~~ Better Late Than Never… ~~

They say, “It’s better late than never”…. However, “Some things are better left unsaid”... I think.

That hour between 9:00 am and 10:00 am. That hour of agonizing consciousness. Wishing for the morphine, is no good... they won't let her go that easily. She's a fighter…! They say.

“I won't go without a fight,” comes as a weak whispered promise.
She says it aloud within herself as much to prove to herself that she is still alive, as it is to show that she's still brave... still courageous... still “of this earth”.

This was the hour, this hour... 9:00 am to 10:00 am I won't die until he phones. I won't die until the damned phone rings. I won't die until I hear his wretched voice on the phone.

David had emailed him first. “Hi Dad, Vera has about one month they say. Here's her phone number. She said please call. It's cool.
Love,
Dave.

Vera was David’s mom. He had never called her “mom” all these days

It was a mistake to call right then. Maybe not a mistake. Maybe just fateful. Maybe a cosmic street pole. Maybe he was driving too fast down the highway of life and...Well you never know when you change a lane or miss a turn…

Whether Jackie had turned into a hard cold bitch, or whether her reaction was reserved purely for the sound of his voice he could not know. That conversation was short and bitter. Vera was asleep. Jackie was not going to wake her.

It's extraordinary how much bile can be excreted in just one minute and 32 seconds, for that's exactly how long the telephone call lasted.

Danny should never have tried to engage Jackie in friendly conversation. He should never have assumed that after 12 years, Vera would have let the truth be known. After all, in the end, in the final analysis it was only down to Danny and Vera. And David, because David had been the one Vera used. It was messy, bitter, disgusting, dirty, cold, calculating and ruthless.

David knew the truth, Danny knew the truth, and Vera knew the truth. Vera though, had perpetuated the falsehood. Even embellished it, refined it, spat-and-polished it until it glowed with the awful brightness of truth. Through the years, as expected, the falsehood blossomed into a stinking weed, deeply rooted in a rich soil formed with a careful mix of truth, half truth, downright lies, and popular fiction.

Why he had ever imagined Jackie would even be civil to him, given their history, was laughable. After all, Danny had been no knight shining armor any more than Vera had been Snow White. Over a 25-year marriage Jackie had been just another one night stand. One of less than 10, and more than six. The actual numbers weren't important. Vera had at least matched those figures. Danny hadn't counted.

Whatever... “Tell her I love her... always have... always will. Tell her when she wakes up Jackie.”

“I don't even think you enter her thoughts, do you? You're fucked up and you are a fuck up... you should have thought of that at the time ...”

For a full two seconds Danny thought he could explain. “One day the truth...” then he knew that there was no point. Anyway, why did it bother him so much that he wanted all of them to know? Every last one of those ex-friends, and ex acquaintances who had followed the money and exempted themselves of any need to know the truth... and even if they did, they wouldn't care. “Oh just shut up Jackie!”
One minute and 32 seconds. He hit the end button, and threw the handset on the bed.

It was 3:17 pm, just three minutes later. He fired off a sad and sorry email to his boy.

Waking at 8:00 am, Danny at least cast away the demons of the night. Visitations that began at the moment Dear Morpheus penetrated, and dispersed like the cowards they were, as soon as the shroud of sleep departed. In their place an empty, nauseating hole in his stomach - depression, where dread had so recently gnawed.

9:00 am. Danny's hand hovered over the talk button. 9:10 am. 9:18 am.9:29 am. 9.31 am... in the final half hour he stroked the talk button too often to count the time between. Prowling, trying to find things to do. Things he could do with one hand and not have to set down the handset.

David emailed. “Dad. I spoke to Jackie. Mum wants you to call. It's cool. Love, Dave.”

That was the second time David had said LOVE, Dave. Not something he was brought up with. Normally he would write...'catch you later'. That had been his standard since... since as long as Danny could remember.

For all these years he had thought he had forgiven her and moved on. Now, all Danny knew for certain was that he loved her to......Death? How horrible it is to realize that one can only forgive in the rational mind? Damn it!

No, he had never forgiven her in his heart and soul. How could I do that! Rationalize? Pretend?
Even as that thought slammed his synapses, a second one followed. Angel and Devil discussing humanity! But which one was which? The Devil wears a Kind Demeanor. Because what she did was unjust! She was ruthless and she wanted it to end. You can't forgive injustice until the injustice is undone! Can you? CAN YOU?

Danny had thought he could.

Was refusing to call again, her punishment, before the cancer and the morphine chewed away her body and mind? If so it felt more like self flagellation. Just who was being punished here anyway... if punishment was what it was.

Vera battled her way through the Morphine, stretching. She had recently developed a little trick, one that was getting harder to perform, because the tiny hole of consciousness had begun to close so quickly now. She no longer denied the agony of the parasite inside her. Instead she embraced the pain, held on to it like a long, long, rope. One she could climb. Hooking her right foot around it just the way she had been taught back in those long ago athletic days. Holding herself steady with both feet when her arms got tired.

All that way ago she could shin up a rope like a monkey. Like a monkey on one of those ages ago plastic toys she got as a child, for Christmas. Now she embraced the pain. Went into it. Became it.
And she climbed, and she climbed and she climbed. An ironic thought spun through her still drugged mind and she thought an ironic grin. Damn you Almighty! You make it so hard to get to heaven! Ever heard of a ladder?

At exactly 9:00 am Vera's eyes flickered open. She was drained, wrung out and wrecked. But I'm here! Ring phone ring! She would be too weak to hold the handset. Jackie would have to do it for her. Then she would have to find a voice somewhere. How exhausting it's going to be just to talk now! Help me Almighty. Please let the phone ring. Tell that bastard to get on the phone. Please...pretty pretty please...
I only need to say two words!

Danny flipped open the clam shell of his notebook and hit the start button, opening up his Dragon Naturally Speaking, he watched the little happy red dragon load his user files. He used the microphone to write when he needed it to be raw and lacerating. While he waited for the files to load he wondered how many novelists like him used voice dictation these days. How could Dean Koontz and Stephen King turn out work so prodigiously without it? Or maybe they could. The spoken word, so different from the stuff that drips from the fingertips. How different is the perception process, and can the reader...ahh the Constant Reader, tell? Answer me.

Over years Danny had mastered what came best from the lip and what came best from the fingers, and so he mixed a little of this with a little of that, and then edited with cut, copy and paste. Shifting sentences and paragraphs and single words up, down, and all around. The final cut being blended as a painter would work on a canvas.

“Open Text Document” He ordered. “Click New Story. Click Open.” And then the work in progress appeared on the screen. For ten minutes Danny neither spoke nor typed. He edited. Slowly, meticulously, from the beginning to the part sentence at which he had stopped last night. Another little artifice he had made for himself. Always end the day’s work with a sentence only part written. After all, it might not be the same sentence he had intended last night or the night before, or whenever he had last worked that piece. That part sentence might even change the whole work.... or not.

“What happens,” Danny had jotted on his yellow pulp paper pad, “in that last nanosecond of beingness? When the whatever-it-is... soul... decamps, departs...when thought ceases and becomes a part of the everlasting river of pure thought? Is there a God... ha ha! We used to call Him Almighty! Is there an Almighty to join, in disembodied bliss?”
Absently, consulting notes, his finger traced over the Talk button, registering a link to that spot, which spark.

“Select All” He said. “Delete all” Three weeks mind-numbing work evaporated. Lives created, and obliterated with no regard for their existence. If only on paper, they had been lives, and Danny felt no regrets. Having read the notes he knew with crystal clarity what this story had to be.

9.39 am, and Danny had already been writing and talking for three hours. Gut, spleen, raw lacerated skin, and soul ebbing Stream-Of -Consciousness like nothing he had ever written before.

Maybe he would change the fictional names later to something more fitting.... he already knew the characters only too well.

He scrolled back to read. And began to laugh at the expressions he had begun to use. Realizing, that those first paragraphs were not raw, gut-wrenching at all. They were full of humor and larking around, flirting, astonishment.

“On a sun-flooded day in May, diamonds glittering on a calm sea, with the tide so far out that a mere walk to the water’s edge would have exercised an Olympian Jack Brown tucked his little heartache away and decided to get the hell on with life. You win a few and lose a few in this life, but mom... (Good old mom!) had shared her little flat and the sunshine in her life with him long enough to heal at least some of the wounds. The scars would stop itching over time.

“I'm going to get a job mom... security office at a Holiday Camp. Just for the summer you know. See how it works out.”

Phyll was never one to show extraordinary emotion. But she felt it. The poor lad! Still her lad at 21 and would be at 71 if she lived that long. The poor lad. Should never have joined the Navy in the first place! Even being married to an Air force man for 40 years...gone through a war and a few “trouble spots” with him, Phyll had never taken into account that her “little lad” at 15 would have been sent into a “Peacekeeping Mission”. For all the military background, Phyll's brothers and even her cousins and for generations beyond had been Army, Colonels, Brigadiers, even an Air Commodore.....”

