Blog Archives

Life Happens

Hey guys! This particular piece is a short story I am working on for one of my university classes. It has been previously workshopped by both my tutor and fellow students alike and I would very much like to know your opinions. If you believe there are any editorial issues, grammatical errors or general sentence concerns, et al, please notify me and I will gladly take them all into consideration before I am to submit the finalised piece in three weeks time. Thank you!

People say that a person can eventually move on after losing someone they love. It has been ten years since I lost Katarina and I never have. Today is the anniversary of her death and I cannot help but reminisce on what could have been, for the day I lost my girlfriend, is the day that I too died, for I’d hardly say I’m alive when I feel so dead inside.

The rain was the heaviest I had ever seen. The headlights on our vehicle barely managed to reveal anything that night, the entire highway more like an endless tunnel than a road. The heating in the car could barely keep out the cold; our breath was coming out before us in clouds as the two of us shivered. Even my favourite dark brown leather jacket was unable to contain my warmth.
‘I can’t believe we chose this night to celebrate my birthday,’ sighed Katarina in her natural, high pitched accent. Because English was not her first language, she often spoke slowly to avoid mixing up her words. She wore the jet black jacket I had bought her two Christmases earlier. The collar was beginning to fray as she must have worn this a hundred times or more. Can’t believe she couldn’t wear something else on her special day. Her dark brown hair hung down to her shoulders, her naturally pink lips stood out on her ghostly white complexion, her brown eyes watching the rain droplets move across the windscreen.
God, I realise I must sound like a love struck teenager on her first date, but you must understand something. For us, every date was like our first because we would always discover something new, and every time we made love it was as though we had never explored our bodies before. Every second of our time together was divine, well, most of it.
‘It’s just a little rain, it’ll dry,’ I reassured her, pulling one hand away from the steering wheel and rubbing her freezing cold hands. I saw my reflection out from the corner of my eye in the rear-view mirror. My dark hair was tied back in a green hair tie, which, according to Katarina, perfectly matched my eyes. My lips were stained with dull red lipstick, whilst blue mascara lined my eyes. ‘You’d better button up Kat,’ I noted
She smiled back at me. ‘I’ll be fine. The cold has little effect on me.’
‘I hope you don’t expect me to care for you when you’re all sick and disgusting,’ I retorted.
‘Shut up,’ snorted Katrina. ‘I cared for you when you had pneumonia; took time off work and everything so I’d expect you to do the same for me.’ She folded her arms across her chest and looked out the window once more. ‘I only hope we get there before this storm gets any worse.’ Her eyes no longer sparkled like they so often did.
I could feel Katarina’s emotion as though it were my own. ‘We’ll get there eventually,’ I promised.
‘If anyone else said this I would be unsure,’ stated Katarina, turning to face me. ‘But because it’s you Aryah, I’d believe anything,’ she giggled. We stared into each other’s eyes, neither of us noticing the van veering onto the wrong side of the road until its blinding headlights collided with our own.

It is said that a person always remembers their first kiss, or, more accurately, the person who first kisses them. Funnily enough, I don’t, I only remember Katarina. Our first chance encounter was anything but normal: she stole my car.
At the time she had been working as a journalist and I as a public relations manager. I was hired to facilitate an agreement with two rival companies who wanted to merge into one. Apparently the idea of acquiring more money was enough for them to set their differences aside to work co-operatively towards mutual goals. Katarina had been asked by her boss to write an investigative article on the merger, but had unfortunately been denied access. For the best I would presume. I left the merger almost immediately after it began. I know, I know, how unprofessional of me! But I personally felt as though my talents had been squandered. I guess I was simply unable to listen to a gaggle of grown men strutting around talking shop. On the drive back to my hotel I received a phone call and only took my eyes off the road for a second when I hit something. I slowed down to retrieve my phone so I was glad that when the collision occurred, Katarina, the victim of my bad driving was not terribly injured. Apparently Katarina had never received her driver’s licence despite taking the test a few times and was forced instead to use alternate means of travel – in this case a bike – which unfortunately bore the brunt of my vehicle’s bonnet. I did try to apologise, I swear! However Katarina was in a state of shock and would not hear any of it. This led to frustration and eventually anger, which led to her kicking me in the shin. She just so happened to be wearing metal toe capped boots, so you can imagine the pain I was in; it was probably more than what I had inflicted upon her. After I fell to the ground she looked me up and down, jumped into my car and drove off. She did leave me the twisted carcass that was once her bike, which was awfully kind of her.
Luckily for me, her inability to drive led to her arrest. According to the patrol officer, he found it a touch odd when he recovered my purse and driver’s licence on her person, stating how I had apparently changed in ‘height, weight and appearance.’ Katarina had replied with ‘shit happens,’ and shrugged at his remark. She always was bold and her mouth almost always got her into trouble. I think it was this trait of hers that I first fell in love with. The officer, as strange as it might seem, decided to drop all charges, believing that we had paid each other back in full.
However, this chance meeting progressed into a friendship, which in turn became something else. This might have been because we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves – probably because we were always fighting, and when we weren’t, well, we’ll get to that.

Katarina’s apartment at the time was in no way the definition of cleanliness; the floor was her wardrobe and the bed was her bathroom cupboard. We had decided to test our wits at a game of poker on this particular stormy night, and neither of us wanted to brave the weather to get a good night’s supper. However, the game seemed to be one sided. I was left in the bedroom to set out the cards across the bed, whilst Katarina was inside the bathroom, the door just open a crack, enough for me to see her shadow skirting the walls as she busily went about her post-shower business.
‘How long does it take to get ready?’ I shouted.
‘Patience Aryah!’ shot back Katarina in return. ‘You shouldn’t be so eager to charge headstrong into the fight. I always win you know.’
‘Do you now?’ I asked with a sly grin.
‘I am known for being quite vicious,’ she replied. ‘I take what I want and I always play for keeps.’
‘You sound as though you do this often,’ I commented.
‘Only when there is something worth fighting for,’ replied Katarina.
‘Is that why you are getting all pampered up in there?’ I asked. ‘Are you gearing up for battle, or do you have a hot date planned after this?’
‘Don’t know’ said Katarina in reply, ‘depends if she’s interested.’
Little did Katarina know I had already left the bed, quietly navigated the room and opened the bathroom door to find her standing before the mirror in her fluffy white towel, drenched with the water continuing to drip from her body. ‘Oh, she’s interested’ I replied as I wrapped my arms around her and planted my lips to hers as she did the same to mine.
A second later I had slipped the bath towel away from her body and let it fall to the tiles. Words could not begin to describe the flawless sight that befell my eyes and it would be an insult to even try.
It was not long after I had pushed Katarina up against the bathroom wall that she had pushed me back as well, forcing me once more into the bedroom where we found ourselves a couple of feet short of the bed, her clothes cushioning the fall as we fell on top of one another onto the floor, giggling as we did so.
Katarina pinned me to the ground before tearing ravenously at my clothes, a number of buttons coming loose in the process as my shirt was thrown to the side. With that, she came down upon me like a tidal wave, ever so slowly nibbling her way down my front, not daring to stop until she reached my clitoris. From where she lay her head, Katarina smiled up at me, before taking me into her mouth, a spasm of ecstasy rushing through my veins. Mind, heart, body; I was entirely hers and she mine, and nothing but the steel of an out of control vehicle would ever separate us from one another.

