The bed sit reality.

It took five years buried and hidden in her moulding bed sit. Now every sordid and resentful detail had been set in stone. After five years of meticulous, cryptic scheming it was time for Julia Bennet to give her husband his comeuppance.

Just 40 minutes down the road remained the oblivious Tony Bennet in their marital home. Blissfully unaware, he now had remarried to his own stepford wife. Naturally they produced two able, perfect and talented daughters. Amidst the piano lessons, ballet classes and the wife admired by all men they represented the 'perfect family'; and this sickened Julia Bennet to her core. Driven to insanity by deep rooted jealousy and a bitter love which still lingered for poor Tony Bennet, she got into her car and drove to their old home; aware that her replacement would be dropping the spawn to ballet class, and Tony would be waiting for the return of his wife. Little did he know who to expect, and what they had planned.

Silently pulling up to what was once her road she parked, out of sight and close to the house. Reaching in her bag Julia Bennet pulled out the front door key, knowing changing the locks would not occur to naïve Tony. Silently she slid out the car, dressed in Tony's Favourite little black dress and seductive black stilettos. Approaching the house the gate had been left in open, making her arrival far more convenient. 'It must be fate' laughed Julia through a sadistic smile. The key slid through the lock smoothly. Elongated fingers turned the key. Her sharp, red nail pushed opened the light weight door.

'You're back quick honey! did you take the quick route I told you about?' Questioned Tony. Julia remained silent assured he would distinguish her voice. Leaning on the immaculate counter she thought back to there time together. The morning kiss before he went to work complete with 'have a good day sweetie.' The time they spent together tending to the garden's needs, and the intimate time they spent together tending to each other. Julia woke from her daydream, filled with rage and indignation, further encouraging her to proceed. Her eery silence had polluted the room for long enough to raise suspicion in Tony. 'Lynne, you there sweetheart?' Evident concern warped his question.

Julia made her way to the hall, observing the remote which was still kept in the same place, her pictures on the walls longing to be straightened the way she would do it.
Finally Julia made it to the living room where he lulled in the settee. Their was an immense transition from calm to terror on his face. Struggling to form a sentence Julia began the screenplay, exactly how she created it in her twisted mind. 'Hey stranger.' Adrenaline encapsulated her tight body. Wringing her clammy hands she approached Tony in slow, inviting strides. 'It's time we had a catch up. I mean, it's been such a long time and we ended on such bad terms. Don't you agree?'
Tony rose to his feet backing up further and further away from his psychotic ex-wife. 'Julia you need to go. Lynne's going to be back soon and you're not welcome here. This isn't your home anymore.' Julia broke into a low, subtle laughter, outlined with animosity and increasing anger. Now inches away from each other with their breath merging she whispered 'This will always be my home Darling. You and your deluded family will never fuck me over again.'

Lifting up her dress to reveal lacy stockings she caressed her thigh and pulled out a sharpened kitchen knife. Plunging the knife into his chest and twisting it at a leisurely pace he collapsed, staining the beige carpets and cream settee. His agonising, final groan aroused her senses causing her body to ignite. Julia knelt down and pried the kitchen knife out of his bleeding chest. Placing a gentle kiss on his lips she left the house feeling satisfied with her work. With a final check in her wind mirror as she drove away, she saw his wife pull into the drive away. 'What a perfect ending for a perfect family.'

-

It was breaking into the early hours of the morning, and after a long reluctant drive to London Paddington Station I pulled up to the car park. Effortlessly and without care I slotted into a space, with my parking leaving a lot to answer to. Despite the judgemental stares from fellow drivers, the overwhelming reality of the events that were about to take place left me impervious to their sniggers. Through stifling tears, insatiable bouts of nausea surging through my stomach and the inability to speak the revolving doors of the station sucked me in, only to throw me out again in minutes feeling worthless. Among the thousands of people around me there were families welcoming back loved ones, business men commuting to feed the system and passengers becoming increasingly angry with tedious delays, however their presence went unnoticed.

Leaning smoothly on a black, heavyweight suitcase he stood. His face lit up, whilst my heart had taken its last beat; only to shatter and slice into the rest of what was now a worthless, empty body. The stifling tears erupted into a whirlwind seeping out of my eyes. 'It's not goodbye silly, just see you soon.' Feebly nodding I smiled half heartedly. The monotone voice of a woman echoed throughout the station, successfully confirming my worst night mare. 'The next train to arrive will be the 4.35 calling at Heathrow.' As the train pulled up he let go of my red, blotchy cheeks. The train doors opened. With a gentle kiss on my forehead and a look of hope in his large brown eyes he boarded the train.

