quote:

The Selfish and The Desperate
She was sitting –fully clothed- on the bed, the sheets lying around her waist with the ends sweeping round to continually cross over each other and encase her torso slackly, like a cloth bandage. Her eyes were focused blearily on the lamp with its opaque stand made of silver, sparkly metal. At the foot of the dark, deep red duvet he sat, knowing she was deliberately finding fascinating features about this lamp so as not to look at him.

“I brought you flowers; big, romantic red and golden yellow roses. I thought you’d like them,” he told her. His smile heart-warming and free, his hair ruffled, his eyes kind, it all seemed to point to his amiable aura he had about him. She carried on sulking. He brought out a chocolate box from the bag he had placed at his feet, “And chocolate. I have fetched you chocolate. Would you like to try some?” he asked, opening the box eagerly as she turned to look at him. “Look, truffle and cappuccino and toffee and…” He trailed off, placing the silky cardboard selection sheet into her hands. She threw it sullenly onto the floor, turning away from him as she did so.

“Thanks” she replied monotonously, blatantly not meaning it. His eyes tried to hold hers for a second to show his hurt and sadness, but she refused to acknowledge him. Sighing and feeling dejected, he got up.

“I’ll go make us a coffee. White, two sugars, right?” he submitted as he stepped to go out of the room. The girl gave a tight nod to his simple question. He proceeded from the room. Stopped. Backtracked and put his head round the door again, “The cups are in the cupboard above the fridge, yeah?” She didn’t reply so he took his word to be truth and withdrew from the room slowly.

She picked the chocolate box up from where he’d laid it, fussily choosing a cappuccino flavoured chocolate which melted satisfactorily on her tongue. She unfurled herself from the duvet, her clothes catching to the sheets, and straightened the bedding roughly. Sitting back onto her pillow, she picked at a loose thread, trying to decide why life was so callous and fused with bittersweet irony.

When he came back in, carrying two mugs of steaming coffee, she looked at him and could not help smile at his schoolboy scruffy hair and his rolled up sleeves, like making a cup of coffee was a big effort. Wisps of affection came into her mind as she watched him put the cups down and smile at her, his eyes glinting with a fun magic that had drawn her to him in the first place. They both sat back, leaning against the wall and sipping their coffees. They were not talking, but it was a comfortable silence.

“I see you’re happier now then,” he mumbled to her after a few moments and she looked at his cute features,

“I’m sorry, was a bit shocked I guess. I’m over it now.” She smiled briskly at him before taking another tentative sip of her coffee. He slipped his hand hesitantly round hers, but as he did so, she moved her hand to hold her coffee cup “This coffee’s really hot!” she excused and smiled at him. He smiled back at her, trying to read the expression in her eyes. He could not. The spark in his own eyes flickered as he anxiously clawed through his thoughts as to what he could say to dispel the tension that was seeping over them once more.

“The weather’s been good for the last few days,” he tried, kicking himself for that being the best he could come up with; it was such a poor topic. She produced a ‘hmm’, then stationed her coffee on her bedside table, neither saying any more nor looking at him. “What about the news at the moment? Bird Flu?” he tried again and she shrugged

“Oh, we’ll fight it, but we’ll all ‘lie down and take it’ in the end.” She picked at one of her nails, leaving the boy intolerably distant from her again.

“Christ, Elaine!” he cried, but instead of confrontations he submitted to scooping up the coffee mugs and taking them to the kitchen. She could hear him pouring the liquid contents down the sink. Subsequently, silence enveloped the building. She sneaked to the kitchen, peering round to see his frame silhouetted against an incongruously exultant sunset. He was leaning over the sink, his head bowed - a move showing pure, hopeless emotion. The scene filled her with a sadness that hurt her throat, watered her eyes and, ultimately, made her arms want to reach and comfort him.

“I should go,” he uttered without turning round.

“Umm, Ok,” she replied softer than moisturised skin and let him pass through the kitchen door. She did not look at him, the floor becoming very interesting as she shuffled behind him to return the front door to its resting place once he passed through it. He opened the door silently. Taking one step through it, he seemed to remember something and twisted round.

“That night, I thought you agreed to it.” His parting sentence he barely muttered, yet once it had slipped to her ears, it reverberated around her head louder than a struck cymbal. As he closed the door carefully behind him, her knees buckled and she fell down, weaker than paper worn thin from rubbing out and redrawing repetitively. Tears pushed from her scrunched up eyes to make irregular, desperate patterns down her face and away from her.
That night transformed Elaine to more than just a girl.
That night, she became a rape victim.

quote:

The Selfish and The Desperate
She was sitting –fully clothed- on the bed, the sheets lying around her waist with the ends sweeping round to continually cross over each other and encase her torso slackly, like a cloth bandage. Her eyes were focused blearily on the lamp with its opaque stand made of silver, sparkly metal. At the foot of the dark, deep red duvet he sat, knowing she was deliberately finding fascinating features about this lamp so as not to look at him.