Pain was the first thing I felt upon waking in the hospital ICU, the flashbacks which had comforted me disappearing into the room. My arm was broken, my face badly bruised and my lips swollen from the airbag (deploying in front of me), a deep gash cut into the left side of my face from where my head connected with the side window. Only three of my ribs were fractured and yet all of them ached unanimously. The ramblings of the doctor meant nothing to me, for all I cared about, all I would ever care about, was lying a few rooms down from me.
I was allowed the privilege of seeing Katarina almost immediately. The walk to her room felt like an eternity and although Katarina looked nothing like I remembered, my feelings for her were unchanged.
She was lying back in bed, a great portion of her body having received terrible injuries during the crash. Her right leg was elevated and in a sling, being fractured in several places. Five of her ribs were broken, her left arm being wrenched from its socket whilst her right wrist, along with several fingers, were broken. Her face had been battered, a significant portion of her cheeks and nose being caved in from the smash. This of course was just the physical damage, the doctors warning me of the severe internal injuries.
At present it seemed that Katarina was in no position for any further surgery and the medicos were planning to wait for a good eighteen hours before they attempted any further procedures. Despite all this, Katarina was conscious, fighting the twilight that was creeping up around her.
‘Hey,’ she managed upon my entry as I grimaced when sitting down beside her. ‘I’m glad to see you were not badly injured.’
‘Tell that to the rest of me,’ I replied, attempting to keep up appearances as I ran my free hand through her hair. ‘The doctors say you are going to make a full recovery,’ I said as Katarina smiled weakly at me.
‘I’m a journalist, remember,’ she stated, her lips barely moving. ‘My job is to search for the truth; don’t start lying to me now.’
‘I’ll try to keep that in mind,’ I noted, maintaining eye contact as I did so, a tear running down my cheek.
‘Please,’ said Katarina. ‘I don’t want you to remember this as anything but a happy moment.’
‘How can that be when the woman that I love lies before me in critical condition?’ I asked. ‘Besides, how do you know that this is not a tear of joy? I was not lying when I told you that you may very well pull through, because there is still every chance. You are a fighter Katarina and I don’t want you to give up in the moment when you need to fight harder than you ever have before.’
‘You know as well as I that’s not true,’ replied Katarina out from the corner of her mouth.
‘Don’t talk like that,’ I sobbed, gripping her hand with mine as she winced from the pain, but continued to hold on regardless.
‘We’ve shared in a lot of adventures,’ she said with a smile as though recalling every one of them with those words. ‘But I won’t be coming with you this time.’
‘What?’ I spluttered as tears continued to well up in my eyes, yet Katarina continued to remain strong, although even she was having trouble trying to keep her emotions in check. ‘No,’ I retorted, ‘we-we stay together. I should have watched where I was driving. I was supposed to take care of you.’
‘No,’ replied Katarina with a sigh. ‘We were supposed to take care of each other. Don’t ever blame yourself and don’t stop living because of me. I’ve been strong enough for both of us, but now you must be strong enough for yourself.’ Katarina swallowed before continuing slowly once more. ‘Who knows, if there’s a bar up there or something I’ll save a seat for you and I’ll look down on you from time to time. You will never be alone and no matter what, I will always lo-’
In that moment, Katarina slipped into unconsciousness. She never spoke again. I remained with her until the monitors around us came to life with the sound of raucous beeping, and just like that she was gone.

A Better Place to Live

‘Home is where the heart is’; this sentence is one many a man has theorised.
But what happens if the home is responsible for the heart been terrorised?
Imagine a young woman driving through the suburbs one night, seven months pregnant;
looking so peaceful, happy and prestigious, so unbelievably elegant.
She has no idea in a few seconds, she will experience terrible pain,
after which, there is nobody out there who will ever see her alive again,
for there are a few young boys who have been happily throwing back the beers;
but they are ignorant, wild and free, and they are living their younger years,
so it’s alright in Australia if you’re twenty one and drunk, twenty four/seven,
because it doesn’t matter if you kill one man or thousands – you’re still bound for Heaven.
There are no repercussions for ‘accidents’ in this country; no punishment for the crime,
instead, the five boys jump onto the internet and state how they can’t wait for the next time.

Never before had the boys felt so alive until the day they officially went homicidal,
after their car reached such impossible speeds and ploughed into the side of the young mother’s vehicle.
Online, their following grows incredibly larger, they now have two hundred thousand plus or more,
and all of their followers laugh when the boys announce ‘we’re glad we killed that slut, and her unborn whore.’
Later in court, the boys pretend to be truly remorseful, and claim to be sorry for what they have done;
in return, they receive a suspended sentence, and won’t have to serve a night in prison, that’s right, not one.
However, when told their licences will be suspended, they immediately lose their charm,
and publically explode and rant about how the legal system has caused them unjustly harm.
Their lawyers rush the boys out from the court as fast as possible, and explain how they have been set free,
and even though they aren’t allowed to drive, the hearts of judges cannot grieve over what they do not see.
Where is the justice? What happened to the system? Knife, car, it doesn’t matter – they are both potential murder weapons,
and if there’s no justice for the loss of two innocents, what hope is there for victims of burglary, rape or arson?

Today, five murderers were set free, but tomorrow they will be doing what they do best;
assaulting innocent victims, and ripping the hearts out from the victims family’s chests.
Tomorrow they will beat up a family at the local train station; the next, they will gang rape a young mother,
and they’ll get away with it too, because in Australia, being drunk is as good an excuse as any other.
Of course, the tabloids will cover it up, as will law enforcement and the government,
because that’s what politicians do; plot and scheme under the privilege of parliament.
How can your family be safe in their own home, when those assigned to protect you are just as guilty as any malicious murderer?
How can you protect yourself, when every second person has a knife, every third person a pistol and every fourth a grenade launcher?
Politicians say there are no racists in Australia; it’s a country of multiculturalism, unless of course your skin isn’t white,
in which case you will be racially attacked, slanderously assaulted and physically injured for the rest of your life every day and night.
Politicians say there is no violence in Australia, except for in those seven states,
because everywhere you look there is prejudice, there is anguish, there’s sexism and there is hate.

