End Credits

So, yesterday morning I completed the 5^th draft of my novel. The idea which was born in June 2007 has been refined since November 2008. Each time I complete an edit I believe that this is the finished piece of work, but after the third one I realised this was a bit silly, because after a few months I go back and read everything with a fresh eye. It’s then I am able to spot the areas I need to improve on. 

At the moment I am quite happy with it. This particular version was focussed on trying to get rid of words that are not part of the storylines. I am partial to slapping on the descriptive text like someone slapping their make-up on for a Kiss concert. It’s brushed on thickly. So I have tried to review each sentence checking to see if it flows well in pace and that the reader isn’t being detracted by melodramatic descriptions. I still haven’t managed to record it and play it back to myself, mostly because I can’t stand my own voice. I guess the Paddington's Shadow audiobook will have to wait.

So is this the final edit? I don’t think so. Coldbrain recommended that I read On Writing by Stephen King so I bought it and have wanted to read it for ages now. I’m pretty sure after reading that book I’ll have loads of ideas. Or maybe I won’t.

I have created a blog http://odetothebrute.blogspot.com/ where I have upload my novel and I am looking for any feedback, good or bad as this will help me improve it further.

As for now, I’m going to finish off my bottle of Nastro Azzurro in peace.   

Outside The Court House

I had the afternoon off the other day and was waiting for someone. Being a little early, well 30 minutes early I found myself sitting on a bench opposite the local magistrate court. Although trying to initially read my book my eyes kept looking up at what was going on ahead of me outside the court. There wasn’t a fight or a cohort of armed police patrolling the vicinity. No, there were just a few people that looked like they were either waiting to be summoned or taking a fag break before having to go back in. On the left hand side standing at the bottom of the steps was the person who could only be summed up as the ‘hard nut’. Sporting a severely gelled wet French crop haircut which glistened against the sunlight he leaned back sucking up the last drags of his cigarette. It looked like he made half an effort to dress appropriately for court wearing black trousers and a baggy denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up exposing his array of tattoos. He was also wearing a pair of black trainers and a black tie unravelled around his neck as only the rebellious do. I imagined his crime was something to do with fighting. Perhaps someone pushed ahead of him in the queue at the kebab van one drunken Saturday night and took objection. He looked nonplussed about his current circumstance as if this was all procedural to him now. Unlike the young man on the right.

The person on the right looked visibly scared. Dressed in a salmon pink shirt tucked tightly inside his rather tight black trousers he kept rubbing his face in his hands. He looked around 19 – 20 years old. His eyes were not really focussing on anything around him but occasionally looked up when a car drove by. His family were there with him too all dressed smart and symbolising their support by surrounding him and occasionally laying hands of comfort on his shoulder. To me, it seemed he was an accomplice to something rather nasty. Maybe he helped someone to beat someone up or hid them from the police after it was done. It didn’t look like it was something he would do by his own accord and by the shaky look on his face he probably was cajoled into doing it by threats made on him.

At the top of the steps was another smoker, dressed in a dapper suit staring upwards as she puffs away on her cigarette. She looked like she was a lawyer/solicitor of some sort, I don’t know exactly why but her demeanour suggested that she knew the building and its surroundings. I think it was her confident stance at the top of the steps while the criminals stood below wallowing or waiting for their moment in court that convinced me she was a lady of power. She strides over to the rail and rubs it slowly, almost suggestively whilst nodding her head. It looked as if it was some sort of ‘geeing up’ ritual to motivate herself before she takes stage. A man in a suit approaches her and taps her on the shoulder from behind. She startles but before the second elapses she’s already straightened her back pushed back her shoulders and nods systematically to the man before following him inside the court.

It was at that point that my friend appeared and we headed towards a coffee house and my surveillance of the magistrate court ended.


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“That’s a good point Conrad but going into the wood could take ages. I think I’m going to speak to the police about this and get them to help.”

“Must you do that, we’ll have to move for sure.”

“I’m sorry guys but this person needs to be caught for society’s sake as much as mine. You’ve got nothing to fear as you’re all innocent but you’ll be classed as a suspect because it would seem to them that you need money.”

“Money is for fools.” Spits out Conrad.

“What’s that on the ground?” Peter interrupts.

“What? Where?” Yannish replies.

“There, that red thing.” Peter points over to the right and sure enough a small red object is impinged on a twig.

Noticing the foreign colour among the green and brown Yannish runs to it followed by Conrad and Peter no too far behind. He wrestles the small red cube from the twig and examines it.

“What is it?” Conrad asks.
“I don’t know it’s rubbery.” Replies Yannish.

“It’s from the sole of a shoe Yannish. Look on one side it’s got some texture, this came from a shoe probably from the thief. He must of got it caught on this twig as he ran away.” Peter says calmly.

“I, I think you’re right. It’s from those shoes that has a different colour part of the sole at the back by the heel.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“I don’t know Conrad. But I’m glad I found it. Look, I haven’t got time to go investigating further but I’m going to hold off calling the police for the time being as I want to investigate this place more. You guys can do what you wish but if you want to help me I’ll be in touch tomorrow. I’ll come by your den but right now I need to go and meet someone before I’m late.”

“Ok, we will be ready to help you but when you come please be sure to bring a few cans. It’s been two days since we’ve last had a proper drink.”

Yannish smiles at them both and nods in acknowledgment. He feels elated in finding the rubber sole but isn’t sure why. It doesn’t tell him who he is or where he lives, nothing like that. Yet he feels that by finding something of his is a sign that this person was sloppy, this person didn’t envisage Yannish chasing him through the bushes, field and into the wood. If he left this behind he might of left something else behind. He shoves the piece of sole into his jean pocket giving it one last tight squeeze before letting it go. Now he needs to go to the park and speak to Karen about what is going on in his head.

“Right, I’m going back, anyone care to join me?”

The three of them turn around and slowly amble back out of the woods.

Collecting information on Tammy was easy for Charles. She was a creature of habit. She would finish her night shift and get home to wake up her two young children for school relinquishing her teenage daughter of her baby sitting duties. She’d get them ready and then take them to school and upon returning to her house start to clean the kitchen. It was always the kitchen first, then the dining room followed by the sitting room. Then move upstairs tidying up the bedroom of her two youngest, then the bath room and finally her room. She always did it in that order and always left her eldest child’s room alone. Of course she would open the door and peer inside only to sigh and shake her head as she headed to her room for a nap. Tammy would slept for 4 hours each day then got up to go shopping. She visited the same supermarket every time and even took the same route around picking up the same products. Charles could even tell what make of bread she would buy and how long it roughly took her to get out of there. The only thing that would seriously unsettle her would be if something changed her daily regime like when her boy was too ill to go to school one day. She was so flustered flapping around not knowing what to do that she rang her friend for advice. Charles thought this interesting as equally funny. It was becoming tedious now though, she ran like clock work and he knew full well the best way to get to her would be through her children. He found out their names from stealing their rubbish bags, which Tammy would leave at 5:45pm on a Tuesday night just before she set out to work. All he’d have to do is mention their names to her and nothing more. Then she’d give him the stare. It was something he had got used to seeing when he mentioned something very personal and dear to his victim’s heart. Behind the stare would be a series of questions running through their mind, how do they know? What else do they know? How do they know the one thing most precious to my heart? No matter what their original considerations may be the answer will always end in complying. Tammy was going to be easy to gain co-operation from she hated change and if he offered her a clear solution to the problem, hell she probably would end up packing the money into bags for them all.

Yannish was much more interesting but a difficult person to research. He was unpredictable and didn’t always do what Charles thought. There was a backbone of routine, he would attend college but not always daily and not always for the whole duration of the day. He worked five nights out of the week in the garage which he never missed. Yet there were strange things about his life like the lack of presence of his parents. It seemed he worked the five days to pay for rent on a flat he shared with a pot smoking friend. He didn’t seem to have any family around him. It was impressive, he must have been nineteen at the most yet he would always seemed to be under control and no two days seemed to be the same with him. One day Yannish would leave the flat at around seven thirty and arrive at college at eight thirty. He wouldn’t appear until twelve where he would be walking with a friend called Keith where they would go to the local pub. They’d have a couple of pints there but Yannish always chopped and changed his choice of beverage, it could be cider, ale or lager. Keith would always talk in an animated fashion, gesticulating and throwing his body around as he spoke. Yannish would always be slouched on the chair listening to Keith in a nonchalant manner. It was only if Keith said something Yannish didn’t agree with that made him spring to life rivalling Keith’s body movements as he delivered his opinion. After a few drinks Yannish would leave and return to the flat. He’d stay there until around five and head off to work. That was the only thing Charles could be sure of, that no matter what he got up to in the day he’d always leave around five and start to walk to work. Yet any other day he could be in the library, or stay in his flat or visit other friends.

Charles sat in his car, the empty packaging of fast food contents lay on his belly. He was frustrated about his lack of knowledge on Yannish. His technique on finding a loved one and using it against them wouldn’t really work for Yannish as he didn’t know who they were. What he did know was that he was quite an intelligent, kind person but most of all he was enchanting. Charles wanted to know more about him, not only because so far he’d only been fed scraps of information from his daily routines or lack of them. Not just to find something precious to use against him but because he wanted to know what it was like to be him, find out what it was that inspired his thoughts and choices. Tomorrow he would meet up with the rest of the gang and discuss the information each had gathered to formulate a plan he knew he could probably use Karen against Yannish but he also knew Yannish would be unlikely to comply even if threatened.

A girl approaches the flat, someone Charles hasn’t seen before. She knocks and enters and after twenty minutes she leaves with Tommy. They walk down the street, his blonde dread locks bobbing up and down as slides his hand down the back of the attractive young lady before pinching her backside.

