K. Morris's Blog, page 810

Absolution

“Can I get you a drink?” the stranger asked touching Philip on the arm.

“I’m fine thanks. I’ve just ordered another pint”.

“I’ll get this” the stranger said handing over a £10 note to the barman.

“No really there is no need” Philip protested. Why did people always assume that he was in need of charity simply due to the fact that he was obviously blind, sitting as he was at the bar with his guide dog, Zeus at his feet. He hated being patronised but he had heard the till drawer click shut and the change being returned to his benefactor. He had no choice other than to accept the drink with as good a grace as possible.

“Thanks for the drink”.

“You’re welcome. How long have you been blind.

Philip’s instinctive reaction was to ask “how long have you suffered from terminal nosiness” but he smiled that world weary smile which his friends new so well and said “since birth”.

“What caused it?”

“A blood clot on the brain. They managed to remove it but not before I’d gone completely blind”.

“Christ I really admire people like you. Who looks after you?”

“No one, I live alone but if you know of any eligible young ladies do let me know”. Philip had found that the best way to deal with unwelcome interactions of this nature was to make light of them. Humour was after all better than losing his temper and telling the unwelcome interloper to go and take a long walk off a short cliff.

“Can I get you another pint?” the stranger asked beckoning to the barman.

“No thanks I’ve hardly touched this one” Philip said.

“I’ll have another, its my fifth”.

“I hope you don’t have work tomorrow” Philip said with a smile.

“Sod work. The boss can go screw himself. I feel like getting pissed and if anyone’s got a problem with that then they can get stuffed” the stranger said his voice rising.

“Maybe you should make this your last one Pete” the barman said as he poured another pint of cider into Pete’s glass.

Pete glared at the barman who retreated to the opposite end of the counter.

“My girlfriend had Retinitis Pigmentosa. Have you heard of it?”

“Yes of course it’s a degenerative genetic condition which causes people to go blind over sometimes quite long periods”.

“Yeah. I met this great girl, Ruth her name is. We clicked straight away. We both liked the same kind of music and supported the same football team, Chelsea. She was (is) gorgeous. Big blue eyes and silky blonde hair cascading down her back. We moved in together and everything was great. I’ve never been happier in my life. Another pint Bob”. The barman rolled his eyes but complied with the request. There was a prolonged pause in the conversation.

“So what happened? You speak of Ruth as though she is in the past” Philip asked.

“Ruth started to have problems”. Pete paused for so long that Philip wondered whether he should say something. “At first Ruth complained of problems reading” Pete continued. “She’d hold the paper really close to her face, sometimes she’d even get ink on her nose from the news print. I suggested that she should go to the opticians for an eye test and get some reading glasses. She wouldn’t have it, at least she refused until she walked smack bang into a lamp post. Can I get you another drink by the way mate?”

“No I’m fine thanks”.

“Well I’ll have one anyway” Pete said signalling to the barman who reluctantly filled his glass. “It was a really bad gash Ruth had. The hospital had to put stiches in it. After that I insisted she go for an eye test. The optician prescribed glasses but suggested Ruth go to the hospital for more tests. She was diagnosed with RP, not a thing they could do. In tine she’d go completely blind”.

“I’m sorry to hear that but I’m sure you where supportive, that you did your best to find out about RP and to help your girlfriend to adjust to losing her sight”.

“You don’t know what its like. I’d met this vivacious sporty girl who was always doing things then, suddenly she changed”.

“Changed?”

“Yeah she couldn’t play sports anymore. She became so depressed, very teary”.

“But I’m sure you tried to support her?”

“I didn’t know what to do. You don’t expect your partner to become disabled. The girl I loved changed completely. It wasn’t the Ruth I’d met”.

“A person is not defined by their disability. Surely you saw beyond your girlfriend’s RP. You tried to connect with the lady you had fallen in love with?”

“I didn’t know what to do. Every time I suggested going out somewhere she would always make an excuse so I started doing more and more things on my own. I met this girl, Karen in the supermarket. I helped her carry her shopping to the car and one thing led to another. We swapped phone numbers, met up the next day and went back to her place. Well you can guess what happened next”. Anyway one of Ruth’s girlfriends found out what was happening and told her. Ruth was devastated. She moved back in with her parents. I haven’t seen her since”.

