Human Volcano

She's going to erupt.Any moment now she's going to erupt like a vicious volcano. She's done well though, half an hour and not a single tear; not a single sound; not a single move.Nothing.It's getting to her now,though; you can see it in her face; it's screwing up; it's going red; her eyes are watering.
There she goes: screaming like those little muddy things in Harry Potter 2; beating herself like a mad woman; tearing at her hair-I knew it was going to be like this.
There's no point in trying to calm her down, it's not going to work. She's on fire. How would you feel if you just saw the tiny coffin carrying your baby,your baby that you carried for nine months and had bonded with, be buried before you very eyes? Buried and gone forever. Extinct. You wouldn't be any different to this woman and you wouldn't want all this old hags trying to shut you up , acting as if they now what you must be going through. They should just leave her; she'll calm down when she wants to.



That took long enough; she's calmed down a little. She's still whimpering and whining and weeping but you can expect her to be completely silent and smiling after that spectacle. Poor cow, she'll get over it.

Destiny? (Leyton Orient Day)

Destiny?

Candifloss and marshmallows
Don't go so well,
With raisons and pistashios.
Perhaps they arn't meant to be?

Orange juice and cranberry
Don't go so well,
with our tea and coffee.
Perhaps there's a reason indeed?

Love and friendship
Don't go so well,
With enemies and hatred.
Perhaps they don't go so well
Because maybe there is such a thing
as fate or destiny?

Expectations... (Leyton Orient day)

Expectations

Somewhere on the outskirts of London;
A middle aged single mother appears to be shouting
at her son
Noise continuously erupting from around the small
bungalow.
But none of it matters, not really, why should it?

Somewhere on the outskirts of London;
A mother expresses her anger to her son.
Words full of meaning rapidly rush
from her fast paced, vicious mouth.

"I have been blessed by God with 4 sons
However, you, my eldest one,
The single most relied one,
Are definitely; the most dissapointing one!"

Appearances can certainly be deceaving,
Not many can tell how another's feeling.
Him, he appears to be without a worry
In the world, in his (own) world,
Never seems to be in any sort of a hurry
And appears to ignore everything he's told.

"If, mother, you hadn't expected so much of me
Perhaps everything I do, or done, won't end so
very dissapointingly."

He spots a glimmering speck of a tear,
somwhere in a corner of her eye.
Thinks of the day and life, gone by.
Yet he knows it's never worth it, to cry.
So then he leaves. Just a pathetic coward,
With nothing left to say,
except, "Good Bye".

waves of steam arose

Waves of steam arose from the Spaghetti entangled and dripping in the rich bolognaise sauce. Mum shakily poured out dad another glass of wine. Four placemats were set out yet only 3 were at the table.

"Mikey! Come down please. Dinners here." Called mum. As expected, Mikey would shuffle down the stairs and mope about til he found his seat. Our usual routine consisted of Mum calling Mikey who would eventually come and then we could all enjoy dinner together as a family. Mum shakily poured out dad another glass of wine. Everyone was in a content silence as we all savoured the taste until dad broke it.

"And how was everyone's day?"

We all looked up and chipped in with the mumble of "good" or "fine", carefully picking words which couldn't offend him.

"Good. Why can't it be great? It's always good. It's always fine. God gave us words. Use them." He said looking at us all. We instantly looked down at our food. Someone would have to go first.

"Dad, my day was good because although I was tripped up on the way to school, Mary gave me a half of her twirl bar." I said. "Thanks for asking though." I added. "How was yours?"

"Oh mine?" Shit, I could feel everything was abut to go wrong. It was like a premonition or a gut instinct. Dad was going to end up shouting. Seeing his glass empty, mum shakily poured out another glass of wine.