Jack came back damaged. Oh, not physically. Not at all physically.

Danny made a few corrections, still smiling at that meeting of the girl with long red hair and an attitude. The fact was far more interesting than any fiction and for moments he became entranced. Lost in an old world of 1971 when a girl he hardly knew... known for only a few days, bought a sleeping-bag and followed... just followed. Until she got dirty feet and complained that sleeping under a hawthorn hedge at night was a bit “not very nice”.

And that had been it. One night booked into a little guest house in Bristol. One night. And 23 years!

Danny wrote about how they had got to know each other 'on the fly'. Making a life as they went along.
“I don't like kids Jack.” He wrote. 'Hell, she had been married at 15 and walked out on a nasty marriage and a three year old son. She said she didn't care, but Jack knew she missed Ian like nothing on earth!'
“I'll do you a deal”. She said. Tina had a habit, she guessed, of falling pregnant almost immediately on penetration! “One child... and you can have him all for your own until he's old enough to communicate like an adult. Then he's mine for the rest...”

Jack said, or rather SAID in a stage whisper as if he had just scored match point at Wimbledon. “YES!” and struck the air with his fist.

True to her word Tina was pregnant in no time flat.

9.59 am. “Oh God Damn you! You bastard! Please Almighty... Please, please please. I can't hold on much more... I'm so tired Almighty. So tired.”

10.01 am David answered. “David? Can I talk to her? Is it Ok?”
“I think it's too late Dad. They say it might be an hour or two. She keeps waking a bit though. I'll put Jackie on.”
Jackie was quick to grab the handset. “I didn't know,” She said quietly. “I'll try... hang on. But if she's sleeping, you know I can't wake her Danny. You know that?”
“Just tell her I love her... Just get that into her head please. Just tell her I love her and that I do, I did, I will. It's me and her Jackie... just forever me and her. OK?”

“It's Danny.” Jackie gently propped Vera's head against the pillow. “Can you? Here you go sweetheart. I'll hold the phone close for you. He's here now. He's listening.”

Vera got to say those two words before she faded into oblivion.

~~ Mission ESCAPE OFFICE ~~

An extract from “Finding Nemo”. Where Marlin says,”Alright, we are excited. First day of school, here we go! We're ready to learn and get some knowledge!” And then again, “Just 5 more minutes, I don't want to go to school.”

Many kids look forward to going to school. They may not always enjoy every single part of the school day. But in general, they like spending time with their friends at school, learning new things and being challenged.

Some other kids just dread going to school though, always looking forward to the weekends when they could spend more time at home. For these kids, going to school may become so stressful that they have temper tantrums over going to school or complain of symptoms such as headaches, stomachaches, or chest pain. For some kids, there is an easily identifiable trigger for school refusal, such as being bullied, death in the family, or move to a new neighborhood. They even try everything to stay home, from sneaking off the school bus to pretending to be sick. Some cried all the way to school and screamed when the teacher took them by the hand and clung on to anything they could grab as the teacher dragged them away into the class. They get creeps after vacations, “School had begun...”

Similar is the case with grownups. Everyone tries to be a skiver sometime or the other in their work life.
Everyone has had days when they just don't feel like going to work. Whether that's because you really have an issue that requires you to stay home, wish you had a different career or celebrating a rainy day or just feel like playing video games or going for shopping all day, it doesn't really matter. You just need the perfect excuse to get you out of the office and back into bed. The most common reasons involve the office schedule infringing on their personal family time; a dislike of small-talk and social events, in general; and a genuine family or personal event scheduled at the same time.

We've all been there: it's a beautiful day and you can't bear the thought of going into work. So you call in with the lame-old excuse about feeling ill even though you know your boss doesn't buy it. Besides, "feeling ill" is at best only a short-term solution that won't win you any fans at the office.

Calling in sick when you aren't really? Running a little late? Did your friend show up with tickets to the game, just when you're supposed to be at work? Damn I wish I can make up a story persuasive enough to convince my boss to grant me a day off.

“I have a relative coming in from Delhi and I need to pick them up at the airport. Or better yet I have to fly home for one of my relative’s funeral.” The last one is good for 3 day up to a week or two, as per my company policy. A Strep throat or conjunctivitis can relieve you from office for a couple of days. Even Migraines and influenza are a great excuse because they come suddenly and they last a long time.
“I've got a flat tire or my car ran out of petrol.” Flat tires can come on quite unexpectedly and are something you have to take care of right away, so they are a great excuse for getting out of work.
“My front door came off the hinges.” If your door came off you can't lock your house and you can't just leave it open for criminals to access your precious, can you?
“I tripped and fell down the stairs.” Stairs are often super sneaky and trip up your feet when you're least expecting it. A tumble down the stairs and some bones that may or may not be broken are valid excuses for missing work.
“My carpool group forgot me.” Like a poor forgotten kid waiting for a school bus that never came, you got left behind this morning. While it might win you some sympathy from your boss for your patheticness, it won't excuse you from getting to work.
“A stray dog bit me.” If it's someone else's dog that's being mean, then you'll need to spend your day getting medical care, getting vaccinated and not coming into work.
“I sprained my back lifting something heavy.” Stuff is always going around being so darn heavy all the time, especially when you have to move it from one place to another. Anyone who's ever tried to carry a heavy box up several flights of stairs will sympathize with this plight.
“My pet is sick.” If your boss is an animal lover, play to his or her weaknesses. A sick dog, cat or pony makes the perfect excuse for staying home from work.
“I hit a dog on the way to work and had to drive the dog to the Vet.” If the Boss is a real dog lover, then it’s a perfectly acceptable reason for not coming in!
“I stayed up too late working and am too tired to come in.” This excuse not only gets you out of work today, but makes you look like a hard worker to boot.

I WISH reasons like “Personal Issues” were plausibly accepted by organization’s policy and you could use these excuses to whine your way out of work. And your manager empathically tells you, “Don't let work get in the way of your personal issues and insecurities. Go ahead, take a day off. Do let me know if I can be of any help. Take good care.”
“I didn't have anything to wear.” A wardrobe crisis can mean anything from literally not having anything to wear to just hating everything in your closet. You'll need the day off to go shopping to remedy the problem.
“I am having a bad hair day.” Who hasn't woken up with horrible hair and wished they could just stay home? Why can't you? Trying to dye your hair and have it come out an unexpected and office inappropriate color is a perfectly valid reason to stay home from work. Jokes at the expense of your wonky hair will only damage your delicate psyche.
“I don’t know why, but I feel fat.” Feel too bloated and gross to fit into your work clothes? Sounds like a good reason to stay home in your sweat pants instead.
“I have got pimples.” If your face looks like you're 13 again, you certainly won't be able to face clients or customers. Tell your boss you'll need a few days for it to clear up, and VOILA, she agrees.

Being a woman, I have often used this excuse: "I have really bad cramps." Now before you dismiss this one, think about it: Who can argue? It's such an embarrassing topic that nobody will ever challenge you. It's one of those things that men honestly have no clue about and women can sympathize with. Or "I have horrible diarrhea or I got food poisoning. “From bad Chinese food to steaks at Kobe’s, getting food poisoning is an unpleasant and unpredictable experience. Again, before you dismiss this one, remember that it's such an embarrassing topic. Nobody doubted my sincerity. Plus, it's simple. I didn't need an elaborate back story because no one wants to hear the details.

I wish I could use this trick, “Hi boss, I don’t feel like seeing your hideous face today. See you tomorrow.”
I am very well aware, that can earn me a lifetime of leaves from my employer. But maybe that’s not what I have in mind. So what I say is, “I am calling to inform you that I slipped in the bathroom. The floor was slippery after shower. It's totally believable that I fell and hurt myself. I have to go to the doctor first thing in the morning and I would come in right after my appointment.” The truth was, I was too lethargic to drag myself out of bed so I just went back to sleep. Because the chronic gravitational pull that keeps me on my bed is for today morning only. Tomorrow I would want to go work and save the world from those demonic files and statements that horrifyingly show up on your desktop. But today is the time to meditate. And meditate I shall. Deep under the multiple layers of my blankets; over that soft feathery throne called bed and explore the heavenly pleasures of unperturbed slumber. Alternatively I can also vegetate in front of that “Idiot-Box” and pick up tricks to diffuse nuclear weapons to save humanity from extinction. But for all that to work I need my fool of a boss to act rationally for once and believe my “not-so-original-but-legitimate” excuses to stay at home. I called back in about another two hours and said, "The doctor is late, stuck in Bangalore traffic. This is ridiculous. I'm really upset over this. I guess I can't come in today. "

Who can argue with these excuses? Some are pretty darn valid and some just plain harebrained. Some are ridiculous, over-the-top excuses and convenient scapegoats. But for sure these reasons are plausibly accepted by my Boss and I could use these excuses to whine my way out of work. And VOILA, she agrees and empathically tells, “Don't let work get in the way of your personal issues and insecurities. Go ahead, take a day off. Do let me know if I can be of any help. Take good care.”

