In Response To ‘Street harassment: There are some things only a man can explain’.

Yesterday Katy Guest wrote an article in The Independent, trying to explain why men feel the need to ‘cat-call’ women in the street, and why 37% of female students have received “unwelcome sexual advances” and why “two-thirds of students were aware of “unwanted sexual comments”.

She seemed to think firstly that this was just a male problem and that the issue boiled down to something as simple as wanting to impress our mates, and that making unwarranted sexual advances towards women was simply about trying to look the big man. This is ultimately not the case I’m afraid, and it seems that actually, Katy will never be able to understand why some men feel the need to behave like this, why? Because she has a vagina!

I know that a lot of people will not like to hear that, but I also know that men aren’t the only section of society which make un-warranted advances. I have been grabbed, pinched, stroked, whistled at, called too, hugged and kissed by women who didn’t understand that those actions were making me uncomfortable. I however will not be presumptuous enough to explain the behaviour of the women who made me feel uncomfortable, because I don’t know what drives some women to act like that, what I can do though, is try to explain why some men behave that way.

(By the way, for anyone thinking that a man cannot be sexually harassed or for anyone who thinks its funny to harass a man. I urge you to watch the video in the following link. Why Rape Is Sincerely Hilarious * Please watch in full before commenting, it is not what you think!*)

It is nowhere near as simple as saying that we just want to show off in front of friends, although I admit that sometimes that may be a part of it, but there are many other important factors to consider. Things like social norms play their part, genetics and evolution play a major role, and a lack of education is an important factor. I’m not trying to defend the actions of the minority of men who make these advances, I want to make that very clear, but I do want to explain why some men behave this way.

Part of the problem is with our genetics, we are hardwired to look for sexual partners, when you see a guy ‘eyeing up’ someone in the street, it’s basically down to the oldest, simplest, and darkest part of our brain. It is the last vestige of the animal brain that still resides within us. It is the part of the brain that thinks only of eating, sleeping, defence, attack, and reproduction. Now most men are able to control the animal brain, we have evolved higher social functions in order to reign in our base impulses, this is what gives us our capacity to reason, learn, feel empathy, and not try to have sex with everything that moves. But, when we see a woman (or man) which we find sexually attractive, we are going to look; there is no two ways about it! We may not like it, we may not be proud of it, but it happens. It’s just the way we are.

It is also the animal part of the brain which is active when some men make advances towards women, and which makes them shout, and call. The animal is telling us to be an ‘Alpha’ in order to attract the person we find sexually attractive, for some men, being an Alpha means being the biggest physically (which is why a lot of men hit the gym to gain muscle, they aren’t doing it to wrestle tigers are they?), but for others it means being the loudest, and sometimes this manifests as ‘ORITE LUV SHOW US YER T*TS’.

So what can we do to overcome the animal brain? Well education is a good start. We need to start teaching boys how to be men, or more importantly, how to be Gentlemen! Most men have only found out how to be men from the men we surround ourselves with, our father figures as children, and our peer group as teenagers, etc. Unfortunately the way women have been treated by our fore fathers (until very recently) has been pretty bad, women have been viewed as an underclass, or the pretty accompaniment, or a play thing for men. So it is going to take a bit of time for the real world to catch up with the progress that women have made by fighting for their equality. Most of the men my father’s age which I have met in pubs and through work have abhorrent views towards women, which go well beyond simple ‘Get back to the kitchen’ jokes. I remember being taught by an aging divorcee when I was 19 the four F’s. Find em’ Feel em’ F**k em’ Forget em’. This sort of societal sexism is not going to go away anytime soon unless we teach the next generation of boys what sexual equality really means.

I wish I knew a solution to stop this minority of men from making comments, making advances, and generally treating women as walking semen receptacles, but I don’t. All I can do is apologise for the men that do think that way, and assure any women reading this that we aren’t all controlled by the animal brain. Yes we may look at you and think ‘Oh my I’d like to have sex with her!’ But that is as far as we will allow our primal brain to carry us, the vast majority of men are far more interested in your minds, and not just your bodies!