Politicians say Australia is the land of opportunity for those wishing to start a profession,
of course, none of this bureaucratic bullshit applies if a woman is the one applying for the position.
Politicians say the Australian crime statistics are a blatant over-exaggeration,
and there is nothing to fear on those dark city streets; except for the thousands of violent civilians,
and all the whilst as this antagonistic misogyny, violence and racism takes place,
the politicians of Australia do absolutely nothing, except attempt to save face.
Perhaps if those five boys had gone to prison, crime would have dropped by a fraction of a per cent,
and maybe the future of Australia would not be quite as bleak or dark as our present,
for those five drunk friends are not the only criminals who have escaped going to prison,
and so instead of doing time, they have the chance to kill another innocent person,
because they didn’t just kill two people that fateful evening, they also robbed another of their life;
that night they murdered a father’s beautiful unborn daughter, and a husband’s closest friend and darling wife.

A Feeling Too Far

This face – scorched by the sun;
these hands – tarnished by work;
this heart – broken with pain,
my love – bedridden with sorrow;
is there no second coming? Is there no tomorrow?

Am I doomed for failure?
Am I the odd man out?
Is this my punishment
for being alive today?

What is life if it’s not lived in?
What is death if it comes too soon?
What is heartbreak if it is forever?
What is the night sky without her moon?

Like the night my blood is black
and like a train wreck my heart is broken.
I have tried desperately to speak up,
but my heart always remains unspoken.

Where does this infinitude of pain come from?
Why has it chosen to latch upon me?
Why can’t the past remain the past?
Perhaps cuz I can’t stop reminiscing over the memory.

I remember quite clearly;
I did not join with you,
I fell in love with you;
my heart demanded that you be mine.

I needed you like muscle needs flesh;
like a pair of lungs need oxygen;
like a vein needs a river of blood;
like a heart needs a lover to hold onto.

I only wish in our final moments,
when we said our final failed goodbyes,
that you had kissed my pain stained lips,
and allowed me to live just once before I died.

And died I did, but not in the arms of my beloved.
I lay motionless on cold wooden floor, looking at an afterlife
that was ready to rip the heart right out from my chest,
from the knowledge that you were not destined to be my future wife.

However, I fear the feelings still remain;
feelings that have gone too far;
that have outlasted their expiration date,
for I continue to be ravenous for your passion,
because as long as my heart beats for you, I am not dead yet.

You, Me and 2013

On the 31st of December
I reminisce and I remember
over everything that happened this past year.
I sit back in my chair and I shed a tear,
that falls unlike forgiveness from my eye,
and all of a sudden I start to cry
because I simply cannot stand to lose.
I had a chance, one that I did abuse,
and now I am left all alone and afraid
on the night of celebrations and parades
that mark the start of something good.
I should be happy, yes I should,
and I realise I’m so often negative.
All of the love in my heart that I had to give
I gave away a little too easily
to a young woman who could never love me,
and now, the only thing that I can possibly believe,
is there’s no one else alive so alone on New Year’s Eve.
This here is my punishment for being such a fool,
and although it may seem undeniably cruel
I deserve all the pain I receive.
Lovers come, and lovers always leave,
it’s a solemn truth I have come to terms with this night.
Yet, not everything is wrong, something must have gone right,
for I am with a trustworthy soul who understands what I mean;
yes, it is you, my friend Mr Blog; you, me and 2013.

I Live to say I love you

SYNOPSIS: A final confession to a woman that one could never attain about the way one feels inside.

 

I live to say I love you, these words I speak are true,
for without you in my life, I’m lost for what to do.
Without you standing by my side I frequently feel so foul,
I need you like oxygen and have to be with you somehow.
For I am caught within the intoxicated aroma of your life;
there is nothing I would never do to have you as my wife.

When without you I‘m not whole, on the contrary I am broken,
these feelings I have for you can no longer remain unspoken.
I want to love thee forever, but perhaps I ask too much,
for the hands of humans and fair angels do in fact not touch.
But perhaps this is not love, perhaps it’s nothing more than greed;
to have you in my life eternal, I swear I will succeed.

You are yet to have met a man you could not turn into a lover;
you have the looks of a fair angel and the wisdom of your mother.
Please, if you would dare, look into my eyes, for within them you shall see
that the two of us are destined to live together in harmony.
You have always owned my heart for you are beautiful, elegant and strong
and because of these fabulous qualities I have loved you all along.

Your love is just so secretive and yet it stands out just so clear,
losing you to eternity is the one thing I always fear.
Your unfathomably gorgeous good looks fuel my body like gasoline,
for your riveting beauty is unlike anything I have ever seen.
Through all the many years that have passed us by I have watched you so lovingly.
Congratulations on the wedding. I hope the man you love makes you happy.

Untitled Beauty Part II

SYNOPSIS:
For anyone who has read my former poem ‘Untitled Beauty’, one would know that I based the piece upon a beautiful young woman who dressed up as Jedi Master Aayla Secura from the Star Wars universe for a ComicCon. I do not know her true identity, and I would really appreciate it if someone in the world could actually tell me such information…the link to the image and additional info on this topic can be found in the ‘end notes’ section of the original Untitled Beauty post which can be found at this link: http://wp.me/p24LWs-2H

THE POEM:

This here is not a love poem – no, it is a poem of longing,
about hope, prayer, fantasy, discovering oneself and belonging,
which begins as every morning inevitably does. The light breaks through a moderate sized hole in the wall; the ominous ‘they’ call it a window,
but I call it a distraction, for it wakes me from my slumber where I dream I strike up a conversation with a rare beauty by saying ‘hello’,
rare beauty who is you. All the money in the world cannot buy me another minute in this fabulous fantasy,
where I kissed your sumptuously luscious and tender lips and you held onto my big, broad shoulders oh so delicately,
and I fear, the only way to experience this moment once again, is to physically find you and express
‘you are the only lover Untitled Beauty I have been frequently and hopelessly attempting to impress,
for you are the only young woman in all the world, if not the known universe I am constantly thinking of,
my sumptuously delightful lady of whom I hope to forever and always unconditionally love.

It is true, and it is a fact that I do not dare deny, that never have either of us yet met,
but even with that said, you are a young beauty I can never easily in all my years forget,
and if I am supposed to move on from this fantasy, where am I supposed to move on to?
for no one else in this great round world could ever tame this heart of mine for no one else is you.
Additionally, if I am supposed to move on, where am I supposed to go?
for you are the single greatest adventure of all time that I will ever know.
It is also true that I do not know your name, but, my darling, it is a two way street. You could ask ‘what name do you go by?’ and I’d reply ‘you may call me Naughty Nefarious’
and a giggle may suddenly spring forth from the corner of your mouth. I swear it is no joke, for a name is a name, and mine is mine, for my world becomes so much more delicious
the second I lay my eyes upon your pretty face. I feel so invulnerable, but the truth of it all is, I really ain’t all that tough,
and I fear that those three words that mean so much, but also so little, for they are said too often, in regards to you, I have not said enough.