Philip sat at the bar not knowing what to say.

“Say something. Anything. I couldn’t help what happened could I?”

“I can’t answer that” Philip replied.

“But look at it from my point of view. I didn’t sign up to be with a blind girl did I?”

“I don’t have all the facts so, quite honestly I’m not in a position to comment”.

“So you think I should have stayed with her then?”

“Only you can answer that question my friend” Philip said.

“You think I’m an arsehole don’t you? Perhaps that’s what I am. I drink because I’m an arsehole who wants to forget what he’s done”.

“Mate I can’t give you absolution. I’m not a priest but one thing I do know is that alcohol won’t solve anything. Do yourself a favour and go home”.

“Do you think that I’m a bad person?”

“That is for you to answer. I can’t give you absolution. Thanks for the drink. Take care of yourself”.

Philip got off his stool and picking up his dog’s harness exited the pub.

“Absolution” that was for priests to bestow not for him Philip thought as he walked home.

Are Children Are Safe

Following the publication of the report of the independent enquiry into the effects of pornography on children the government had legislated to stem the online scourge. All new internet customers now had to opt-in to receive adult material. Failure to tick the box stating that the account holder was happy to access such content meant that the Internet Service Provider’s filters would prevent the customer or anyone else using their connection from encountering pornography.

“I’m so glad that we don’t have to worry about Ian looking at filthy images. They degrade women turning us into sex objects. Its no wonder that so many boys think that they are entitled to have any girl they please when they can do so, at least virtually with a click of the mouse. Well they could until this new legislation stopped all that. It’s a victory for the sisterhood” Louise said with a smile. “You did remember not to tick the box didn’t you darling?”

“Yes Lou” Mike said holding back the urge to ask his girlfriend whether she thought that he was stupid, of course he had remembered not to tick the box. As a new man he was just as committed as Louise to stopping the objectification of women

—

Ian loved his new laptop. It was a top of the range Toshiba. He could do his homework on it but that was a minor plus. The icing on the cake was the amazing graphics display which was great for gaming. The people in the game really came to life, they seemed almost real as they flickered and danced across the screen.

Ian padded on bare feet to his bedroom door. Opening it a crack he listened. The sound of muffled voices reached him. His mum and dad must be in the living room. Returning to the computer Ian typed into the address bar a domain ending with dot.ru. Having entered he clicked on the log in screen and input a Hotmail address along with his password. It wasn’t his usual email, at least not the one which his parents new about. It was used solely for the purposes of accessing this site.

Once logged in Ian went to the site’s search box and began his research. Soon the screen was full of couples cavorting in every conceivable place and position.

“Dinners ready” his mum shouted.

“Just a minute” Ian shouted back. He closed the site and switched to a top of the range history deletion programme.

“It will get cold” his mum yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

The programme had done its work. Ian switched off the computer, opened his bedroom door and took the stairs two at a time.

“You look flushed darling” his mum said.

“Really, it must be the central heating mum. Its so hot in my bedroom”.

“Just turn down the radiator, your not helpless”! Louise said with an exasperated look in the direction of Mike which said “children, who would have them”!

“Yeah, yeah” Ian said taking a seat at the dining table. He just hoped that his parents didn’t notice the payment to the anonymous proxy service when the credit card statement arrived.

(Author’s note: proxy services allow the user to browse anonymously so a person based in the UK can browse while using an IP address on the other side of the world. The proxy acts as a cloak so what the user’s Internet Service Provider sees is a mundane website with an address such as proxify.literature rather than the content the user is accessing while cloaked by the encrypcion provided by the proxy server).

Autumn Love

You come to me your golden gown floating in the breeze. For a while we dally in the woods rich with the scent of the dying year. Beautiful in your approaching death, golden tresses fall, our mouths meet hungrily for soon you must go. A new stern mistress will I have dressed in snow and ice.

Nazi Women

Today’s Daily Mail has a very interesting article regarding “Hitler’s Furies: German Women In The Nazi Killing Fields” by Wendy Lower, http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2432620/Hitlers-Furies-The-Nazi-women-bit-evil-men.html. The book sheds light on the women who actively participated in the atrocities of the Third Reich ranging from those who worked in concentration camps through to the secretaries who typed up the paperwork on mass exterminations. The book dispels the myth that women are incapable of such barbarity. I for one will be ordering a copy once it is published on 3 October.