“The stoner’s on a date.” He whispers to himself in slight excitement.

Another half hour passes and the door slams again as Yannish leaves for work in his garage uniform. Charles watches him walk out of the distance and then looks at the flat. He doesn’t know when Tommy will return but he’s willing to take the risk. It would be unlikely someone who spends his waking hours in a comatose state would be able to put up much of a fight. He reaches to his glove box and pulls out a baseball cap and wrench. He slips the wrench down his trousers so that it’s caught on his belt and rests the baseball cap low on his head, tilting the peak further down so that a shadow casts over his face. He gets out of the car, there’s still day light but this is an opportunity he can’t pass up on, Tommy never leaves the house, everyone seemed to come to him. He walks to the door and reaches upwards grabbing hold of the two pieces of wood supporting the roof over the door. He runs his fingers along the support until he finds a divot. With his index finger he prods further until he feels the plastic.

“Jackpot.” He whispers excitedly to himself.

He hooks his finger under the plastic and begins to pull out the little bag. He uses his other hand to grab it from the divot. Taking the key from the bag he unlocks the door.

The flat is small. On the right is the lounge full of the pungent smell of old tobacco and marijuana. There’s a lot of sixties remnants here, Jimmi Hendrix posters, the brown and beige wall paper. Charles looks around but doesn’t see anything that looks like it could be Yannish’s so goes back to the hall way and sees two rooms further along. He approaches the one on the left and enters. The room is fairly neat, the bed has been made, a few dvd’s are scattered on the floor and by the bed is an ash tray with a packet of rolling tobacco next to it with some papers on the floor. He looks on the wall and sees Yannish look back at him in his photos. One of them is of him with his friends on the beach, there’s another of him on a roller coaster ride. And the third is one of Karen and him sitting on a roundabout. It was taken by one of them as it’s very close and you can see inside their open mouths and on the top right hand corner the tip of a finger covering the lens is slightly visible. Charles carefully pulls the photo from the wall bringing it closer to him for inspection.

Knowing this was definitely Yannish’s room he sticks the picture back on the wall and begins looking for something about him. He opens the drawers on the right and finds only clothes, all in order. His top draw are full of pairs of socks attached to one another by the elastic on the top. Underwear neatly spread out so that minimum effort is required to pick one out in the morning haze. In the right hand corner is a box of condoms with the top one peeping out through the lid so a quick swipe is all that is required to get it out. The rest of his draws contain nothing but clothes. Charles rummages through them hoping to find some hidden papers or at least a clue of who he is. Yet it’s only t-shirts that slip through his fingers as it proves fruitless. Next to check is under the bed where it’s murky and unclear what’s there. He kneels down and sticks his hand moving it from side to side almost like a fishing net flaying around hoping to catch anything in its path. Yet there’s nothing there apart from a few stray socks. With one last sweep he hits something, his finger scurries along it’s side to identify a box. With excitement he introduces his other hand pulls it out from the dark. He sits on the bed and eagerly opens the little wooden box only to find disappointment at the discovery of Yannish’s pot stash.

He drops the box and falls back on the bed. He can’t find anything about him. Anything he can use against him. Yet he knows that he already has his bargaining tool in Karen, he just needed an excuse to find out more about him. And all that he’s found out is that externally he may seem un-neat with bits of cigarette remnants all over the floor and the odd sock. Yet when he looked in his draws everything was ironed, everything was in order and separated. Even Marla wasn’t as tidy as this boy. This highly organised boy. He tilts his head forwards and notices the bookcase in front of him. He looks at the books, 1984, Generation X, Girlfriend in a Coma. He moves up to the next shelf, an autobiography of John Simpson the BBC correspondent, another from Greg Dyke. His eyes then move higher to see the small shoe box almost completely hidden by the trilby hat resting on top of it. Charles springs up and reaches for the shoebox knocking the hat off. He opens the box.

Inside are records of achievements, young entrepreneurial finalist, winner of the 6th government debate and 3rd in the cross country race, all in the past year. Charles can feel the jealousy burn inside him, this person was on the cusp of greatness, youth pushing him forward into a successful man. A beautiful girl was chasing him and himself living in a highly organised world. Why couldn’t his world be like this? Why can’t he achieve? Not the achievements of executing a crime but in contributing to something. Yannish was all geared to contribute successfully, maybe pivotally, to society. He only contributed to its downfall.

“I will.” He whispers to himself. Thinking that once this last job is over he will change his path in life. He will re-train, leave this life of crime. He just needs to get this job done.

He shuts the box lid down. He can’t find anything in his room. Anything he doesn’t want people to find is well hidden that only a complete ransack of the place would uncover. He couldn’t risk doing that, it would alert suspicion. He’d already gotten close by breaking in here. If only he could find a computer or a laptop it might not prove completely fruitless. He checks the room over to see nothing looks out of place. He goes back to the draws making sure the clothes are neatly folded in place and heads out of the room. He goes to the other door opposite and tries to open it unsuccessfully. This must be Tommy’s room but being the local cannabis dealer it would prove wise to secure his interests when not on premises.

Walking back into the lounge and searches round for a computer, laptop or even a cable to suggest there maybe one in the flat somewhere. Yet nothing can be found. Giving up he leans against the wall to rest a little and contemplate what he’s going to say in the meeting tonight. As it stands, the only thing he can really use against him is his ex-girlfriend.

The door bell sounds. Charles quickly ducks down and looks towards the window. All of them have the curtains drawn so he slowly gets back up as the doorbell rings again. He keeps still listening for any sound or movement. The person taps on the door with their hands and then after a few moments the letter box flap comes open and a small envelope floats gently to the ground. Charles waits for the sound of footsteps before making a move, finally assured that they have gone he goes to the letter. Lying back down he picks up the small envelope and turns it over to see the name “Yannish” written on it. Looking at it for a moment he considers what to do and flicks the letter against his knuckles while debating his next action. Then without a flinch he slides his finger in the gap and starts to tear the top off and finally takes out the letter.

Yannish,

I know you hate me but I know you’ve probably forgiven me being the person you are but I want to explain what happened and maybe put what went wrong between us.

My mum’s boyfriend stole a lot of money from us. I never trusted him but she was besotted with him not noticing that she was paying for his way in life. He’d moved in within two months of meeting her and not any rent. It was paid when he convinced her to convert her savings account into a joint savings account when he did his real damage. He wiped out her account in one go and vanished. Just like that, he was gone. He took all my mother’s £9000 savings leaving our only income based on my part time jobs. She was distraught that he left and didn’t understand that he stole from her. She’s gone into depression and has lost her job. I couldn’t go full time, I wouldn’t crush my own dreams because of my mum’s bad judgement and some pricks conniving. You know how much I want to be a journalist. I just couldn’t do it and that’s when I saw the collection jar at your flat. At first I thought it was Tommy’s drug money so I didn’t care so much of taking it. The rent needed to be paid and I was short, my mum, she refused to get out of bed. I just kept saying she was ill to you and leaving it as that. Taking that money made me feel bad but I needed to make sure my mum and I could live. When I found out that it wasn’t Tommy’s drug jar but both of yours rent money that I knew I was doing something wrong. You looked so confused when you told me, so unsure of yourself. I felt like crying but had to be strong. I should have told you then but I couldn’t I needed the money. And when you started to hide the money I would look for it. You never ever thought it was me but it was. It was me, but not the Karen you know, I’m having problems Yannish. I’m not the same person you knew but I need you, I need you to get me back to normal because I know when you look at me you see that same girl you enchanted eight months ago. At the moment I’ve had to take on an extra shift at work, I can’t go full time as you know because of college. But it’s hard and I need your help. I can’t ask you to feel differently but I hope this explanation lets you know what happened to me in order to do the thing I’ve done. I was selfish, fucking selfish. It still haunts me how scared you were when we lay in bed together and you tell me how worried you were about being evicted. How you was worried about what was going to happen in the future whether you’d have to go to the YMCA until you finished college. And I held you tightly but silently I wept by your side because the person you trusted most was the person who was betraying you.

I don’t want you to give up on me. I thought you would be hysterical when we met at the park. But of course, you don’t get angry like that but when I saw in your eyes the hurt I couldn’t help but cry. Something seemed different. I don’t want to lose you. Please remember the time in the field two weeks ago when we sat there talking, alone and content in each other’s company when you told me just how much you loved me. I remember it. Everything melted around me, the trees, the grass, everything apart from you. You looked directly into my eyes and told me those words again and you unlocked my feelings for you and told you I feel the same. Please don’t forget that moment.

You are the most precious thing ever to me. I won’t call or text you anymore but I will ask you to contact me after reading this letter if you still feel some of that love that rolled of your tongue two weeks ago. I’ll keep fighting for you but I’m fighting many battles on different fronts. I’m still trying to track down this fucker who my mum loves but he’s been in the Ukraine the last couple of months.

I love you,

Karen.


Charles screws up the letter and stuffs it in his pocket. He walks into the kitchen looks around for anything else of interest and then looks out of the window. He can’t see Karen or anyone else and is happy that it is safe to leave. Opening the door he gives one more look around to see he hasn’t left any marks. Happy that all is well he closes the door, places the key in the divot and starts to make his way back to his car, walking slowly at first then gradually speeding up until it looks like he’s skipping across the road.

“Pint of lager.” Says Charles to the barmaid. She pours it for him and the usual procedural exchange of money for alcohol completes. He sits down and thinks about the letter he read.