"Give me the damn bottle." He shouted as he snatched it off her, "You pour as if I'm a child. Right, You want to know about my day. Ok, well, I woke up asking God why he blessed me with such a lousy, stingey-wine-pouring wife. Then I asked him why he gave me two ungrateful little gits for children. Then I asked him why everyone was so dumb as to not give me a job. Then I asked him why did he give jobs to the gits who wouldn't give me a job. Then I asked him why he would want to bestow me with bills that I cannot pay. Then I asked him why did..." he paused and took a glug from the bottle. "Why did he give me two kids who contribute to the expense of the bills. Then I asked him why did I have to be the unlucky sod whos contraception failed him twice, TWICE! Then I asked him to kill me before dinner time where I would have to sit and talk to you!" I winced as he emphasized his harsh, mean words.

And then it came. My word vomit. I couldn't help it. I had been wretching for months to say it and now it was going to come thick and fast.

"DAD... You ungrateful git! If mum wasn't so bloody scared of you, we would have been gone by now. You are rusting our family away and you don't even realize it because you are to drunk to remember! Mum should be praying and asking why she was blind to fall in love with such a completely drunk, lazy man like you. We shouldn't even consider you as a father. You can't get a job because you don't turn up to most of the interviews and if you do, you're too drunk to even have anyone take you seriously. Your contraception propbably failed you because you were probably too drunk to even remember it! And now I am wishing we could all die because I can't bear the thought of spending another meal time with you!"

"I thought you wanted children, Richy???" Mum whispered, tears brewing in her eyes.

Completely ignoring her, dad stabbed me with his eyes. "You wish you were dead do you? Congratulations darling, you're going to be!"

He launched at me. Crazy, he was. Mental. He threw his hands around my neck and hung on for dear life. "Devil's child" He screamed as he attacked me. I couldn't see anything. I could only hear mum screaming and crying, petrified. He was doing a good job for once as he put his all into seeing the death of me.

Smash! Mum gasped. Green shards of glass spattered everywhere. Dad suddenly became paralysed and lossened his grip as he fell to the floor. Mikey shuffled back to his seat and stared at his dinner.

Everyone imediately fell silent. Mikey turned to mum, "Thanks" he mumbled as he passed his plate to her before shuffling back upstairs.

Denied

A man of freedom, peace and equality, he was. Bricked off from the vultures of society for far too long, temptation overrode his irreproachable subliminal being, a fateful decision. Leaving his armoured bunker he perambulated into a cosmos of epic, flawless almost sycophant society.

A life spent obeying orders had left him wanting, needing, begging almost for a premier appearance. He wasn’t scared of anything by now; he didn’t know anything to be afraid of since he hadn’t seen the light of day on his own before, his people were far too protective for that, they had good reason to be too.

As time passed his confidence grew to an extent that, for once in his life, he felt accepted. He could walk down the street without anyone noticing his presence; the contrary of what he had been lectured. Understandably his blood started to boil over, his pace increased, the steps grew louder. The grin tried to enter but was denied such a privilege, a decision that would come back to haunt him.

With heinous proportions, a heartbeat, a click followed by a crisis meeting from lead to skin, to flesh, to bone. As the crimson explosion made its debut, it was greeted by a protest full of irony and false intentions, anarchy reigned, the once tranquil cosmos has been set ablaze by the fiery depths of hell. What was once a cranium had been turned into a pink mess strewn across the flawless tarmac.

His soul was long gone by now, watching down on his assassin quietly fleeing down a dimly lit alleyway, a grin suitably fitted was stretched across his face. Innocence wasn’t what the grin was looking for anyway. Today it wanted a more destructive result and that’s exactly what it got. Temporally nonplussed, the grin sank back into the skull.

Jazz and Liquor.

Mary-Jane. Mary-Jane; the Queen of Fame. We watch her as she sits in her dressing room. Scarlett Lips, Matte, Porcelain skin and Slate painted eyes. She's headlining tonight- the star of the show. She's nervous, we can see it in her eyes but she knows how to calm herself down, she knows the perfect way: Charlie. She looks beautiful as she lines him up on the cold dressing table. She looks angelic as she snorts him up and we see her pretty eyes roll to the back of her head. She is calm and ready. Ready for the show.

