K. Morris's Blog, page 835

Tales of the Unexpected

I have for so long as I can remember enjoyed stories with unexpected endings. As a child growing up in Liverpool I watched ITV’s Tales of the Unexpected (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tales_of_the_Unexpected_%28TV_series%29). Each episode featured a different tale all of which ended unexpectedly.

Tales of the Unexpected was in the back of my mind when I wrote Sting in the Tail (http://newauthoronline.com/2013/03/16/sting-in-the-tail/). In the story a highly educated and charming fraudster meets his match in the most unexpected manner in the form of a blind girl, Laura. The fraudster makes the fatal mistake of perceiving Laura as a poor disabled woman who poses no threat, indeed he determines not to defraud her as stealing from a blind woman is a step to far even for a hard bitten criminal such as him. The fraudster’s fatal mistake is to assume that disability equals intellectual inferiority rendering Laura a helpless victim who he, in a rare moment of conscience determines not to exploit.

Sting in the Tail is above all a story who’s aim as with all stories is to provide enjoyment to the reader, however, as a registered blind person I am also interested to explore how people can, quite erroneously conflate disability with what used to be known as feeble mindedness. As the fraudster finds to his chagrin in Sting in the Tail this is a costly error!

The Mechanical Lover

Human relationships, particularly those entailing love are complex and often messy. They require a good deal of commitment and hard work to maintain. What if, in the future a robot where to be invented with the capacity to demonstrate love or, at the very least to give the appearance of doing so? Let us further suppose that this robot could be produced relatively cheaply bringing it within the reach of a mass consumer market. How popular would such a robot be and what would be the impact of it’s creation on society as a whole?

As I said at the start of this post, relationships require love and commitment. They need to be worked at. In contrast a preprogrammed robot would not, presumably need commitment, the user could programme the machine to replicate his (or her) desires at will. Your own ideal man or woman could be yours in the future for the price of a car and not, necessarily the most expensive model of vehicle.

Doubtless such an invention has the potential to cause great social disruption, however if free citizens in a democracy choose to purchase such artificial persons in the future what right would society have to prevent them from doing so? In modern democracies there is an acceptance among most people that individuals have the right to pursue their own conception of the good/happy life provided that they do not interfere with the equally valid rights of others to strive for their own conception of happiness. Given the prevalence of this liberal perspective what right (if any) would a future society have to place limitations on the development of artificial persons designed to fulfil the emotional and/or sexual needs of future generations? These are interesting issues and ones which I mean to address in future stories.

There are more things in heaven and earth

“There is no god, no heaven only the here and now”, Michael said heaving a world weary sigh. Luke was a close friend but he had this annoying habit of challenging Michael’s atheism. Luke smiled that smug little smile of his “There are more things in heaven and earth Horatio than are dreamed of in your philosophy” he said. “OK Luke your mate Charlie is the caretaker at that National Trust property just down the road from here isn’t he?” “I’d hardly call Charlie a friend more of a drinking buddy. If he’s in the pub we’ll have a laugh but I wouldn’t call him a mate no. Anyway why are you suddenly interested in historic houses? I thought that your interests started and finished at who is playing whom in the football fixtures!” Michael ignored Luke’s barbed comment. He did enjoy football but there was more to his life than being glued to the television, girls for example! “Brockenhurst Hall is supposed to be haunted isn’t it?” Michael asked. “Yeah but you believe that the afterlife is so much claptrap so why the sudden interest?” Luke said. “Do you think that you could persuade Charlie to let me spend the night there, in the room where that chamber maid hanged herself?” Michael asked. “I think that Charlie would do anything for £50!” Luke replied. “OK mate heres the money” Michael said extracting 2 twenty pound notes and a ten pound note from his wallet. Luke became very pale, “This isn’t some kind of game Michael, I truly believe in the words of Shakespeare that “there are more””, Michael’s snort of laughter drowned out the remainder of Luke’s sentence.

 

—

 

Several days later saw Michael ensconced in a sleeping bag in the servant’s quarters at Brockenhurst Hall. “I’ll have to lock you in” Charlie had said. “Heres my number. Rather you than me mate”, he said handing over a piece of paper with his mobile number scrawled on it.

Soon after Charlie left Michael dozed off. He was awoken by the sound of the wind whistling in the chimney. “If I was supersticious I’d think that some lost soul is lamenting their eternal damnation in hell but it’s only the wind” Michael reassured himself.