“Fuck.” He says. He just can’t believe that no matter what he gets involved in, even in his own personal world Gregor’s demonic presence has always some thing to do with it. His actions had implications for other generations to deal with, stealing from Karen’s mother had caused a lot of trouble. It wasn’t that Gregor even needed the money, he had more than Charles easily but he doesn’t like to spend it. He probably lusted after this woman at first but once he had his way with her probably looked for other opportunities to arise. And when it did he doesn’t screw about with emotions he just takes so that he can move on and feel better. Yet he can’t feel sorry for Karen or Yannish he still has his job to complete.

He takes a deep breath to regain focus on the situation. Pulling out a paper and pen from his pocket he begins to write out what he has found from his research. Tonight he is going to tell the others how he’ll accomplish his part of the raid and needs to write it all out to help him think better. There can be no mistakes as the risk is too much. Armed robbery carries a long sentence and the thought of being in prison makes him shiver. He shivers so much that the hand holding his pint glass wobbles and splashes of lager escape. Quickly noticing what had happened he wipes it with a beer mat on the table. No mistakes can be made.

“Right what’ve you got?” Asks Gregor looking at Charles directly in the eye. He’s aware that he had become a meticulous planner ever since the bank manager incident but either way he liked to scrutinise what he said, see if he could pick holes and maybe find something to tease and torment him with.

“The woman, who works the night shift, her name is Tammy. She lives in a two bedroom flat shared with her eldest daughter and two young children. She’s not interested in being a hero as she has to work hard making sure her family lives as working in the garage is their only income. She won’t be any trouble and just the mention of her children’s names should sober her up into doing what I say.” Charles explains. He waits for the barrage of questions from Gregor to come. He’s gotten used to it now, the constant unpicking of what he says when forming a plan.

Gregor breaks the stare between the two men and starts to wander around Davy.

“So what happens if she does want to be a hero? Davy told us there’s a silent alarm behind the till and that’s usually where her fat behind is parked. It doesn’t take much effort for her to be a hero, just a push of a button and then we’re fucked.”

“The way I see it in my head we shouldn’t go barging in throwing our guns around. We should walk in casually, maybe not even together then I’ll get her away from the till by asking her for some help and then I’ll knock her to the ground tell her not to fuck with us. She’ll listen once I pull out my pistol.”

“I’ll think of the plan Charlie you opportunist shit. I just want a simple answer to my question but you fail to do that and instead want to create a whole new plan disregarding the information that has been provided just so you can get the lady from the till easily.”

“I’m not…”

“Shut it. What about the boy? How do you plan to deal with him?”

Silence ensues around the converted garage.

“You haven’t bothered to do any background work on him have you? Too busy perving on the female to bother. Yet it is he who is likely to cause the most disruption being young and sprightly unaware of the risks he is willing to take…”

“…I did do my research. You’re right he will be the more difficult. Yannish is a workaholic enigma. He is at the garage doing the night shift every week day. I couldn’t find much on him with the time given and without jeopardising revealing myself to him. He doesn’t seem to have any family other than his friends. He has just split from his girlfriend but he still is very passionate about her, he loves her and that is what I’ll use against him. I believe he will put up a struggle, he seems a very moral person with a belief of right or wrong and coupled with what you said in his naivety of what peril his life is in, if an opportunity arises he will try and stop us, I believe. I think we need to stop him going to work on the night, take him down before he gets there.”

“You told me that telling him we’ll hurt his girlfriend will be enough to stop him.”

“It is, well it may. He’s not stupid and has shown a lot of integrity, once he realises what we are after he’s probably going to put up a fight.”

“You can’t handle him?”

Chasing The Unknown

It reads strange but I think we sort of all are to a certain extent. I certainly am chasing something I don’t know what it is, what it looks like or even smells like. One of my first thoughts about it concludes it must be like I’m in the pursuit of happiness. We all are. Are we? Of course happiness is the ultimate objective. It’s getting to the point to be happy and how we judge it. Money seems to bring a degree of happiness. I know if I had a lot of it I’d be happy. The main reasons being my financial future was secure, I would have the confidence to experiment with things knowing the end of the day I can pay for most things within reason and not worry about anything else. Also I could share this financial security with family and friends. That would make me happy. So I take it that is what happiness is, striving for loads of money as much as I can get. Yet, would I be happy to get money if I’d have to do a job I hate. For example, being chief programmer on C++. The thought of staring at Microsoft Notepad on the computer all day writing code that’s about as interesting as the number of socks I own (I have 23 pairs by the way). I couldn’t handle working like that for the prime hours of the day – of my life! Even for £1,000,000 per annum. So this must mean I’m looking for something that I can do with my day that will earn me copious amounts of money. Isn’t that the crux of this entry and probably the thoughts that have fluttered in and out of our minds at least once in the last 6 months? Speaking from my point of view and experience I don’t think I’m really doing anything stunningly interesting or earning a vast amount of money. It’s not boring or ill paid it’s just, it’s just that I think there’s something out there in life that’s better. I’m a believer that some where out there is something better, like some sort of sequence of enlightenments on my life that will open up ideas and ways of living this thing that’s called ‘life’. Like I wrote earlier, I haven’t got a clue what or where it is. This is when I get frustrated because I can’t sniff out the trail, not even get a whiff of the scent but it’s there. It’s almost like how Sam Beckett must have felt in Quantum leap, “…always hoping that his next leap, was the leap home.” Yet I don’t want to finally find it when I’m 58 years old, I want it now but I know realistically I could find it tomorrow or never find it at all so life in ‘present’ must be lived and therefore I’ll carry on doing my thing. I won’t though give up on my thoughts and perhaps more importantly turn these thoughts into actions and perhaps maybe carve my own way. Hmm, now that sounds a good idea. I think I’ll sleep on that though.


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Laying on his bed Yannish tries to sleep but can’t. Keith had gone, he gave his advice and thought it best to flee. It was unlike Yannish to act like this, even Yannish thought the same thing. Keith’s words had sobered him and decided to take advice but getting to sleep wasn’t easy. He wonders where the stranger is right now, is he counting his money thinking it was a job well done or was he thinking it should have been a more successful plundering. He wanted to know badly, and it was probably the anxiety to find out that was keeping him awake. That and the fact he considered him self split in two, one half crying out for help, not complex psychological evaluation but an ear that will listen to him spill it all out. Blurting bits out to Keith was a surprising start but he wanted to speak to Karen. She was always very considerate of his fears. Of course she would tease him about his fear for sharks, the likelihood of him encountering one in an urban built up area was as likely as Jeffrey Archer receiving a knighthood. It was with the more immediate less solid fears that she helped him with. When studying for his exams, he would read and work and read then work more. Time would disappear between them but she understood his intentions, even when Yannish didn’t. He would ask her why he was doing all this studying, all this reading. What for? He could be spending his time with a beautiful young woman instead of turning the pages of smudged library books. And for what? Yet she knew that his questions on the future were just his way of telling her how scared he is of it. The fact it is an area no one knows about, the tramp, the politician, even the aristocrat have no say on what is going to happen. She would a reassure him that no one knows the future but by studying, by contributing to bettering yourself you’ll increase your chances of making it prosperous. Yannish accepted this, he would look at her in utter amazement how someone so beautiful physically can only be overshadowed by the inner beauty and wisdom she possessed within. He couldn’t comprehend it and decided not to try to understand but kiss her instead.

The only thing stopping Yannish calling her now was that the other half of him, the brooding side was determined to investigate this robbery further. Any chance to find something about this cretin is something worth looking for. The fear of death still burns within him and he doesn’t know what to do. He picks up his phone and brings up Karen’s number again and pushes dial.

…

“Hello”

“Hi Karen, it’s me.”

“Yannish you alright?”

“I want to speak to you. Can I do that?”

“uh, yeah sure. Is everything all right.”

“Yeah, it is. I just need to talk to you. When can you be free?”

“I can be free at 12:30. Where do you want to meet?”

“Where we always do, used to, I mean See you then.”

He struggled not to start talking about it, he didn’t want to get her worried or hear what she had to say over the phone. He wasn’t going to sleep and to appease his ever growing feeling to find the stranger he decided to visit the garage again and see what Conrad and the others were up to. They might know something, then after he’d meet Karen at the park. He got up to take a shower.

The garage was unsurprisingly closed. Police tape had cornered off the vicinity and two police cars were parked on the forecourt. There were a few members of the public taking interest of what was going on, all behind the tape barrier. A policeman appeared from the bushes with a sniffer dog that had its nose all over the floor moving along from side to side. The people talking amongst themselves had decided that it was a fatal unsuccessful robbery and that the robber had fled in his car long ago. Yannish appeared amongst the crowd, he felt a lot better since a hot shower and a shave, he still hadn’t eaten but he was never a big eater. He listened intently to the people bouncing ideas off each other, then gradually building up their own hysteria and finally climaxing with the doom this part of town was soon to experience.

“Do you know what, I can’t believe someone was murdered in the garage, can it be true? This town has fallen down in standards the last fifteen years.” A weather-beaten looking man in a gruff voice says.

“I agree, there’s robbery, mugging and it’s escalating to murder in a garage.” Concurred a woman standing next to the man.

Yannish, satisfied that the accurate news hadn’t been made public yet set off round the back of the garage to see if he could find anything. He walked back towards the houses and up into the bushes so that he’d be able to get closer and within the police tape. He walked through the trees, bushes crunching his feet on the twigs until he pushed them aside to find himself in his old smoking oasis. He looked around to see it was still the same, nothing had changed since he was banned to go there for a smoke last month. He wanted to sit down and roll a cigarette for nostalgic purposes but he knew this would attract attention. It looked like the police hadn’t discovered this place yet from the fact that his old butts hadn’t been picked up. He thought he’d help them out and collected them all and placing them in his pocket. He made his way to the garage from the back. There was another police car round the back which meant immediately that they were close by. There was no point him trying to enter the garage from the back, if they caught him he’d only be taken to the station again and he’d probably have to endure another interview too. No, as an alternative he would try and find the trail of the thief from when he got away. He turned around and pushed himself through a cluster of bushes heading upwards.