If Only I Had The Time

One of the difficulties of holding down a full-time job is that it affords insufficient time for writing. By the time I return home during the week I’m often to tired to expend the time and concentration required for writing. On the few occasions when I have expended time writing during weekday evenings I’ve found myself to be extremely tired come the morrow! As a consequence most of my writing takes place during the weekends.

A close friend who has retired spends every weekday morning writing. Indeed if I e-mail him I’m unlikely to receive a response until the afternoon which I, as a writer totally understand. While writing I turn off my mobile and ensure that my e-mails are closed so as to avoid distractions. Technology is a boon as computers enable us to make corrections etc without the need for copious amounts of correcting fluid! Again for me as a blind writer computers have given me the freedom to write by employing software (Jaws for Windows) which converts text into speech and braill on a Windows PC.

I need to win the Lottery, retire to a big house and write. Alternatively any donations, however large would be welcome. Please send to:

The Struggling Writer’s Fund

Care of K Morris …!

Waiting

4:30, barely 5 minutes since I last looked at the clock but when your life is hanging in the balance time does strange things. “for each man kills the thing he loves, by each let this be heard”. Stop it, quoting Wilde will only depress you. But I feel like the condemned man in The Balad of Reading Gaol. Don’t be so melodramatic man, they don’t hang men anymore in the UK and besides you are no Oscar Wilde, stop being so bloody pretentious. But I’m an English teacher pretentiousness goes with the job or so the tabloids would have you believe.

And the first witness for the prosecution is Mr Hersay.

“Mr Hersay can you tell the tribunal, in your own words what happened on the afternoon of 22nd June 2012?”

“On 22nd June Molly innuendo told me that she heard, from an impeccable source that Mr Patrick Colins was seen behaving inappropriately”.

Hearsay, Innuendo and Tittle Tattle have strutted and played their hour upon the stage but will they, like the poor player be heard from no more? No they are even now sitting down over tea and cakes with Ms Gossip Monger eagerly awaiting the announcement of the tribunal. “I’ll be the judge, I’ll be the jury, I’ll be the hangman and condemn you to death”.

A male teacher working in a girls school, “nudge, nudge, wink, wink” that’s what the average tabloid reader thinks when he reads about a male teacher accused of inappropriate conduct with one of his female pupils.

Its not easy all those hormonal teenage girls. Even though I say it myself I’m not a bad looking man for my age. Going a little grey at the temples but lots of girls seem to find that sexy, the father figure and all that. Short skirts, girls sitting with their legs far apart I’ve seen it all. One would have to be made of stone or gay not to be tempted. I’m not gay by the way despite my love of Wilde. A fine writer who should never have been imprisoned for the love that dare not speak its name but I don’t share his liking for male flesh.

4:40,. This is barbaric. In Roman times they threw Christians to the lions. It was a horrendous death. Society is more humane today, we throw teachers on the tender mercies of public opinion or, more accurately on the mercy of the tabloids, “power without responsibility, the prerogative of the harlot throughout the ages”. You really are a pretentious prick Patrick, always showing off with your quotations. That appeals to a certain type of young impressionable girl. They love a man who can summon up a quote at the drop of a hat particularly when he takes an interest in them. Of course it’s my job to take an interest in all my pupils, there is nothing whatsoever inappropriate about a teacher nurturing his pupils. Good educators are like gold dust and ought to be cherished. I am a first rate teacher. Don’t just take my word for it. You should have heard the glowing references from several former pupils. It wasn’t just former pupils, several parents spoke glowingly about how I’ve instilled a love of literature in their daughters. Try as I might I couldn’t hold back my tears.

The condemned man ate a hearty breakfast. I can’t stomach these biscuits or what passes for tea in this place. 4:51, get a move on my palms are red raw. I can’t help digging my nails into them, Christ I’ve drawn blood!

When does a girl reach womanhood. The law sets the age of consent at 16 in the UK but prohibits sexual relationships between teachers and students even where the pupil has reached 16. The law is to protect young people from being exploited by those, like teachers in positions of authority. Some of the girls, 13, 14 and 15-year-olds aren’t above using their sexuality to wrap men around their little fingers. As an adult you have to have self control, to remember that they are, contrary to what they may think still children. “I can resist everything accept temptation”. Good old Oscar but that isn’t a quote one would employ when facing a charge of inappropriate conduct with a minor, not if you had any sense you wouldn’t!