The stone floor was cold and uncomfortable despite the quilted sleeping bag. Michael rose and stretched. Glancing in the direction of the high windows he saw the great oaks standing majestic by the light of the full moon. Strange not a leaf russled despite the wind which moaned throughout the ancient building. “Must be some freak weather condition” Michael muttered but what, exactly could be causing such unusual weather patterns was beyond him.

Michael returned to his sleeping bag and attempted to fall asleep. The old house unsettled him. Michael was used to his modern flat built in the late 1980s. With it’s double glazing and cavity wall insulation his apartment was cacooned from the elements. Not so this place. The wind increased in intensity rattling the windows and the oak floor boards creaked as though feet walked on them. “Charlie is that you?” No answer came. “Old houses make strange noises. Get a grip Michael, you’re not a fanciful sort of bloke, stop this stupidity now” he told himself. Creak, creak, what was that? The moon had disappeared leaving Michael in pitch blackness. He reached for his torch. The torch flickered and then went dead. “Shit I forgot to change the batteries” Michael remembered. Creak, creak. Michael got out of the bag and fumbled around in search of the light switch. His hand touched something warm and soft. Michael screamed. At least he tried to scream but the scream was a mere whimper in his constricted throat. Thank Christ he found the switch and the room was flooded with light.

The chamber door stood half open. “must be the wind” Michael thought. But, looking in the direction of the window he saw the ancient oaks standing untroubled by any breeze. “I don’t like this” Michael muttered. He approached the door intending to close it. He pushed but the door refused to move. “Blooddy thing” Michael said pushing harder. Still no movement. Some sixth sense made Michael glance upwards. His blood froze and the scream which emanated from his throat was as though some maniac where cutting his throat. Hanging above the door on a large hook suspended from the ceiling dangled the body of a young woman. She was dressed as a Victorian chamber maid and, as he watched the life force went out of the girl her face turning as white as the chamber walls.

 

—

 

“I’m so very, very sorry Margaret” Luke said hugging Michael’s mother, “Did the doctor say what had caused Michael’s” he couldn’t finish the sentence, the lump in his throat blocking any further words. “He said that it was a massive heart attack. I don’t understand it Luke. There is no history of heart trouble in our family, non at all and his face”. Margaret broke down at the recollection of her son’s contorted face. He looked as though something unspeakable had filled his vision at the last.

 

The end

Sting in the Tail

“The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea,

The plowman homeward plods his weary way,

And leaves the world to darkness and to me.” Jenny turned a startled look on her face to find herself gazing into the smiling grey eyes of the speaker. “Sorry?! Jenny said. “I beg your pardon but I couldn’t help noticing that you where reading the newly revised Penguin Anthology of English Verse. I’ve been meaning to buy it but haven’t got round to it yet. I’m sure that they must have included Grey’s Elegy in a Country Churchyard, it’s one of the greatest poems in the English language”. Jenny smiled, “Yes it’s here” she replied opening the book at Grey’s Elegy, “and, by the way it’s correct title is Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”. “I stand corrected” the man said smiling broadly, “Mind if I join you?” “Sure I’ve only popped in for a quick drink after work, I’ll be leaving soon” Jenny responded. “Pitty as it isn’t often that I get the chance to discuss poetry with an attractive girl” the man said taking a seat opposite to Jenny. “Well your chat up line certainly makes a refreshing change to “how’d you like to come back to mine for a shag” Jenny said her eyes sparkling with mirth. “I’ll take that as a compliment and, by the way my names Richard” he said extending his hand. “Jenny, nice to meet you Richard. So what brings a poetry reciting gentleman into a mediocre boozer like this?” “The same as you, I fancied a drink after a hard days work” Richard replied. “So what do you do other than quote poetry to random women?” Jenny asked her eyes gazing into Richard’s. I’ve got her the man thought feeling that familiar warm glow flow through his body, “Sometimes I quote Dickens” he said. Jenny threw back her head and laughed, “Well Richard you certainly have a way with words and with the ladies”. “You are making me blush, can I get you another drink?” Richard asked. “Why not I’ll have a vodka and coke please” Jenny replied. “I’ll be right back” the man said heading in the direction of the bar.