Finding the trail wasn’t too difficult as he’d walked through here many times before. Once he got to the bottom of the heath he wondered whether he should visit his three chums first or venture into the woods where he got knocked out. The whole event in him being knocked out seemed strange, he had only just entered the woods when it happened. He tried to recall if what had hit him was flat or had texture, whether it felt cold or warm, yet nothing really sprung to mind other the that it felt heavy crashing against the back of his head. He decided he wanted to try and find out what it was that hit him so going to the woods was going to be his first stop. Trudging his way through the long grass he looks at the ground swaying his head from side to side so that his eyes might pick up on something. He notices his foot print. He’s able to identify it by the pattern of the imprint, he bends down to touch it. The dirt is cold and crumbly but he can’t help but allow the imprint to relive part of last night when he flew down the heath, charging forward to catch him. He wasn’t scared then, he wanted to get this man so much that he forgot just how fast he ran, how much the adrenaline must have been pumping through him. He flicks the dirt back to the ground. Yannish stands back up and looks around, hoping to see some police officers but also hoping they don’t see him. Yet there is no one here, it’s almost like they’ve forgotten about this place. An armed robbery is a serious crime and therefore a proper investigation needs to be carried out, not just strap a bit of police tape around a few trees. He carries on walking towards the wood until he notices more of his footsteps. This must have been where he entered.

Even though it was morning the wood still managed to encapsulate Yannish in almost utter darkness. He used his mobile phone as a light by pressing the keypad frequently to illuminate the screen. There was no chance of finding a path way now, everything was covered in leaves, twigs and mud. His only chance was to locate the dying tree he stood by before getting knocked out. He walks forward but more cautiously examining every tree he passes. The phone is unable to brighten up a vast area so to check each tree he needs to be extremely close to it. His chin scrapes the bark while he checks. After looking around ten trees he realises how stupid this feels and futile it is. He might as well go and come back with a torch. Agreeing with this he slumps himself on the last tree he checked and slides himself down, pulls out his rolling tobacco and begins to roll a cigarette. Sprinkling the tobacco on the rolling paper he hears a cracking sound. He quickly turns round to where the noise is coming from but he can’t see anything past a few metres. Another cracking sound reverberates around and Yannish gets up now leaving his packet of tobacco on the floor. He starts to think who it is. If it’s the stranger, then now matter what happens he’ll get to see his face. Even if he’s wearing the clown mask again it’ll be the first thing he’ll lunge at just so he can catch even a glimpse of the face. If it’s the police then, well, he’s going to look very suspicious. It could be Conrad, George or Peter though. It’s likely they would have moved to the wood knowing the likely hood of the police conducting a search of the area. Yannish clasps his cheeks with his hands and rubs them up and down so his stumble can tickle his palms. He walks from behind the tree.

“Hello?”

All the background noises seem to have been removed.

“Hello?”
He repeats but this time with a bit more force so it sounds like it was coming from someone who was confident in themselves. Yet this wasn’t the case, Yannish, didn’t like the stillness and calmness, from this breeds terror. Not there yet but aware of the path it leads too he cries out even more forcefully.

“Hello, is anyone there?”

“Yes.” Says a voice in a whisper.

Silence.

Another cracking sound of breaking twigs can be heard only a few meters behind Yannish so he turns round. He pulls put his mobile press the keypads and raises it to the air. He doesn’t know who is there but if it is the thief he’ll charge at him and go straight for the larynx. Allowing such dark thoughts to invade his mind gives him a boost of confidence as he takes a step forward so he can see who is there. Waving the phone above him so he can see a wider rang he sees Conrad and Peter walking cautiously towards him lowering the phone, slightly disappointed it wasn’t the clown man.

“What are you doing here Yannish? We thought you would be at the police station locked up in one of their cells” Said a rather surprised looking Conrad.

Once again Yannish could see Peter evaluating the situation, thinking of reasons why he wasn’t there but here. Before he could open his mouth to answer Conrad’s question Yannish beats him to it.

“Looking for clues. The police are a joke. An absolute pack of jokers…they completely let me down..”

Noticing Yannish about to erupt in anger Conrad gestures they sit down on a large fallen branch beside them. Yannish agrees while running his fingers through his hair.

“They took me down asked me about six questions then let me go. I even had to help prompt the interviewer. They don’t give a shit.” Says Yannish about to carry on when Conrad interrupts him.

“Yannish, haven’t I told you this governmental tool doesn’t care for people like us. They care only for the rich and to convince them to support them. What can we give them?”

“Votes!” Cried Yannish noticing Conrad was about to divulge about his opinions on the government again.

“They don’t care about us. We give them a paltry vote and let me ask you this how many times have any of us exercised this vote when asked to?”

“I haven’t yet had the chance too.” Retorted Yannish quickly becoming irate with Conrad’s attempt to politicise the situation.

“Ok, ok, you have a valid reason but neither myself, Peter or George have exercised the right for over fifteen years. And it’s because of reasons like this. I’ve told you umpteen times how we got in this situation and now you’re experiencing it first hand.”

Yannish looked at Conrad, he disliked the talk of politics yet something was beginning to annoy him that he might have a point.

“Yannish, we’ve been here for over ten hours and no one has come by other than two men walking their dogs. An armed robbery is a really serious act yet no one from the police have seemed it fit to check beyond the garage, not even to the heath. And if they are coming it’ll take them at least till tomorrow to even get to the woods and by then key pieces of evidence may have disappeared. Evidence like hair from this guy which has now blown away with the wind and landed somewhere of no use to you and them. You’re on your own Yannish. They will look but it’ll only be due to an obligation on procedures.

“Shut the fuck up. If you really thought they didn’t care about the robbery and wouldn’t bother searching any further than the garage then why did you leave your den? Why did you come into the wood?” Shouts Yannish.

“We haven’t left out den, as you call it. George is their now. Both Conrad and I decided to do some investigating of our own. We wanted to see if we could find anything that could help trace this person. We’ve been looking around the area for a few hours and all we’ve found are foot prints.” Replies Peter who is calmly staring at him.

Yannish looks to the floor and then back up to meet Peter and Conrad’s stare.

“Look, I’m sorry for shouting. I just came here to do the same thing myself. It’s just so dark around these parts that I can’t find the dead tree where I remember being last.” Yannish explains rather remorsefully.

“When we found you Yannish it was a over there.” Said Conrad who points over to his left.

Yannish flies up from his position he runs over to the place they found him. First he looks around on the ground seeing if he can see anything. Then he gets on his hands and knees and begins inspecting the ground carefully, half hoping to see a hair, a piece of clothing a bullet. Anything, anything to work on. Yet the ground looks as hegemonic and plain as it should be. Finally admitting nothing is there, he starts to feel the anger boil inside him again from his lack of discovery. He turns to the two vagabonds.

“You mentioned footprints. Where?”

“They’re over there about a five minute walk. We’ll take you there.” Says Conrad already starting to get up. He helps pull up Peter and all three start to walk deeper into the wood.

“Yannish can I ask what you are planning to do?” Said Peter.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, yesterday you finished your last exam. You are a free person now, free from the bondage of education should you choose it.”

“I chose that bondage Peter, after sixteen you can leave education. I didn’t. I just didn’t know what I wanted to do but knew leaving was too early.”

“So you are leaving for university?”

“No, no, no. I’m not. I decided not to apply. I don’t want to go. I guess I’m on your side here, I think the government has got it wrong with further education. Allowing us to take out huge loans to live and pay for our time at university. I will be spending the rest of my life paying it off. Yet I wonder how they managed to pay for those students in the 70’s and 80’ even most of the 90’s. The only conclusion is that not as many people carried on in education and the places were more competitive. I know they’ve reintroduced grants to a certain extent but I feel there could be better ways in qualifying for a grant.”

“You don’t think you’ll qualify?”

“I probably would but it wouldn’t be enough. And besides I chose not to go because I wanted to go straight into work. I had been applying for jobs since last month but no one had got back to me. I was going to spend today looking for jobs and visiting companies to see what they had on offer. However, things change. I think I’m changing and all I want now is to find the fucker who robbed the garage. The rest can wait.”

“You can’t let that event change your outlook on life.” Said Conrad in a rather sympathetic tone.

Yannish shot him a look, a weary yet menacing one. Conrad felt Yannish was letting him know that he too had a scar of life, be it his first, but he can talk about robberies now with a certain conviction that only someone else who had experienced them can empathise with.

“It has. I didn’t want it too but it has. That person didn’t just steal from the bank he stole from me. I don’t feel the same and I hate the person who has done this to me. I want to catch him so bad.”

Conrad looks to Peter who is looking straight back at him, worried at what seems to be brewing in the young man.

“Yes, but what would you do if you meet him? You cannot tackle someone with a gun.”

“I don’t care I will run at him, I will go straight for the throat. Besides I don’t want to kill him, I want answers. I know I need to beat him down a bit first. I’ve seen him first hand, he’s not that much bigger than me. I little fuller maybe...”

“There are other ways to inflict pain other than violence Yannish. If you do get him, let me know as I’d like to speak to him also.”

“Why do you want to speak to him?”

“Because I want to help you if I can, I can see what this person is doing to you. I don’t like it.”