Maybe I should get up and leave now. I could do that. This is a disciplinary tribunal not a court of law. I could walk out that door, jump on a plane and make a new life in Thailand or China. They are crying out for English teachers in those countries.

The Director of Public Prosecutions looked at the case but came to the conclusion that there was insufficient evidence to prosecute, however I’m still subjected to the circus of this tribunal. You jump through one hoop only to be faced by yet another. Mud sticks. Even if I’m cleared tongues will continue to wag, “You don’t want to send Gemma to that school do you? That’s where Mr Colins, the pervy teacher works. Of course he was cleared but there is no smoke without fire, don’t you agree?”

—

Cleared and free to return to teaching without a stain on my good name. I’m more grateful than I can ever express to all those who supported me. My backs sore from all the congratulatory slaps I’ve received, “Well done Patrick, I never doubted you for a single moment”. “Congratulations Paddy I never believed the rumours”. Thank the lord I’m free to return to the job I love.

—

Sophie, her pretty face convulsed with crying trying to conceal her grief at the back of the classroom. The bell rings. Pupils file out

“Sophie can I have a word please”.

The final girl leaves closing the door behind her.

“What’s wrong Sophie” I ask very gently.

“Its my gran sir she had a stroke last night and they don’t think she will” Sophie breaks down burying her face against my shoulder. Her scent, the warmth of her face close to mine. God forgive me …

Run For Your Life

Wanker flirting with that barmaid like that. He says that he was just having a laugh but I’m sick of it. Everytime we go out it’s the same

“Oh its just a laugh Lucy. Just chill out, get a life”.

“I’ll get a life without you” I told him as I threw my vodka and coke in his face. He was furious but give him his due he didn’t retaliate. He’s a womanising arsehole but he has never been violent.

Its dark walking home. Still its only 20 minutes from the pub to my flat. He’d better not think of coming back there, tosser! Shit its raining. I’ll be drenched. I new that I should have called a cab but I was so het up, not thinking straight.

That blokes been following me for the past few minutes. Don’t panic Lucy it’s a coincidence. He just happens to be going in the same direction as you. I can’t see his face. That hat pulled down almost hiding his eyes, I don’t like it. Christ he’s walking fast, almost running. Keep calm he just wants to get home out of the rain the same as you. But he’s running straight at you. Fuck the alley’s empty just this weirdo and me. Scream, call for help. But he hasn’t done anything, he’s only running. Shout anyway it will scare him away.

“Help, help someone please help”.

There are no houses around here. No one can hear me. I shouldn’t have gone down this short cut, It saves 5 minutes but its taken me away from the main street. Oh Christ why didn’t I call a cab. Please, please god help me. He’s running now. I can here him calling for me to stop. You must be fucking joking mate I’m not stopping for you! I can’t run in these heels. Off they come. I haven’t been to the gym for ages. God I’m so out of condition I’m wheezing like an old man. My chest’s killing me and I’ve a stitch in my right side. Must rest. Can’t rest he’ll catch you. Must stop for a moment. I can’t. Oh fuck he’s still gaining on me I wish I’d kept going to the gym with the girls. Please, please no he’s almost on top of me. Run, Run Lucy, must get away. I can see the street lights up ahead. Just one more spurt and your back in civilisation.

He’s waving. What the hell does he expect me to do, I’m not stopping! Oh Christ he’s caught up with me. He’s got something in his hand and he’s pointing it at me. God is it a gun? Why me?

“You left this on the bar. God lady you where in a hurry. I thought I’d never catch up with you. This is your mobile isn’t it?”

Street Walker

Its fucking freezing tonight. As my granddad used to say “even the brass monkeys ave brass monkeys”. I don’t know what he meant when he said that but it sticks in my head. He’d turn in his grave if he could see me now. Some people pretend not to see. They keep chatting to their mates or partners as though I didn’t exist. Others show pity. I can see the sympathy in their eyes but pity never helped anyone least ways it never put food on the table. The ones I really hate call me names, some even spit at me. Can you imagine having a big gob of spit landing on you. They call me disgusting but it isn’t me who goes around gobbin on people. Yeah my old granddad would ave a blue fit if he could see his little Anna now, the girl who sat on his knee while he read Goldie Locks and the Three Bears, standing here in a skirt which hardly covers me bottom and a top which leaves nothing to the imagination.

