The Beginning – Part 2

I’ve had a lot to deal with today so I haven’t actually been able to write anything new for you all. However I have decided to post another 500 words of the first chapter of my novel, obviously I won’t keep doing this because if I ever finished it and wanted to try and get it published, it would already be on the internet for free and no publisher would print it; there’s no profit in free material. You can find the first part here, I would copy it in but then the post would be quite large so if you’re interested all you have to do is click the link. However this does sort of work as a stand-alone piece as well so feel free to read it that way if you want. Let me know what you think.

Huddled in the corner of the room, two young children and their mother wept. They must have heard the gunshot; they must have known their protector, their father, was dead. It was too much. A tear squeezed its way through the corner of my eye and onto my cheek. Through my blurred vision I could not see in much detail, but I could tell that the family were shocked.  I wasn’t surprised, they probably had expected the ‘no mercy’ method of policing that the new government had encouraged in its officers, not some pathetic, crying assailant.

I sat on the cold stone steps that led down to the basement, they hadn’t told me about the two children. Regardless, they would expect me to kill them, like father like son they would say. In a government hell bent on eradicating the Muslim faith, among many others, there is no room for kindness. Tightening my grip on the gun, I turned to Abdul’s family and took aim.

The mother looked desperate, still holding onto her children, she looked accusingly at me, as if this was my fault.

“Kill me,” she begged “but not the children.” I stared at her, like with Abdul, if I let them go I would be found out. They would come for me and I would be killed, but as I stood above the whimpering family, I realised something. My life wasn’t more valuable than theirs. I have lived twenty seven years on this Earth while these children have combined lifespan of less than a third of mine. I lowered my gun.

“Go” I whispered, “quickly.” The mother stared in disbelief.

“Go!” I said a little more forcefully. “Cover yourselves up; don’t let anybody see your faces, leave the country as fast as you can.”

They needed no more encouragement from me, the mother ushered the children upstairs. Before she got there I caught her by the arm.

“Don’t let them in the kitchen” I said quietly enough so that only she could hear it. She nodded. Nothing more needed to be said, so I released her arm and let her prepare her remaining family. Slouching against the basement wall I waited for them to leave, the room was bare; only the dripping of a leaking water pipe could be heard above the quiet rustlings of the family upstairs. The cracks in the wall fascinated me; with nothing else to do I counted them. Ten minutes passed by and I finally heard the door close above me. There was no going back now.

Steadying myself, I made my way up the stairs. In the kitchen I tied Abdul’s body to a chair and began the process of torturing his corpse. It is impossible to bruise a dead body so I broke bones, pulled out hair, cut off fingers, and sliced his face open; if anyone asked about the absence of bruising I would say that I killed him too quickly for them to form because I was angry that he didn’t renounce his faith. This would be frowned upon, but not severely punished. Finally, I placed the chair over the spreading pool of blood, smeared his clothes and face with the sticky red liquid, and washed my hands. Only then did I call for a removal team to clean up after me, to hide the evidence of my first murder.



Rain slammed against the roof of my car. Glancing out of the rear window I saw a young girl sprint towards a taxi. She was struggling due to a pair of hefty six inch heels. Unfortunately, the taxi had been booked and an old, decrepit woman stepped out of her house and took the girl’s ride home.

Looking utterly destitute, she stumbled past my car and into the alleyway across the road. I looked at my watch, Dave is supposed to be here by now I thought, where is he?

Suddenly a scream tore across the street. The girl had been pinned against the wall by a hooded man, he had already ripped her dress and was beginning to take off his jeans.

“Help me,” the girl cried, “please!”

At first I froze, not knowing what to do I just stared; first in shock, then horror, and finally anger. I remembered the cricket bat on the back seat that John had forgotten when I picked him up from practice. Grabbing it I jumped out of the car and quickly ran towards the alleyway.

“Get the fuck off” I said as the bat came down on his face. Reeling backwards, he spat out a tooth. Again I started forward, raising the bat as if to strike his chest. He ran.

With the attacker gone I turned my attention to the girl who was slumped against the wall, she was almost completely naked. I gave her my shirt and jacket before checking she was alright.