Ma’am, I am certain you grew up in America, where as I’m from down under, from a state far adjacent to that of Perth,
and it would most definitely seem from our noble beginnings when we were born, God wanted to give us both quite the wide berth.
I dedicated my life to writing and gaining a doctorate, whilst you dedicated yours to staying at home,
loyally watching over your loving family with respect, like an unflinching, always trustworthy garden gnome.
In your spare time you use your remarkably athletic form and go dancing in the grim shadows,
whilst back in Australia, not everything is the stereotypical gullies and meadows.
However, what the two of us have in common are the numerous stars that we watch at night, and the clouds all black and blue;
that unusually warm touch you feel right now upon your shoulders young lady – that’s me, romantically thinking about you,
for I frequently hunger for your passionate affection, and I swear I’ll starve without you near,
and I wish we weren’t separated by oceans and continents, I wish you were with me right here.

I often wonder what is happening with the world, and where the old one I once knew and loved inevitably went,
and why all of the once potent emotion is being poured into pain and horror, and if it is emotion well spent.
What happened to the age old conception ‘treat others the way you want to be treated’?
for in this world, truth justice and mercy are sacrificed, and true love is defeated.
I hope this inevitability ain’t my fate, and if so, I ask you, give me another toss at the game of luck, give me a second chance,
for although I ain’t no proud patriot who can fight through thick and thicker, I am a strong believer in emotion, reminiscence and romance,
and I can assure you, I would bleed on the Union Jack to make sure the faithful stripes stay bright red.
No matter whether I’m alive or in my time of dying, I feel there’s nothing more to be said,
but I would ask that you do not become overburdened with sad and depressing emotions and burst into tears for me, and that you happily smile in remembrance instead,
and if the world was plunged into war tomorrow, I would participate if it meant I could keep dreaming about you inside my head.

When imagining a fantasy world in which we know one another I can picture a location of common place where you’re listening to Metallica
over the radio, their awesome rock n’ roll classics ripping through the speakers as you loyally jam to their tunes, before introducing yourself as ‘Aayla.’
It must be an expensive persona you are living as we attempt to guess your origins. ‘No’ you say, ‘I ain’t from Launceston, and I ain’t from Maribyrnong.
No, I am from nowhere near here.  Instead, I come from a different place entirely with traditional working man roots, where Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Wrecking Ball’ is the theme song;
where the widely renown Star Wars theme is sung every night before dinner;
where the biggest loser can almost always become the biggest winner.
That’s right ladies and gents, I come from the mighty United States, and I will certainly return there soon,
so if you’ve something to tell me I suggest you confess it real quick, and by that, I mean this afternoon,
cuz come tomorrow I’ll be long gone, and young man, you especially, will be left on your own,
and being a pure blooded California gal and a pseudo Australian I can tell you twice, it’s awful cold when you are all alone.’

I have this uncanny feeling inside my heart and soul, one where I believe legitimately to have already lost you once, but I promise I won’t lose you again twice,
and to this I can assure you to ensure my promise fulfilled, I will commit to anything you ask of me and do whatever you say and I would take any advice,
no matter how fruitless it may seem, for I am officially sick of being alone, and all of this empty space;
I am sick to my stomach at being away from you and wherever you want I will meet you, any time or place. 
For if feeling good is a crime (and I’ve never felt this good until I laid my eyes upon you), someone had better lock me up right now cuz I feel fantastic,
and in regards to all of your truth and beauty, and all the love in your gorgeous heart, I have officially become an addict
for you. But when it comes to love, perhaps I am simply and without a doubt incompetent
cuz I fall madly in love way too easily. Then again, perhaps I am a delinquent
for failing to expertly spot the difference between human life, unconditional never ending love and horrifying misery,
but even with this said, if I were to die tomorrow, I would never want to go to Heaven, unless you were up there waiting for me.

To have you rare angel, I will delve deep into formidable places where no hero dare goes,
and upon hearing this you might reply ‘really? Well, tell me Pinocchio, how long is your nose?’
I am no liar, you have to believe me when I say I think I love you, and to ensure your survival, I’d push you out of the way of a nuke.
You won’t ever need to be a fabulously rich duchess for me to love you, but if you were, and you were to ask of me, I’d gladly be your duke.
After hearing these words Untitled Beauty, it might be best that you throw away your key after locking all your windows, and barring all the doors,
and make a pact with Satan, or pray to whomever God you solely believe in, for no existing mortal entity can save you anymore
from my love, which is invulnerable to harm. However, in reality, I have to ask you, in regards to romance, how can it be a good thing if those we love are doomed to die,
after pledging all of our allegiances and our love into their lives, and rare angels such as yourself succumb to destiny and perish, before plummeting out from the falling sky?
But if this unfortunate fate were to become yours, to get you back, I can assure you, I would traverse through the village of the damned,
if it meant eternal happiness could return to me again, and I could one day have my loving heart safely under your command.

When the world is at its darkest, and I’m drowning in the depression of the rain
I simply sit back and gladly admire your beautiful picture once again,
and imagine what you might ask me if we were to meet. You’d enquire ‘Derek, Naughty, whatever title you choose to go by’, before asking what I am going to do for you,
and I’d truthfully reply ‘I would take the stars right out of the night sky if such an act could prove my love alive and whole, and I would paint ‘em pink and purple and even pure gold too!’
It may sound completely out of this world insane, but what I say is not a total fabrication, and it certainly ain’t a ruse;
if given but one opportunity to spend my life with anyone, you are the only person I’d always faithfully choose,
because sweet Aayla impersonator, you are without a doubt one in 7.4 billion.
Dressing up in all those outfits moreover, you look exactly like a saucy chameleon;
you look incredible; you look beyond inhuman; you look flawless; you are perfect undoubtedly,
and with those luscious red lips and that sugar sweet smile I just know you are destined to belong with me.

Sometimes the darkness wakes me up and sometimes the silence speaks so loudly it is deafening to behold,
for whenever I am without you Untitled Beauty, I suddenly feel so indescribably cold,
because it is only in your eyes that I believe I have found where I eternally belong
and never until this moment which stands before me now have I felt so immeasurably strong.
However, in this inhospitable place, I fear I might be labeled the interloper, or the pariah
because of you my darling, for being all that I’ll ever want, all that I’ll ever need; for being my eternal desire,
and, to put a stop to this, people may light up their torches and sharpen their pitchforks too, before coming to claim me,
and will point to those who can corroborate that it was I, the antagonist, who acted with such vile villainy,
for all the boys who look upon you are filled with lustful gluttony, and the women become so jealous
at your unfathomable angelic beauty, and as for I, you make me so romantically ravenous.