The revolving doors pulled me back through to the other side, only to face a whole new challenge. After a deep inhalation with my eyes closed I thought to my self 'Here we go.'

Her satin frown

Never have I seen face
so sweet, calm yet full of sorrow

A frail girl who fears the present
regres the past and
dreads tomorrow.

She scatters the earth
with her silk night gown,
leaving traces behind
and embedding her frown

Not searching for money,
nor food, nor clothes
but love from another who know not how to loathe.

Day Rider

Strenuous day at work
Tedious day at college
Now for the highlight of my day

The sardine tin on wheels,
transporting me from A to B.

Complete with a resentful old man
glued to the wheel
trapped in his suffocating box,
preventing himself from intruding on society.

Taking the money.
Printing the tickets.
Taking more money.
Printing more tickets.

The script
tattooed on all the brains of our beloved bus drivers
comes into play the moment i approach the automatic doors.
Almost as hard and transparent as the prisoner controlling them.

Is that a single?
Is that a return?
Do you have the exact change?
Let's see your bus pass
Grunt.

If the bus driver has had more then one cup of coffee
he will occasionally bellow
'MOVE TO THE BACK OF THE BUS!'

Infront of me, a hooded enigma
fails to demonstrate basic manners towards a senior citizen.
As senior as they come.

Impaired hearing allows the old people
to think they are muttering silently.

''would never see that in my day!"
"oh i know love, I know. It's beyond me."
And so the generation gap continues to grow.

The stop button brings an end to my journey
leaving me to wonder, what tomorrows sardine tin trip
based on strangers and glances,
is going to bring.

And whether I preserve the innocence to get away with a child's fare.

Playing with fire

This suburban, civil war had gone on long enough. Both enemies knew it was time to unite together or fight against one another. Given the options, the mature, civilised route was a joke to these monsters. They were to fight. The intention to tear each other apart, from tender limb to tender limb, was obvious to both sides; but the young ones were fine with this unspoken agreement. It was the older generation who were suffering with the demolishing tensions arising in their home town. Despite the fact it was just a memory, which felt more distant as time would drag on, there once was a time when the foundations of Lockton relied firmly on synchrony. However now they were tormented with the behaviour of savages, fuelled only by the desire to destruct and claim their territory. This small town was all they had left so a few deaths and multiple injuries where here nor their in comparison to the feeling of brutal satisfaction. Pride was the ultimate accolade, in return for a mans morality.

The year was 1996. It was the grim month of February. The blood baths were over flowing in Lockton City. Business and trade was ill, causing the destruction of jobs, dignity and the town of a community spirit, which was once so strong. The dark sky reluctantly hung over tall grey buildings. All colour had been stripped from this town consequently corrupting Lockton City. This incessant disease spread rapidly sucking the life out of Lockton, puckering up it's lips for the kiss of death. And the culprits with the blood stains printed on their hands were two groups. Both lived in the same town; it wasn't distance which separated them. Both spoke the same language nor was it dialect pulling apart the relations of Lockton. The collapse of their business; the destruction of their families; mens pride being battered. It was this that caused Lockton to plummet. The paramount factor, the influential factor that warped the lives of so many people; bending and twisting it as does a contortionist into disfigured shapes, was the intention to salvage what was left of their home town.

Dan Basset, the front man of his gang who he called 'his bassets.' He had grown up in Lockton and witnessed first hand the deterioration of what he believed as his town. His passion, however full with good intent, was expressed through violence. Basset and his boys didn't believe in control or restraint. Instead they were encouraged only to fight, like the animals their surroundings had turned them into. To the dismay of the majority of locals living in Lockton, these boys would wonder the dark streets, only deepening the resentment towards what was once home. Constantly they would be patrolling the streets, reiterating what was their turf.

Watching the bassets patrol the streets, marking their territory, were the Parsons who were less about causing intimidation. They planned their attack indoors and let the fear of the unexpected scare their opponents, successfully. Tom Parsons, a deeply troubled lad, moved to the area only five years ago. To the dismay of Dan Basset, Parson's had an instant impact on Lockton attracting attention from all directions. He was charismatic. He exuded charm, to the same extent Dan Basset exuded angst. He was Passive but made it obvious to his peers that they should avoid his bad side. Tom had the one attribute that Dan Basset would never have and wanted so much. The ability and intelligence to cut him deep with words. Tom and his boys could remain calm when a storm was brewing. This angered the Basset's as they could not see past their fists and blood stained weapons. However, both sides knew that words were now empty threats. The infinite day was decided. February the 25th. It would take place in the bare, desolated allotments where this intimate affair could not be disturbed. The strategy; absolute carnage.