Do Not Read This Post! (Oh, Go On Then, As It’s You)

Man, what a day, and it’s not even over yet! People who read this blog will know that I’m not usually the kind of guy to dump on everything, and get all angry and such, but I really need to have a bit of a rant today. Usually, if I’m stressed I’ll turn on the PS3, whack on ‘Killzone’ and blast some Helghan scum into smitherines,

Unless you can trell me what a smitherine is, EAT LEAD!

but Mr Playstation has decided to die on me, so that ain’t an option. I’d smash something up in my house, but my Mum has come to stay and I don’t really want her to watch me go all ‘Hulk SMASH’ on the fruit left in the bottom of my fridge.

Those grapes won’t even see it coming!

So instead I’m going to have a moan on here, and release it into the ether, so you have been warned, DO NOT READ THIS POST! It’s only going to get worse from here.

So first, I arrive at work, and as usual, everybody else has turned up early and outside my vans I have at least 30-50 packages waiting for me. It’s a bit annoying but what are you going to do? Then 3 hours later, I have 60 packages outside the vans, and another 40-50 waiting on the line ready for me to load up. Do I get any help? F**k No! All I get is one of the drivers b*tching at me that I’m ‘not doing it right!’

Well you know what Mr Driver whose name I can’t be bothered to remember, F**K YOU!

The other thing that has annoyed me today is the bloody heat! Man, its oppressive isn’t it? It’s like the sun has become Kim Jong Un and is trying to bend us all to his will through heat exhaustion.

You know what sun F**K YOU!

Then, I realised that I still haven’t renewed my Tax Credits. Which in itself is annoying. Why do they even bother to say, ‘You need to let us know if anything has changed, or if it hasn’t changed.’ It just makes no damn sense, if nothing has changed why do they need to know? And, if anything changes in the year we have to let them know, never mind the fact that THEY ARE THE HMRC! Do you know the one institution other than my employer who know how much tax I pay HMR-F**KING-C!

DUUUUUH!

If HMRC don’t know how much I have earned in the year, then how do HMRC know how much tax I’m supposed to pay? Why have I got to call THEM up, to say what THEY already know?

It’s just HMRC f**king with people, making it so damn difficult to claim for these things in the hope that people like me will just give up and not bother applying, either that or hoping that people like me will destroy their phones while trying to get through to their “help line”

Speaking of which…

When I finally did get through, the moron on the other end of line told me I needed to provide 2 years worth of P60’s for me and the Mrs, so I tore the house apart looking for them, unsuccessfully. I tried to give an estimate.

So I hung up, looked for the P60’s, and found something that gave me a close estimation for the both of us, and thought, to hell with phoning them up I’ll do it online.

So I phone them up for a second time, got through the automated security questions for the second time, got through to an advisor, who was obviously on work experience from moronsville, dumbasf**kistan, who asked me for my post code, which I gave,

Previous address?

Address before that?

Sorry sir but…

Finally, after resisting the temptation to google the office in which she works, and flying to it using the super heated wings of flaming righteous anger which had emerged from my spine, then ramming the P60s and current address down her slack-jawed mouth. I gave her my old post code, which surprise surprise worked. They obviously hadn’t changed my address on the system, even though I receive all my HMRC letters to my new house, so really it was a case of the so-called governments arse not talking to its elbow.

They’re too busy trying to lick it!

So you know what HMRC F**K YOU!

Finally, I just had a row with the Mrs, I dropped the kids off at nursery, called her up (she’s away at the moment) and politely asked if she could send me another £20 as ‘our cupboards are beginning to look a bit bare and I’m seriously beginning to fear for the fate of the grapes!’

Too which she replied ‘What you spent all the money already?’

All the money? I replied. £70 in a week! Yeah, supplies are running low, guess what, food is f**king expensive these days, especially when the closest shops are a Co-op and a Tesco Express, have you ever tried to buy a pair of chicken breasts in either of those places? It’s cheaper to go to a plastic surgeon to buy a pair of people breasts!