Remember when I said this was not a love poem my dear? Well, I have to admit that perhaps I lied,
and if such be the case you could always blame it on the demon I have within this heart of mine inside.
I can assure you, I do not write these words in order to gain power, and I will certainly never need the likes of money or fame,
especially after I win over your beautiful beating heart, for then I will have everything I’ll ever need once it’s you I claim,
and although I still don’t quite know you, from your personality to your values, from your general likes and the neighborhood
you grew up in, judging by your looks alone, you deserve to be erected centre stage in the middle of Hollywood,
and then, once I’ve identified who you are and more, as promised, I’ll spend my life staring lovingly into your eyes forever.
The chance, if even there was one which I doubt, of me falling out of love with you my darling rests somewhere between naught and never,
so if you have ever had grave concerns, I ask that you ‘don’t fret, don’t cry and don’t ever believe
that feelings from your heart unto mine is not the one thing that I have always wanted to achieve.’

THANK YOU FOR READING!

to the Woman of Unimaginable Beauty

SYNPOPSIS: A piece about the incredibly powerful emotions a man feels for no woman in particular, and the confession that is to be supplied to this fortunate, or rather unfortunate as the case may be, woman.

There is a thin blue mist slowly drifting over this incorruptibly fair city,
which is settling in after the departure of the rainbow which was so pretty.
There is a faint pool of dried blood located down on the east highway,
relinquished from the body of the young lover who died yesterday;
yet another casualty of love that is constantly under restoration,
whose parents are forced to endure a powerful, emotional explanation.
This young man never told the woman that he loved how he felt in his heart
and instead of bringing two people together it has torn them apart.
I do not ever in this life of mine want this unfortunate event to happen to me,
which is why I write this poem for you; to the woman of unimaginable beauty.

I must warn you however that I am a weary and untalented poet,
who will never be as great as Shakespeare and his irresistible love sonnets.
Nevertheless, if I could find the words to describe the beauty of your face,
what a talented romantic I would be within the so called ‘human race.’
Whenever I lay eyes on you a chill rushes through me that penetrates right down to the bone,
I have decided that from this moment on I do not wish to spend this life of mine alone.
For deep within this body of mine I feel such incredibly strong feelings for you inside.
I write this poem to avoid confessing to you my strong feelings, a task I have not tried.
My dreams may seem ludicrous and these words I use may seem completely deranged,
I only hope that in the very near future my luck will begin to change.

My life first began the moment you said my name and I heard your amazing voice,
for me; an in-valid, to experience this, you made a sacrificial choice.
I wish that one brief moment we shared together I could eventually rewind
and admit to you my true feelings that are trapped within the confines of my mind.
Nevertheless, this could never take place, for I could never take your rejection,
wishing to instead be granted all of your love, grace, support and real affection.
I dream about you every night however, and I know I will do so again
because you are without a shadow of a doubt, my one and only piece of Heaven.
But wishes, they are all of them like dreams and they do not always occur
and in ten years time your memory of me will be no more than a blur.

They say the heart is the strongest muscle in all the body, but for me this cannot be true,
for if it were so I am certain I would have the heart to share all of my feelings with you.
You may ask why I’m infatuated with you; it is because you are different from the rest,
the same way, for lack of a better metaphor, denim dreams are different to a denim vest.
I may of course seem incredibly foolish, or perhaps even unfathomably stupid;
my excuse? I have been shot, by that mischievous little angel known as Cupid.
I would like to add, you are beautiful. No matter whether you’re covered in make-up or in a mess,
your hair, arms, legs and breasts, along with your vagina and clitoris; all of it, I wish to caress.
Of course, if you permit me, allow me to add I believe I love you very much.
Remember, you are never alone, your beautifully warm body I wish to touch.

I no longer in this life time want to keep my heart trapped within an internal cage.
In all honesty, I want to make sweet love to you, and have your body as my stage.
I wish to meet both of your parents, and confess to your father and mother,
that my dream is to always and forever be your one and only lover.
I wish to spend my life with you, not with all of the other billions of women.
I rehearse this line in my mind now as to repeat it in the future again.
I’ll continue to pour out my heart and soul and state ‘wherever you are, that’s where I’ll go.
Where that is exactly, whether it be now or in the distant future I do not know,
but wherever this specific location in time is, that’s where I’ll be,
for you will always continue to on every level ravish me.’

If I must be the author of my own destiny, I wish to write it with you,
for no woman could take your place and no one else in the world could ever make do.
In-between the two of us I feel a remarkably romantic connection,
that is fueled, controlled and inspired by my own immeasurably strong passion.
I wish however that I had the nerve to verbally convey these emotions when I speak,
which is why it pains me to realise that when around you my spirit becomes so weak.
Around you my tongue becomes so tied and twisted and my heart begins to flutter,
and all the words I wish to say to you fail to appear as I choke and stutter.
But in my heart I know I need to get over this for without you I am eternally blue
and all I wish to say is; ‘take those lips and place them on my own as I wrap my arms around you.’

There is no other life form in this universe I could ever appreciate more,
everything that makes you who you are today is without a doubt worth fighting for.
This would explain why I always dream of you being close to me; being just so near
on a day when the scorching sun is out and the skies are just so crystal clear.
On this day I would ask; ‘do you want and need me the way I want and need you; lover of whom I lust,’
and you would politely reply to me ‘young man, you have a huge heart, but honestly, what’s the rush?’
If I were to continue to speak and to persist with my words, I believe you would say, ‘boy, you talk a little too much.
I can understand your love and affection for me, but it’s obvious, you’ve been corrupted by an insatiable crush.’
But even such words could not hinder these feelings, for I truly love you without a doubt.
Unfortunately, I always will, for you are the one woman I cannot live without.

I no longer want to be a stranger, no; I want to eternally be yours.
If you were indeed a football team you would constantly receive a perfect score.
You have a blessed halo hovering above your head and a devil upon your shoulder.
If I did not enjoy such ravishing qualities I would not long to be your true lover.
This is not all that I want however, wishing to be with you through all the days of your life,
to have and to hold you for all eternity as the mother of my children and my wife.
With this said, may I continue to add, how can I live without you near?
Moreover, how can I truly live when that voice of yours I cannot hear?
Furthermore, at the conclusion of this verse, I wish for you to see me for who I am;
I may be a romantically challenged individual, but I am a loving man.

