K. Morris's Blog, page 815

What If?

The scents of a summer garden carried on a gentle breeze. I stand at the open window intoxicated desiring life and you.

You the unattainable, reclining carelessly, your soft brown skin an instrument of torture. To look but not to touch, perpetually suspended in the state of friendship. What if I should express what lies within? What then?The death of friendship, the crushing of my dreams or, just possibly something else. Perhaps it is Better to live in suspended animation the words forever just on the tip of my tongue. Where I to speak my words like bombs would explode shattering forever this world of dreams.

Sweeping Up

“another bloody pervert” Sergeant Ben Marshal said as he looked down contemptuously at the man lying on the living room floor.

“How can you be so callous?” constable Haley Dixon asked.

“Look Haley when you have seen so many weirdos as I have kill themselves while getting their kinks you will feel just as pissed off as I do. We should be out there catching criminals not investigating the deaths of pervs who get their kicks out of tying vacuum cleaner chords around their necks to obtain sexual gratification. Its an obvious case of accidental death while he (pointing to the corpse) was getting his jollies.  I bet you £20 that the coroner finds that this is accidental death”.

“I don’t gamble”.

“Pitty as it’s a dead cert that £20 would be coming my way if you did”.

 

—

 

The elderly man leaned heavily on his walking stick as he approached the front door. These days it took him several minutes to get from the arm chair to the door by which time many callers had given up waiting and left leaving only an empty space when he finally opened the door.

“I’m coming” he called in a quavering voice.

Finally he reached the front door. He fumbled with the latch. His arthritic fingers could barely manage to cope with the simple mechanism. Eventually the latch clicked and he opened the door.

A gloved handwas pressed over his mouth.

“Get inside. If you make a sound I’ll use this” the caller said the flick knife glinting in his gloved left hand.

The man shrank back into the hallway.

“I’m going to remove my hand but if you try to summon help I’ll use this” the visitor said holding the knife so that it’s blade was a mere millimetre away from the elderly man’s neck.

“The money is in my bedroom under the matress. Just take it and go” the old man pleaded.

“Oh Bert don’t you remember your own step son? I’m truly hurt. Don’t you recall the times we spent alone in this very house?”

The elderly man squinted short sightedly at his unwelcome guest. Slowly recognition dawned.

“You always liked a joke didn’t you Johny. Always larking around you where but the jokes over now. Put that away (pointing to the knife) and lets have a cup of tea”.

“No lets play a game. You always liked to play games when I was a child”.

“I’m to old for games Johny. My old body is falling to bits”.

“Oh you are never to old for games. Do you remember the hoover game?”

“The what?”

“The hoover game” Johny said patiently as though he was addressing a particularly stupid child.

“No I don’t remember that son”.

“Really you do surprise me. If you can’t remember then I certainly can. Where do you keep the vacuum cleaner?”

“The vacuum cleaner?”

“Oh dear I can’t be making myself clear today. Yes where do you keep the vacuum cleaner, the hoover, the thing which is designed for removing dirt like you”.

“What do you want the vacuum cleaner for” the elderly man asked in a quavering voice.

“Don’t you like surprises? I do. If I tell you then it won’t be a surprise will it and that will take all the fun out of the game” Johny said with a smile.

“I can’t remember”.

“That’s OK. I’ll help you. I remember that it used to be kept in the cupboard under the stairs. Is it still there I wonder? Well there is only one way to find out Johny, to go and look. Walk in front of me so that I can keep an eye on you. That’s right, stay to the left of the cupboard where I can keep an eye on you. Ah it’s the same vacuum cleaner. Who would have believed that it’s the self same hoover after all these years. Take it out and we can play a game”.

“I can’t manage it Johny. The lady from social services vacuums when she comes round on a Thursday afternoon”.

“Really! As a child of 10 I could barely manage to hold that machine above my head but I had to play the game. Do you remember making me hold the hoover above my head? God my shoulders ached but I knew that if I dropped it then I’d suffer even more. Christ holding that thing at the top of the stairs was scary. I felt as though I was going to topple down and be crushed by it”.

“I don’t know what you are talking about Johny” whimpered the old man.

“Yes you fucking do now get that out of the cupboard or I’ll cut you” Johny said advancing on the shaking man with the knife.

Slowly Bert reached into the cupboard and with great effort pulled out the vacuum cleaner.