So you know what food prices F**K YOU!

GRR, yeah, I think I got it all out, sorry if I bummed any of you out, but to be fair, I did warn you. So for an apology/reward for making it to the end, here is something to lighten the mood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sex Sells! (Even By Proxy)

So I work for a multinational parcel delivery company, I’m not going to say which one because I have a strong desire to keep eating and I don’t want to lose my job. But trust me when I say it is a BIG one, and it is a company you will recognize no matter which country you reside in. The reason I’m writing this post is because I went to work yesterday, went to buy a coffee from the vending machine (yeah I have to buy my own coffee don’t get me started on that!), and on the wall was a poster which read.

BRING IN A SALES LEAD AND GET YOUR VAN WASHED BY A BIKINI CLAD BABE!

This was accompanied by a very pixellated picture of a woman wearing a bikini (whether or not it will be the same woman I really don’t know), but it got me thinking. Is this really how a company in the 21st Century should behave?

Now I’m not going to try and say that I have never looked at women wearing not-a-lot (a casual glance at my browsing history can confirm that), or that I have never looked at a woman and objectified her. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s hardwired in my genetics to search for potential mates, so what you gonna do? I do just want to make you aware though that although I do that sometimes, I am capable of understanding that women are not purely sexual objects and that they have, like, thoughts and stuff. I’m not living in the 50’s!

But, like I said, the poster got me thinking, is just offering a bikini-clad babe good enough? Sure, where I work is a VERY male dominated environment, but what about the one woman who works on the vans? Assuming she is not a lesbian, why should she not get a mankini-clad hunk to wash her van?

 

Also, I don’t know if any of the guys who work there are gay, or even if they have latent homosexual feelings, but where is the option for them to get a beefcake to get soapy on their van?

I guess what I’m saying is that in this day and age, where people can openly identify as gay, straight, bi, or as guy who wants to be a girl, or a girl who wants to be a guy, or a person who wants to be neither! Is it good enough to offer just one option?

I’m not sure it is anymore, and I really believe that big companies and individuals alike should start realising this.

Very Inspiring Blogger Award

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So Hugh and Toby over at hughsnewsandviews.com (check out how he very nearly got married to Lara Croft here) have nominated me for a ‘Very Inspirational Blogger Award’, so please, if you haven’t already, click the link and show him some love.

The Rules For Accepting The Award.

1. Thank and link to the amazing person(s) who nominated you.
2. List the rules and display the award.
3. Share seven facts about yourself.
4. Nominate 15 other amazing blogs and comment on their posts to let them know they have been nominated.
5. Proudly display the award logo on your blog and follow the blogger(s) who nominated you.

Seven Facts About Me.

1. I still feel guilty about a book I borrowed from Sebastian Tarrier when I was 10 that I never returned. I lost it and was too embarrassed to own up so I spent the summer avoiding him.

2. I really hope that Humans will discover that there is or has been intelligent extra-terrestrial life in my lifetime, just because I would love to have the question ‘Are we alone?’ answered.

3. I love crisps! I could, and have, eaten nothing but crisps all day.

4. I secretly worry sometimes that I am like Edward Norton in Fight Club, and that the world might be a figment of my imagination. Maybe in reality im sitting in a corner, drooling, and talking to myself? Or maybe the world is like the Matrix and we are all just slaves to our robot overlords! Or maybe I am the product of someone elses imagination and I’m just waiting to be snuffed out with the right combination of prescriptions drugs.

5. Sometimes I think too much!

6. I really want to visit China before I die, when the kids are old enough the Mrs & I are planning a round the world trip.

7. I like to make up songs as I go about my day-to-day activities. My favourite being my song about cooking eggy bread to the tune of Peggy Sue.

The Blogs I Would Like To Nominate.