At the end of this poem I would like to conclude on a far more romantic note,
one which is far more ravishingly extraordinary than what I previously wrote.
With that said, I would like to state, you look more divine than divine, and more sexy than sumptuous,
I can say without a flickering shadow of a doubt that you are incredibly delicious.
Your eyes, they are like two diamonds, shining on a cool, mid summer’s night
filling up my hunger for romance constantly with endless delights.
Your lips moreover are the window to your soul; a place of never ending bliss,
which are opened so tentatively with the touch of my succulent, crimson kiss.
At long last however I can only hope you see such feelings as truthful rather than wrong,
for it is deep within the confines of your gracious heart that I eternally belong.

the Night Melbourne Died

SYNOPSIS: About a young woman who left Melbourne, Victoria, to experience a life outside the city, and the repercussions of her leaving on the state. For she was no ordinary woman – no, she was the heart and soul of the city, and without her, everything was no longer as beautiful as it once was, paradise being inevitably lost.

A million Australian hearts are aching because we love you,
if you would close your eyes you can feel exactly as we do.
You should know deep down that one of those hearts indeed belongs to me,
like so many others you are my private stash of ecstasy.
Yet none of us will ever be able to feel your gentle touch
despite the each of us been cursed with this infatuated crush.
For you are the heart and soul of all that is Melbourne;
from the Yarra River all the way to St.Albans.
And if you should leave you would hear the sounds of all who have cried
for the night that you left is the night, that poor old Melbourne died.

I turn on my television and see your name on the six o’clock news
and then your face appears and I stare longingly into those baby blues.
When you left everybody they knew you, but then the city began to fall,
it would appear through such actions that none of us really ever knew you at all.
When we used to sit together I should have tried to make conversation
because your leaving inevitably caused all of this devastation.
It would appear that not confessing these feelings was a terrible mistake,
the final one of such gargantuan magnitude that I shall ever make.
And now that I’m alone, I’d give up forever just to see you again,
for you are the heart and soul of this city, being my lover and close friend.

I would have said something to you but I always get so nervous
and I feared you had a boyfriend I would not want to make jealous.
If I had tried to confess my feelings you would have known you had my full attention
for my lips would have failed to move as I attempted to conduct conversation.
My big, wide brown eyes would have been all that expressed the truth;
that I am forever and undoubtedly cursed to never stop loving you.
I would have told you how I feel and asked if you hunger for me,
for you are my angel; the only one I ever see.
I would confess I feel the urge to have you crawling underneath my skin
and said ‘the hell with it’ if I was considered to be living in sin.

Usually in this alternate universe I’d have been incredibly shy
but on this one, fictitious occasion I do believe I caught your eye.
I was strung out and lost, without any sense of bravery,
but you helped provide to me my missing masculinity.
On that night it would have been both our first time, during which I felt I died
and on this hypothetical night we made love, you turned your back on me and began to cry.
You would compare our love to a boat on the ocean being pushed forward by oars,
‘this was mine’ you would say, indicating your body, ‘but now all this is yours.’
But the fates or whatever have permanently barred me from you
and I guess this fantasy world I live in will have to make do.

In truth I am only half the man you need me to be
although I have been caught by your embracing melody.
You have put a spell over me as you have over every man you’ve ever met,
your radiant appearance is the one thing I’ll never be able to forget.
Compared to you we are but flotsam lying under the city lights
whilst you soar gracefully up above, being our radiant satellite.
For not confessing these feelings I especially am sorry
but one day I might open up my heart once I’ve found the glory.
And when that day does come I shall tell you ‘you are my queen’,
I’m sure many other men know exactly what I mean.

Everything I have failed to achieve can never be undone
and the feelings I have for you are constantly on the run.
For my feelings are a lost and broken ship at the mercy of the sea
constantly fighting for survival and hoping one day you’ll notice me.
Because you are the great lighthouse, which is positioned in the harbour,
waiting patiently for the right ship to arrive and be your lover.
There you are so graceful, captured in the simplest and most purest of ways,
your light, which is so eloquent, constantly shining every single day.
If only it were so easy to tell you how I feel
then perhaps I could take you out for an exquisite meal.

But I know all of these feelings are a result of an infatuation,
at least that is the opinion I have acquired from this one assumption.
The strongest thing in this city would undoubtedly be your spirit,
the one thing in all of Melbourne that none of us could ever edit.
If your presence were to ever leave I would feel so lonely and out of place
and inevitably I would be caught by the memory of your embrace.
I would undoubtedly remember how I stumbled all my life,
until I laid my eyes on you, wishing for you to be my wife,
for you are the young woman who shall save all of our lives;
and save each and every one of us from our own demise.

If I had written a diary, you would be in every single line,
describing your beauty on every page which is just so sublime.
By writing my feelings down no longer would they be trapped behind a barren door,
in reality this facade of mine is something I can’t keep up no more.
Since meeting you my life has changed and has ultimately not been the same;
I am proud to say although I do not write it down that I know your name.
I, like so many other men, find myself wishing to turn back time;
I too, like every other man, wish that someday you could be mine.
But then reality bites, the curtain falls and all the lights come up
and I know deep down that this fantasy world will never be enough.

If you should ever disappear, who will ever take your place,
for there is nobody in this world with such a pretty face.
And just like a river runs directly out to sea
I would wish that someday you would return to this city.
And perhaps a miracle would occur and you would return someday,
when that day does come, everything, will inevitably be okay.
But until this day does come fantasy and reality cannot relate
and the penalty I’ve been endowed is that my mind cannot think straight.
Until the day you do return, in my heart you are a runaway train
and all of my feelings for you, which are locked away, beg to be explained.

Everyone of us inside this state are filled with a great amount of pity,
each and every one of us praying for the survival of our city.
If I had to take your place to protect this city I know that I could
if you told me to be yours forever I know I undoubtedly would.
But until that day comes we drink ourselves down to new lows,
the love each of us has for you continuing to grow.
For you are the heart and soul of all that is Melbourne,
from the Yarra River all the way to St.Albans.
And if you should leave you would hear the sounds of all who have cried
for the night that you left is the night, that poor old Melbourne died.

the Town that Civilisation Forgot

SYNOPSIS: A young man makes his way out to a long forgotten town, and discovers that he should embrace life and love, rather than let all of it slip away.