Finally I had been excused my stay at home. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED...!!

These excuses are all free-of-charge but if you decide to borrow one please be kind enough to replace it with a good (or not so good) excuse of your own...

~~ Friendship, Love and Clemency...~~

He spent his idle time helping his mother run their family business. It was small cosmetic shop at Adenta. Adenta is a town in the Greater Accra Region of Ghana. It helped him forget the sour incident that almost sent him to the gallows. A betrayal from a close pal was like thrusting a spiky pointer through the soul. The beast took away the only thing he cherished most. The customers came as usual to buy few hair products and other stuff. His only interest was to make more sales. It gave him some inner flush akin to what Brenda gave him before he lost her to the fast life in London. The customers, mainly the female ones, to him were images in a mirror reflecting the same distorted refractions like the one gone before. He paid very little attention to them. They are erratic and heartbreakers. This notwithstanding there was a fussy customer he could hardly ignore. He was stunned by her looks as he served her. His hands hanged in the air unable to take the money from her.

Stephen was recovering from the shocks of Brenda’s betrayal so he kept a low profile. He was not ready for another twist in his already mangled life. He had met Brenda back on campus and they had a dreamy relation. They were the toast of their friends as they were a striking pair. A cord bound the duo together. Realities of life after school tore the cord into shreds. It was like digging a limitless void as things went haywire. Stephen was unemployed and all his job hunts yielded no dividend. However, fate smiled on them. Brenda got a two-year working abroad visa to the UK. They celebrated the good news with a night out and had a jolly time. The exciting news notwithstanding, there was a little hitch; Brenda had nowhere to lodge in the UK. Stephen phoned his bosom friend in London and pleaded with him to host his angel. The friend readily agreed to help. He saw Brenda off at the airport and waited until the BA flight vanished into the unknown.

Life in London is very different. His friend tried many times to seduce Brenda just as she arrived. When that failed, he frustrated her. He locked her out in the cold winter blizzards to freeze. He hid the grocery and denied her access to basic things in the house. The hassle was too much for Brenda. She lost her nerves and gave in to ease her frustration. Her idea was to have a brief fling with the pest to calm him down. Who knows what Stephen was doing in Ghana? He might be having fun with other ladies as she went through harrowing experience in the chill, she reflected. It was not to be; the brief fling became a routine. The vampire became so loving after he drew the first blood. He indulged her and showered her with delicate gifts. They were kinds of gifts carefully selected from flagships stores on Oxford Street. Stephen could only afford such exquisites gifts in his dreams. Brenda wizened. It was better to bask in a handy wealth than lingers on with a bloke hunting for non-existence job. She agreed to the Londoner’s marriage offer with a huge diamond ring and some huge ancestral inheritance, without blinking her eyes for once.
*************************************************************************************************
A month later Brenda changed vows with Stephen’s best buddy in London, a mailer reached Stephen. It was more of a confession...
It read, “Yes, I betrayed my best friend. I betrayed his trust and his faith in me. I did it knowingly and willingly. Even though I knew it is going to cause him pain and I know for sure that this is going to change my friendship with him. But still I did it anyway...I did it for my own selfish reason...I just wanted Brenda more than my best friend back… It upsets me a lot and makes me feel really miserable that this lust and love is taking my best friend away from me...He had been having these episodes for a while and I did nothing...I refuse to believe that Stephen is head over heels for Brenda and would rather believe in a denial than to face the cold truth.
One day, Stephen no longer could deny it cause I felt that his UK predator is no longer there with him and he had turned into another person...He must have felt so helpless then…He knew that he needed help before he gets any deeper and before he hurts himself or hurts someone else. The only way for him to get help is for him to betray Stephen, coz Brenda was too difficult to let go...
It hurts me the most when I saw him all worried at the airport because he refused to let go of Brenda away from him. This made Stephen uncooperative and he kind of turned violent...With pleading eyes, he had asked her "Why do you have to go? You don't think that I'm good enough for you, right?"
So with that, I betrayed my best friend for my own selfish reason of wanting her back. And till now, I still don't know if what I did was right or wrong...But sometimes in life, there are choices that you have to make but you don't want to...And this is one of the hardest choices, I have to make in my life. So I have to harden my heart and lie point blank in his face so that he will get help he needed…to forget Brenda and forgive me.”
*************************************************************************************************
Imagine you have been friends with someone for 12 long years and have been together throughout the good and bad that life have to offer. Imagine the bubbly and outgoing boy that you thought you had known so well suddenly became a whole different person altogether. A person that you know wasn't him and there is a chance to get back the bubbly amazing fellow that you used to know. So can you understand now why he had to do it? Why he had to betray Stephen?

With tears brimming in his eyes, Stephen folded the letter and told himself , "No, I don't think you are crazy...You are just sick. And I don’t think I can forget you both ever… and since once I had loved Brenda and had trusted you… I forgive you”

The lady who turned Stephen’s head upside down after Brenda’ betrayal was a cute looking lady with a flowing hair and a nice shape to match. Her name was Susan. She was new in the area. The day she went to the shop, she was in a simple straight dress, which fitted her perfectly. She was a sort of a temptress; so irresistible. Stephen’s behavior the day he saw her was embarrassing. He could not control his emotions and flustered himself to on lookers. Susan was embarrassed as well. She dropped the money on a table, and hurriedly left the shop.

Stephen had been on the lookout for the temptress since the episode but she never turned up at the shop for months. He tarried but there was no sign of her. He volunteered to be at the shop more often and his mother was baffled. It was unusual of him. Lamentably, he was engrossed with Susan’s jelly looks he forgot to take her number. When all hope of seeing Susan was lost, she turned up at the shop one afternoon. She had not been well she told Stephen.

Stephen was so excited to see her. He told her he had looked for her everywhere under the sun. She said she was flattered. She visited the shop regularly thereafter. She was bored at home, she explained to him. He invited her to the movies one day and he was relieved when she accepted the invitation. Susan turned up in dazzling dress and he was stupefied at her looks. Joyously he welcomed her with a cuddle. He told her that he was impressed with her looks. At the movies in the film studios at Kanda, Stephen chose a familiar suite. It was a preference for Brenda. Stephen sat so closed to Susan and his thigh rubbed hers. The softness coming from her bare silky thigh was so soulful he lost focus. The film beamed on the screen but his mind was on the appeal from the one sitting next to him. The lights were dim. It created a perfect romantic atmosphere. He saw chunk portion of her thighs radiating forcefully through the dim. It was greasy and rewarding.

The heat was unbearable and he excused her. He went out to the bar and bought some popcorn and drinks. The lovebirds popped the corn and washed it down with the drink. Susan was in the mood and became flirty. She got closer to him and placed her head on his shoulder. Occasionally Stephen fed her with his corn. He offered her his drink as well and she sipped it through the straw. At a point instead of the popcorn, he offered her his lips. She grabbed them with hers and mouthed it with glee. It became obvious they were no longer watching the movie. The movie was a bait to lure the cod from its hideout. They engaged in flowery love games as they ignored Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt’s movie ‘Mr and Mrs Smith’ beaming on the screen. It became steamy and Stephen held the tip of her dress at the upper part. He looked at her face and said ‘Can I have a look’? She ignored him. He repeated his question. She nodded. He busied himself rubbing her faintness. It was breathtaking. He thought he would never love again nor taste of the bliss derived from cuddling a loved one. Was Susan real or an illusion just like Brenda? He contemplated.

Months ago, he had memorable burst with Brenda in the same room. She clanged to him and wept her heart out. She was sad that they were going to live apart, she said. She promised to remain dedicated and return to him in one piece. It was the last sweet words he heard from the cherished one. He did not hear from Brenda again after she became a prey to his predator friend in London. The home wrecker stopped calling him as well. Any time he tried calling the answering machine bellowed "The number you have dialed is incorrect please check the number and dial again. Please check the number and dial again."

Was Susan real or just a delusion like Brenda? He kept pondering. He was happy but at the same time, he was confused. He was scared. A strange sense of apprehension gripped him from within. He didn’t want to lose Susan at any cost…

~~ The misunderstanding ~~

"Good morning, Nancy. Is John in his office? I thought I'd surprise him." Emma flashed her white teeth and emerald green eyes at the receptionist. Her long brown hair was loose around her shoulders.