“I brought you flowers; big, romantic red and golden yellow roses. I thought you’d like them,” he told her. His smile heart-warming and free, his hair ruffled, his eyes kind, it all seemed to point to his amiable aura he had about him. She carried on sulking. He brought out a chocolate box from the bag he had placed at his feet, “And chocolate. I have fetched you chocolate. Would you like to try some?” he asked, opening the box eagerly as she turned to look at him. “Look, truffle and cappuccino and toffee and…” He trailed off, placing the silky cardboard selection sheet into her hands. She threw it sullenly onto the floor, turning away from him as she did so.

“Thanks” she replied monotonously, blatantly not meaning it. His eyes tried to hold hers for a second to show his hurt and sadness, but she refused to acknowledge him. Sighing and feeling dejected, he got up.

“I’ll go make us a coffee. White, two sugars, right?” he submitted as he stepped to go out of the room. The girl gave a tight nod to his simple question. He proceeded from the room. Stopped. Backtracked and put his head round the door again, “The cups are in the cupboard above the fridge, yeah?” She didn’t reply so he took his word to be truth and withdrew from the room slowly.

She picked the chocolate box up from where he’d laid it, fussily choosing a cappuccino flavoured chocolate which melted satisfactorily on her tongue. She unfurled herself from the duvet, her clothes catching to the sheets, and straightened the bedding roughly. Sitting back onto her pillow, she picked at a loose thread, trying to decide why life was so callous and fused with bittersweet irony.

When he came back in, carrying two mugs of steaming coffee, she looked at him and could not help smile at his schoolboy scruffy hair and his rolled up sleeves, like making a cup of coffee was a big effort. Wisps of affection came into her mind as she watched him put the cups down and smile at her, his eyes glinting with a fun magic that had drawn her to him in the first place. They both sat back, leaning against the wall and sipping their coffees. They were not talking, but it was a comfortable silence.

“I see you’re happier now then,” he mumbled to her after a few moments and she looked at his cute features,

“I’m sorry, was a bit shocked I guess. I’m over it now.” She smiled briskly at him before taking another tentative sip of her coffee. He slipped his hand hesitantly round hers, but as he did so, she moved her hand to hold her coffee cup “This coffee’s really hot!” she excused and smiled at him. He smiled back at her, trying to read the expression in her eyes. He could not. The spark in his own eyes flickered as he anxiously clawed through his thoughts as to what he could say to dispel the tension that was seeping over them once more.

“The weather’s been good for the last few days,” he tried, kicking himself for that being the best he could come up with; it was such a poor topic. She produced a ‘hmm’, then stationed her coffee on her bedside table, neither saying any more nor looking at him. “What about the news at the moment? Bird Flu?” he tried again and she shrugged

“Oh, we’ll fight it, but we’ll all ‘lie down and take it’ in the end.” She picked at one of her nails, leaving the boy intolerably distant from her again.

“Chirst, Elaine!” he cried, but instead of confrontations he submitted to scooping up the coffee mugs and taking them to the kitchen. She could hear him pouring the liquid contents down the sink. Subsequently, silence enveloped the building. She sneaked to the kitchen, peering round to see his frame silhouetted against an incongruously exultant sunset. He was leaning over the sink, his head bowed - a move showing pure, hopeless emotion. The scene filled her with a sadness that hurt her throat, watered her eyes and, ultimately, made her arms want to reach and comfort him.

“I should go,” he uttered without turning round.

“Umm, Ok,” she replied softer than moisturised skin and let him pass through the kitchen door. She did not look at him, the floor becoming very interesting as she shuffled behind him to return the front door to its resting place once he passed through it. He opened the door silently. Taking one step through it, he seemed to remember something and twisted round.