“I’m OK” she said quietly, “thank you.”

Both of us sodden, I led her back to my car, back to safety.

The Police Officer

Last night, on patrol, I witnessed the most horrific crime I have ever seen. We were called to a pub on Oxford Road called The Oxford; we were told a fight had broken out. My partner, a man I had only known for a few days accepted the call. He said a simple bar fight would be a good training experience; I had only joined the force a few days before.

When we got there people were streaming through the door, as if terrified. Peter, my partner, called for backup, he said people don’t run like that from a simple bar fight. Hurrying into the pub we were immediately hit by a spray of blood. I froze.

On the floor was a dead man, his face had caved in; he must have been hit pretty hard. The assailant was still going. He had smashed a bottle and was stabbing the man in the chest repeatedly. My partner acted first, he tackled the madman to the ground and knocked the bottle out of his hand. I just stood there, I couldn’t move, I just stared at them struggling.

That’s when the backup arrived; they pulled my partner and the criminal apart and within a few minutes the pub was locked down and forensics were on their way. My partner drove me home, he said I needed a rest. I don’t want to go back there, I’m going to quit. There’s too much evil in this world.

The Slave

As I pulled my my master’s cart across his plantation back to his mansion, I pondered upon his morality. He tutored me in the ways of the English. That is, he showed me how to read and write; to speak his language; to act upon events accordingly; and to know my place in the world.

If there’s one thing I have learned from him, it is that even though I am his closest servant, possibly even friend, I am worthless to him. He would throw me away in a heartbeat; I am an animal, nothing more than a pet.

Despite this wondrous education, and possibly because of it, I despise him. How can a man of his high calibre, of his apparent moral standing, refuse to acknowledge the rights of another? Most chiefly, the right of freedom. My right to freedom!

My father, in his mother tongue, told me of our native lands. Vast, open plains filled with herds of elephants, and prides of lions! Such exaggeration from a man I have never heard, but the English have a saying, ‘there’s no smoke without fire’.

I will earn my freedom honourably, by working and pleasing my master; he may set me free if I do well enough. I won’t be drawn into violence, like so many before me, i am above that now. Maybe then I can go back to my homelands, to my Africa, to my world.

The Camper Van Man

I was playing in a field near Blackpool,
Nowhere near school,
There was a rusty old camper van,
And In it there was a man.

Sprawled on his shelf,
There’s a picture of himself,
With some children,
I think they must be his then?

He made me sit on his thigh,
I-I just said “hi”,
He said he needed a friend,
He asked for a photo to lend.

I’ve been here for days now,
He’s kept me in his van,
The man,
I don’t know how.

I was on the news last night,
It gave me quite a fright,
I’m dead…

I’m in Hell then.

What did I do wrong?
Is Mummy upset with me?
I’ll be good Mummy,
I won’t cry anymore,
I won’t try to get out the door.

Maybe If I’m good I can see you,
We can go to the park,
With Daddy too,
I’ll be like brand new.

I miss you Mummy…

Monkey Business

Trapped in a cage beneath onion-like layers of concrete, a chimpanzee starts to whine. It’s handler stamps out the already fading memories with a sharp rattle of the cage door.

“Be quiet!” he hissed “I’m not putting up with you all night again, you’re not going back so just deal with it.”

The creature crawled into the corner of it’s new world, cold and alone it drifted in and out of an uncomfortable sleep.

In the morning it would be forced to ingest a new drug used to treat mild cases of acne; it will react badly to the medicine. Around midday it will develop a rash on it’s feet. By seven o’clock it will be dead, on it’s way to the incinerator; it’s replacement is already on the way.

The Knife

The pavement passed beneath me,

The cracks avoid my feet,

Two people meet along the path,

And blistering cold, all three.


One pulled The Knife upward, shout!

I stopped so deathly still,

The cracks began to shine The Red,

His shivering stopped, no doubt.


The knife, deadly, frightened all,

A Devil’s silver tongue,

Short, and sharp, and glist’ning bright,

A crumbling man, once tall.