"Sure, Emma. I won't spoil the surprise"

Emma stopped in front of the door and was surprised to find it closed. She leaned her head closer to the door and heard some gasping sounds. Curiously, she opened the door to John's office and tiptoed in. Her jaw dropped and her eyes took on a haunted look.

He had his back to her and his arms around his secretary. Emma saw John bending over and embracing a tall blond woman. The woman's long slim fingers and well shaped arms were wrapped around him. "Everything will be alright," said John.

She felt numb as the color in her face faded to ash. The blood stopped flowing to her extremities.

Emma relived her childhood. In a flash she remembered everything... her mother crying in the middle of the night... her parents' violent arguments about the other women... her mother's constant silent drinking... and finally, her own screams when she found her mother dead surrounded by pill bottles.

Closing the door firmly but silently behind her, Emma walked out the office building and took the bus home.

*** Three months later ***

Silently, Emma looked up at the tall darkly handsome man before her. Of course John looked as good as ever. His broad shoulders were covered by an impeccably tailored blue blazer, while his slim hips and strong muscular legs were hidden by tan khaki pants. His skin was bronzed from the sun and his short, neatly-cut black hair was brushed back off his face.

She felt her pulse begin to quicken. She scowled in reaction to him and made a fist with her right hand, digging her nails into her palm. She felt like she was in a dream. Had time stopped passing? She raised her other hand up to her throat and gasped at the air.

John's dark gray eyes stared steadily at Emma, causing her to take a step back. Her green eyes darted nervously around the room. How did he find her? Her gaze finally rested on the door. Maybe she could still escape. He took a step closer to Emma and grasped her elbow.

"So, you really are here! We have to talk now. Tell them you're sick and let's get out of here" said John. His hand burned her flesh where he clasped her elbow.

Emma stood up straighter. "I can't leave now. These are my clothing designs and this is a private sale of my work. You were not invited!" Emma paused. "Anyway, I can't afford to close early. Not all of us inherited a family fortune," she said sarcastically. She glanced down at her watch. "I'm closing in an hour. Come back then and we'll talk. I promise."

"No, I'm not letting you out of my sight. No, not this time, not without a good explanation of why you left me." John looked around the room. His eyes spotted the couch which had been pushed off to the side. "I'll sit there and wait until you're finished."

She gulped. Her mind was racing. "Fine, just sit there if you want."

John walked over to the couch and sat down. His eyes hardly left Emma for the entire hour as she helped customers try on and buy one of kind hand painted clothes. The jackets, suits and coats weren't just clothing, but more like works of art. She was doing a brisk trade.

He couldn't believe he had found her. After all this time he had finally found her.

It had been a shock for him to come home three month ago and find Emma had disappeared from his life. She had hardly packed anything. It was like she was fleeing for her life. She hadn't even packed her toothbrush. What was he supposed to think happened to her when she didn't even pack her toothbrush? He had been sure that Emma had been abducted or killed, but the police insisted that it looked like she left voluntarily.

It was hard for him to accept the fact that she had left for good and with hardly a word. It had taken him two months before he realized that she wasn't coming back. After those two months, he hired a private investigator to find her.

It just didn't make sense, and John was a man who liked everything to make sense. He just wanted to know why she had left him. Then he could move on. The message she had left on the answering machine after she had left just hadn't made sense. She kept repeating, "How could you betray me? How could you betray me?"

He had thought that they had the kind of relationship that lasts. Before Emma had disappeared, John had planned to ask her to marry him. He had made reservations for the best table at the Rainbow Room and had picked out an emerald ring that matched her eyes perfectly. How could she have left without an explanation? It just wasn't like her. Things couldn't have been better between them. Or so he thought, until she disappeared. It just didn't make sense.

He remembered how he couldn't get enough of her curvaceous body and how her hair always smelled like roses. Their lovemaking had been filled with passion. Why had she left?

The private detective had called him just this morning to let him know that he had finally found Emma's address. She was living in New Paltz, New York. Immediately, he canceled all of his appointments and drove up.

John watched Emma lock the door on the last customer. She paused at the door. Her shoulders tensed up. Finally, she turned around and asked, "Would you like some coffee or a drink?"

"No, just come sit down and let's talk."

Emma walked over to the couch and sat down beside him. "I'm surprised to see you. What are you doing here?"
"I think that's obvious. I want an explanation from you."

Her face grew hot. "An explanation? I don't need to explain anything. You know what you did," she retorted as she tapped her fingers lightly on the couch.

"That's just it. I don't know what I did wrong. You were wrong to leave without explaining. I thought you were dead." A muscle twitched in his jaw and his eyes clouded over.

"Wrong? What are you talking about? You're the one who cheated on me with your secretary. Couldn't you be a little more original than that, John?" She tightened her hands into fists.

John's gray eyes turned to steel as he reached for her hands and encased them in his own. "You think I was having an affair with my secretary? What in the world made you think that?"

Emma felt her hands relax in his hands. Her face flushed as she felt her hands tingle in his. "Huh? I saw you kissing her the morning I left."

"Kissing Beverly? Why would I kiss Beverly? I loved you. I was going to ask you to marry me."

"I saw you kissing Beverly." She pulled her hand away from him and wrapped her arms around herself.

John walked over to the bar and poured himself a scotch straight up. He drank the shot in one gulp and grimaced slightly. His body tensed up and he turned around. "Beverly got a call that her father had died suddenly. I was holding her to comfort her."

Her face turned ashen and her eyes looked haunted by an inner pain. "No. You're lying to me!"

John walked over to Emma and grabbed her shoulders and gently shook her. "I would never lie to you."

She started to cry. "I just couldn't bear the idea of you sleeping with another woman. I had to leave." John sat down next to her and held her in his arms. He rocked her gently as she cried silent sobs which seemed to rack her body. Her tears didn't stop for fifteen minutes.

Her red rimmed eyes looked into John's. "I thought you were a cheater like my father was. I thought all men were like him." She paused and then sobbed, "How can I make this up to you?"

John got up and walked over to stare out the window. "You know my niece, Kayla?"

She puzzled up her face in concern. "Yes, of course I do. What's the matter with her?

"Her parents have left her in my care for the year. It seems that taking a year long trip around the world was more important to them then raising their daughter," he said sardonically. "I need you to come back to New York and help me take care of her. You're the only one she trusts."

"They abandoned a three year old? How could they?" Emma got up and walked over to John. There was an impenetrable silence for several minutes.

"Of course, I'll go back to New York and help you with Kayla."

John leaned toward her and brushed the tears from her cheeks. She lifted her face up to his and their lips touched. He kissed her hard and deep and then slowly he licked the tears from her face as he gazed into her eyes. He enveloped her in his arms and her soft body melted into his hard one until there wasn't a space left between them. She kissed his neck and put her arms up around his neck. He lifted her up and twirled her around. "I love you."

"And I love you" said Emma.

~~ The victim...~~

I’m not usually one for post coital conversation. It makes me uncomfortable.
But on this occasion I sensed that in addition to the forty minutes of perspiration soaked pumping… conversation was what I was going to get.

His finger traced a line down my naked back from neck down through my spine, pausing intermittently before planting a kiss on it. Almost immediately a rash of goose bumps covered my body.

“You faked it - didn’t you”

Except for the crisp white sheet I was stretched out on, the bedcovers lay in a frenzied heap on the floor. The hotel room’s cold, artificial air sent a little chill through me.
My mind hosted a quick debate on the topic “Faking orgasms occasionally is good for a relationship”. The affirmative won by a whisker but I decided to lie anyway. I hoped I didn’t sound too irritated.

“Why the hell would I do that? I have a husband I can fake it with. What would be the point of having an affair if I’m going to feign sexual satisfaction? Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t an affair based on sexual gratification? Today was amazing. It’s always amazing with you”

He said nothing for a moment. I thought I was safe. I desperately wanted a nap.

“I don’t know – it’s just that I want you to tell me if I’m not doing everything right. I want to please you - every time”

I rolled over on my back. He sat naked and cross legged, at the foot of the bed.
“You DO please me every time. You please me enormously EVERY TIME.” I smiled and held out my arms, into which he tumbled like a child needing reassurance from a mother. I knew that conversation was now inevitable. Lots of conversation that would probably lead to another bout of urgent, tumultuous sex.