The evening passed in an alcoholic haze although casting her mind back afterwards Jenny recollected that Richard had interspersed his alcohol intake with glasses of coke while she, on the other hand had consumed vodka and cokes all evening. At some point during the evening Richard had suggested a nightcap in his hotel room. He was, he explained visiting Leeds on business. “OK” Jenny said and getting unsteadily to her feet followed Richard out into the street. Luck was with them and Richard soon secured a black cab which conveyed the couple to his hotel.

 

—

 

Jenny awoke to the summer sun streaming in through the hotel room’s windows. Her head felt as though someone was performing an Irish jig inside it. “God I want to die. Please someone put me out of my misery” Jenny moaned. “Oh no I’m going to be sick” Jenny thought lurching out of bed and heading for the bathroom. She reached it just in time to empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. Jenny felt faint. She sat on the toilet seat for what seemed like ages but was, in reality no more than 5 minutes. “Shower will help” she thought holding onto the towel rail for support as she rose from the toilet seat. Sure enough the hotel’s shower did leave Jenny feeling less like something which the cat had dragged in and rather more like a human being. Wrapping the towel around her waist she returned to the bedroom. “Wheres my handbag?” Jenny said out loud the fact that her bag was missing suddenly hitting her. Jenny searched frantically in every conceivable place. She even removed all the spare bedding from the top of the wardrobe but the bag still eluded her. “Richard have you seen my bag?” Jenny said turning to face the bed. It was empty. In her hurry to reach the bathroom Jenny had failed to notice Richard’s absence. Suddenly everything clicked into place, the bastard had gone and stolen her handbag credit cards and all. Jenny collapsed on the bed burying her head in the pillow, tears ran down her face soaking the pillow case.

 

—

 

Matthew Parker (the man Jenny knew as Richard) sat at a corner table in the hotel bar. Another town, another hotel he thought. Yesterday Leeds, today Manchester, tomorrow who knows. Matthew was what used to be known as the black sheep of the family. Despite his expensive education at Eton and his studies at Oxford Matthew had opted for a life of crime rather than taking up a position in his father’s stockbroking business in the city. Crime was more fun. He loved the thrill of the chase, of getting a pretty girl into bed and then robbing her blind. Matthew had few scruples although he did pride himself on the fact that he had never hit a lady and he always ensured that the girls consented to sex. Matthew was no woman beater or rapist. He was, however wanted by police forces up and down the land for theft and obtaining money by deception.

Matthew scanned the hotel bar. Although it was a Friday night the bar was fairly empty due to the local pubs being rather cheaper than the hotel to drink in. Matthew’s eyes halted on a lady with a golden retriever lying at her feet. “I didn’t know that they allowed dogs into hotels” Matthew thought. Looking closer Matthew saw that the dog was wearing the distinctive white harness which indicated that it was a working guide dog. Matthew strolled over and touching the girl lightly on the arm said “excuse me may I buy you a drink?” “That would be lovely, thanks I’ll have a glass of red whine please” the girl replied. Matthew ordered the wine for the girl and half a pint of bitter for himself. “My name’s James” he said holding out his hand for the girl to shake. With a start he recollected that the girl was blind. For the first time in many years Matthew felt a twinge of conscience. It was one thing to defraud someone who was abled bodied but quite another to steal from someone who was disabled. Still the girl was remarkably pretty with her long brown hair and hazel eyes. She had breasts to die for as well, he could at least spend the night with her and for once leave his companion’s belongings untouched! “Sorry I forgot for a moment that you can’t see. I was holding out my hand for you to shake” Matthew said taking the girl’s hand in his. “Lovely to meet you James, I’m Laura and this is Lucy” Laura said stroking Lucy’s head. “Do you like dogs James?” Laura asked. “Yes we always had dogs when I was growing up” Matthew replied. It was true he did like dogs, I must be careful not to reveal anything further about myself Matthew thought with a start. “So what do you do Laura?” Matthew asked. “Oh this and that” Laura said squeezing Matthew’s hand. “If I didn’t know better I’d think that you are flirting with me Laura” Matthew said smiling broadly. “Me, no how could you think such a thing!” Laura said pushing her pert little breasts against Matthew’s chest. “I’m tired, like to keep me company” Laura said. “Christ you don’t beat about the bush do you?!” “I’m a girl who knows what she wants and I go and get it” Laura said picking up the handle of Lucy’s harness. “We’ll go to my room, find the way Lucy”. Matthew followed Laura up two flights of stairs to her room, “Like a drink Matt?” “Thanks, do you need any help?” “No I can manage thanks” Laura replied turning her back on Matthew. “Red wine OK?” she asked. “Fine” he replied. “How do you manage to move about independently” Matthew asked. “Oh I always get the hotel staff to familiarise me with the hotel and especially the room in which I’ll be staying” Laura said slowly making her way towards Matthew’s voice glasses in hand. “The full one is for you, I’m just having half a glass as I’ve drunk enough already” Laura said giggling. Matthew took the full glass from Laura’s hand and after taking a gulp set it down on the bedside table. “It amazes me how you cope. I really admire you” Matthew said. “Oh I’m just an ordinary girl trying to make a living in this world” Laura said. Matthew tried to think of an answer. Suddenly he felt very tired, “I’m sorry Laura I’m going to have to lie down” he said flopping down on the bed. After a minute Laura said “Matthew?” there was no response. “Matthew can you hear me?” she asked again. Gentle snoring was the only response. Laura reached into her pocket and taking out her mobile dialled. “Mark he’s out for the count”. A few moments later the door opened and Laura was joined by a tall man with blue eyes and dark hair going grey at the temples. “Well done sweetheart” he said kissing the girl full on the mouth. “there will be time enough for love making later. Just go through the bloke’s pockets and lets get out of here the girl said. In a matter of minutes Matthew was relieved of his belongings and the girl, Bill (not forgetting Lucy) exited the chamber leaving Matthew to his slumbers.