Yannish opens his mouth to retaliate but nothing comes out. His mind acknowledges Peter’s observation and thinks him correct. He isn’t the same Yannish 24 hours ago. Instead he morphs his open mouth into a smile at Peter. All three walk on in silence.

“They’re over there.” Says Conrad nodding his head.

Yannish scrambles a few feet and sees a set of foot prints in the mud. He looks down to check the pattern, he turns his sole and notices they are different. In fact the size of the print is larger. Maybe he is a size ten even 11 where he is only 9.

“These aren’t mine.” He says gleefully.

He carefully walks around the prints to see where they lead but after these prints are twigs and leaves and no sign of another. He goes back to the prints and thinks could these be the robber’s. It must be him, no one else really goes in the woods, not even people wanting to walk their dogs. Only Conrad and Peter.

“Show me the soles of your shoes?”

Conrad and Peter lift up a leg each and bend it round so that it’s pointing in Yannish’s direction. They lock arms and lean against each other so that they both don’t fall over. He walks up to them and checks the pattern on each one/ None one them match.

“I didn’t doubt you. I just wanted to check that you hadn’t made the mistake of finding your own footprints.” Says Yannish rather unconvincingly to the two men.

“It’s ok.” Replies Peter.

“So we’ve found where these footprints seem to be heading further in to the wood. This person didn’t really know where he was going if he headed that way. The quickest way out of here is probably to turn left.” Says Conrad.

River Phoenix

It’s uncomfortable to hear Heath Ledger died. Although I cannot really feel any loss because I wasn’t really aware of his work or the person he was, I’ve seen A Knights Tale and 10 Things I Hate About You. And that’s about it. His death though reminded me of when River Phoenix died, I was but a whimsical teenager then but he was someone I idolised, probably just as Heath is by some people today.

I generally thought he was cool when I saw him in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. He was someone I wanted to be. Upon investigating what comprised me to compact what I meant as ‘cool’ I realised that he possessed a lot of charisma and also seemed to star in some great films like, Stand By Me, The Mosquito Coast and I love You to Death. I used to read Smash Hits avidly to find out what project he was working on next or what he got up to in the Viper Room that week. I concluded that I wanted to live a life like his, unconfined as his profession allowed him to be and also naturalistic in that he was aware of the Earth and its issues. And if possible harvest or discover some amazing talent about myself like his.

I was deeply saddened when I heard he died. A lot of people mourn for Kurt Cobain but to me it was a greater loss to lose the person I wanted to become. I could no longer see how this person would develop and therefore had nothing to aspire too other than remember how charismatic and talented he was. I’ve now passed the age he lived too and I have virtually become nothing of what the teenage boy saw in River Phoenix. I work in business, sitting in front of a computer all day and make a half-hearted attempt to recycle (although I now only buy Fair Trade products whenever possible). I think if he was still alive today he would be on equal status as Jonny Depp in achievement of performances and variation of films featured in. Maybe even more so.

It’s strange when I see his brother Joaquin Phoenix in films too. I remember hearing his voice on the telephone to the 911 operator telling her that he thinks his brother isn’t breathing when he collapsed outside the Viper Room and now I see him in Gladiator and Signs and get a surreal sensation coming over me. It feels intrusive that I’ve heard him in his most scared and desperate moment.

Anyway, enough of my fucked up blabbings. I just felt I should get it out there.

I salute you River.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


“Ok, so that’s it?” Charles asks.

“Yeah, unless you two got any more questions? We meet in two weeks.” And with that Gregor turns his back to them both and turns on the television indicating that this meeting is over.

Charles gets up nods at Davy then walks back to his car thinking where to start his mission. He drives to the garage to take a look at the future victims.

He finds a spot to park his car on Chester Street and gets out. It’s a ten minute walk to the garage and turning up on foot will enable him to manoeuvre with the situation rather than have a car parked in one of the petrol bays attracting attention when someone waiting behind starts beeping the horn. It’s still dark and there’s a slight chill in the air so he zips up his coat and turns up his collar. The moon is only half covered tonight by clouds illuminating the half of the street Charles is walking on. He doesn’t like the light so crosses the road onto the less visible area. He can’t understand why he agreed to do this job. He hates stealing now, he hates, Gregor and what he’s doing right now is helping Gregor achieve his plan. “It’s for the money” he tells himself but the reality gradually seeps through the holes of reason and he knows it’s not because of the money it’s because he doesn’t know what else to do. It’s all he knows he can do, well. The thought of trying something new scares him but he tries to think deeply for something else he can do. Nothing comes up. Only Gregor’s face offering another opportunity to get some quick cash.

He can’t just do anything, Marla wouldn’t allow it. He needs to maintain a healthy income to keep her happy. But there’s no other way, the idea of training himself up to be a plumber appeals to him. Something that is vital to preserving a good standard of living. He could study at college full time and try to gain an apprenticeship, it’ll take years but then he’d be qualified and able to be an effective person in society rather than the one of its demons. The idea gets sucked away as the image of him telling Gregor that he couldn’t work on all the jobs anymore. It wouldn’t be accepted, he would have to continue doing the jobs for Gregor and Gregor would definitely find a way to terminate his plans. The man isn’t stupid he knows that Charles helps him get things done.

Nemesis

I never realised just how important it is to have a nemesis. It’s been a couple of years since I last had contact with mine and to be honest I miss the duels. Nemeses are so annoying and can sometimes make you so irate that your face goes red and your eyes bulge out and all you want to do is lash out at them with expletives. But of course this is what they desire, to demonstrate to the public that they can manipulate you into a state of frenzy while they sit their calmly delivering their point in a quiet yet succinct manner.

I used to clash with my particular nemesis over many varying issues, ranging from the mundane, like what’s the better food store, to more heavy weight issues such as the state of politics in Britain. Usually they would be cordial exchanges at first, one would let the other speak before the other gave their counter argument. After a few pints though the amenities would be forgotten in a drunken haze and we’d be talking all over each other to get our points across. The thing is, I lost most of them. My nemesis has the far superior intellect, and defeating her in an argument was a very tall order. She often used four syllable words to try and baffle me yet they were all relevant to her argument. She also has an extremely logical mind in her armoury that was able to map out the route to victory in a debate and would nudge the argument towards that direction. It was up to me to throw in a few grenades of obstruction and inform her that she might be incorrect. She’d never once admit defeat but I’d known when I’d got her buy the consternation of her face and the pause before taking a drink. And if she didn’t have a reply she’d change the subject. That’s when I knew I’d won. The victories were scant but they annoyed her immensely more than I felt joyful about them. So why did I argue and debate with her?

Well it’s because I had to give her my opinion on things. Hearing something that I didn’t think was right or perhaps been misinterpreted meant I had to get my point across. And from there we’d argue quite a bit about a lot of things. There were plenty of times I tried so hard to make her see my point of view but she’d always have a counter point, I swear she had a repository of counter points written on a piece of paper that she kept in her pocket.

After a while it all ceased. She went to London and I did not. It might be considered good to get rid of the person who you disagree with most. And you’re right. It felt good indulging in my own opinions and classifying them as correct in my own little world where I’m omnipotent. I would still get into a debate with other people but I’d defeat them easily which initially left me feeling all tingly because I won. After a while though the tingling stopped and I realised just how much I need a nemesis. Without one I’ve got no arena to improve my arguing skills, after all it was losing umpteen times to my original nemesis that taught me how to debate in a well thought out structured way. I also, can’t help but feel a lot of the way I learn things is because of the influence my nemesis had over me. I always make sure the fact is correct and try to find out as much as I can about a subject, well as much before my concentration elapses.

I wouldn’t mind encountering my nemesis again, a lot has changed in both our lives and our experiences are a lot different. Maybe now I’m more equipped in vocabulary and strategy. I’ve always been the better orator but something tells me I’d still lose. At least it would be good to get the tongue flapping again over a heavy weight issue.

I wonder if she supports the war in Iraq.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


“I heard from a pal of mine that I befriended at a club. Turns out he likes drinking a lot and we got talking. He told me about this garage off Chester Street, at first I thought nothing of it but he said there’s a young man that works there most evenings. He sorts him and his friends out with alcohol. He thinks the world of him but I couldn’t care less. He tells me that he usually works with one older lady and occasionally another one. Then it hits me! Why don’t I rob the place? If there’s only two people looking after it, a spotty boy and an old lady, surely we’re capable of ransacking the joint.”

There was silence after Gregor spoke. He looked at them both seeing who would speak up first. The plan sounded so easy.

“There’s only a boy and a woman who look after the place?” Asked Davy.

“Isn’t that what I just said you twerp. Essentially that is all involved but I want everyone to commit before I go further with my plan. So who is with me?”

Davy raised his hand and turned to Charles who looked deep in his thoughts. Charles thought that the idea in principle was good, a vulnerable target that would reap a huge amount of money for one nights work.

“Alright I’m in.” He says.

“’bout time you answered, you looked like you were lost in another world. Right, although I said that in general this job is going to be easy we need to be prepared because if it goes wrong we’ll be in prison for at least ten years.” Gregor sat down and took a deep breath. He was a meticulous planner and always covered every area. He was about to digress his already carefully pre-thought out plan.

“Davy I want you to investigate security. How many CCTV cameras there are outside, inside and which company supplies them. I want you to work out if there are any police patrols around that area and if so what time they go buy and what days. Find out the constable who is on the patrol. I want you also to find out as much as you can about the building, how many rooms it has, where the light switches are kept, you know what I mean.”