“That night, I thought you agreed to it.” His parting sentence he barely muttered, yet once it had slipped to her ears, it reverberated around her head louder than a struck cymbal. As he closed the door carefully behind him, her knees buckled and she fell down, weaker than paper worn thin from rubbing out and redrawing repetitively. Tears pushed from her scrunched up eyes to make irregular, desperate patterns down her face and away from her.
That night transformed Elaine to more than just a girl.
That night, she became a rpae victim.

quote:

We did it, humankind did it; genetically modified pets. Ones the same height as humans, standing on their back legs, walking like humans but with their animal physicality’s like big ears or tails.. Ones with the brain power to help and understand, speak our own language. Cats now know that us masters don’t like their presents of freshly killed mouse, Dogs now realize that just because our noses aren’t wet doesn’t mean we’re ill...we taught one of each species the way of the human, then genetically modified each next pet to know this as well. Our knowledge of gene-splitting, duplication, batch production and all those scientific necessities had come so far we could duplicate memories. And what did we do with these new intelligent pets? Create loyal slaves out of them of course.
Unemployment went thought the roof as humans were laid off for loyal animals that would do twice the work for cat treats and a nice bone, an imbalance of wealth more overbearing than the boom in 1920’s America hit the world as the rich became filthy rich and the poor died. Society fell down, the animals rose, rose and rose until the ratios was one working human for every 250 working pets, most of them rabbits. The world was going to the dogs.
Then came along Dowler, John Dowler. A man so rich he could rival the great millionaires of history, earning five times as much each second than Bill Gates had in his time. He gathered the high authorities of the world to a summit meeting, where they made rules that would be pushed upon each person in the world and their cute, adorable genetic pets to keep the human race alive. These rules consisted of a ratio of people to animals, causing millions of these animals to be slaughtered, a quota of how many animals could work in each building compared with how many humans worked there which meant an immediate, sudden drop in unemployment, and a contract to each pet holder that they all had to sign that they would look after their pets and never let them into the wild, they would have selective breeding of their pets and that if they disobeyed these two vital contract statements or any of the others, they would be killed by their own pet. Dowler also produced the “poise permitter” which was a crown of metal that was bonded ‘harmlessly’ to each pets head, it acted as a receiver to which the pet owners were able to limit the pet’s thoughts and ideas.
The ‘poise permitter’ soon had upgrades. In the next year most pets were turned from animals to computers with animal bodies. Animal thoughts were limited and some were even erased. Brains became hard drives, the pets became able to access the internet. Rich people brought more expensive models, because by that time, they were no longer pets but models…makes of computers and animal species became extinct. The domestic cat and dog species were the worst, only 20 of each living as pets and not computers…
We did it, Genetic ‘engineering’.

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walking like humans but with their animal physicality’s like big ears or tails

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He noticed that - a quick glance before turning back to the road - found it strangely erotic. Couldn't say why.

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Years have passed and even now, I am still able to recollect the most intricate details of that room.

I can still envision the paling marine paper that pealed from each wall; the antique grandfather clock with its moving, therapeutic pendulum and the eight central tables with hardy, bucket seats. I can still hear the way the rain would beat, unforgivably, against the six window-panes; orchestrating itself with the dragging sound of the chairs scraping against the wearing linoleum and making melodies with the waves of conversation that would flit from wall to wall. The image of the room, central in its purpose, is embedded within my mind, never fleeting.

It isn’t the sole existence of this room, however, that has stuck with me. Other rooms, of course, such as the various bedrooms, decorated in effervescent colourings and the dining room, dimly lit yet comfortable, also reside, competently, in the filed system of my memories.

The personality of the house --- let alone its impact --- would not be as profound, however, if it had been empty; it was the people residing there that made it so…poignant. Every part of the house groaned with conversation; every small crevice ached with problem; and every corner brought new promise. To some, the house was a god-send; to others, it was a prison.

Every person who lived there, who shared memories and thoughts and feelings --- or, for that matter, who chose not to --- was somehow battling a problem, or over-coming a fear. The problems and fears didn’t just scrape over the heads of the patients; every doctor, every nurse, every family-member and friend was infected, somehow, with a case that was the cause of concern.

And that included even me.

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He noticed that - a quick glance before turning back to the road - found it strangely erotic. Couldn't say why.

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Tapped, tapped with an unpainted nail -

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Every person who lived there, who shared memories and thoughts and feelings --- or, for that matter, who chose not to --- was somehow battling a problem, or over-coming a fear.

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Pieces of advice, decay
like leaves strewn from the oak tree at the bottom of my garden.
Raked into piles; sifted and sorted,
They are read, like pages from the Bible.
Hand-picked from a murky soul, they follow
their doubtless path,
From branchway to dew-ridden ground.
Uncurled and torn at the edges, one is picked up and
placed in the woolen cacoon of a left-breast pocket.
It is saved; saved until needed

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like leaves strewn from the oak tree at the bottom of my garden.

quote:

Raked into piles; sifted and sorted,
They are read, like pages from the Bible.

quote:

placed in the woolen cacoon of a left-breast pocket.
It is saved; saved until needed