 

The end

 

Rent

Leah loved the dress. It was blue and pure silk. She ran her hands over the fabric. The material was soft like Leah’s beautiful smooth and blemish free skin. She looked at the price tag, £1,200 . No problem her Gold Card would pay for that. Leah placed the dress in her shopping basket. It joined the Italian leather shoes (price tag £525) and the matching black leather handbag (cost £750). Having paid for her shopping Leah glanced at her watch. Like everything about her it screamed money. The watch was solid gold with an exquisite jewelled face. It complimented the gold necklace and the matching bracelet. She haden’t wanted a watch Leah remembered. “I’ll use me mobile” she had told Ian. Ian had winced at the use of “me”. “I’ve told you before don’t speak like that. The word is my, not me. I don’t want my friends in the city thinking that I’ve picked up some tart off a street corner”. Leah had turned red. “Fuck off mate” rose to her lips, however Ian was loaded, she loved the lifestyle, the expensive clothes, the fast cars and her very own gold card. She had bitten her lip and said “Sorry Ian I’ll try to speak properly”. Leah had grown used to the watch and basked in the admiring glances of those who admired both the watch and her. She had learned to cultivate a way of speaking which, for the most part masked her upbringing on a tough council estate in East London’s Tower Hamlets, Christ she couldn’t imagine ever returning to the pokey flat at the top of that sixties tower block where the lifts stank of urine and druggies injected themselves on the stairwells. Leah wasn’t the sort of girl to look a gift horse in the mouth so she said “yes Ian, no Ian” with a warm and winning smile while inside something slowly died.

Leah shook herself out of the day dream. It was 12:30. She had promised to meet Ian for lunch at 12:45 in the city. “Shit” she said under her breath, she was going to be late. Leah left Harrods and hailing a taxi, jumped in,  sat back and watched the streets of London go by. “Sorry madam I can’t drop you at the restaurant” the driver said pointing at the road works. I’ll have to let you out here”. “OK” Leah said getting out of the cab and handing the driver £20, “Keep the change” she said. “Thanks madam” the cabbie replied edging out into the traffic in search of another fare.

Leah walked rapidly. She was already 10 minutes late. “Change for a cup of tea?” Leah paused to see a young girl huddled in a shop doorway. The girl shivered in the wintry weather wrapping her thin arms around her for warmth. Leah reached into her handbag and handed over £10. The look of gratitude brought a lump to Leah’s throat. She had so much while this girl had so little. It was a harsh dog eat dog world Leah thought as she hurried on.