As it’s taken me an hour to write what I have so far using the On Screen keyboard (mine has died), I’m just going to list them and say that I really enjoy reading their posts and they really do inspire me to keep slogging away at my corner of the internet. So please, if you have some time click the link and see what they have to say, go on, what’s the worst that can happen eh?

http://lukemckinney.net/

http://paulwhitberg.wordpress.com/

http://300stories.wordpress.com/

http://theapocalypsebites.com/

http://amforte66.wordpress.com/

http://katcarpita.wordpress.com/

http://tigerpawsjnrsstories.com/

http://janeyinmersin.com/

http://pavanneh.com/

Yeah so I haven’t listed 15, deal with it :p.

4 Things I Am Too Afraid To Google.

I like to write stories, and most of my characters tend to be criminals, be they murderers, hackers, or just plain ol’ fashioned bad guys. But being a (reasonably) well-adjusted, (mostly) law-abiding citizen means that I’m the complete opposite of a plain ol’ fashioned bad guy in the sense of the characters I like to write about. I will rarely use anything worse than a strongly worded letter against a foe who has slighted me.

So this leads me with having to research things that I have little to no experience with, and where better to begin researching than with the internet? I’m glad you asked, let me tell you.

What with the NSA and GCHQ keeping tabs on all our emails, phone calls and Google searches, I’m almost certain I’m one poorly executed Google search away from a team of SWAT guys kicking in my door and taking me on a little holiday to Guantanamo Bay. So I have to use what few reference books I have to gather what little information I can, and then top it off with a liberal amount of bulls**t in order to complete my stories, but I really wish I wasn’t to scared to Google…

What Is Gun-Powder Made Of?

I know that Gun Powder has been in use in China for hundreds and hundreds of years, it has many useful applications, not just in guns and cannons but in those oh so pretty fireworks for Bonfire Night. But what is it made of? How does one produce it? I know it must be relatively easy to do, otherwise it wouldn’t have been used for such a long time.

The problem with wanting to know this is that any books or legitimate websites that can tell you anything about explosives (quite rightly) don’t give people the information to make their own. I know there are a lot of people who might use that information to hurt others or themselves, but, I am not one of those people!. So the only way I can find out is if I try to find non-legitimate websites, and considering the fact that I don’t want SO19 taking me down Bad Boys style with their shiny, shiny guns I’m not in a hurry to try to Google The Anarchist’s Cookbook.

 

Speaking of guns…

What Kinds Of Guns Are There? Which Are The Most Useful? What Kind Of Ammo Do They Take?

I’m sure you all know that a gun in the UK is a very hard thing to come by, people can’t just walk into their local ASDA and by gun’s or ammo, and there aren’t very many resources for finding out about how to go about it. But I have no interest in owning a gun, I’ve said before that I’m pretty sure I’d do more damage to myself than to an attacker, and I don’t like the fact that if you are going to pull a gun on an attacker or intruder, you better be prepared to use it. But that doesn’t mean that I sometimes want to find out about them.

In my stories, most of my characters carry weapons, which tend to be either described as a 9mm, a Beretta, a Glock, or a Colt. These are every characters weapon of choice because they are the only guns I have even the faintest clue about, I have no Idea what kind of ammo they take, what their stopping power is, how heavy they are, or what they look like. But if you think I’m going to Google it you have another thing coming my friend.

So untill I find some kind of book on weapons all of my characters will  carry a generic gun, that shoot slugs, and makes a noise like ‘pew, pew, pew’

How Do You Make Poison And Which Are Totally Undetectable?

I once wanted to kill off a character by having the protagonist make poison, and then I realised that I had no way of finding out how to go about that. I know there are poisons out there, Deadly Nightshade, Arsenic, 3am Kebabs, but I had no idea how my protagonist could make any of them (The secret to a poisonous kebab are a tightly guarded secret).

 

I vaguely know that you can get arsenic from potato’s, and deadly nightshade is a plant, but since I am not a botanist or a 16th century assassin I am never going to find out.

So I ended up having to write a really awkward scene where the protagonist went into a generic pub, found a generic bad guy, and bought the equivalent of a glass vial with smoke pouring from the top and a big skull and cross-bones on the front. But sometimes a story requires something a little bit more special, and far less Googlable, something like…

How Do You Hack A Computer?