Her heart is pounding like a fist make of lead inside her, she feels as if its going to pound right through her breaking her delicate rib bones. She's nervous.No. Exited. She can hear the crowd, she waits for her cue; she's the main attraction. All those people, waiting to see her. She'll be amazing though, she knows it, especially with Charlie for support.She's having doubts...No. Nerves, just the nerves...

"Please put your hands together for Mary-Jane!..."

"Shit" we hear her stutter, she has no time to check her costume or make-up. Before she knows it, she's up...

The audience roar with cheers and applause! They jump out of their seats pronto and whistle for Mary-Jane. The band begins to play, the audience are seated, the lights dim. The cymbals crash like the harsh sea against tough rocks, the piano kicks in with arpeggios and scales and chords! There she goes, doing what she does best. We watch as she parades around the stage, feathers waltzing and the tassels on her dress shaking. Her hair looks beautiful in the spotlight, like a river of liquidized honeycomb and gold. Her voice box blares out the sweetest sound as she twirls about, the spotlight is so bright, it blinds her; but she loves it. Dashing Gentlemen in the audience whistle suggestively at her. The music is so loud its deafening, everything is caught in the moment, her voice, her dance, the band, the applause; its all just so alive.

Halt. She is still, the band is silent the light is shining. Is this part of the act? We don't know. She stares out into the audience, the light is so dim, all she can see is the glistening of their eyes like stars twinkling and shining on her. The audience: silent, of course, they are memorized by her eyes, once so full of life, now, they are dead fossils set in her skull. We wait...whats the surprise? No-one knows. What is she planning? She's a angel set in stone, no movement or sound.

The cymbals suddenly crashes and she falls on her knees, decorating the floor like a colourful woven carpet: all sparkle and colour. The audience gasps, is it part of the show? The lights dim, the atmosphere grows thicker, this is the result of Jazz and Liquor.

Murder

He did it! At last she was gone, and it wasn't even quick and painless, that was too good for her. I made sure Jeff took carefull attention ensuring she suffered for as long as necessary. But now, alone in this cell, all he keeps doing is blaming me. Talking at first but now he's in full flow shouting so much countless drops of spit have thoroughly conditioned my hair. He doesnt realise im there of course, he never does, even now shes out of the way my existence is only acknowledged when he needs to comfort or reassure himself. I didn't individually tear out the strands of her hair, I didn't dislocate her jaw (unfortunatley), I didnt even pull the trigger yet, according to him, its all my fault.

* * * *
She sat there bound to the chair, not just by the tatty ropes tied around her wrists and ankles but by the simultaneous hatred emmited from the both of us. I watched as he began to reconstruct her face ignoring her desperate cries. Starting with her hair Jeff slowly worked his way down this blank canvas recreating a piece of art, designed by me. But by the time he reaches her mouth, guilt and rationality begin to settle in. "NO!!" he screamed, "what am i doing. shes my wife?". Dissapointed he couldnt finish the job alone, I steped in to help, reassuring him she deserved it. Minutes later he was finished and as we stood back to admire our finished product, pride and relief fluttered within my body. This was it now, although still breathing she could no longer do us any harm as her resemblence to freddy kruger even suprised me, not to metion the officer that found her. I can clearly remember what he had eaten for the past week as the contents still lingers on jeffs shoes: porridge followed by garlic chicken kievs topped with hageen dazz.Vanilla flavour...


* * * *
So you see I didnt actually do anything to hurt her. Not phyisicaly anway. I mean I couldnt even if I had wanted to. Jeffs asleep now finally. I am standing over him watching his chest rise then collapse in such perfect rhythm. He says hes goin to blame me, say it was all my fault...bit hard when i am fate,controller of Jeff's destiny.

P.S sorry its 34mins late :)