The restaurant was warm and cheerful after the bleak winter streets. Ian was sitting in the middle of the restaurant. “Sorry I’m late the traffic was horrendous” Leah said hugging Ian and kissing him on the cheek. “You are late. I’m due back in the office in 30 minutes” Ian said scowling. “I’ll make it up to you this evening” Leah said rubbing her bare right leg against Ian’s. Ian’s face relaxed. “You look gorgeous” he said stirring at his girlfriend’s emaculately styled blonde hair. “That black dress really suits you. It was well worth the money. You look great in it”. Leah unobtrusively let her hand massage Ian’s knee under the table. His face relaxed some more. “Would you like to see what I’ve bought?” Leah said unwrapping her parcels. “God you will look sexy in that dress I can’t wait to see you in it” Ian said almost drooling. “I bet that cost a lot of money. I must love you a lot all the money I spend on you”. “Yes darling and I love you to” Leah said squeezing Ian’s hand.

“Sir/Madam, are you ready to order?” “Come back later” Ian said brusquely. The young waitress’s face screwed up. She must only be about 16 or 17 Leah thought. The poor girl looked as though she was about to burst into tears. Once the girl was out of earshot Leah turned to Ian and said “That poor kid was on the verge of tears”. “She’s only a waitress. She doesn’t matter to you or I. Why should we give a damn about her?” “It doesn’t matter honey” Leah said turning her attention to the menu. Suddenly she didn’t feel very hungry. “What would you like?” Ian asked. “Just a soup please”. “I didn’t bring you to this expensive restaurant just to eat soup, have something else to follow” Ian said his face resuming it’s usual frown. “OK, I’ll have the chicken kiev as the main” Leah said. Ian clicked his fingers at the waitress who approached hesitantly, “We are ready to order. I’ll have the soup and the lamb chops and my girlfriend will have the soup and the chicken kiev”. Ian’s lack of manners grated on Leah. She had been brought up in a flea pit surrounded by screaming babies and  drug addicts. Her childhood and teenage years had been chaotic but her mother had done her best and had always impressed on Leah the importance of courtesy. Leah fought back the urge to tell Ian what she thought of his boorish behaviour. She couldn’t go back to her earlier life, no way Leah thought turning on her most winning smile, “So Ian how is work?” she asked attempting to feign interest. Leah didn’t hear Ian’s answer, her attention was caught by the music which had just begun playing in the background. It was the Pet Shop Boys song Rent. “I love you, you pay my rent” filled Leah’s head the words hammering into her brain, filling her consciousness.

 

(The above story was prompted by the Pet Shop Boy’s Song Rent http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-d0GARTk_Nk&noredirect=1).

 

Hemlock

Hemlock

 

The girl approached Malcolm and taking his hand in hers intoned in a soft musical voice “Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love

with easeful death, called him soft names in many a mused rhyme, to take into the air my quiet breath; now more than ever seems it rich to die, to cease

upon the midnight with no pain, while thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad in such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain – to

thy high requiem become a sod”.

The audience, hard bitten venture capitalists all, gaped with wonder at this beautiful girl with her long blonde hair falling in cascades down her back,

at her deep blue eyes and her slender figure.

“OK Professor, the jokes over. Who is this young lady? What is her name?” asked the chairman of the board, Sir Steven Carter.

Professor Steel smiled indulgently and speaking in a manner which he usually reserved for his more obtuse students said “As I explained at the start of

this demonstration the lady you see before you is Becky the first ever truly intelligent robot. Becky is designed for the discerning gentleman, for the

man who wants to be around a beautiful and intelligent lady but who, for whatever reason is not in (or does not wish to be in) a relationship with a flesh

and blood female. Imagine the potential of this invention gentlemen. No more need for the man of means to wine and dine a girl, buy her expensive presents

and (god forbid actually marry her)! If you gentlemen can come up with the finance then your company will be world famous. Imagine being known as the firm

who launched the first ever artificial woman of culture!”

A hand was raised “Yes, the gentleman at the back of the room with the red tie and white shirt”. “Can she er … I mean can Becky do other things”. The Professor

smiled (he smiled a lot but the smile never reached his eyes), “Indeed she can. Becky has a very convincing set of female organs all of which are in perfect

working order. Even gentlemen of culture have their needs and Becky is designed to cater to your, sorry I mean their every whim”.