“There now I told you that you could do it didn’t I? You aren’t quite so weak and feeble as you like to pretend are you?”

“You where always a naughty boy Johny. You deserved to be punished. It was for your own good”.

Johny rraised his right arm as though to stab Bert with the knife full in the neck. With an effort he contained himself.

“A little boy that is what I was. A terrified little child holding a fucking vacuum cleaner above his head. Do you remember the cushion game? Perhaps we can play that after we’ve finished with the hoover. Would you like that?”

“No please”.

“Why not cushions are nice and comfortable. Don’t you like a nice soft cushion? I remember the feeling of the fabric as you pressed it down on my little face. Why didn’t you kill me? I’ve often asked myself that. Perhaps you gained more satisfaction out of having me alive and watching me suffer than you gained from the prospect of killing me. Anyway lovely as it is to chat with my step dad I don’t have all day. Unwind that cable”.

 

The end

Passion

Full of promise, oh fragile flower, your loveliness passes in but an hour. Your scent overpowers me, giddy with desire, this fire rages hot and dies in an hour.

The Date

Laura slipped on her favourite blue dress, the one with primroses embroidered on it. The dress showed a small amount of cleavage but not an excessive quantity for a first date Laura thought as she slipped on her black leather shoes.

God she hoped that this guy was better than the man she’d met last Saturday. John had spent the entire evening talking about his prowess in the world of gaming.

“You know I often get home from work at 6 and the first thing I do is turn on my Windows 8 PC. It is top of the range much more powerful than the computers which sent the first men into space. Anyway as I was saying I turn on the computer and start gaming straight away. I lose track of time. When I start its 6 but when I look at the computer screen often its after midnight.”

“So what else do you do?” Laura had asked.

John had turned to her a look of genuine puzzlement on his face

“What do you mean?”

“What about your friends, you must go for a beer on a Friday evening sometimes?”

“My world is gaming. I know lots of people through gaming. We have never met but that doesn’t matter, we play online, it’s cool!”

Laura had manfully persisted

“But surely you have the odd social event with colleagues?”

“Oh at Christmas everyone goes to the work’s do. I hate these things but I go to keep my boss happy but as soon as the meals over I make my excuses and leave. Anyway as I was saying gaming is absolutely fantastic, there are so many different games that its impossible to get bored”.

John broke off suddenly remembering something

“What do you do Laura?”

“I’m a secretary in a solicitors office but in the evening I like to go to the cinema, read or”,

“There is this really cool game” John had continued cutting Laura off mid sentence.

Please not another gamer Laura preyed as she exited the taxi and walked the short distance to the restaurant.

—

Laura recognised Tom immediately. At well over six feet in height and with his cropped blonde hair and pearcing blue eyes he was unmistakable. At least he looks like the man I’ve been chatting to online Laura thought. That was surely a good omen.

Tom stood up and pulled out a chair for Laura. The gesture touched her. Tom was a perfect gentleman. The evening was going to go well Laura thought as she sank down into the cushioned seat.

“Its lovely to meet you Laura although we have been chatting for so long online that I feel we are old friends already”.

“Its good to meet you too Tom” Laura said taking Tom’s strong hand. Laura flinched involuntarily under Tom’s strong grip. Her poor fingers felt like dainty wild flowers which have been crushed under the hob nailed boots of a farm labourer. “You are hurting me”.

“Sorry I don’t know my own strength sometimes” Tom said releasing Laura’s hand.

Laura rubbed her fingers trying to massage some life back into them.

“What would you like to eat? I can recommend the rump steak with fresh vegetables. It really is delicious” Tom said handing Laura a menu.

“OK I’ll join you in the steak”.

“Great. What would you like to drink? The house white is excellent”.

“I’ll just have an orange juice thanks”.

“OK” Tom said beckoning to the waitress, “two steaks please. An orange juice and a bottle of the house white”.

Laura raised her eyebrows. Surely Tom wasn’t going to drink an entire bottle of wine. Evidently he was and perhaps she shouldn’t judge him to harshly as Laura and her best friend Amanda had on occasions polished off a couple of bottles of wine on a Friday evening between the two of them.

“You are much prettier in person than on the website”.

Laura blushed

“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment”.

“You look very English with that lovely blonde hair and your corn flower blue eyes. Are your parents English?”

“Yes why do you ask?”

“It is important to me that the English way of life is preserved”.