“Do you know how long we’ve been doing this…?
“Doing what?” I teased
“You know what I mean…”
“Oh I don’t know. 6 months maybe?”
He sat up and gave me his “duh…are you kidding” grin.
“It’s been nearly eight. And I worked it out the other day. We’ve probably had slept in about a hundred and fifty times. And rarely in the same place twice. Isn’t that amazing?”
I didn’t mean to laugh at that point, but I couldn’t help it.
The grin disappeared as he straddled me and cupped me gently.
“How many times …out of that hundred and fifty would you say I’ve made you satisfied…?”
“What are you…the bureau of statistics?”
“No, I was just wondering”

I couldn’t keep the irritation out of my voice...
“Honey, it doesn’t matter… does it? To be honest I haven’t kept count, and having an orgasm isn’t the be-all and end-all for me.”
“I know…but it turns me on so much when I can make it happen for you”

I wished that he could make silence happen for me.
“I hate it when you analyze things. Can’t we just enjoy the togetherness for what it is?”
His reaction surprised the hell out of me. He climbed off me…his green eyes flashing with anger.
“The sex? The sex? Like…the breakfast cereal. Or the flu? What’s going on here Morgan? Are you bored with me and this relationship or something? Is there someone else you’d rather be with besides me?”

I sat up and faced him directly.
My own reaction surprised me too. I realized that my words mirrored feelings I’d been suppressing for weeks.
“It’s not YOU I’m bored with, just all this stupid chit chat and you trying to pigeon hole this...this situation. This is an AFFAIR, not a relationship. A relationship is what I have with my husband. You’ve known this all along. I’m married and I choose to stay married. What we have is sex. Lots of it. And that’s all we can ever have. I don’t intend to leave my husband. And even if I did, I doubt if…”

I stopped myself but it was too late.
I’d delivered the fatal blow. Hurt was spurting from a major artery.
“Oh I see. Even if you did leave him, we wouldn’t continue… right?”
I tried to stem the flow.
“Look Rick the last six…I mean eight months has been amazing…”
“HAS been…? Oh so I’m right. This is it then. Just like that. I knew something was wrong, I’ve sensed it for ages.”
The crumpled look on his face activated a tiny worm of panic inside me. It started burrowing through my stomach.
“What IS it with you? We’ve both always known where we stand on this. My feelings for you are entirely separate to my feelings for Derek. You and I have no ties to each other – you are completely free to pursue other relationships. An affair lasts as long as it does.”

“Don’t quote me from one of your books Morgan. I’m not a piece of research…or am I? But then… affairs are your specialty. You know what? You’re so damn insensitive, cold and unfeeling.”

He leapt from the bed and fumbled under the pile of bedclothes for his jocks. He dressed in moments. After putting on his shoes, he sat on the edge of the bed with his back to me. I heard the small quaver in his voice as he finally said the dreaded words that had gone unspoken for eight months.

“I love you Morgan. I know you don’t want to hear it, and I didn’t expect it to happen, but I thought you would have sensed it by now. I even hoped you might share my feelings. All those times we made love…I can’t believe you felt it was nothing more than sex. You couldn’t be that detached. But then anyone who could go home to her husband and hop into bed with the smell of another man still on her has no feelings for anyone but herself”
“Rick!”
“Forget it Morgan. I know it’s over, but don’t ask me for quiet acceptance. I have feelings too you know”
He strode to the door and was gone.

Later that evening, Derek and I shared a quiet meal at Antonio’s, one of our favorite Italian restaurants in Paddington. We both enjoyed Antonio’s cozy dark corners where we could hide. This evening, despite the sensuous gloom of candlelight, a plump woman around mid forties wearing a loose fitting floral dress waddled towards us. She clutched a copy of my latest book “When It’s Over …It’s Over” to her generous bosom.

“Oh my God! It IS you. Morgan McLean. I thought it was you when you walked in. I love your books – they’ve helped me so much with my self esteem. You’ve shown me that it’s okay to be me – I feel so liberated and in control of my life now. Thanks to you I now have the courage to end an affair …”

I was slightly taken aback. More than a little surprised that this homely woman would be engaging in an extra marital relationship. Still, if I believed my own words, it should have come as no surprise that affairs… like shit I’d come to discover…happen.
She bent down slightly towards me and whispered
“You are the BEST relationship expert I have ever come across. I’d rather read your books than do anything in the whole wide world.”
Other than eat, I thought.

“I’m so glad my books have been a positive influence in your life”
I pasted on my fake smile and took the book from her. She thrust a pen at me.
“Can you write…“To Julie, your life is about to change in a big way…best wishes Morgan McLean”
I did so and handed the book and pen back to her.
“How do you think he’ll take it…?” I asked
“Sorry?”
“When you end your affair…”
The woman frowned.
“Oh I’m not having an affair, my husband is. And I haven’t ended it yet, but I will...tonight I think”

The woman beamed a wide smile, gushed her “thank you’s”, and swept away.

Throughout all this, Derek sat quiet and invisible. He was used to strangers accosting me in restaurants, cinemas, theatres, art galleries. He always stepped back and let me handle it – and always with an amused grin on his face.

I know this all sounds bizarre, but with Derek I have almost everything. Companionship, friendship, someone I can laugh with and share my innermost thoughts. He has supported me through every step of my career, and nursed me through the many rejections from publishers as I tried to build it. It was Derek who arranged my first television interview and from there, my career soared. He has promoted and marketed my work and I owe him everything. Dear, stable, quiet, reliable Derek. My partner for fifteen years. My rock. Yes, with Derek I have everything. Except a sex life.

I was 27 when we met. I was a magazine journalist at the time. Good for bread and butter but I hated it. I desperately wanted to write books. I’d written a romantic, epic novel – a pretty bad one now that I think of it, although I was convinced it was the next “Gone with the Wind”. Never published of course... Years earlier in university, I had gained a degree in Clinical Psychology, a subject which was useful for the next two murder mystery novels. Also pretty bad, and also never published.

Derek was – and still is – an advertising guru. One of the owners and founders of the largest advertising company in the country, “Simbleton, Obley, Struther”.

From the first moment I met him, I loved his lazy, laconic style of humor. The fact that he was twenty years my senior didn’t seem to matter at the time. He was single, in fact never married. It would be remiss of me not to mention his wealth and influence as an attractive feature. And his blonde, boyish good looks wrapped up a package that seemed far too good to be true. We were smitten with each other and within 4 months we were married. I felt as though I’d been let loose in the biggest and best department store in the world. However, about a month after our marriage, I realized that if I wanted anything resembling a happy life, I would have to shop in another department store.

While Derek’s masculinity drive was low but adequate before we married, it quickly dwindled to almost zero afterwards. At first I thought I’d married a gay man. In many ways I could have accepted it more easily if Derek had been gay. We visited clinics, psychologists, psychiatrists and sex therapists…all to no avail. We tried drug therapy, acupuncture, meditation – even a tantric instructor. Derek remained in a state of constant flaccidity. Inactive masculinity drive notwithstanding, Derek is considerate towards my own healthy sexual appetite. His bank balance is not usually a fair compensation for my neediness.

But sometimes a girl just needs something more than money, expensive gems, diamonds, jaguars, luxurious gourmets…something more than caress…hard and long.

Derek is aware of that need – and even more aware that he cannot satisfy it. So we have an unspoken agreement. When my itch becomes unbearable, I arrange for it to be scratched. He knows that I will never forsake him, or our relationship. We never discuss my trysts with other men. I always don my protective coat of love-proof armor before an encounter. Conventional words like love, respect and commitment are reserved for my husband, so the affairs are always discreet and conducted with one objective…sexual satisfaction. I choose them all carefully. Young, strong, virile and interested…only in the same thing as me. I was happy to have them beside my body, but not inside my head…and certainly not inside my heart. Rick, it seems was now having a hard time accepting that. I was fast coming to realize that Rick was threatening my perfect life.

Shortly after our marriage, I left the magazine and Derek provided me with the necessary environment and financial support to write the books that have made me famous. I’ve been called the “relationship expert”. On TV programs and radio talk shows, I’m lauded as someone who has changed the lives of thousands. I try not to take all the hype too seriously. It’s just that I’ve always thought that some people have a very complicated view of their own lives. We live by so many rules and laws already that it’s often impossible to enjoy life. My theory is that if you simplify things – see situations for what they are, and squeeze every drop of pleasure out of every single day, then you’ll be happier than you ever dreamed possible. If your work or personal situation makes you unhappy, then change it. Because if you don’t, you have none to blame for your resulting misery but yourself. In a nutshell, that’s what my books are about. I’ve simply cashed in on my own philosophy in life.

After our meal at Antonio’s, Derek drove us home.
At first we chatted about the woman in the restaurant, and about the new book I was working on. I was tired and the episode with Rick had added a sour flavor to my day. Derek sensed my preoccupation and we drove the rest of the way in silence.

We prepared for bed and just before I climbed in I decided to check if I had any phone messages. As I suspected, the red light on the answer phone in my office was flashing wildly. 6 messages! I pressed play. The first message was from Rusty Chan, my publisher. The next five were from Rick. I turned down the volume and played them back. The panic worm snapped to attention and began to tunnel furiously.