I don’t think I really need to tell you why I refuse to Google this. All I can imagine is typing it in, and then somewhere in the depths of GCHQ all the computer monitors turn red and a picture of my face flashes on the screen while stroboscopes flash and sirens blare and the words ‘BAD GUY BAD GUY’ spin on a constant loop on those digital ticker sign things.

But again, I could go down the non-legitimate route, find ‘The Dark Net’ and use Tor browsers and what not to find a forum. But do you know whats even worse than being a Noob on Call of Duty? Being a Noob asking dumb questions to a bunch of hackers! I might as well print out all my naked selfies and d**k photo’s and hand them out as leaflets around town.

If I’m going to email a picture of my d**k to someone I want it to be on my terms thank you very much.

 

Winters Kiss.

It had been a hard day, and a long night, the icy rain cut sharply onto the streets and collected into gently frosting puddles and created sodium yellow ripples that sparkled and disappeared as quickly as everything else in this town. I waited on the corner of the street, I was in plain sight, not how I usually play it, but hell, it’s not like tonight was going according to anyone’s plan but fates. Fate, what a bitch!

A trash can crashes to the floor further down the block, spewing its guts into the gutter and I turn to see a drunk staggering down the street, closing time had been called in every bar in town hours ago, the sun would be rising soon. It had obviously been a good night for him, I was hoping it wouldn’t end in a bad night, or at least a worse night, for me. He smiled as he neared me and asked me for a light, my hand moved automatically to the Colt in my coat pocket as I shook my head; I wasn’t going to risk pulling anything out for this creep except my trusty steed. The drunk shrugged and moved on, can’t say I wasn’t grateful, the Colt had bucked too much tonight anyway, and every cop in the city was on red alert after the mess Louis made of that theatre. A quick job he said, in and out, no-one will even notice us, he said. Yeah, right, five minutes in and there was enough lead in the walls to bring down a small army. Never mind the amount left inside the patrons.

I heard the rumble of a distant engine, and I looked down the street, and could see the oncoming headlights of a cherry-red Buick, her, cherry-red Buick. I felt that stirring in my belly as the car pulled up just a few houses down from where I was standing, the feeling you got just before your first roller coaster ride as a kid, that mix of excitement, fear and nausea. The headlights blinded me for a second and suddenly the world was a tunnel of brilliant white as she stepped out of the car, then she took the keys from the ignition and once again the world turned orange-grey. She walked over to me and I watched the way her waist swayed gently from side to side like the back and forth of the tides. She was wearing the red dress she wore when I first met her, and a hat pulled low to break the relentless onslaught of the rain, which also served to cover half her face in shadow, she always had a thing for the dramatic. I was glad I couldn’t see her eyes though; I never like what I see in them. She said something like “Where have you been?”

I shrugged and that’s when she slapped me.

“I’ve missed you too Baby.” I said as I allowed the cold rain to numb the sting, she always had venom in her swing, and always found ways to release it on me.

“Here’s your Goddamn money you jack ass!”

She thrust a paper bag my way, I could see her eyes from under the veil, only for a moment, those eyes that had seen too much, green eyes like the jealous rage of a jilted lover. As soon as I had caught a glimpse, she hid them away readjusting her hat which released a few strands of her chestnut hair that drifted across her face. I reached up to brush them aside, she allowed me to do it, and for a second it seemed just like the old days, then she turned away, just like she did before.

“How’s your new husband?” I asked.

She replied with another smack to the face, like a firecracker, short, sharp and full of sparks.

“I deserve that.”

“You’re Goddamn right you deserve that! I haven’t heard form you in three years and now you show your face again, asking for money. What’s it for this time? You knocked up some broad? Got mixed up with sharks again? What is it this time huh?”

“It’s nothing like that, it’s, business.”