“Charles, what I want you to do is find out what you can about the two people that work there. See if it is just two and no more. If it is more find out about them also. Learn what their shift patterns are, how they get to work, the route they take. See if you can find out a bit about them, you know, their potential weaknesses. I also want you to find out a good escape route, one by car and one by foot. You got that?”

Charles nodded in acknowledgment of his assignment. Gregor got up sharply and paced around the room circling Davy and Charles.

“I want you to report back in two weeks what you have found and then from this information we’ll formulate a plan of action. If we do our research right we’ll be laughing. If we don’t it’ll be some constable who’ll be laughing. Now I’m going to carry on speaking to my new acquaintance to see if he can tell me where the safe is stored and if possible get some photos of it. I’ll do some research my self to find out how much this place has in the safe and I’ll let you boys know.”

Gregor gave a satisfying smile, his minions were about to do his bidding for a job he had discovered and would see through. Charles, hates this self-satisfying look. The smug arrogant look of triumph. And when he finds out just how much is in the safe is he going to tell us the real amount of money stashed away? No, he knows what Gregor is like, he’s damn sure that he’ll get Davy to watch the front and Charles to watch the door while he alone retrieves the money from the safe. Fucker! And yet the plan is good. He’s assembled a team that won’t just meander into a garage pull out a gun and expect everything to run smoothly. No, he knows that a lot of planning is needed and it’s better that the team spilt of to do a segment of research. Fucker!

Link (No, not the hero from Zelda)

There’s a guy at my work who has the best seat in the house if you want to be the ultimate slacker. Out of the 150+ people that work on his open plan floor he has managed to stumble across a desk that is right at the back so only the wall can see what he gets up to on his ‘puter. He informs me that he does do work even though I never mention work only just how good it must feel seeing who is approaching you and not jumping up like an idiot in fright when someone approaches you from behind. But it’s also got some other good advantages like whenever I want to buy something online (we are allowed to on our breaks which are 10:45 or 1pm). However, as it’s an open plan office I can’t help but feel that as soon as I whip my card out the Director will come strolling past seeing me online buying something, and all I can say is that ‘I’m on my break”. So I have to inconspicuously negotiate my wallet from my back pocket which consists of shimmying from side to side and contorting my body so that it looks like I’m grinding the back of the chair. Once I’ve got my wallet out I then carefully slide out the ol’ debit card and nestle it in my palm so I can lay my hand on the table and turn it over occasionally to write out the details with no one noticing. My colleague, well he just slaps his card on the table and bashes it all out all in one go.

One day I decided to pay him a visit so I made my way upstairs and endured the 3 minute walk from one end of the office to the other. He wasn’t there so I waited by his desk and saw he had his screen saver on. I waited 30 seconds and there was no sign of him. I waited another 30 seconds and there was still no sign of him. So I decided to sit in his seat and by habit I shook the mouse which to my surprise evaporated his screen saver to show me what was on his screen. On there was a still image of a clip from the IT Crowd, in fact on closer inspection it wasn’t a still it was a video paused (cheeky git). I looked confused and felt perplexed. At that moment my colleague came back saw that what I had seen and proceeded to tell me about this website he found that has loads of different TV shows and movies on. Some of them work but some don’t and some are rubbish quality. He passed me the link for me to investigate.

It’s a pretty good site full of films and TV goodies, it’s not really appropriate for the working office environment as the boss will bust your hind but if you’re bored at home it could come in handy so I think I’ll pass it on for other people to check out at their leisure.

http://www15.alluc.org/alluc/


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


Marla and Semmi took two huge sips from their glasses and began chatting about television. Charles, deciding not to continue playing games with Peter looked at Semmi with her green army jacket that had the Germany flagged coloured in black. He couldn’t help but think that it was a deliberate choice of colour on her behalf, an effort of irony. Something Semmi would definitely do and leave for others to work out. She was very odd opposite Marla. Marla, enjoyed the good life, the more luxurious the more content she would be. Being pampered and waited on would be her ideal scenario in life, where as Semmi wasn’t interested at all in that part of life. She was concerned about rights and welfare of living things whether human or animal. She would talk about animals that Marla hadn’t even heard of or human torturing happening in countries that he didn’t even know about. He didn’t like her because he felt she was too self righteous but looking at the little Germany flag on her left shoulder made him think that there was so much substance in the personality of Semmi.

A shining in the corner of Charles’s eye catches his attention from his gaze and turns and raises his forearm just in time to let the glass smash against it and not his face. He peers from his forearm to see Peter pull away and quickly push the table forward. But before it rams into Charles’s stomach he manages to grab it and hold it firm. He brings down his forearm and remembers the thought he had about hitting Peter and the satisfaction he was about to feel as he brought it to reality. Grabbing a clump of his hair he flings Peter head first on to the table making a dull thudding noise as he crashes down. Next he starts punching him round the back of the head, first with his fist, over and over again until he can see blood. But his cranium refuses to cave in. Charles looks for something to grab onto and clutches his pint glass. Peter is squealing for mercy and starts crying loudly. The Indian waiter carrying their meals on a tray sees what’s happening and starts to shimmy again from one side to the next, not sure what to do but shimmy in excitement. Marla, who quickly snaps out of the initial shock sees Charles lunch for the pint glass and grabs his arm.

“No Charles, don’t do it.” Screams Marla.

Peter feels the pressure she’s applying on his arm attempting to stop it going down. Even though it’s futile she is still trying. He starts to feel remorseful of his actions.

“You’ve already fucking ruined this night I don’t want you going to prison, I need to get things, I want the kitchen redone and you can’t pay for that in prison. Now stop!”

Peter realises her attempt, her pressure to stop his arm wasn’t out of his concern but for hers. He shakes her arm away sees Peter shaking his arms in the air, flapping around like an injured bird attempting to fly as the fox approaches. As he starts to bring his arm down he sees Semmi’s pleading face, her genuine look of sorrow. The blacked out Germany badge. He slams the glass on the table centimetre’s from Peter’s eye’s who gasps in shock at not being glassed. Marla flings herself at Charles entrenching her nails on to his face.

“How could you do this? How could you show me up? You’ve attacked an innocent man for no reason.”

Operation Ipod

‘twas only May that I decided to purchase an Ipod. For many years people had been quite passionate about the Ipod being the best MP3 player around and weren’t afraid to tell me this. For many years I abstained, thinking my £7.99 mp3 player was more than sufficient. People would even tell that if they had it stolen and or it broke they would replace it straightaway. So when I left my jacket in the rain and my Ipod in the jacket pocket I soon realised that I actually adore this piece of plastic. It was the collection I had amassed, the collection I was amassing which made me rummage in my pocket incessantly until I picked up the soaked player. I noticed that the screen was on and that it was still functioning but something didn’t look right. And it wasn’t. After about 5 minutes the battery died and so did my collection of tunes. The battery was gone and needed replacing so I searched the net looking for an Ipod battery but all were offering a battery in conjunction with their fitting services which totalled around £50. This is a bit steep for me so I continued searching until I finally found a site that sold the Ipod video battery for under £15 with £5 p&p. Of course they offered a fitting service and of course it was very expensive and so I decided to install the new battery myself using the websites installation instructions.

First thing I had to do was prise open the casing using tools provided with the battery which I managed to do. Then I had to carefully pull them apart with out ripping the headphone and battery connectors. Next, I had to unlock the battery connecter which was quite tricky but luckily I had many years of practice with stuff like this from the hours spent playing Operation as a boy. After that I was able to lay the metal case next to the white cover. I then prised open the battery and replaced it with a new one, sliding the connecter cable in until it locked. I carefully placed the pod together making sure the hard drive didn’t fall out as I clasped the two cases in place. I tentatively turned it on, half expecting the battery icon not to appear, half expecting nothing to happen at all. But some how it all worked, everything turned on, everything functioned correctly and now I can walk around with a beat to my step as I blast the tunes from my pod. I win, today!!!!

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“Why don’t you choke them a little?” She once asked.

He’d never thought of that and told her he’d do that on his next job. And from then on she’d advise him on what injuries to inflict and he would carry them out. Smacking knee caps, punching the kidneys she really got turned on by the fact she was helping out by telling him how to beat up people. But she liked to hear about a lot of blood spilling the most and so he always made sure they were punched in the mouth. Just the cause of how they met. When punching his victims he often thought that this might be a blessing in disguise for them, just like it was for him.

They pulled up at Janpur’s Indian restaurant, not a word had been said in the car.

“You better not ruin tonight Charlie.”

“I’m not going to ruin tonight, you stupid girl I’m not out to ruin your beloved night. I’m here to enjoy the food then piss off home for a bit.”

“I want you to be nice to my sister. She is always nice to you but you, you just spit in her face all the time. I’m surprised she even talks to me.”

“I’m not going to bloody well spit in her face. Your sister is mental, she goes round in a Volkswagen camper van trying to save the world from pollution but she’s doing more harm than good driving round in that heap of crap. That must give off so much bad fumes. And this latest activitist group thing she’s involved in, what cause are they fighting for again?”


“They’re fighting against underground fox hunting. What they’re called I can’t remember. She’s my only sister, and I know her lifestyle habits are disgusting but it’s not her fault she’s like this. I feel sorry for her, I should have been around her more while she was growing up. Instead I was shagging you all over town so our stepfather got to her with his ways and views.”

“Don’t go blaming me about the state of your family. If it wasn’t for me you’d probably be sharing that camper van with your sister right now. Probably going halves with that Peter guy she’s seeing. Knowing you, you’d go first and make her watch and then have sloppy seconds. So don’t start trying to rant at me about the state of your sister.”

“Alright, alright, look just don’t cause an argument or make her or Peter cry.”

“I want to kick the shit of out him.”

“No!”