 I don’t know what was going through my mind when it happened. I was walking the same route I always took towards the train station which would lead me to university. The bag was swung over my shoulders; my wallet was in my pocket. My dark hair was blowing into my eyes, the wind picking up speed as it always did around the shadowy corner I walked by. And there all of a sudden it was; a bright blue bus which pulled up beside me at its intended stop.
Now, I don’t know whether it was because I’d never seen it before, or because I knew I’d never get a chance to ride it again due to the death sentence hanging over my head, but I suddenly had the urge to deviate from my usual schedule.
Now, I’m not a man who normally takes risks, but all of a sudden, instead of walking on I decided that I would ride the bus. I didn’t care where at this point in time; I just knew I wanted to be sitting on one of the luxuriously furnished chairs positioned across the interior of the strapping vehicle before me.
After purchasing a fair from the driver I made my way down the centre of the bus and sat down on one of the farthest seats from the front, placing my bag atop of my chest and resting my head against the soft backing of the chair. My eyes began to droop and sleep came over me as I felt the bus beginning to pull back onto the road.

I don’t know how far I’d travelled, but by the time the bus driver woke me the surroundings outside of the bus had drastically changed since last I’d seen them. Instead of a city made up of metal and bone I found a country atmosphere greeting me from my window, not a single thing reminding me of home. I yawned before rising to my feet, hanging my bag over my shoulders as the driver said ‘end of the line.’
‘Where am I?’ I asked, staring outside the window, a radiant sun beating down onto the metal hull of the bus, while a light breeze carried leaves across a dirt road, small estates located across the dry terrain around me.
‘Townsville’ said the driver, nodding for me to exit.
‘Is there really such a place?’ I asked, scratching my head.
‘Must be son, ‘cause you sure as shit are in it’ chuckled the driver as I made my way off the bus, watching it disappear in a cloud of smoke and back up the dusty highway from whence it came.
I stumbled across the road before making my way across a small dusty trail which led to a rundown hotel with white paint peeling off from its exterior. I sighed before walking through the creaking door which swung upon loose hinges, a bell ringing above my head to signify my presence. A minute passed before a rather stocky woman made her way out from the back. She wore a dirty white apron over a blue and white striped shirt, her face appearing to be as run down as the hotel she resided over.
‘Ah’ I began, before proceeding on. ‘Forgive me for asking, but where exactly am I?’
‘A few miles away from civilisation’ said the woman in a croaky voice as she lit up a cigarette. ‘And that’s exactly the way we like it.’ She looked at me inquisitively before continuing. ‘You’re not from anywhere around here, are you?’
‘If I knew where here was that would be greatly appreciated’ I said.
‘I already told yer’ expressed the woman. ‘Imagine wherever you were before arriving here. This place, is a long way from that.’
I looked at my watch, noticing that one and a half hours had gone by since I had made my way onto the bus.
‘What, you gotta be somewhere?’ guffawed the woman, before extending out her hand. ‘Name’s Trudy Watson.’
‘Ryan Shields’ I said, taking her hand in mine.
‘Okay Ryan, perhaps you could start by telling me what yer doing here’ began Trudy, ‘then perhaps I could help you out.’
‘I honestly don’t know’ I said. ‘I just had this inkling to get onto the bus; and so I did. Suddenly, hey presto, I’m here.’ I sighed before going on. ‘Ah, perhaps it’s because I felt that I should not continue living the way I was used to and try something a little different, especially since I won’t be around for much longer.’
‘What are yer talking about?’ asked Trudy. ‘You’re a young man. Me, I’ve got cancer and you don’t see me doing anything that ain’t what I’m used to. So what could possibly be prohibiting you from living till the age I am now?’
‘My liver’ I said. ‘When I was younger I contracted Hepatitis A through food. That taught me not to eat at a restaurant, that’s for sure.’ I gave a weak chuckle before continuing. ‘Anyway, it damaged my liver and over time it has gradually become worse and now it’s inoperable. The only way to fix me up is to replace it entirely, but I’ve been warned that the risks are too great. I’m booked in to have the surgery in two weeks time. I did however sign a DNR.’
‘DNR?’ questioned Trudy.
‘Do not resuscitate form’ I said. ‘My lawyer looked over it and confirmed everything was in order. So if I flat line during the procedure, I stay that way’
‘Why would a young man such as yourself want to go kill yourself for?’ asked Trudy.
‘Everyday for as long as I can remember I’ve lived a life of regret’ I began. ‘I’ve only managed to accomplish half of what I wanted and I know that if I do survive the operation, nothing’s going to change. I’m not going to have a sudden epiphany and do everything I never would have. Including asking the girl I’m infatuated with to go out with me.’
‘Girl?’ asked Trudy. ‘Wow, if you’re willing to kill yourself to ensure you don’t have to talk to her she must be something special. What is her name?’
‘Cassandra’ I said, taking out my wallet and showing her the picture I carried around with me. It was a photo of me, Cassandra, and three others within one of my classes during a group exercise. Cassandra however stole the lime light. Her light brown hair shone brightly in the camera flash, which preserved her physical beauty forever in the image.
‘The ideology I live by however is; what’s the point of intimacy when you’re already dead inside?’ I stated, sighing to myself.
‘I think I know why you’re here’ said Trudy, handing me back the photo. ‘Everyone in this town is here for the exact same reason’ she said, taking off her apron and beginning to make her way out from behind the counter. ‘Follow me, I want to show you something’ she said, before beginning to lead me back out into the open.
We slowly walked along the dirt trail before stopping outside a small cottage a few metres down from the hotel. ‘Here lives Mr. Bristol. He arrived here about eleven years ago. He’s an athlete who never believed he was good enough to attend any of the major events, and when given the chance to compete believed he wouldn’t succeed, so instead, came out here.’
Trudy slowly began to continue up the trail before stopping outside a small metallic house on the opposite side of the track. ‘Here lives Mr. Sall. He’s an artist who never believed he could cut it. When his wife died of Leukemia her only wish was that he would allow others to see his paintings. He however failed her, as he did himself and retired here not twenty years ago.’
Once again Trudy began to make her way back up the trail as I slowly followed behind, the track becoming steeper as we stopped outside of a double storey residence which was constructed from pine. ‘Mrs. Smeath lives here. She used to sing in a church choir group. When a man she had always loved came up to her and asked her to accompany him with his band as they toured the country she agreed. On the day she was to meet him however she felt that he would not like her if he were to hear her sing once more and instead came out here. That was sixteen years ago.’
Trudy took a deep breath before slowly moving a little further up the trail to a house which had a jet black coat of paint draped across its exterior. ‘Mr. Turtletaub resides here. He was engaged to be married to an incredibly beautiful Turkish woman, but a few days before they were to be wed he left, believing their relationship would not last because he felt he was not going to be good enough for her. He arrived here eight months ago. Like everyone else here, he ain’t ever going to leave.’
Trudy sighed before making her way a little further up the trail, the wind billowing before us as we came to stop in front of a thinly crafted double storey residence made from a metallic substance. ‘Mrs. Valdreski lives here. She’s a woman with a Croatian background who fell madly in love with an Anglo Saxon woman. She however never confessed her feelings because she believed that she would be not only be rejected, but completely humiliated as well. On top of that, she thought a blending of different cultural backgrounds would not go down to well with either parities parents, and so instead came out here. You’d think that the hate people have for homosexuals would be yet another fear which corrupted her sensors, but no, it was not funnily enough. For fourteen years she’s been living in this house. You might recognise the woman she fell in love with. She’s now the leading woman behind a homosexual movement in Melbourne.’
Trudy smiled weakly before beginning to make her way up a little farther to a small house on what appeared to be the outskirts of the little town I’d discovered. ‘And here, the crème dela crème of all bad cases is where I live. I came up here twenty four years ago because I couldn’t face my family.  I’ve a daughter who I’ve lost touch with. She hates me, or so I believe and personally I feel that if I were to ever see her she would not even bother attempting to make conversation with me.’ She sighed before continuing. ‘I guess the point I’m trying to make here Ryan is that I don’t want to see another person wind up here. All of us are here for the exact same reason. None of us could ever face whatever it was we wished to accomplish with our lives. I only hope that you can go back to civilization and do for all of us what we couldn’t do for ourselves and live God damn it, live.’