“Business, yeah, I know all about your business

“Hey, you know what I do, I never lied about that, and I didn’t hear you complaining when little Scotty was out of the picture, thanks to me!”

“Thanks to you! You nearly got me killed that night!”

“But I didn’t did I! No, I saved your scrawny ass yet again, and you repay me by running off with him!”

She raised her hand again, I wasn’t going to take another hit from her, and I grabbed her arm before she could make contact.

“You get your hand off me!” She said, as she yanked and pulled herself free, “You don’t have the right anymore.”

The strands of hair danced across her face again, and I reached up to move them, she didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. I miss those days.

“Why d’you do it baby?” I asked.

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“We always have a choice.” I said as I pulled her close, the ominous rain lashed down in sheets, it cooled the heat but we both knew where this was going, it was the same place it always went. It had been too long since I had felt those lips press against mine and the feeling of her waist as I slid my arm around its slender curves; it was like the first kiss of spring breaking the winter’s frost. It had been too long, three years of blood and sweat and grime, but it was all leading to this moment. As if it could of lead anywhere else, she was always dumb enough to come looking for me eventually, and I was always drunk and stupid enough to wind up at her door. I kissed her again.

“It was always you baby,” I whispered to her “always you.”

Some Of My Best Friends Are Zombies!

Earlier today one of my colleagues pointed out that I was wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the satirical comment ‘This Is My Zombie Killing T-shirt’, he pulled me up on it due to the fact that on the 09/06/14 I was wearing a T-shirt, (again satirically) with the motif ‘How To Kill A Zombie’, which included step by step instructions. He said to me ‘You don’t like zombies very much do you?’

I just want to make it clear that I am not a zombist, some of my best friends are zombies, and I very much enjoy zombie culture and I think it is a thing that needs protecting. I do however feel that we need to have open and frank debates about the rates of zombie conversion.

For too long our government has allowed the zombie population to grow exponentially in this country, to the point that there are areas where non-zombies are afraid to go to late at night, these areas feel almost off limit to normal, non-zombie people, and that is a disgrace.

More and more we are seeing evidence that our non-zombied youth are being forced from the job market due to the cheap labour provided by the zombie population. This has to stop, it’s time we took back our country, and our jobs, and gave them to the young, hard-working, non zombies who are struggling more and more to pay the bills.

I also feel it is about time we began to discuss the frankly barbaric way in which zombies produce their food, I do not wish to discriminate against zombie culture, but in this country we live by certain rules about how food is manufactured, and for too long the zombies vulgar methods have been overlooked by a government too afraid to stand up for non-zombie rights.

I would also like to take this opportunity to say that the images being disseminated on social media of me dressed up as a zombie have been taken completely out of context, and I never intended to cause any offence to the zombie community. I do see now that it was a grave error of judgement on my part, and that by wearing zombie make-up I may have offended a small minority of zombies, for that I apologise.

Thank you very much for your time in reading this.

Mr C Kirkby

MP for the Non-Zombie Defence League.

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Hell Of A Home Coming.

Three long and hot hours have passed since she arrived home, the sun went down when I got here, but it’s done nothing to cool the air, it’s hot as hell and I’m sweating so bad that my shirt sticks to my back. I’ve been standing here like a Goddamn statue, resisting the urge to grab a piece of two by four and cracking the skull of the creep drinking my scotch, on my couch, with my wife. You spend three years fighting a war, and another three in some Goddamn Jap Hellhole and you have to come home to this? I had been MIA so long the Brass assumed I must’a gone the same way as the rest of my squad, ‘missing presumed dead’ they labelled me, forgotten I would’a called it. Hell, I might as well be dead; I thought I’d surprise her, return the heroic War Vet and she’d fall into my arms and screw my brains out right there on the floor. Funny, one of the few things that kept me going was the thought of that bombshell screwing me, I guess now she really was, life isn’t without its irony.