“Yes, I know. She’s your sister’s partner. I’m not going to do it, but when they break up I’m gonna hunt him down.”

“Alright, let’s go and don’t ruin my dinner, alright?”

They got out of the car and Charles could smell the pungent smell of Indian food straight away. He inhaled passionately so that he could tease his appetite even more. They walk into Janpur’s and Marla immediately saw Semmi sitting with Peter. Semmi saw her sister and waved her over so that they could join them. Charles noticed she was wearing a green army jacket with a Germany flag stitched on the right of her shoulder but completely coloured in in black. He couldn’t think why and before he got a chance to ask Peter was standing in front of him shoving his open hand in Charles’s gut. Charles slightly a taken back by the prod in his abdomen quickly realised who it was and quickly hooked onto Peter’s hand began shaking it with some force.

Francoiz Breut

At the moment Francoiz Breut is helping me get through these horrible days. Has anyone else noticed that by 4:30pm it’s completely dark outside? I have, and when I look outside from the window at work I get sad. No one wants to go to work when it’s dark and leave when it’s dark. All the best hours are spent working for the man, so luckily I’m privileged enough to be near a window and be able to listen to Francoiz Breut. She is a French singing artist that creates great slow beats with a sultry voice layered over the top. I love the French accent so I’m constantly purring at work when I start listening to her. For more information check out the Wikipedia link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fran%C3%A7oiz_Breut

In other news I’ve just procured season 6 of Family Guy. I’m half way through the second disc and as always I’m finding it utterly hilarious. However, I’ve noticed a few things with this series. The first is that they swear quite nonchalantly now which came a bit of a shock. Secondly there aren’t as many episodes in this series as there was in the last, it seems they are slowly creating less and less and still classing it as a series. Either way Stewie Griffin is still having me cracking up al over the place and occasionally getting out a dictionary.

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Even though he was suspicious he never really entertained the idea further. Never thought about it more, like who could it be, were they male or female, where did they meet? Instead he turned his attention into locating his keys. He rummaged through his pockets until his fingers touched the serrated metal of his car keys, he pulled them out and started the car and they drove off. He turned his head to see Marla still in a state of anger, she was leaning against the window just looking straight ahead. “Bitch.” He murmured to himself as he turned back to focus on the road.

He had met her when he went to visit the dentist 16 years ago. He had lost a tooth and at least chipped three of them the previous night. He quickly ran home and looked in the local paper for an emergency dentist, no one would see him at that time of the night and all suggested the hospital. He was well accustomed with the hospital’s A&E and didn’t fancy being in the company of drunks, overdosed addicts and other people suffering grievances. Finally a dentist did agree to see him but he would have to wait until morning. So he sat in his flat till morning, using cotton wool to clog up the bleeding that was coming from the missing tooth. He played Sammy Davie Jr records to help sooth the pain.

When he arrived at the dentist he was shown to his room and that’s when he saw Marla. She was a dental nurse. Charles, felt the attraction straight away, he lusted after her as soon as he walked in to the room. Wearing her tight all white uniform only intensified his already pulsating carnal instincts. He noticed that he had an affect on her but wasn’t sure what it was that was causing her redden in the face. He could only think it was because he looked like a rugged man, one that was able to endure pain and be able to protect her if needed. The testosterone with in him was rife now and he puffed up his chest and introduced himself as Charlie. The first time he had ever called himself that.

He was right in thinking she was attracted to his hard image. She adored his skin head and the fact he had lost a few teeth made her mind burst with visions on how he lost them. She loved that rugged dangerous man and she felt she had finally found everything she wanted in one package apart from a missing tooth.

Their relationship intensified when he revealed just what sort of activities he got up to. She loved the idea he was breaking the law, that he was going out one night and coming back a couple of days later with his pockets full with bank notes that would easily pair their rent and live the most luxurious lifestyle of all the tenants of the Dennison blocks of flats. He would tell her how they would select a lorry and follow it a few days, learn it’s route and the driver’s habits like where he stopped for a break, if he visited a prostitute. They would then decide when was best to strike and Charles would always be the one to inflict the damage, he was strong, stronger than the others and that was his contribution to the gang. She would hang on his every word, look at him tentatively until he described what he do to his victims, break their noses, crack their jaws.

Halloween

Yep, it’s the spookiest time of the year again. Where the little children knock on your door demanding sweets and the not so little children knock demanding money. Where I work the canteen people have been running a competition for scariest looking pumpkin. You have to present your pumpkin to them and the one they think gives them the shivers the most will win a free meal. Not bad I thought considering a meal there will cost you about £3.50. However it was my face that looked scary when I was browsing through the grocery store when I saw pumpkins for sale at £4. They weren’t even organic ones as well!

Enough of my shock on the cost of pumpkins, here’s some prose to check out if you wish.

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Charles was sitting on the toilet seat now, he pulled out a packet of cigarettes looked at the shiny gold box twinkle in the bottom left corner and then crushed it. He crumpled the box in the palm of his hand and threw it to the ground. He leaned back against the toilet to relax and help his memory carry on flowing.

He smacked the bank manager with the butt of his pistol repeatedly, whilst screaming various expletives at him. He remembered how Gregor had to lunge over from the front seat and stop him from carrying on. The driver, Davey pulled out on to a field where they pulled over briefly pulled the bank manager out and Charles smacked him one more time across the jaw so that as he hit the ground red coloured saliva came spluttering out of his mouth. He lay on the grass motionless. Charles and Gregor jumped back in the car and they carried off across the grass. Gregor looked at Charles is disgust.

“Hey, Charlie boy! Couldn’t be bothered to frisk him, no? Thought your self too good to check his pockets, eh? You think yourself the big man do ya, that you didn’t consider this man an intelligent one? Didn’t bother to consider it no? Or, did you forget Charlie? You forgot to frisk him didn’t you? We’ve spent three months planning this, all of us knew what we had to do, we memorised it, what route to take and where to meet up, how long we should be in the bank, where to deposit the cash, everything. And now it’s for nothing, absolutely nothing and all because you, yes you, forgot to check that liver spotted, white collar piece of shit. And now you’ve cost us £30,000 each. Our money is gone and it’s all because of your stupidity.”

Charles couldn’t even look at Gregor. He stared at the floor feeling the anger starting to rise up within him. It was his own anger, his own doing. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself. He noticed the mobile phone on the floor and picked it up before snapping it cleanly in two.

They ditched the car as they neared woodland and decided to split their separate ways and not contact each other for two weeks.

Charles, regretted bringing that memory up again, he could feel the shame shower all over him again. How could he of been so idiotic? And Gregor never let him forget, never. He despised Gregor for many years but no matter how much he wanted to rid himself of the lanky balding scum, Gregor would always manage to weave his way back into his life. However, Charlie never told Gregor he never wanted to have anything to do with him again. He avoided that. The reason being was that to do anything illegal he required his craftiness to execute any job. They both knew this and for that reason Charles never took charge of any job they planned. He craved to take the lead but every time he tried Gregor would just take over, mock him in some why to douse his confidence and then manipulate his why into being in charge.

“Fuck sakes Charlie. We’ll be late.” Said Marla banging on the door.

Graphics and Rain

The designer at my work has made a cool graphic of me which resembles the design of a Blur album cover and also what they use on the Friday Night Project. I really like this style of design, simplistic yet effective in resemblance. I’m going to attempt to use it as my Blogger profile photo but at the moment there are a few technical glitches.

In other news, it’s absolutely tipping it down with rain today and I got soaked. I knew it was folly to try and walk to the shops without getting ‘too’ wet but I was hungry and needed something for my lunch so I started to make the perilous journey. Within seconds my brown trousers were drenched, so much so, that they acquired a glossy tint from all the rain the material had soaked in. I did have on a rain jacket to protect my top half but the rain seemed to find a way through the gaps and trickle down my neck making me shiver constantly. I bought some lunch but upon my return I was not happy, squelching as I entered the building.

I want some sun.


I have done some more creative writing for you to take a look at your leisure.

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It was a sunny Wednesday day, around 10:30 in the morning. Yannish makes his journey to get the morning newspaper. He always enjoyed doing this, no matter what kind of weather it was or what he’d got up to the previous night he would trudge out as soon as he got out of bed. If he wasn’t staying at his flat and was somewhere else he’d make his way to the local news agents regardless to buy the paper and find a park or a bench in a quiet area and immerse himself. He enjoyed the fresh air as he read the headlines. Last night still beamed in his mind as he closed his flat door, making sure he did it quietly so not to wake up Tommy. He pulled up his jogging pants until they rested in a comfortable position and then set off. Yesterday evening was spent with Karen. He’d met up with her around 6 in the evening and went out for a few drinks at the Shepard’s Arms. He remembered the amount of times he kept losing himself in her eyes that he had to keep shaking his head to concentrate on the conversation they were having.

“Do you have any idea of what you want to be?” She said gazing at him while he tried hard to carefully listen to the words and not drift off again.

“What I’ll be? Like a Job?”

“Yes, well to begin with.”

“I don’t know. I don’t really know what I’ll be.”

Karen starts to laugh, her hair falling forward as she leans forward.

“Surely you know what you want to be. I want to be a journalist, I want to investigate, and so everything I do is striving for that. You can see that I’m aiming that way with my job at the paper. But you, I can’t see you going for anything, is there anything that inspires you? You’re a clever person, really clever but yet it seems you’re not focussing in on anything, well it’s not obvious anyway. ”

Yannish smiles, reaches his hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out his rolling tobacco and papers. He lays them carefully on the table licks the tip of his index fingers and pulls out a sheet of paper. He raises his eyes up to her.