“I want one” said the chairman. “I’ve often wished to switch off my wife and now this robot has come along it is, at long last possible for me to do just

that”! Miss Mortimer the only female board member looked daggers at the chairman who vissibly shrank in his seat and coloured deeply, “I was only joking,

no offence meant” he mumbled turning as red as the curtains which flanked the stage on which the Professor stood.

Another hand was raised. It was that of Malcolm Fisher the journalist who had been the recipient of Becky’s attentions. “Yes Sir, the gentleman with the

press pass sitting in the front row”. “Isn’t there something sacrilegious about Becky?” “Sacrilegious, what do you mean?” Malcolm thought of Jane, of how

they’d walk for hours in the countryside. One day, as dusk was falling the song of a nightingale had reach their ears. Jane’s eyes had become moist and

turning to Malcolm she said “It’s to beautiful, I want to cry and she quoted those self-same words that that “thing” had just intoned. He’d taken Jane

in his arms and softly kissed away the tears from her gentle brown eyes. With a jolt Malcolm pulled himself back to the present, the Professor was staring

expectantly at him. “I don’t know how to put it accept to say that this invention seems to have crossed some line. Once we have crossed the Rubicon who

knows what will happen”. The Professor suppressed a sigh, “My dear sir man is but a machine. He takes in food to fuel his body and his very mind is but

a highly intricate mechanism for processing thoughts and emotions. Becky is a machine, why should not two machines come together. This invention will enhance

the sum of human happiness by enabling those who can not find (or do not want for whatever reason to find) a human companion and from the perspective of

you gentlemen it will to borrow a phrase mean “loads of money”!

“Well Professor we are certainly very interested in your invention. I’ll discuss it with the board but I’m sure that you will be hearing from us in the

very near future. Many thanks for your informative presentation” said the Chairman.

As he left the building those words of Keat’s popped into Malcolm’s head “As though of hemlock I had drunk”. “I need a drink” he thought turning his steps

in the direction of the nearest pub but perhaps not hemlock.

 

(The above story can be found in my collection of short stories, The First Time. For this and other stories in this collection please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-First-Time-ebook/dp/B00AIK0DD6 or http://www.amazon.com/The-First-Time-ebook/dp/B00AIK0DD6/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1363296273&sr=8-2&keywords=the+first+time+kevin+morris).

 

As insubstancial as a dream

“How do you know that you are here” my friend Jeff asked as we sat in our favourite local Indian restaurant. “I don’t. I’ve experienced vivid dreams during which I’ve believed myself to be awake” I replied. My friend responded that there was no answer to that!

The above exchange got me thinking about what constitutes reality. If I believe an event to be truly happening that occurance takes on concrete form as for a moment, however brief I experience the firings of my dreaming brain to be the occurance of an event in real time. Consequently one may argue that dreams are real while we are caught up in our dreaming but what if we never wake? What about the person in a coma who spends months (sometimes years) dreaming? Are their dreams real? My tentative answer to that question is that one’s dreams are real while one is dreaming them.

One may object that once one awakes the dreamer knows the difference between the dream-like state and the experience of wakefulness but what of the person who believes themselves to have awoken but who has, in point of fact moved from one sequence of dreaming to another?

Ultimately we must all work on the basis that we are experiencing actual events rather than dreams. If We do not proceed on this basis then the world would fall apart. I, for example need to shower, have breakfast and leave for the office in the next hour or so, that is the reality of my current situation. Or is it? Perhaps I am dreaming and rather than it being Wednesday morning it is, in fact the weekend and I will awake in a few hours to find myself with Saturday and Sunday to enjoy away from the office or maybe not!

your little sister

Reblogged from Coco J. Ginger Says:

One day, your little sister is going to fall for a man who is not kind...

Read more… 225 more words

A powerful post which makes one think.

to kindle or not to kindle, that is the question

There is a lot to be said in favour of Amazon from the perspective of authors. KDP Select enables authors to promote their book for free for upto 5 days in any 90 day period (during the recent promotion of my book, Samantha a total of 96 copies where downloaded during the promotion, 3-7 March), a statistic with which I am rather pleased. However there are other aspects of Amazon’s services for authors (in the UK) with which I’d take issue.

On amazon.com there is an option to give Kindle content as a gift. I would dearly like to provide family, friends and readers of my blog with gift copies of my books, however the service does not work in the UK (the country in which I live) so I’m not able to avail myself of this excellent facility.