Christ its cold, I wish a punter would pull up in a nice warm car. At least its warm in cars even though I ave to … well I’m sure you know what a girl like me does. You get all types. There are the blokes who ave just got their benefit and want a quick shag. You’d think they’d ave better things to spend their money on like food but I aint in a position to judge anyone. Then there are the professional types with their flashy cars and expensive jewellery. Beats me why guys like that need to pay for it. I mean girls must be falling over themselves to get their claws into a guy like that. A nice house and a comfortable life who can blame them! Cours bloke like that could have any girl he wants but, truth is they like the thrill of a bit of rough in the back seat. One guy, talked like he had a plumb in his gob said he could pay a thousand pounds for a girl from a top class agency to entertain him over night in the Dorchester. I believed him as well, you should have seen the car he drove and his rolex. He got off on calling me a dirty hoare and a filthy slag. Even after all this time on the streets words like that still hurt me. Whoever said “sticks and stones will break my bones but names will never hurt me” was talking out of his arse, course names hurt but I just grits me teeth, thinks of the money and does what I has to.

Sometimes I asks meself why blokes do this. I mean lots of them have daughters and sisters. I’ve been shown pics of their little girls and its obvious the blokes love them. Doesn’t seem to click with them though that I’m someone’s daughter.

Not all punters are arseholes. I’ve had blokes give me big tips and I aint done nothing dodgy like sex without a rubber to get them. One time a punter saw a bloke kicking shit out of me and gave the bloke a hiding. No they aint all bad.

Some punters are lonely. You can see the sadness in their eyes. Course lots of them want to fuck but its more than that. The way some of em cling to me its obvious they are desperate for love. Sometimes it aint easy to deal with them. I mean I’m fucked up and lonely so I aint in a position to elp em am I?

There’s this guy, Darren gentle as a lamb he is. Bout once a week e’ll pick me up and take me to his place. We’ll talk and ave sex. Sometimes e’ll cry like a baby and talk about what his father made him do when he was a little boy. Bit like me really cept in my case it was my uncle who did it. If my granddad had known me uncle would ave copped it but I never thought anyone would believe me.

Cars coming. Bloke’s slowing down and undressing me with his eyes. Wish Fran was ere, she always takes the registrations and I do the same for er but she aint and I needs the money. Ere you go girl step into the car, pray and ope for the best.

Frustrated

I spent a frustrating half hour or so yesterday evening trying to enrol my collection of short stories, The First Time in KDP Select. My other collections: Sting In The Tail and An Act Of Mercy (together with my short story, Samantha)are all enrolled which provides me with the ability to promote them, free of charge for upto 5 days in any 90 day period. However The First Time just wasn’t playing ball! I’ve emailed Amazon and await their reply. In fact I suspect that I know the answer. The First Time unlike my other books was published using the services of a self-publishing company who, among other activities had responsibility for sending my book to e-book outlets in order that it would appear in their catalogues. I’m drawn to the conclusion that only the self-publishing outfit possess the ability to take action in respect of The First Time which is rather a pain in the neck!

The above highlights the importance of authors understanding what, precisely we are signing when it comes to contracts. Yes I did read the document prior to appending my squashed spider scrawl otherwise known as a signature but the fact that I wouldn’t have full control regarding the distribution of my book never registered. If I use the services of a self-publishing company again I’ll be sure to ensure that I retain the flexibility to send my work to publishers etc.

Do you warm up before you start on your #WIP ?

Reblogged from Daily (w)rite:

Today, I'm posting one of my warm-up sessions, unedited. Do you warm up before you start writing on your #WIP ?

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I write often at a food court in one of the shopping malls in the neighborhood. Today I have 600 words already under my belt when I set off, so I do not feel that fear which always accompanies an empty page.

Read more… 624 more words

Some great descriptions here. I haven't tried writing in a public place, let alone a food court as I require quiet when writing. Perhaps I will try writing in a pub or restaurant and see how I get on.