“I hear what you’re saying. But the truth is I don’t know what I want to be. Clever I may be considered but I know I’ll never be something like an accountant. I haven’t really thought about it and I don’t think tonight is when I know what I’ll be. It’s obvious you want to be a journalist, and I really admire your drive to get there. You’re sticking your neck out for everything and anything you can get involved in with the journalism world. But for some reason, I don’t have this passion and energy for one particular thing. I know I don’t want to work in a garage for the next 25 years and in fact I refuse to contemplate that thought. But right now I just want to, I just want to finish rolling this cigarette without my head falling off with the weight of all these heavy decisions I’m going to have to make.

She laughs again and pushes him which scuppers his attempt to roll his cigarette as it slides off the edge of the table on to his foot. He now starts laughing and takes a big swig of his beer to quell the rising giggles. He rests the empty glass back down. She looks at him and they are both smiling.

“Come on lets go for a walk. This place seems to be getting rowdier by the minute.”

“Alright, let me finish up. But you should think about it you know.”

“Think about what?”

“About what you want to be” She tells him before taking the last sips of her drink.

They get up and make their way out of the pub. The evening was very tranquil with a cool air circulating round. Yannish thought about putting on his jacket but instead wrapped it round his waist.
“I know where I don’t want to work. I don’t want to work in the car factory where everyone seems to be going these days. I don’t want to work in law, I don’t want to work in retail, and I don’t fancy being someone that cold calls people.”

“Well you’ve eliminated about four things and there’s about a billion more. You’ve got to pick one.”

He leans over and kisses her before she can speak again.

Yannish remembers that part of last night well. It stands out form all the other things. What will he be? He looks at Randolph’s Mart and straight away decides he never wants to own a small convenience store. The constant battle with vandals would surely send him to an early grave or into a cynical paranoid fool at worst. He enters and nods at Mr Randolph who is perched on his tall thin stool behind his cash register. Mr Randolph nods back sinking his neck into his large girth. Yannish picks up the paper and a chocolate bar and rests them on the counter and digs into his pockets to pull out all the change he has.

“£2.40 please.” Comes the gruff voice of Mr Randolph.

Yannish carefully picks out the right coins to total that amount pays him by slapping them all into the palm of his hand and leaves. On his way back he thinks about what Karen said to him last night, about knowing what he wanted to be. He didn’t have a clue and he didn’t really care at the moment but he was touched by her. He was touched that she cared about him. She wasn’t pushing him to make a decision for her benefit she wanted him to make one for his own. He realises that she cares for him.

“She cares for me. How can she care for me if she stole from me? How can she do this?”

Torrified?

Since my blog entry (here) about Labour’s stranglehold on the public a lot has changed. The Tories must have read my blog realised a crisis meeting was needed in order to launch a vicious all out assault on the current government.

Oh how they have done so. I was surprised how making financial gain from the dead is so popular but George Osbourne envisaged that this would. He has wooed the middle class folk by announcing that inheritance tax would not affect families with combined assets of under a million. At first I couldn’t really see why this was so significant but after a few conversations it became apparent that £300,000 tax free is just too low. The assests accumulated would have been taxed in the first instance but to tax it at the end as well is almost insulting. And £300,000 isn’t linked to inflation so as that rises along with the price of houses then this sort of money isn’t a lot. Labour really missed the trick here, they really did. At first they claimed that it was impossible for them to do this. But when the Conservatives explained they would raise money by raising tax on non-domicile workers, a few days later Labour countered. They countered by virtually offering the same proposal but their delivery was atrocious. Gordon Brown wrote the proposal but forced Alistair Darling to announce it in the House of Commons where everyone could see the smug face on the Prime Minister beaming as it was announced. Smug though he might of felt but everyone else thought he was a copy cat, copying the bill in a last act of desperation to get those voters back onside. Although this was a blow, it was the election that wasn’t which has made the public sceptical of Brown’s leadership abilities. When it was announced he would not call an election even though he had his aides contact various periodicals to find out what the country was feeling, the Conservatives knew they were onto something. They pushed forward by their leader who gave a 20 minute speech with no notes challenging the government to announce a general election realised they had wounded the Labour bison and it was bleeding with embarrassment. It was at that moment they realised what weapon it was to slice the Labour leader’s integrity and party lead. Everyone knows Gordon Brown is an extremely intelligent man and this was a strength of his until he undermined himself by not declaring an election. People felt that he thinks he can just do what he likes because he’s an intelligent man. The Tories have picked up on this and are attacking it by making the Prime Minister seem like an authoritative beast at the head of the food chain who answers to no one. Alistair Darling is the chancellor but yet it was Brown who wrote the counter proposal and forced Darling to announce it like in the House of Commons while he sat back looking like the puppet master.

So what is Labour to do? Well it seems they are in trouble, Brown’s biggest strength has been turned into a weakness and he hasn’t got the interpersonal sauvé to challenge Cameron in a quick thinking debate, something his predecessor was more than capable of. In fact the Blarite’s seem to be rallying around thinking of a way to undermine Brown (according to various Sunday papers) which would be a catastrophe if they succeeded as it will highlight the party has split.

I say, Labour stand firm and Mr Brown rely on your experience and slow things down. Don’t ever involve yourself in a media stunt like visiting army troops in Basra again. It’s not your style and people can see it. Otherwise the Conservatives will fatally wound the Bison and gorge on it’s carcass as the blue army takes over number 10.

Right, enough political pandemonium here’s some more writing I did this evening. I don’t know if I’ll write anymore this week as it’s a busy one.

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As soon as the stranger dashed out Yannish realised what had happened. He stood up and leaned forward to Clarence giving her his mobile phone.

“Call the police and anyone else you think we should. I’m going after him, not to get him but to follow him.”

He had to force the phone on to the palm of her hand and then wrap her fingers around it. The shock of it all was starting to set in but before she could digest what Yannish had told her he had set off. He ran through the shop floor outside and decided to lock the door, he didn’t want anyone else coming in now even if it was a customer with good intentions. He wanted to switch off the lights on the garage forecourt but he didn’t know how. Thinking where the stranger had set off he remembered that he had dusty shoes on so therefore he would have come through the bush trail. Did he watch Yannish go by on his way to work? It had to be that route as the rest of the way was open road covered by CCTV cameras for at least half a mile.

He trudged up through the bushes until he reached the flat and the trail widened slightly. Jogging at a fast paced his mind was focused on catching a glimpse of this stranger. Branches were catching his face and arms as he thrust past them, droplets of blood started to seep out of various wounds and falling to the ground almost creating a trail of his own for someone else to follow him. He increased his momentum up a heath when he heard a rustling coming not too far away, it was faint but in the still of the surroundings he could only hear his breath otherwise. It was coming from the east just above the top of the heath. He started to run up the heath as fast as his legs could manage knowing if he could get to the top he could look around and down at most the area and find out what the rustling was. He slipped as he was nearing the top but didn’t fall to the ground he managed to catch hold of a branch to break his fall and swing with the momentum for a moment. He looked back down and saw that if he was to fall back downwards he wouldn’t really hurt himself but he would lose at least five minutes getting back to this position. He pushed his legs against the ground and used the branch to swing forward letting go so that he carried on with momentum to reach the top.

He could see in the distance the stranger running along, he wasn’t too far away in the open space and Yannish considered shouting out to him, but what could he shout at him. “Oi, stop.” Sounded stupid and even dangerous as it was likely the stranger would turn and fire at him. The stranger was scuttling across the grass with the white plastic bag around his arms and his left hand holding his clown mask. Yannish started to run down the heath, he pushed himself at first but then let the momentum take him, his legs going jelly as he moved his feet quickly to avoid any holes or dips. They were back on level ground but the stranger was heading into the wood, Yannish started to pick up his running but bending his body slightly in an attempt to blend in. He pushed himself to get close to him, letting flashbacks enter his head of what had happened less than half an hour ago replay over again. He encouraged the scene where he thought he’d been shot the feeling of coldness he felt as he was flung over the table and thought he’d been fatally wounded. He used this as fuel to increase his speed when his legs became tired and was catching on the stranger. The stranger was moving at a fast pace but at a steady one with no extra urgency in his movement but he was soon about to enter the wood. Yannish who was 30 feet away knew that once inside the wood he’d have no chance of finding him unless he got close enough to see which direction he would turn. He pushed even harder and started to breath heavily now, so heavy that it was becoming loud especially as there was no wind tonight. He tried hard to control it by sucking in the air in small amounts instead of one big pull but after a few attempts his body need to take in a large breath making a wheezing noise.

The stranger still running turns his head back just as Yannish flings himself to the ground. Yannish closes his eyes for a moment allowing him to compose before opening them. He was expecting to see a gun being pointed at him but instead he looks up to see the night sky sprinkled with stars. He curses him self for not keeping his eyes open so he could see the strangers face. Gradually getting himself back up he can no longer see the stranger in sight, thinking he must of ran into the wood by now he starts to run again until he reaches the edge of the wood and starts to become more cautious not to step on something that would make a noise. He begins to jog slowly at first but then increases his pace deciding that the best route will be to go straight ahead instead of diverting left or right. He moves glancing from side to side for any movement, any shadow that he can pursue. He wants to find out where this stranger is going, what he’ll do with this money he ruthlessly stole. And if the opportunity comes he’ll get it back. A branch cracks and Yannish immediately looks down to see what he’s trod on but sees no branch just the dry ground scattered with a few leaves, he raises his head back up.

A large thud can be heard as Yannish’s head is smashed against something. The dull blow knocks him off his feet. He lies there with his eyes wide open for a moment until the black curtains are drawn over them and the pain start to be felt.