I found myself back in university the next day, my class coming to an end as I began to leave in the same manner I always did, completely avoiding Cassandra on the way to the door. Before I could stop myself I had stopped in front of where she sat and had opened my mouth to speak. ‘Excuse me’ I began, Cassandra looking directly up at me, my heart skipping a couple of beats.
‘Yes?’ she asked. ‘You’re Ryan, right?’
‘Yeah’ I managed, surprised she even knew my name.
Cassandra smiled. ‘Is there something you wish to tell me?’
As for what I said, I doubt I have to write it down, for you know, just like Cassandra does now, exactly how I feel for her. She stood by me during my operation and now we’re engaged to be married this August. As for every other man out there who’s in the same position I once was I ask only one thing of each of you. Find the one thing that you need and hold onto her forever.

Secrets of the Grassy Knoll

SYNOPSIS: Told from the point of view of a fox, this piece tells the story of a friendship between a fox and a young boy.

I met Malcolm in the long grasses outside of his home in the hot, dry country of the Australian outback. He had worn a blue and red striped cardigan with baggy blue jeans and great black boots which went up to his knees. His eyes were an incredible blue, his hair a pitch black in colour, whilst his cheeks constantly maintained a rosy glow.
He had been playing in the paddocks whilst his father stayed inside with Phillip, the man who helped him with every chore.
Malcolm had continued to wander further and further out into the dense grass before he found me deep within the shrubbery.
I whimpered in the grasses from fear of what he might do to me. I was so young and naïve at the time. His kind had taken away everything from me. Both my mother and father had being killed by hunters; the litter of siblings I was once a part of had being completely destroyed.
But instead, he changed my perception on humanity entirely. Sensing I was hurt, he gingerly picked me up in his little hands and took me into his care. From this point on he would help me, clean me and feed me and we would never be apart. And so was the story of the fox and his Malcolm.

Every night from then on Malcolm would make his way into the tangled brushes and blades of grass and bring me out a small slab of meat and a bowl of milk. He laughed playfully as I lapped up the milk with my dainty pink tongue and whilst doing so he would stroke my orange coat. Every so often he would arrive with a brush as well and stroke down my fur until it was beautifully straight once more after a day in the tangled grasses.
During the nights that became both cold and wet he would shelter me from the storm. Taking me up in his arms, Malcolm would escort me into the house, ensuring his father had no knowledge of what was occurring right under his nose. Placing me inside the confines of his warm duvet cover, I snuggled up beside him and heard the gentle rhythm of his heart beating in time to mine. I would hear the frightening sounds of thunder crashing across the sky and I would witness the lightning scorch the clouds above. Malcolm would grab a hold of me and whisper that everything would be okay and I would yelp playfully beside him and nibble at his ear to signify that I too would protect him like he had protected me.

However, during the days that Malcolm did not spend with me, he spent with his father. I never did hear what they said, but I knew right from the moment I saw him that his father did not respond well to my kind. I often saw him watching the both of us out in the grass whilst he stayed indoors working with Philip.
Whenever Malcolm came into the grass after speaking with his father he never did seem himself at first and when a tear ran down his cheek I gently brushed my body up against his to reassure him that I was here and never would I be gone. Once again Malcolm would be happy and once more we would frolic in the underbrush.

But when hunting season began to draw closer, Malcolm began to become frightened with every moment he spent with me, almost as though he felt that each time there was the chance that we would never see each other again. I would yelp and cry in representation of such ideology being absolutely ridiculous, but even I had sensed a change on the wind.
The father had taken out his rifle, cleaned and oiled the particular weapon of choice and admired it in the kitchen window whilst looking at me as though I did not belong. Philip too had acquired a rifle of his own and had gone through the exact same strategy.
I noticed the undergrowth around me begin to grow more silent, a deathly quiet coming over the land as though all other forms of life had begun to leave in trepidation of what was to come. Malcolm had explained to me that it was all some sort of game, yet I found that a little hard to believe, for I did not wish to play.

But on the fateful morning that hunting season finally came into full swing it appeared that I inevitably had no choice. Malcolm and I were once again in the grasses dancing together as one when both Philip and his father began to make their way into the undergrowth.
Noticing a duck that had not yet fled the premises, Philip took his shot, the bullet just missing the animal as it took flight in the nick of time. I heard him curse impatiently under his breath as Malcolm and I attempted to hide in the grasses. They had waited an entire year to kill again and they were eager to accomplish such a task.
It was then that the father saw me. It was not difficult, there was no concealing my body in the brush as Malcolm began to look incredibly frightened.
I looked up into his adorable little face as he cried ‘run foxy, run!’
I thought of staying, but I noticed the look in his eye and the terror on his face and with that I took his advice. I heard the sound of a rifle being reloaded as I leapt through the undergrowth, Malcolm continuing to cry at the top of his lungs for me to run as far away as I possibly could. Just at that moment a terrific cracking sound rattled through the bush, sending chills of terror throughout the landscape. Birds flew out from the trees and little beetles scurried into the safety of the ground below. Never in all my life had I heard such silence. I whimpered, seating myself down in the brush whilst I surveyed the landscape before quickly hurrying back in the direction of my all time dearest friend.
Drawing nearer, I heard the father cry ‘I think I shot something’, his voice high pitched and happy. I took a few extra steps forward, my feet beginning to wander through a wet substance in the grass as I looked down at the ground beneath me. And there on the ground, lay my Malcolm. Friend of animals great and small; the best friend a fox could ever have.