s an honour and I’d rather do nothing else!”
Simon heard the words, the hubris in his voice, knowing very well that it was all fake. Inside, if it were not for the new experiences, the attention, as well as the ideal of a glorious ending, he knew that he’d fall to pieces. The mortality of things, the ending of moments, of life, all in front of him. It was too late anyway. Acceptance being the last moment of the rest of your life. He had, finally, accepted his role.

The hours moved past his eyes, the daze still holding him, as the many briefings escaped into the back of his mind. He knew what he had to do. Kill thousands of living, sentient beings in the blink of an eye. It didn't matter that they also had children, had families, as it simply arrived back to ‘us versus them’. The idiocy, the madness, the all-consuming political greed of all things. He’d laugh but that might have annoyed the person speaking in front of him. To him, or was it at him, he didn't really know any more.

Finally, his heart tamed by the boredom of the last hours of his life, Simon stood next to the small dart like craft. Bruce, by his side, the entire base personnel filling the hanger, he knew that he had to say something, anything, otherwise he might never be remembered. The guy that gave his life and said nothing before doing so. Simon looked at his hands, by his side, shaking ever so slightly. ‘To hell with it’, he thought as he stepped forward.

“I know that many of you don’t know me. You probably had no reason to do so. I'm the guy that you can depend on. Talk with. The one that’ll fix anything if he can. I'm the guy that will forget about himself to focus on whatever you need. Whatever you want. Today I'm going to be selfish. I'm going to leave here for one reason. We can all find something, or someone, even a place, to die for. I want to find a reason to live. I want to smile. I want us all to live, to find something, anything, anyone, to enjoy. To share. We’re human, we must feel. We must fight for something that’s more than what we are. Today I’m going to fight for every single child. Every single smile. When you wake tomorrow, I want you to say, ‘thank you’, not to me, not for this moment, but for having another day to make something work. Make things happen. Be more. Say more. Say less. Stand tall, don’t be afraid and most of all, you damn well love until your heart bleeds onto the floor. You never stop, you never give in, you always rise when you’re pushed to the ground and never, ever, let anyone take what you love from you. You fight them until you have no fight left and always, above all, live!”

Simon could see the emotion stir within the crowd, his own thoughts and feelings overcoming him. He stood tall, he felt the tears rise, the emotion overcome him, but he did not let them escape. This was a proud moment, a noble moment, albeit a moment of a fool’s errand. Simon turned to Bruce, hugged him, but couldn't bring himself to look at his face. He was leaving behind his best friend, his friends, for a purpose that still seemed vacant to him.

The craft hummed into life, the engines ready to reach the velocity that would tear through the air at an incredible speed. He wasn't ready, he never would be, but this was where he simply accepted the situation that he brought upon himself. Simon pressed the button and the view in front of him changed to canyons and rock. The next 45 seconds would be his last, within this craft, and then he had but moments before it all ended.

The craft hit the ground and skidded for over a mile, nearly to the heart of the enemy’s encampment. His brief was a simple one. Reach the very middle and complete the mission. The craft’s canopy split away, ejecting him onto his feet, to which he started to run as fast as he could. Augmented, improved, he should be able to keep ahead of them. Within seconds they were upon him, aware, agile, but thankfully that small second slower. Simon reached to his sides, grasping the two side-arms. Releasing them from their holsters, he brought them forward and fired at anyone, or anything, that would stop him. He watched as blood flew into the air, almost in slow motion, as his perception filtered the oncoming threats. He ran in a side to side motion, just in case of rear assailants, albeit unlikely.

The seconds moved away as he neared the middle of their land. Breathing heavily, cold lungs threatening to stop him, he started to regulate his breathing in order to calm himself. His optical enhancements signalled the very middle and, stopping, he removed two tripods from either side of his legs. Quickly, expertly, he placed a gun upon each tripod and changed the mode to sentry. Immediately the guns started to fire as the enemy charged his position. He had seconds before the sheer amount of numbers overwhelmed the guns, as well as him.

He reached back, removing the satchel, unzipping and then removing the contents. A simple square type object, nothing special, hardly deadly, but Simon knew what it could do. Twisting it around, the warning sticker facing upwards, he stood, looking into the eyes of the closest combatant to him. Simon smiled. Inside he felt the calm. Emotions sedated, flashes, images, throwing themselves into his mind, he recalled moments of his life. He desired so much, wanted so little from life, but it was okay. He felt nothing as the cold end seemingly circled, embracing his mind and last moments. He pressed the object to his chest and, upon detecting him, four metal spikes shot into his body. His lungs perforated, the spikes appearing through his back, Simon fell to his knees as, finally, they broke through. He closed his eyes, the pain almost unbearable, as his last thoughts were that he simply did not wish to die.

The energy welled within his body, as they scratched at his flesh, until the wave reached its peak and exploded. The shock wave reaching over 20 miles, destroying everything in its path. His life, his single, solitary, existence, gone within the brief moments of pain and agony. His sacrifice, his singular moment, ensuring that so many others lived another day.

Saturday, 1 December 2018


Today has been a very good day (so far).

Small victories come in all shapes and sizes.

I've always wanted to write, despite the ups and downs of people wondering why, but it's nice to know that people can create and continue to do so. I was asked a very odd question, yesterday, which confused me for awhile, "Do you even know who you are?"  I've never actually asked myself that question. Have you?  I couldn't honestly answer. Maybe it's time to discover the answer to that question, dig deep, discover and enjoy.  After all, the closest you'll ever get to me is, probably, via my written words.

Here's to the next 10,000 views.

Thank you. Thank you from my heart.