K. Morris's Blog, page 764

Such Things As Dreams Are Made Of

An article in today’s Daily Mail (5 November) speculates that within 15 years we may have a machine with the capacity to record dreams.

On the one hand, imagine what new vistas this could offer for authors. With the invention of such a machine writers could take their dreams and construct amazing tales. Indeed some dreams might require no tailoring being perfect examples of ready-made stories.

On the other hand, imagine the possibilities for hackers. Mr Smith has experienced a particularly salacious dream about a lady (not his wife) and Jo Bloggs, a hacker threatens to release the recording to his partner unless a large sum of money is paid by Mr Smith.

Of course the above can be dismissed as so much science fiction. Perhaps it is, perhaps not. For the article please visit http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2821686/Could-soon-record-DREAMS-Headset-uses-brainwaves-viewers-snapshots-subconscious-mind.html

The Suspect

“Bethany Marx?” Inspector Ruth Jacobs asked.

“Yes” Bethany said.

“I’m Inspector Ruth Jacobs and this is Sargent Brian Thomas. May we come in?”, the Inspector said.

“What’s this about? As you can see I was in the shower when the doorbell went. Its not convenient!”, Bethany said gesturing to the blue bath sheet draped around her.

The Inspector looked embarrassed, “I’m sorry Ms Marx but it really is important. It would be easier and more comfortable if we could talk inside”.

Bethany sighed, “Come in” she said, closing the door behind the 2 policemen and leading the way into a spacious lounge. “You won’t mind if I get dressed?”, she said gesturing to the large bath sheet.

“No, of course not”, the Inspector said.

“Oh this is Barney”, Bethany said gesturing towards a large yellow retriever which lay protectively holding a mammoth bone between it’s 2 front paws. “Usually he would be at the front door before I’d had chance to open it but, as you can see his whole attention is on that thing”, she said pointing to the bone.

“Is he friendly?”, the Sargent said.

“He loves people but he’s very protective of his food as you can see so I wouldn’t advise approaching him while he’s eating. Excuse me, I’ll be back in a minute”, Bethany said, closing the door behind her and mounting the stairs.

“I haven’t seen a bone that big before! My brother’s got an Alsatian. He gets marrow bones from the butcher’s but I don’t recall him getting one that large”, the Sargent said.

The Inspector tapped her fingers impatiently on the arm of her chair. “Brian we’re here to interview a potential suspect, not to discuss the size of marrow bones”.

The Sargent was on the point of apologising when the lounge door opened admitting Bethany, dressed in jeans and t-shirt.

“Can I offer you tea or coffee?” Bethany said.

“We’ll have coffee please with milk, no sugar”, the Inspector said.

The Sargent would have preferred tea, milky with 2 sugars but he knew better than to argue with his boss.

While Bethany busied herself in the kitchen the 2 detectives sat in silence, the Inspector consulting her notebook while the Sargent watched Barney. The dog showed no interest in the 2 policemen. Barney’s world was his bone. As the sergeant watched the dog’s powerful jaws broke off another piece. I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of those jaws, the Sargent thought.

“Sorry to keep you waiting”, Bethany said, placing 2 cups of coffee before the detectives.

“Thank you”, the Inspector said. “We have come to ask you some questions about Mike Townley. He’s your boyfriend I understand. Is that correct?”

Bethany snorted, “He treats this place like a bloody hotel. I pay the mortgage and all the other damn bills while he does sweet fuck all”, Bethany said.

“So Mike Townley is your boyfriend?” The Inspector said.

“The word you are looking for Inspector is “was”. Michael Townley was my boyfriend until I kicked him out last Saturday. I’d had it up to here”, Bethany said looking towards the ceiling, “with his womanising and treating this place like a lodging house. The place is in my name. I told that wastrel to pack his bags and bugger off and he did”.

“Do you know where he is now?”, the Inspector said.

“No and to be honest I couldn’t care less. Probably shacked up with some silly tart, bleeding her dry just like he did to me”, Bethany said.

“Michael’s father has reported him missing. Did you know that?”, the Inspector said.

“No I didn’t know that but, so far as I am concerned Mike is no longer a part of my life. I couldn’t give a dam where he is”, Bethany said.

“None of your neighbours recall seeing Michael leave and we have several witnesses who testify to having heard you screaming, “I’ll fucking kill you”, last Saturday, 1 October”, the Inspector said.

“Are you accusing me of murdering Michael? Because, if you are I’m not saying another word until I have a lawyer present”, Bethany said, glaring at the Inspector.

“I’m not accusing you of anything Ms Marx, I’m merely trying to ascertain the facts”, the Inspector said.

“Look, Inspector have you never, in a state of anger said that you would kill someone? If everyone who threatened to commit murder actually went ahead and did it, the prisons would be full to bursting”, Bethany said.

“So you admit to threatening to kill Michael Townley?” the Inspector said.

Bethany stirred unblinkingly at the Inspector, “If you have evidence, then arrest me, otherwise I’d like you to leave now please”, Bethany said.

