The reckoning had begun. Beckoning toward Fionnula, his finger curled; like a twisted, hysterical contortionist.
“You always have been a sick fucker, haven’t you, Michael.”
The walk toward him seemed to last an eternity. Each stride Fionnula took, quaked. Creating bodily shockwaves, that traversed her very being. Every single part of her anatomy shook. Every pumping organ, every rattling bone, every piece of flesh, every inch of skin, every solitary cell, every atom.
Their gloomy, adversarial figures, illuminated by the brooding candelabra, made for a shady, evil, twilight puppet show. Each animated plume of scarrow, seemed to prophesise and play out scenarios, across the floor, walls, and, furnishings. Each tenebrous, charging, anthropomorphic silhouette, revealed, the inner turmoil, both, Fionnula and Michael, felt. Whilst, preemptively, divulging, the possible outcomes, of the outlying battle, yet, to take place. Fionnula’s chilled breath quickened, as though, it were, attempting to escape, her aghast chasm, of a mouth. Her pneumatic thoughts were quickening too. They anxiously jumped, jostling, for pole position and, after the starter pistol, in racing hurriedly toward a solution, her blundering thoughts, had, fumbled, and, dropped, the baton to freedom.
“I may be a sick fucker, Fionnula, but, at least, I’m not a sickly, sweet cunt, like you. Or, sick enough to fuck myself over. You managed that, all by yourself, didn’t you? Did you, really, think, for one second, that I wouldn’t f-find out?!”
Fionnula’s wry smile crept upon her face, slowly, like a setting, summer sun. She had underestimated Michael. He, now, had her, exactly, where he wanted her. A prisoner, to her own lack of foresight, and, a prisoner, to a man she had deemed a psychopath, since his birth. She blinked frantically, hoping each, flickering eyelash, would jump start, the synaptic motor, in her overheating, radiator of a brain. Memories rolled, flashing brightly, yet, opaquely, and always humorously leaden, through her mind, like a silent keystone cop-esque film from the 1910’s. Despairingly, Fionnula trawled her oceanic, grey matter for Michael’s weaknesses. Any preexisting foible, or, sensitivity – anything she could darkly cast, in order for him, to take the inky bait, and, bite, dimly.
It had taken twenty-six years, for, Michael, to overcome his stammer. He was so badly bullied, because of it, during his childhood, that, in adulthood, he had moved, to the other side of the country. A move, with which, he had intended to restart his life. To start everything over again. With a clear mind, a clean slate, and, the freedom of unimpeded speech, at his disposal. The miles, travelled, away from his hometown, had been; a chevroned-shaped glottal victory, a voice emancipating march, a broad-winged flight of fluency, a loose lipped maiden voyage of liberation.
His previously, unpalatable dreams, of long-lusted, unhindered conversations, had, finally, come true. Yet, now, those dreams had been, unable to resist, handbrake-turning, into; diverted, barrier breaking car crashes, called unkept promises. All of his hard work had been undone in a single crunch. Severing the silver tongue he had meticulously and painstakingly spent every waking hour of the last twenty-six years perfecting. A vow to never, ever, take the U-turn back down the M1, to the provincial slums, of inner-city Nottingham, had been, broken, much like his speech pattern. And because of that, vengeance was afoot. Michael knew, that somebody, had to pay the ultimate price, for placing his foot back in his mouth. Pay for his re-emerged, daily orthoepic impairment. Just, pay. That bewildered, yet, unflinching, and, always, self-righteous customer, was, in fact, Fionnula.
A crust o’ bread. Pastries o’ lead. Any’hin’, tae line the coffin; I call’t a stomach. Fae a brimmin’, ale-filled tankard cup. And, nae longer cawin’ crows in me hands be worth twa, and, sixpence, flush.
Eatin’ sins, before the Lord, frae a sinist’r, smorgasbord. Me gnashin’ gams, offer, bless’d relief. Tae the dearly, and, sometimes, nearly, depart’d. Distasteful reminders, o’ the ugliest natures, we be seldom confessin’, tae tak part in.
It’s a piece o’ cakie!
Ev’ry morsel, I have nestled, in me decayin’ spaghetti-faced beard, is givin’ solace, to the pious, and, unholy, the kind-heart’d, and, fear’d.
Fae each, flagon o’ hate, I imbibe, each, transgression, I consume, a burden rises, like a baker’s loaf, frae inside, them. And, descends deep in tae me graveyard guts; a Hadean plume.
Shunned, and, sheemed, by those bitin’ begrudg’rs, sco’ned, and, defamed. Doon, Hansel, and, Gretel Lane, I’m trudgin’. Followin’ that doomed crumb-age. Me heart’s in me mooth, each mournin’, bludgeon’d, as I chews the fat o’ those snarlin’ judges.
Ye tho’ I warks, and, stalks, ca’ throu’ the valley, o’ the scarrow o’ death. Youse ken the smell, o’ each fall, frae grace, ev’ry vice, on me rott’n, rank, reekin’ vagabond breath.