“Morgan it’s me. I know I’m not supposed to ring you at home, but I need to see you. Please Morgan, it can’t end like this. Call me when you get this message”

Messages two and three were similar, but with decreasing degrees of self control. It was the last rambling, desperate message that shocked me most.

“I’m sorry about this Morgan. I just wanted you to know something. I didn’t want you to know this but …I’m married.”

I almost dropped the phone. I had no idea that Rick had a wife. He’d never mentioned it …but then it occurred to me that I’d never asked him.

“I don’t love her. These last few months have meant more to me than you can imagine. I’ve fallen in love with you so hard I can’t believe it. I’ve made a decision and I’m going to leave her. I think she knows about us anyway. It’s like you control some sort of light switch in my life. When I’m not with you I’m in total darkness. See that’s the effect you have on a lot of people. With your books I mean. They rely on you to be the guiding light in their lives. I don’t know if you realize that. It’s a big responsibility Morgan…and when you mess with people’s lives, you face the consequences. I want to discuss this with you. If you decide you don’t want to talk to me ever again that’s fine, but here’s what I’ll do. I’ll go see your husband and tell him all about us. Then I’ll go to the papers and magazines and even a radio or TV talk show, and tell the nation that their favorite relationship expert lives a spineless marriage and has to resort to affairs to keep herself satisfied. How do you think THAT would affect the sales of your books?”

There was an abrupt click. The panic worm was going crazy. I went to the bathroom and threw up.

When I finally came to bed, Derek was asleep. I was relieved because I wouldn’t have had the presence of mind to lie about the phone calls.
I knew that sleep would be out of the question, so I lay awake trying to piece together a solution to my problem. I thought about going to the police and telling them that Rick was a psycho fan who’d been stalking me for months. I dismissed that idea quickly, knowing that he would have evidence of our trysts. Amidst all the turmoil in my mind, I realized how little I really knew about Rick. How little I’d really wanted to know. His amazing performances in the bedroom were all I’d ever been concerned about.

I drifted off to sleep, and quickly fell victim to a night of ugly dreams.

I came down late for breakfast. Derek glanced up and smiled over his newspaper.
“Bad night darling…?”
I answered him probably a bit too quickly.
“Oh no…just a few things going on in my head about the new book…Rusty’s pressuring me a little. Nothing much really.”
I managed a feeble smile. I knew I looked like I’d had no sleep.
Derek pulled the social pages from the middle of the newspaper and handed them to me. Just as I was pouring my first coffee…the phone rang.
Derek answered.

After a few moments, he handed me the phone. I caught his worried frown, and stood up to take the call.

“Hello…?”
“Is this Morgan McLean?”
“Yes, speaking”
“This is Senior Detective Peter Wallace from the homicide division of the city police department. Ms McLean...I’m sorry to inform you that a murder took place in the early hours of yesterday evening.”

I let the information seep in and panic gripped my throat. I thought of my parents…my sister…my two closest friends. I couldn’t breathe and for a moment I thought my fiercely pounding heart would crash through my chest.

“Ms McLean…the reason for this call is that…well… we have the suspect in custody. And her statement indicates that the victim was known to you. I wonder if you could come down to the station and answer a few questions for us”

I felt the blood drain from my face. The words victim and suspect seemed surreal to me.

“Who…what…victim…?”
“Ms. McLean I can’t really discuss this on the phone…you will need to come down to the station. We can send a car for you right away…”
By now Derek realized that something was very wrong.
He stood behind me with his hands supportively on my shoulders.
I could feel the hysteria rising as I gushed
“Just tell me who the victim was! This is ridiculous…please don’t let it me my mother or father…was it someone in my family…? Don’t do this to me!”

“The victim was a Richard Dean”
Oh my god. Rick…!
The phone slid from my hand and my legs buckled…trying to put myself in the victim’s shoes…

~~ Infidelity ~~

I'm a writer. I specialize in short murder mysteries, so is not unusual that I keep a gun. Actually I have several. It helps establish authenticity when you can actually look at the object you describing. Besides which, I enjoy collecting them. I have an 18th century flintlock pistol in pride of place over my Mantel, along with several trophies earned through my involvement with the pistol club.

Although I've had three books of short stories published, I'm working on my first novel. My publisher would like it completed in six weeks. Fat chance! After all been through these last few months, I'll be lucky to have it finished this year.

Six months ago, while riding high on the success of my third book, I discovered my husband was having an affair.

It came as a complete surprise, though in retrospect, I guess I hadn't really been taking much notice of David. I was busy with my career, and I suppose I to my marriage had granted.

I hadn't noticed that he was coming in later and later each evening, nor had I paid any attention to his excuses. I was completely involved in my work. I was married, in a sense, to my word processor.

A typical day from me is one where I lock myself away in my office from 7 am until around noon, working solidly at my machine. I have lunch, and then walk for an hour with my St Bernard, Achates, through the fields around my farm. I love the peace and tranquility of the farm, yet it's only a 20 minutes drive to the city, where, unfortunately I often need to be.

At two, are usually make all obligatory phone calls, or run any errands before settling back into my office at three, and working until 9 pm…a fairly rigid schedule, but one that any dedicated writer would find necessary.

There are, however, deviations from all schedules. On the day of my last book launch, I had the book signing session to attend in the city, and an appointment to take Achates to the vet, after which I had arranged to meet my publisher, Rusty Chan for lunch

My husband's office in the law firm Martin, Maguire and Hamilton, is just across the road from the restaurant. As I was a little early from my luncheon appointment, I decided to make an impromptu call on David. I walked into the foyer of the building, and as I waited for the lift to take me to his office on the 13th floor, I noticed a red Mercedes convertible pull up outside the building.

I recognize the car is belonging to Diane Lane, a woman I have known for 10 years, and whom I considered a good friend and confidante. It was, in fact Diane who had encouraged me to write.

In the passenger seat was David. This immediately struck me as odd because I'd always thought that David never cared much for Diane. "Too prim and proper", he always said. The next thing I saw was Diane slip her scheming arms around my husband’s conniving neck as he delivered a passionate, lingering kiss on her prim and proper lips.

The lift door opened. Dazed, I got in and press the button for the 25th floor and the roof of the building.

An icy wind tugged at my hair as I leaned over the railing and gazed down at the streets. I saw the red Mercedes drive away, and the end that was my miserable husband enter the building. I felt angry, betrayed and humiliated. How could I not have known! And how they both must have laughed at me?

At home later that afternoon, I placed the floor trying to decide what to do. Then the phone rang. It was the vet with some devastating news. I was told that my beloved Achates had an inoperable tumor in her stomach. It was terminal. "Six months", he said. "It would be kinder to have her put to sleep".

In one afternoon, my whole world had collapsed around me. I'd been betrayed by two people I loved and trusted. And now, the ultimate irony. I was being forced to betray my most loyal and unconditionally loving companion. I felt helpless and out-of-control.

I locked myself in my office and cried tears of frustration, grief and anger. I had no wish to talk to or share my heartache, and my heart truly felt as though it would break. I tried to imagine life without David, and somehow that prospect didn't seem as dismal as life without Achates.

I managed to transfer my feelings of lost to my word processor, and sometime later, I began to type furiously, filling the screen over and over with words and emotions that just seemed to pour from me.

The plot began to form, a storyline developed, and quite by accident that afternoon, the skeleton of a rather good novel was created.

So here I am, six months down the track, still working on that novel. Rusty is excited, as all good publishers are when their favorite author is about to produce their best work.

Sadly, I made the most difficult decision of my life, and had Achates put to sleep shortly after the diagnosis of her tumor.

I might do not-so-difficult decision and divorce David three months ago, almost immediately after which he would have married Diane-in a very "prim and proper" wedding ceremony.

And after a long and fruitful association, I parted company with my word processor. It was my very best friend, yet it betrayed me too. An electronic malfunction caused it to wipe to entire chapters of my novel. A major setback, and quite unforgivable.

I bought a brand-new computer yesterday, and since the word processor was declared officially beyond repair, I decided to use it for target practice.

They say that the first line should get you in. While how's this for a first line? I've just shot my once best friend…with whom I had vowed to be the most trusted and loving wife, till death parts…

After David was back from work, freshened up and sat down on the kitchen table for the lavish dinner and red wine. We finished the dinner silently. No not silent…..we didn’t speak, just our clanking cutlery did. Occasionally our eyes met, and we shared a plastic smile. After dinner he walked to his study as usual. I habitually would have gone to bed, instead I went after him. I found him seated on his rocking chair with a journal.

I walked in front of him and BANG. I did it with a .32 calibre Smith & Wesson revolver. In fact, the barrel is still warm, and the pungent smell of hot, smoking metal is somewhat satisfying to the nostrils. I shot five times... just for the hell of it.