To my mind authors should be eligible for the same high standard of service irrespective of the country in which they reside. At present those resident in the UK are not obtaining the same services as those living in the USA. I for one hope that Amazon rectifies this situation as a matter of urgency.

Damned

The tiny room was oppressively warm. The puny efforts of the little electric fan only spread the hot air around, it decreased it’s intensity not one jot.   Nan gently wiped the perspiration from the forhead of the dying man. His breathing came in ragged gasps, it wouldn’t be long before heaven or hell claimed another soul. The man’s face wore the expression of one who struggles within the web of a nightmare, the kind of dream in which monsters to horrific to describe pursue the hapless dreamer. The dreamer attempts to run but his feet feel like lumps of led, he moves at a snails pace, the creatures gain and then …

As she gazed at the dying man Nan’s mind travelled back 7 years to a dirty alley in the seedier environs of Bangkok.

The girl sat on the rickety wooden stool watching a pot which simmered over an open fire. “What’s that?” Nan snapped out of her day dream and looking up met the gaze of a westerner in his mid to late fifties. The man was completely bald and grossly overweight. “Sweet and sour chicken with rice sir” Nan replied. “How much?” “3 baht”. The man handed over the money and Nan ladled a large scoop of food onto a paper plate. “You here every day?” the man asked lapsing into the abbreviated speech so often used by foreigners when conversing with Thais with little English. “Yes Sir. No parent, I here every day”. “Parents dead?” “Mother dead father in jail. Me no want anything to do with him” Nan said spitting on the pavement to show her contempt for her father. “I live in apartment near here. I need a maid. Your food and somewhere warm to stay”. “How much you pay?” The man mentioned a figure. Nan’s eyes widened. The weekly wage being offered was far more than Nan could earn in a month of selling food on the streets. “OK” she said.

The apartment was small consisting of a tiny bedroom, a living room separated by a bamboo curtain from a cooking area and a closet containing a western style toilet and a very basic though perfectly functional shower. “You sleep here” the man said pointing to a bamboo sofa which stood against the wall of the living area.

 

 

Over the weeks which followed Nan cleaned and cooked for the man. She discovered that his name was John, it was nice to know her employer’s name Nan thought. The work wasn’t difficult and as the apartment was only small Nan had plenty of time to watch the portable colour television which sat on an orange box in the corner of the room. She liked the Thai soap operas and dreamed of becoming a millionaire like one of her favourite TV personalities.

Sometimes Nan caught John looking at her with hunger in his eyes. His look said I’d like to gobble you up like a tasty morsel.

As a girl of 14 Nan knew the power which her budding young breasts and schoolgirl looks could exert on men. It both frightened and thrilled her. Nan knew that John had money. She couldn’t read English but she knew what bank statements where and the figures on the paper showed that John was a wealthy man (wealthier at any rate than any Thai she was ever likely to meet). “Nan want to be happy. Nan has hard life. Nan deserve to be happy” she reasoned.

One evening (Nan remembered it well as it had fallen during the monsoon season) they sat together on the bamboo sofa the rain buffeting the doors and windows. Nan reached for the wine and moved to refill John’s glass. “I’ve had enough” John said waiving the glass away. “John work hard. He deserve drink” Nan said placing the brimming glass on the bamboo table next to John. She leant forward brushing her lips against his her hand travelling downwards towards John’s crotch. “No Nan!” John said half heartedly attempting to pull away. The desire for physical satisfaction contended with his sense of morality. He was attracted to this girl god help him but she was the same age as the daughter he had left behind in America. This was wrong so very, very wrong. It’s Thailand, a different culture with different rules he told himself. No John you swore to yourself that you would never touch Nan however tempted you where, you will be damned to hell if you touch this child. She isn’t a child, she is a woman, almost a woman and she wants you. The age of consent is only a social convention, “I’m damned” he said as he took Nan into his arms and indulged his darkest fantasy.

 

—

 

Something had changed in the room. For a moment Nan couldn’t put her finger on it. Then it hit her. John’s laboured breathing had ceased and the only sound in the chamber was the fan as it whirred ineffectually away. Following that rainswept evening Nan had exercised total control over John. The unspoken fear that she might go to the authorities and report his “rape” of her was enough to ensure that all his worldly possessions would pass to Nan on John’s death. “Me rich” Nan thought as she placed a silk scarf over the deadman’s face.

 

The end