The rough, and, scarring, bodily scourges, are no comparison, to being forever burdened, by the torment of, a scabrous, jagged mind. That’s the living abstraction; of being; a callus’t one. Knowing the thin, and, fickle nature of life, whilst, saying, “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
Holding on, to a grip of things, in the present, juxtaposed, with, sharp memories; incessant, cuts deep, into physical, and, metaphysical flesh. That’s the piercing knife; you wield; as a callus’t one. Keeping wounds open enough, to prise, pain; permanent, and, fresh.
Broken-ringed, vows, and, promises, littering the circular streets, I’ve walked around, alone, in annular defeat. Unable to cry; blue-discs, of rotating grief. That’s the circus clown smile; you show; as a callus’t one. Hoping a risen moon, soon, opens a gloomy throat; in the ground; swallowing… mortal relief.
That’s what it takes; to be forgiven; and, finally; a callus’t none.
The black, bloody, treacly, substance, oozed out, of Gaia’s back, like liquid gold.
Always held, in sweaty, greed-fuelled hands, strikings were commonplace, by the cat o’ nine.
But, it wasn’t multiple lives, She was losing, it was – a total loss, of respect.
Eventually, Her spiritual resources, would be totally depleted. Her caregiving nature defeated.
Leaving Gaia begging for death.
Sporadic sores, opened, in the middle-eastern, portion of her body. The surface of her skin, became a pus-filled warzone, raging, on, and, on.
Her rooted, oxygen-emanating hairs, were cut, chopped, planed, and, burned away. Leaving large areas, of Her body, unprotected.
This torture meant, that, even, as Gaia’s moral fibre, tried to replenish Her, there was never enough time, for Her to properly heal.
The thick cloudy smog, She inhaled, was relentless, leaving Her gasping for air. She, desperately, tried to breath. Just, to be able to think clearly. As clear as, Her, azure eyes, and, Her salubrious aura of old.
However, the cancerous torture, riddling Her, very, essence, had other ideas.
The viral parasite was too bright. Too bright for it’s own good. Culminating in dark.
Each microbe, was self-serving. And, believed itself, far more important, than Gaia. Their bacteria-laden, all consuming, teeth – gnashed.
Gaia, was being consumed.
Alone, and, deserted, She could stand – no more, Leaving Her collapsed, no pulse, unresponsive.
Her empty shell, gradually decomposed. Turning from vivid shades, of, blue, and, green, to, a repugnant shade, of grey.
Her spirit was already long gone. Seeking halcyon pastures new. A fresh start. Away from torture and ridicule.
Her soul shot out, toward the stars. To serve, Her cosmic purpose. To serve, celestial bodies, suns, and, planets. To serve a species, both virtuous, and, deserving.
Vast new monstrosities, lined-up, aside old architecture, stood in the shadows, as am I – beneath, the ancient high-rise.
It’s had a facelift, since I saw it last, refurbished – it brings down, hidden memories, from stagnant trauma, violent infantile time, spent, in an abode of old.
Rusted cycle, on the banks of the lean canal, flanked by the crack of alabaster, and, the grimace of limestone. Flowers rotten, and, forgotten, aside, a brooding statue.
All the while I’m drawn toward the snake-like, slippery skin of a shimmering cascade.
There’s an aquatic attraction, to plumes of smoky water, atop the lily pads, which rival those chest armours, protecting the geese, and, mallard’s. Each plumage; hugs the water, in a natural, symbiotic embrace.
There’s beauty; in the simple things, the forgotten things.
The things you don’t see, when you’re engulfed by; an awful, ugly, world.
A world captained by; the financially rich, the gloaters, the not even wearing a coat-ers, the ritually unaware boaters, and, the willfully ignorant, remaining; ignorant. Must be blissful.
While; the on-edge, the thinkers, the unlucky, the brave, the jumpers, the bloaters, the sinkers, the all out at sea, the floaters, the ones that want the pain to end, the ones who just need a friend, the ones who need to know we care, and, the ones who have a minute spare.
Are left to flounder…
When, all, each, of us, needs; is someone;
Someone to talk to, and; not be judged.
Just to talk…
And, be; here; on dry land. Not there; walking the plank.
The dying embers, of the summer-sun, lay, like barbecue coals, underfoot. It’s been one hell – of a season, peppered; with grief-stricken – condiments, and, gruesome – herbs. Parties, and, meetings, where sapient meat, became disturbed. Flame flashes rashers, shanks, loins, and, many rarer cuts. Heart-shaped burgers; bitten, burning, and, dripping. Blaze-shaped feelings; all sweating; profusely, and, perturbed.
But, now, the cold sets in. The rotten flesh, is covered in flies. Larvae absorb, and, consume the sin. As the lambs blood, cools and dries. Landfill sites fester, – ever fuller. Teen suicides, and, stabbings, on the up. The brightest futures, growing duller, by social media’s; poisoned; overflowing cup.
A forgetful fable, soon emerges; of a summer; subjugated, by sentimentality – so weak.
But, what lay beyond, the sunny, grassy verges. Is the glacial-hard-truth…
One frozen hell.
An infernal blizzard of a life; blackly frosted; burning, berserk, and, bleak.
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