Laura looked confused.

“England used to be a great nation. Half the world showed red on the map. Who built up Africa and India? Who constructed the railways and stopped the natives from tearing one another apart? I’ll tell you who did all that. It was us, the English we bestrode the globe like a great colossus. We where the workshop of the world. Birmingham, Liverpool and Manchester produced cotton and other manufactured goods which where sent all over the globe. Do you know how we managed all this? Because we the English race have the blood of warriors running through our veins. Saxons, Vikings and Romans mingle in this great nation to make us what we are, a people who’s destiny is to rule the world”. Tom stopped a far away look in his eyes.

“Are you a conservative?” Laura asked. Tom’s views where well to the right of anything which her Daily Telegraph reading father had ever voiced but perhaps Tom was on the right of the party.

“Conservatism and Socialism its all part of the same old corrupt social order. Socialism and Capitalism are both responsible for bringing this once great land to it’s knees. There is a conspiracy to destroy us the white race to make Britain a racial hell hole in which through race mixing an inferior breed of muddy brown people emerges who the emerging world government can control”.

Tom broke off as the waitress brought over the wine and orange juice.

“Just look at her” Tom said once the waitress had moved out of earshot. Obviously mixed race. Some people have no pride. I mean how can a patriotic English man or woman sleep with a black? They are betraying the race and diluting the blood of our country. Can’t you see that Laura soon it will be to late if we don’t act now. We need a government which will put a stop to the rot. Kick out the immigrants and institute a programme of national regeneration”.

Laura didn’t know much about politics but she was feeling increasingly uneasy.

“But Tom that girl was almost certainly born here. She speaks with a south London accent like mine. Where should she go back to? Her home is here”.

“If a pig lives among swans it remains a pig. No amount of dressing it up to look like a swan will make it a swan. That girl can never be British (Tom said refilling his glass), she is a half breed who will be rejected by her own community and those English men and women who haven’t been juped by the jew infested cesspit which some call the media”.

“Tom you are frightening me. Those are the kind of views which lead to the concentration camps” Laura said her face turning deathly pale.

“Laura you have swallowed the same lies as most of the population. The so-called Final Solution is a fiction cooked up by international jewry to gain support for the state of Israel. The next time we meet I’ll let you have a copy of a little pamphlet I have called “Did Six Million Really die?” It comprehensively debunks the myth of the holocaust”.

“So my great grandfather thought against the Nazis for nothing, is that what you are saying” Laura said. She could feel her hands shaking in her lap and tears pricking at the back of her eyes.

“The war should never have happened. Hitler wasn’t interested in conquering Britain. We could have allied with Germany and ruled the world together. India and large parts of Africa not to mention Sri Lanka would still be ours. Imagine Laura a proud nation striding ever onwards into the sunlit uplands of prosperity. A strong, healthy white race untainted by foreign blood dominating the world. The wrong people where tried and executed at Nuremberg. Churchill should have swung from the end of a rope along with the other conservative, labour and liberal politicians who led this once proud people into a war against our European brothers. Look at young people today. They have no sense of belonging. The race soul is dying. The world is turning into one great Disney playground in which people move aimlessly from one thing to another without ever truly believing in anything. We need, desperately to reconnect with our great past, to become great again and dispel the sense of hopelessness which is destroying our people. Nationalism, sod it I’ll call it what it is as I’m not ashamed of what I am, National Socialism is the only solution to the insanity of race mixing. We need a new order in which the white people of the world join together retaining their national identities but federated in a commonwealth or union, all working together to preserve western civilisation. Have you ever read Mein Kampf, it’s a truly awe inspiring book. Hitler was a genious who’s feet Churchill wasn’t fit to wash. I’ll lend it to you when we next meet”.

The steaks arrived. Tom picked up his  cutlery and began to attack the steak with relish.

“Aren’t you hungry Laura?”

“No. Tom I’m not interested in politics but one thing I do know. I’m proud to be British but that pride has nothing to do with race. We are for all our faults a tolerant country. In the 1930s the UK took in a lot of refugees from Nazi Germany many of whom would have undoubtedly died had we not done so. David Erving and others who either downplay Nazi atrocities or deny that they happened are either stupid or they are deliberately trying to whitewash the past so that foolish people will embrace, oh what’s the word (Laura screwed up her pretty face in concentration), neo-nazi ideas. Quite frankly you make me want to throw up. You want to turn Britain into a nation of unthinking swastika waving robots all singing the same songs and marching to the same tunes. That isn’t what makes the country which I love great. It is the values of tolerance and the liberal democracy which you so detest which makes this land one I’m proud to call home. My dad often says that the English just want to be left alone to cultivate their gardens. Funny I used to think that dad was an old reactionary but, having met you I can see the inate decency in him and the other small l liberals who just want to be left alone to live their lives as they see fit”.