“I’d like to search the house. If you have nothing to hide, you won’t object will you?”, the Inspector said.

“Do you have a search warrant?”, Bethany said eyeballing the Inspector.

The Inspector hesitated. All the police possessed where the statements of 2 elderly neighbours who thought they had heard Bethany threaten to kill her boyfriend. One of them wore a hearing aid while the other was, the Inspector suspected suffering from dementia. No there wasn’t sufficient evidence to arrest Bethany Marx. A search of the premises might secure evidence enabling her to detain Bethany but, in the absence of a warrant she was powerless to act.

“OK Ms Marx we’ll leave now, but I’ll be back in the morning with a search warrant”, the Inspector said, her eyes boring into Bethany’s.

Bethany lead the way out of the lounge. Glancing over his shoulder, as they headed for the front door the Sargent witnessed the last mortal remains of Michael disappear down the throat of a large, yellow retriever.

Guest Blog – Women’s Shoes

drewdog2060drewdog2060:

Many thanks to Cupitonians for inviting me to write a guest post.

Originally posted on This Labyrinth I Roam!:

Some people collect stamps. Jonathan Myers hoarded women’s shoes. Neatly labelled the footwear stood on shelves in a wardrobe dedicated to the purpose.

Natalie. He remembered the girl. She had stood at a little over 5 feet 3 inches in those black stilettos, her long black hair tied up in pigtails. Martha. A slim busty Blonde wearing blue slip-on gym shoes, which now stood, neatly labelled next to Natalie’s stilettos. Jenny. Plump Jenny with her greasy black hair. She had arrived smelling of stale cigarettes and alcohol. Her white trainers now stood next to Martha’s gym shoes.

A click downstairs caused Jonathan to jump. Only the freezer going through it’s cycle he realised. He should, he thought be used to the sound by now. Lucy. Well spoken Lucy. She hadn’t been your typical prostitute. Her cut glass accent, expensive black leather handbag and those hand-made leather shoes set Lucy apart…

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Dark Angel By K Morris On Calamities Press

I am delighted that Calamities Press has accepted another of my poems, “Dark Angel” for publication. For “Dark Angel”, which first appeared on my blog, newauthoronline.com please visit the following link (http://calamitiespress.com/2014/11/02/dark-angel-poetry-by-kevin-morris/).

Autumn Rain

Rain you are lonely, crying outside in the darkness.

A few sad fireworks fizzle and die.

Me, sitting alone on my sofa. Rain, is it you who are lonely, or I?

Claire (Flash Fiction)

It is said that memory dims with age. No doubt this is true. If it be so then I am the exception that proves the rule for my recollection of Claire remains undimmed by the passing of the years.

Claire with her long brown hair and grey eyes. Those eyes always full of merriment and her laugh as sweet as the brook in spring time, I hear it now echoing down the years.

I remember walks in the forest, Claire’s little hand in my huge paw, so delicate it was, just like the neck of a baby bird. One twist and it would break. Oh the sweet scent of the forest floor as we lay Claire’s head cradled on my shoulder, tender kisses as the sun sank to rest. Claire, Claire oh how I remember thee.

A man may love many times before the cold ground claims him. I loved but once. Oh my darling, darling Claire.

I said that my darling’s eyes where full of merriment and so they where. At the beginning those eyes smiled only on me. This is as it should be for love is exclusive, one can only love one person wholly and our passion was like that of the fire for the wood, all consuming but, like the fire it burned brightly for a time then dwindled to embers, spluttered and died.

Did I say died? That isn’t accurate for while Claire’s love dwindled until it became a mere nothing, my passion for her remained as steadfast as the great mountains. My heart burned and continues to burn for my Claire.

The girl who had once had eyes only for me began to smile on other men. I saw those beautiful orbs light up at sight of handsome strangers, her musical laugh rang out for supermarket cashiers.

When I confronted my dearest love she, of course denyed it. You never heard such vehement protestations of innocence as those which eminated from the lips of my dearest Claire.

“Darling I love only you”, she said knestling her head against my chest.

I wanted so much to believe her but my own eyes observed the manner in which she flirted with other men. Her gaze would wander from my face to that of a house guest. She would laugh at other men’s jokes while remaining silent at mine. Slowly but surely I sensed her slipping away from me.

They say that with the passing of the years recollection fades, faces grow dim and we move on to new loves. The image of Claire remains as clear as the first day on which we met. I see her before me now, her long brown hair fanned out on the pure white sheets. Her grey eyes look so peaceful as she lies on the great double bed. I will never forget my one and only love for she never left me, but remains before me now.

How terribly rude of me. I neglected to introduce myself, do please forgive me. My name is Ian and I’m a taxidermist, a person who specialises in the stuffing and mounting of animal skins. It isn’t only animals which can be preserved in this manner, take my Claire for instance …

Halloween

Halloween is just so much hokum, a trick designed to part the gullible from their money. The fansy dress industry does well. Fake blood and vampire’s fangs fly off the shelves while kids pester the neighbourhood with Trick Or Treat.