I promise you, it didn't feel a thing.

~~ Mixed Feelings...~~

Are you happy? It sounds like the simplest question on earth. But is it really? Most people will answer "Yes, I am" or "Of course, I'm happy". But are they really happy? Or are they just answering that question with an expected answer...

Happiness means different things to different people. For most people, they equate happiness with power and money... But if you really think about it, do the most powerful and wealthiest people in the world look truly happy?

For some people, happiness just means that they are contented with what they have.

But this kind of thinking will only get misunderstood by others of being complacency or not ambitious enough. But what they don't know is that these people are normally the happiest people on earth because they will always just live for today…so they will savor everything that they get and they are thankful for it.

There are majority of people in this world who hate their jobs and always feel that they are meant to do something big/different in their life. While it is good to dream big, at least hold on tight to what is important to you right now so that you will not lose your SOUL while you are chasing your dreams.

Do you ever feel voices screaming inside your head….? Do you ever have mixed feelings about doing or not doing something….?

Panic. Fear. A clammy cold settles on my sweat-lathered skin. Tears that burn in my red-rimmed eyes fog my vision. I am in a cloud, a dense forest of haze impenetrable by my swirling, chaotic mind.

Betrayal. Shock. Every muscle trembles, stiff. I feel weakness in my bones. My heart pounds, my lungs ache, my veins contract.

Anger. Pain. My vision is tinged with blood, my fingers clenched on the hard weapon beneath my fingers. I strengthen my resolve and move in.

Confusion. Weakness. Seconds away, and it will end. Darkness will fall. I will diminish to no more than nothing. My soul will shatter. And yet I move forwards, not knowing why.

Torture. Anguish. The voice… it speaks. My chest will surely burst as it swells with memories. Memories of the voice that even now, at the edge of the world, the end, will not plead. I cannot do this. I am not strong. I need someone to lean on. And yet, the support that was once there beside me now stands helpless before my eyes, defiant and cold. I am certain that this is for my benefit, and yet I hate him for it.

Cold. Empty. The red fades to gray. Nothing is beautiful any longer. Elements such as beauty and love no longer hold meaning. Not when I am this far. This ruined. No repair can come to my soul.

Fury. Insanity. A scream rips from my parched lips, the silence exploding into fragments of distorted images of the past, present. No future; that does not exist. Only what is and once was matters as a powerful motion erases all hesitation. The earth barely shakes as his body arcs to the dirt laden forest floor.

I allow the tears to finally run free. The sun washes over my face, my bare arms, and my dirtied legs from the weeks of tracking. I see the gleam of light upon my blade, glittering red. "I love you." The words echo in my mind, over and over, and I covet the hope that they had realized, in the end, who I was and who they were. And why, even when love conquers all, I had selflessly thrown aside all of our dreams and hopes for what really mattered.

For the world. For all mankind. For the conquest of evil to be pulled to a halt, so that good could reign the bloodstained lands once again.

I did not look back then...and I won't look back again....
Don't know why I am feeling a bit philosophical today? I guess I am just being affected by my instinct... Perhaps, sometimes when things don't go your way, all you have to do is smile…

~~ Shadows ~~

I am a lady who walks alone
And when I'm walking a dark road

At night, or strolling through the park
When the light begins to change
I sometimes feel a little strange
A little anxious when it's dark
I have constant fear that something's always near
Fear of the dark…is that it…?

Have you run your fingers down the wall?
And have you felt your neck skin crawl?
And cold sweat trickling down your spine?
When you're searching for the light?

Sometimes when you're scared to take a look,
At the corner of the room?
Have you sensed that something's watching you?
Fear of the dark…that must be it…

~~ Compassion called “LIFE” ~~

Angels must be confused by war.
Both sides praying for protection,
Yet someone always gets hurt.
Someone dies.
Someone cries so deep
And someone has his last laugh.

Who can they help?
Who can they clarify?
Whose mercy do they cast to the merciless?
No modest scream can be heard.
No stainless pain can be felt.
All is clear to angels
Except in war.

When I awoke to this truth,
It was from a dream I had last night.
I saw two angels conversing in a field
Of spirits rising like silver smoke.
The angels were fighting among themselves
About which side was right,
And which was wrong.
Who started the conflict?

Suddenly, the angels stilled themselves
Like a stalled pendulum,
And they shed their compassion
To the rising smoke
Of souls who bore the watermark of war.
They turned to me with those eyes
Fiery and glowing,
And all the pieces fallen
Were raised in unison,
Intertwined like the breath
Of flames in a furnace.

Nothing in war comes to destruction,
But the illusion of separateness.
I heard this spoken so clearly I could only
Write it down like a forged signature.
I remember the compassion,
Mountainous, proportioned for the universe.
I think a tiny fleck still sticks to me,
Like gossamer threads
From a spider's web.

And now, when I think of war,
I flick these threads to the entire universe,
Hoping they stick on others as they did me.
Knitting angels and animals
To the filament grace of compassion.
The reticulum of our skyward home.

Look well to this day,
For it and it alone is life.
In its brief course
Live all the essence of your existence:

The Glory of Growth
The Satisfaction of Achievement
The Splendor of Beauty

For yesterday is but a dream,
And tomorrow is but a vision.
But today well lived makes every yesterday a dream of happiness,
And every tomorrow a vision of hope...

~~ Trapped in my own Reverie ~~

Falling upward
Into a world
Of unknown
Feel like a coward

Like a worm, I curled
In darkness I drown
Held within a spiders web
A curse is brought upon you

Stuck in a maze bed
Attacked by a pirate cruel.
Clowns are surrounding
Laughing
Mocking me
Alone and afraid
Can’t you see?
Pins and needles
I’m already dead…..

As I enter the room
I stop and I stare
There is noise all around me
Yet no one is there

I am surrounded by darkness
Nowhere to turn
To find a way out
I desperately yearn

I feel all around but there is nothing but black
So tangible
So thick
Of light there is a lack

I feel like a mouse
Trapped in a cage
On the brink of tears
Yet not in rage
And just as I am about to give up hope and just cry

I’ll never smell freshly cut grass
Or feel the warm breeze on my face
I’ll never squint from the glare of the sun,
Or feel the sand beneath my feet

I’ll no longer laugh with friends on outings,
Or dance to the tunes in our clubs,
To run in the wind or dance in the rain,
And shelter in doorways from the chill

I’ll no longer watch my children run free
Or couples in love holding hands
I’ll no longer dress for occasions,
And plan for a fun time out

I feel something beneath my hand
I keep going feeling for I cannot spy
And then at last an empty space
Perhaps finally my freedom I will chase…

Coz, I am here in a box of terror,
Too terrified to look out,
Yet watching life pass me by….
As I exist but no longer live.

Why is it terrifying to live?
Why do I cry and scream from the torments of my mind?
To feel trapped by everything,
It makes you feel blind

I have fought against my terror,
I have watched my mind awake
But without a moment’s notice I’m a broken doll
Drown in a lake

The world keeps on spinning,
The ants don’t see my pain
I don’t have any fight left in me,
Why can’t I be sane?

I used to have a life
I used to be free,
But now I tremble in terror
From my self-imposed prison called “me”…!

~~ What is so scary...? ~~

I lay on my bed soaking my pillow with my tears,
I try to remember exactly what it is that I fear.
Beyond the shadows are gruesome creatures;
their faces distorted with beast-like features.
Where they come from, no one knows.
They wait for me beyond the shadows.

In the darkness, they await.
Grisly horror to be my fate.
Death felt in the air, my fear grows.
Evilness lingers beyond the shadows.

Is it the passing of time or the love that I lack?
Is it the mistakes that I've made or the fact that I can't bring the past back?
What is it that I'm afraid of?
Why am I so scared?
Is it the people I've hurt or the people that have hurt me?
Am I afraid of everything that I can’t seem to see?

Is it the love of a friend, or the loss of my family?
Is it the possibility that my life can end in a tragedy?
What is it that I fear most?
What do my eyes say I'm scared of?
Is it the sun that sets but won't seem to rise?
Is it the hope that I have that always seems to die?

Is it the trust of a person that I cannot begin to grasp?
Is it all the memories of my horrid past?
Is it me?
They finally come to take me to Hell;
Their black spirits casting a demonic spell.
The terror felt inside easily shows.
Death comes for me beyond the shadows.

Beyond the shadows my soul was taken;
Lost in a world where I’ve been forsaken.
When they may come for you, nobody knows.
Beware of what lies beyond the shadows.