Silence was taking it last few breaths before the fight was to commence. The calm before the storm, preparing itself for what was going to happen. The chosen allotments, were once sacred grounds to the locals representing growth, new beginnings and a fresh start. Factors that Lockton had been lacking for too long. Now the allotments were to become home to dead bodies; hate; years of resentment and most importantly, these historic grounds would provide victory for one desperate group of pathetic men. The enemies, once friends, both approached the allotment. Some were clenching their fists no longer able to prevent what was an inevitable ending. Others were crying. It was the thought of kissing their wives and children for the last time. Grown beasts, with the only intention to kill, were asking themselves 'did I tell my mum I loved her enough?'. The majority could think of nothing but the pungent smell of blood and the breath taking taste of winning. Basset nodded at Parson. He returned a sincere nod. And with that they made history.

It's now 2006. That sacrificial events of that day left so many dead, not only those involved. Lockton will never be what it once was. Theres too many stains that can never be removed. But we're getting there.

The Painful Truth

Those who know me well. I mean really well. Those few people who have the ability to see into your soul; they have always told me I 'look through the world with rose tinted spectacles.' I never understood what this meant, until recently, but they were right. My mum sat me down before I flew the nest and said 'Freya, you have to stop looking at the world through rose tinted spectacle,' that phrase was really beginning to grate after 18 years, 'or else your going to get hurt.' I looked at her and laughed pushing pause on the broken record that had been on repeat for the majority of my life. My rose tinted glasses were still intact but I was happy with that. I lived in my bubble. I liked my bubble. However my mum was right; It hurts so much now my bubble has been burst with reality and tainted with the bitter unpredictable pin of life.

I never saw see why being naïve and looking at the world in a false light is so bad. In my opinion everything is easier when you pretend its going to be okay. Even if you know your kidding yourself, ignorance is bliss right? From a young age those rose tinted glasses made those around me feel obliged to look after me, like I was an innocent, delicate flower which required protection. To be honest, I knew they went out their way to protect me, and I didn't stop them. If anything it just laid down the bedding in my imaginary bubble making it more comfortable. Their incessant pestering was the cloth that wiped my rose tinted spectacles clean when they were dirty. These invisible glasses kept me satisfied for long enough. Up until 3 days ago they were letting me believe everything was going perfectly, but its not the present which scares me. Im living it. Im here now and I like to believe that I can control whats happening around me. It's the future which unsettles me. A big ,dark circle of the unknown in which you lose all control, or even knowledge of whats going to happen. This looming cloud over my head, what we like to call he future, is the beast that trod on my rose tinted spectacles and gave me clear vision. I use the word clear loosely as what was unveiled to me felt like a grey, bleak smog.

My perfect bubble consisted of great friends at university, amazing friends and family supporting me.Yet, regrettably the most solid foundation of all was a boy. But he wasn't just a boy. He knew every inch of me. He could read me like a book. Pardon me for sounding corny but he was everything. The moment he turned around and casually broke my heart with the words 'im going away for two years.' was that precise moment I removed my rose tinted spectacles that had masked my perspective on life. In turn, making what was once beautiful, an ugly truth. It was this moment I envisioned my mum's face, like those floating heads you see in movies, and she recited the words 'Freya, you have to stop looking at the world through rose tinted spectacles or else your going to get hurt.' It wasn't so much the fact he was leaving. It's the life changing realisation that, without those rose tinted spectacles, my mum was right. As always.

The truth is life, as much as I wanted to believe, life is not something we can plan or adjust to suit us. Its not a puppet show and I don't have the strings. It took me eighteen long years to realise these. The past eighteen years allowed me to look at everything how I wanted to and I gave my opinion ignoring those around me. Taking their loving and caring advice and corrupting their good intentions because it's not what I wanted to hear. It was a selfish way to live. I should hate him for what he did, and I did for a while, but underneath my resentment I became grateful. It was a painful lesson and it took too long for me to learn how things are but if I could I would thank him. I would thank him for giving me the pain, heartache and life lesson which is what I needed.

Word count: 729

Me and my journal

You know those moments when you can't string together a sentence.
The flowing tears hold your lips together
and the lump in your throat sews the thread to prevent you from retching up your broken heart.
I cannot articulate how you made me feel
nor can I forget.
Yet when I stroke my pen on the listening pages
paper thin layered with empathy
temporarily replacing the hole you penetrated in my chest
until the next time we meet
This is poetry.