At the dead of night we are not so sure. What is that shadow which keeps pace as we walk home from that Halloween Party? That unearthly scream setting the hairs on the back of your neck astir is, surely a cat yowling for it’s mate, isn’t it? You quicken your pace just in case.

Cutting through the churchyard will knock 5 minutes off your journey. In the brightness of day you would have no hesitation so why now do you hesitate to enter? The dead after all can not hurt you, “tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil”.

You enter the churchyard resisting the almost overwhelming temptation to glance over your shoulder. Laughter in the darkest corner of the graveyard. Oh sweet Jesus why did I walk through here. Logic tells you it is merely an amourous couple who, unable to contain their desire have chosen this place to satiate their lust but, still you run blindly tripping over gravestones until at last the gate is reached. Locked! Desperately you climb, trousers rip on the gate’s spiked top, you are beyond caring. You jump down on the other side and with heart racing run the last few hundred yards to home.

Come the bright morning you laugh at yesterday’s escapades. My imagination ran riot but still, somewhere deep in your subconscious the nagging doubts remain.

Early Morning Call

The below is dedicated to the person who rang me at halfpast 2 this morning from a withheld number.

 

—

 

 

Why do you ring me at halfpast two? Tell me, please do.

The sound of my mobile echoing around, dragging me from sleep profound.

I answered the phone, no one there, cursing inwardly I return to my lair.

Whoever you are, whatever you do, refrain from calling me at halfpast two!

Shower

There is nothing like an invigorating shower to wake one up in the morning. Mine is an electric one and it’s powerful spray soon has the sleep cleared from my eyes and yours truly raring to go! Yesterday morning however the shower had slowed to a mere trickle meaning that my ablutions took somewhat longer than usual. I had visions of having to pay for a new unit as mine is rather elderly. The hassle of shopping for shower units, finding someone to plumb in the unit etc had me groaning inwardly.

On returning home yesterday evening I reached into the shower, fully clothed to see whether it had, somehow made a miraculous recovery. A powerful jet of water soaked both my shirt and the bathroom carpet. My shower is, I am pleased to report well and truly working! Additionally the soaking of my shirt thoroughly invigorated me after a hard day in my central London office. I would recommend my experience to anyone. After a day slaving away just put your arm inside the shower, (not bothering to disrobe prior to doing so). Don’t bother to check whether the shower is facing outwards (towards you and the bathroom carpet), just turn it on and, hey presto your fatigue will vanish in a veritable waterfall!

 

Yours ever,

A Duck

The Affair

Richard felt that familiar frisson as he pulled Julie close. The smell of her hair, scented with jasmine sent his pulse off the scale. He never tired of gazing into those blue eyes, they held oceans of desire in which he could swim forever.

The illicit nature of the affair was, Richard thought part of it’s attraction. His girlfriend, Susie sat in the room next door watching television, blissfully unaware of the betrayal which was taking place virtually under her nose. The thought of his girlfriend catching him in the act made Richard feel sick with fear and desire.

Richard was addicted. He had reached that stage in his addiction in which the only way to deal with his feelings of guilt was to drown them by plunging ever deeper into the inviting waters of lust. Fully immersed, Richard gave way with desperate abandon to his desires. Julie had no limits, they had engaged in acts which Susie would never entertain in a thousand years.

“I love you, I love you” Julie moaned as Richard’s hands explored her perfect body.

She was his ideal girl. They never argued. Julie’s perfectly manicured nails, her immaculately styled long brown hair and those ideally proportioned breasts (not to big and not to small) where just as Richard desired them to be.

Richard knew that he could never become bored with this beautiful girl and, in the extremely unlikely event that their relationship became stale he could always purchase another of the increasingly life-like sexbots which the mid 21st century had to offer.

Why risk sexually transmitted diseases when one could have your perfect virtual girlfriend made to order? No danger with a virtual girl of her becoming jealous of your other partner. Julie would be making no calls in the dead of night, there would be no incriminating texts for Susie to discover on Richard’s mobile. It was, he thought the perfect solution, an affair without guilt accept, for some unaccountable reason Richard’s conscience gnawed away at him.

“You’re a bloody doll. Well a highly developed one but still a damn doll. This means nothing. Absolutely nothing” Richard whispered in Julie’s ear so as not to be overheard by his girlfriend next door.

Was it a trick of the light or where Julie’s eyes swimming with tears?

 

—

 

Susie sat, her head pillowed on Jon’s shoulder. Softly she traced his strong jawline.

“I love you Susie”, Jon said, gently taking her face in his hands and planting a tender kiss on Susie’s lips.

Guilty desire welled up in Susie. Richard was in the room next door, what if he where to come in and see her in the arms of another man. He would never forgive her. Lust and common sense contended in Susie’s breast. Then, as is so often the case hot lust triumphed over staid rationality.

With a moan Susie grasped Jon to her. “It’s only a sexbot” Susie thought as she released the great tide of desire pent up inside her.