Can it possibly be that the thing I fear most is the thing I can't be?
The things that I try to understand?
The “me” that I try to be with when I'm feeling sad?
The person I'm expected to be?
Is that what I fear? . . .
I think the thing I fear most . . . is “me”…

~~ Fears of an innocent mind ~~

Fear of love,
Fear of pain,
Fear of the unforgiving cane,
Fear of lies,
Fear of sighs,
Fear of those distraught eyes,
Fear for the unknown,
Fear for the known,
Fear of everything combined,
Fear is what makes me blind,
Fear is what makes me think,
And act in blind accordance...
Fear is when you run away,
Fear is when you’re scared to love someone,
Fear is when the sky turns grey,
Fear is when you lose your loved ones,
Fear is a feeling of danger,
Fear is when you aren’t brave,
Fear is the feeling of anger,
Fear is when you can’t behave,
Fear is when you’re shy,
Fear is like not having devotion,
Fear is when you’re afraid of saying bye,
Fear is like a dark blue ocean,
Fear is like ending you’re career,
Fear is like being lonely,
Fear is like not being able to reappear,
Fear is like feeling ghostly,
Fear is like an ashtray, used,
Fear is like a dark dungeon...
Fear is hindering the world around me,
Hence, My Fear of myself ...
Fear is when you run away,
Fear is when you’re scared to love someone,
Fear is when the sky turns grey,
Fear of confusion,
Fear is like a dark blue ocean,
Fear won’t let me escape
Fear mocks me, watching
Fear taunts me, waiting
Fear of losing,
Fear you cannot see,
Fear dealt upon thee...
Fear of darkness and death,
Fear of a dead comrade,
Fear of a gun being cocked,
Fear of being endlessly stalked,
Fear of time,
Fear of all the crime,
Fear of the undesirable truth,
Fear for the good.
Fear for the sake of life,
Fear of the neighbors next door,
Fear of the secretive man in the subway,
Fear of the revolutionary uproar,
Fear is to not rejoice your living,
Fear for the sake of your life,
But to fear is to forsake it.
Fear is to have no hope in life,
Fear of the fear of fear,
We need no reason to fear,
For fear has no reason for itself.
I guess life is just like that,
To fear for no reason,
For to fear is not to reason,
But to reason is to fear.
To fear for the sake of fear,
Is it fear of fear?
So let me think...
What else do I terror?
What else do I dread?
What else do I fear...?

~~ Terror ~~

In the deepest depths of you and me
In the deepest depths of we
Lies the most beautiful jewel
Shining forth eternally....

Within that precious jewel
Within that priceless piece of we
Lies a time beyond all time
Lies a place beyond all space

Within that sacred source of radiance
Lies a love beyond all love
Waiting ...
Waiting ...
Waiting...
Ever so patiently to be free...

Waiting for you, waiting for me
Waiting patiently for all to see
The loathing that is inside of me
The abhorrence that is inside of thee

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness
That most frightens us.

We ask ourselves
Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.

You’re playing small
Does not serve the world.
There's nothing enlightened about shrinking
So that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine,
As children do.
We were born to make manifest
The glory of God that is within us.

It's not just in some of us;
It's in everyone....concealed somewhere deep within.

And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we're liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.

In the deepest depths of you and me
In the deepest depths of we
Lies the love, wisdom, hatred and excruciating terror.
Of all Eternity...

~~ What I want to know... ~~

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for,
And if you dare to dream of meeting
Your heart is longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
For love, for your dream,
For the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,
If you have been opened by life's betrayals,
Or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain,
Mine or your own,
Without moving
To hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy,
Mine or your own,
If you can dance with wildness
And let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
Without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic,
Or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself,
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can be faithless and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty
Even when it is not pretty every day,
And if you can source your life
From its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure,
Yours and mine,
And still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,
Weary and bruised to the bone,
And do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
In the center of the fire with me
And not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
From the inside
When all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
With yourself,
And if you truly like the company you keep
In the empty moments.

~~ A new leaf… ~~

Life changes. Weathers change. And so do the winds of time. Just like winds changing the patters on sand…perhaps time has the same effect on wounds of hurt heart….
And just as everyone has different tolerance level to take in pain, so does he have different forbearance to let go of it…..it all depends on the grip one has on pain; and how dearly he holds onto it, mistaking PAIN for LIFE……holding onto it….as if it’s the only source of survival. No one can assess how humongous is the pain, pressure and mental torture for them. No one knows how silently the pain oozes through their bleeding hidden emotions.
Fear is a part of life. It is part of the range of feelings that humans experience on a daily basis. In our culture, fear has come to be experienced as negative. However, the truth is that panic/ fright/fear is a perfectly normal feeling to experience and we would all feel a lot better if we simply allowed ourselves to feel it fully. If we do not we will have somatic symptoms of fear that are much more painful than simply allowing the feeling to be felt.
Fear is the sweat dripping down your face as you walk along through the woods or swarm streets. Fear is the anxiety of waiting for your report card, so you can grab it first rather than your parents. Fear is all the sharks swimming freely in the ocean while you are scuba diving. Fear is "a feeling of agitation and anxiety caused by the existence or presence of danger." A disturbance when danger is around or when you experience jeopardy, you yourself are worried for your well-being and comfort. Fear is a negative emotional state of mind. A state or condition marked by this feeling, says that it is the stipulation that you are in or that you think of when you are scared.
You could experience fear when someone frightens you and they bombshell you and you jump in bewilderment. Some people will say that you made their heart stop or something of the sort from being so surprised. Some people scream as loud as possible and quiver. Also some people are so scared that they just stand there like they are frozen. Some people may pass out like in the movies, but that probably doesn't happen often. People who are easily frightened are categorized as "scary cats." I believe it's because cats are also easily frightened.
Fear is an emotion produced by the brain to avoid a potentially bad situation or anxiety caused by the presence of danger. Fear caused by a threatening object or situation will typically result in increased body tension, heart rate, blood pressure, and breathing rate. These symptoms tend to produce different behavioral patterns in people. The ways these symptoms affect me are when I am in danger of failing or when I am alone. These two things are what you could call my two greatest fears. Winston Churchill once said, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” This famous saying shows that fear affects people as much as they let it affect them. Many people have a fear of failure and it affects them in various ways.
My fear of failure, in a way, has helped me through a lot of my problems. I have recognized this fear that I experience and the only way to prevent this feeling is to do everything I can to accomplish what I need to do. My way of coping with failure is really easy; I just work hard enough to do well. This technique I use helps me from experiencing my fear of failure. My fear of being alone doesn’t exist when I am alone in a dark place, but it does exist when I am in new surroundings. I hate the feeling of not having someone there to talk to or laugh with. When I sense this feeling coming, I deal with it by adapting and trying my best to make new friends. Through my experience, I have found that Churchill’s saying is true. Fear only goes as far as you let it go. You have two options for coping with your fear: you can avoid the fear or you can overcome it. If you learn to face your fears without letting them get to you, there is nothing that will scare you away from achieving your dreams.
They say, “All wounds heal with time….just that some leave scars and some leave scary reminiscences”. But all these condolences and empathy fall short in front of the strong whirlwind of emotions of the satanic heart. The gigantic emotional vacuum of strong devilish pessimism tends to engulf any miniscule trace of optimism….dragging one to deepest fathoms of dark and scary cynicism….People fear change because it pushes them out of their comfort zone. One of the greatest fears in the world is the fear of the unknown. Although fear can create a large amount of energy in a person, you can choose to use that energy in a positive manner and take control of the situation. Focus on your convictions; be confident in your abilities and be proud of the work that you do. Do not allow insecurities to damage your focus. Only you can set your moral compass.
Believe me the creepy thought of “I am nothing….I am non-existent”, is a mammoth threat to any individual’s survival. Make an effort to see change as an opportunity to grow in a different direction and develop new strengths and insights regardless of external influences.
Although it is easier to react negatively and feel inadequate and to listen to negative comments from others, you have the power to change your perspective and so will your attitude change. Your new attitude will become contagious and you will have a positive influence on those around you…
Just saying “LET GO” doesn’t help…..unless one is really convinced that he/she wants to and learns to stop holding onto the PAIN and count on something more fruitful, promising and worthwhile…..
This doesn’t mean he/she starts believing and loving again…..it doesn’t even mean that he/she starts trusting others again and acknowledging the need of trust or love and LIFE again…..That’s because counting or trying to confide one’s innermost feelings seems to be the biggest hitch, because then one starts looking at every second person as a harmful and detrimental person….Ironical….isn’t it…?
It just means that he/she firstly learns how to forgive and love his/her own self…..like a mother caressing her child awoken screamingly from a nightmare….”It’s OK, it was just a bad dream, see I am here, no one will hurt you…..shhhhh……I am here, beside you…..everything will be ALL RIGHT…..I love you, you know that….I won’t let anyone harm you…..I am here….try sleep again…”