I feel like thunder claps around my head as she turns out the light and I see her lead him upstairs, silhouetted against the porch light, my vision goes blurry and my hands have made the decision before my brain, I gently slide the window open and creep into the house and I can hear their laughter clapping off the walls. For a moment I stand quietly in the darkness, looking at all the dust that has sits where our photos used to, I look around the house some and it seems like the bitch has spent the last three years trying to erase me. I hear the bed creak and I feel a cold thing sink into my stomach, something I haven’t felt since the war, it’s as cold a mortuary slab and just as welcoming, I make my way upstairs and hear more laughter, I can’t help but feel like I’m the punch-line.

Upstairs the bedroom door is open just a crack, the light from inside cuts a sliver across the landing separating them from me, I steel myself and walk to the door, I peek in and for a moment all I see is red as her dress falls to floor in front of me. I adjust my view and I can see his slime-ball hands all over her, and she’s lapping it up like a real classy broad should, I felt like punching a hole in the wall, in my mind I was tearing the house apart, breaking furniture, smashing windows. I was grabbing the table she kept her flowers on and smashing it into the guys face, sending broken teeth and blood spraying up the wall, I was stomping his knee caps and I was busting my knuckles turning his face into a quivering mass of blood and bone. I could’a grabbed her by the throat and released 6 long years of demons and torment in one horrific, maddening torrent, and then only finish them off when I got tired of the screams.

But instead I just stand here, listening to her ecstasy in the next room, feeling each moan as another knife to the back, that’s when I caught a glimpse of the ghoul in the mirror. He was standing in the dark outside the room, peering in, his hair was gone, and his sunken eyes gave me a penetrating stare that revealed something twisted and ugly. I didn’t recognise the creature staring back at me, looking at me with an expression that was at once disgusted, and afraid. I turned my back to him and crept out of the house the same way I came, I didn’t look back; instead, I just kept walking, like a creature in the night.

The Snow.

Hello dear readers, it’s been a while hasn’t it. Unfortunately I’ve had to take a little break from blogging because I am moving house but for one night only, I’m taking some ‘me’ time. I have a multi-pack of crisps, a 4 pack of beer, a little Beethoven playing in the background and I am feeling nice and relaxed. So, I thought I would try something a bit new. Here is some flash fiction for you, I hope you enjoy.

* I think this story works much better with this song playing in the background

The snow is coming down heavy now, like a blanket, it’s hard to see and I’ve lost all feeling in my body, I’m not sure if it’s the cold or the slug in my belly sending me into shock, not that I care. I peer over some crates that have been giving me some cover and I’m hit with the stink of rotten fish, and that was something, the whole damn dock stank of diesel, fishermen’s trawls, cordite, and blood. I can see Lucy on the jetty opposite me, a single lamppost illuminating the grim scene in the gloom; she looks like a little minnow, a minnow surrounded by hungry sharks, and she’s looking down five barrels, like little black eyes taunting her before they rip her apart. I can see her mouthing something, it looks like pleading, but I can’t hear anything over the wind except the faint laughter of the assholes pointing the guns and smiling with broken teeth.

They begin to circle, she hasn’t got long, and I need to do something, but what? I place my hands on the floor and try to stand, but they slip on the bloody ice and I fall to the floor like the slab of dead meat I am. The guns are pointing with purpose now, I’ve seen that look in men’s eyes before, and this won’t end pretty for Lucy unless I do something, but I’m useless. My arms are like jelly and my stomach feels like a thousand demons have set up camp in there, and each one is concocting a new torture for me. But what the hell am I going to do anyway? I barely survived the first trip into the harbour, it had to be ten below freezing in there, and even if I could get over to her, what was I going to do? Crawl up to them and ask politely to let her go? I’m useless, a dead duck, all I can do is lay here watching that asshole McCredie hold up his hands to stop his goons from taking the first shot.

I have never seen a guy take so much pleasure in raising his piece, the look in his eye, like a hunger, my heart stops.

The shot rang out across the docks and bounced around before getting taken on a joy-ride by the wind. That was it, it was over. I lay back down, the pain in my bellies gone now, all I feel is the cold, I let it inside, I shut my eyes and sink into the gloom.