“Are you Jewish Laura? You spout the kind of poisonous rubbish pumped out by the Jewish controlled media”.

“I feel sorry for you Tom. You are so full of hate” Laura said standing up and reaching for her coat. Don’t contact me again”. Laura headed for the door and without looking back stepped out into the evening gloom.

The end

No Problem

I am, as those of you who follow this blog will know registered blind. As a consequence of my blindness I require sighted assistance to locate products while shopping.

Erlier this evening I popped into a supermarket and soon obtained help, however the assistance offered was so bizarre that I feel compelled to put fingers to keyboard and write about it. My conversation with the young lady went something like this

Me “Can I have a litre of fresh milk please, the one with the blue top?”

My assistant, “Absolutely, no problem”.

Me, “Can I have Tropicana orange juice please?”

My assistant, “Absolutely, no problem”.

My shopping “experience” (see I have all the right buzz words) continued in precisely the same manner until I, in a fit of merriment felt compelled to ask

“Do you say anything other than “absolutely, no problem?””

My companion responded with

“Sometimes I say cool” (I am not making this up I promise you)!

I asked if my companion spoke in the same manner when conversing with her friends, to which she replied that she was “a gamer” and this is how gamers interact with one another.

At the end of my “customer experience” I couldn’t resist saying with a smile that when I next encountered my companion I would call her “absolutely, no problem” to which she responded without a hint of irony that this was fine.

I feel that I’ve gone down the rabbit hole to join Alice in Wonderland and to be frank I don’t know whether it is me or my companion of earlier this evening who is the mad hatter!

I must confess to knowing virtually nothing about gaming, however if the pastime produces people who are unable to communicate other than by churning out meaningless phrases then we are, as one of the leading personalities in Dad’s Army says “all doomed”!

On a serious point excessive exposure to gaming or any other similar activity can not be conducive to the development of fully rounded persons. All things in moderation say I.

 

Kevin

An Act Of Mercy And Other Stories By K Morris Available At amazon.co.uk

On 13 August I announced that my collection of short stories, “An act of mercy and other stories” can be purchased at amazon.com. I am pleased to be able to announce that “An act of mercy” is now available at amazon.co.uk, http://www.amazon.co.uk/act-mercy-other-stories-ebook/dp/B00EHS74CS/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1376477044&sr=1-1&keywords=an+act+of+mercy+and+other+stories.

Visit my Amazon author page at http://www.amazon.co.uk/K.-Morris/e/B00CEECWHY/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0.     S

The Fascist In Your Bed

Imagine that you are in the dating game and that the man or woman of your dreams appears on the sceene. This is, I understand what happened in the case of a certain young lady who was in search of her knight in shining armour. Well not quite, for the man in question turned out to hold views which would have had him expelled from any centre-right (conservative) party. He was, in short a Fascist who openly avowed his admiration for Adolf Hitler. Needless to say that when the lady in question discovered the true colours of her date she removed herself so rapidly out of his clutches that one could not see her for dust.

The lady in question is not known to me. I am, however acquainted with a friend of hers and can vouch for the authenticity of the incident.

It occurred to me that the above incident would make for an interesting story without (obviously) naming the people involved or providing any clue to their identity. I hope to write a (fictional) story along these lines over the coming weeks.

Night And Day

Day gently merging into night. The soft caress of dark comingled with the light, inseparable, joined eternally in a dance of love.

An Act Of Mercy And Other Stories Available In The Kindle Store

My collection of short stories, “An Act Of Mercy And Other Stories” is now available for sale in the Kindle store, http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EHS74CS. This collection encompasses a range of dark tales dealing with murder, blackmail and the abuse of power. For the book please visit the above link.

Russian Roulette Part 2

Below is the final part of my story Russian Roulette. For part 1 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/08/10/russian-roulette-part-1/. The actions of John are stupid in the extreme and I do not in any way endorse them. However the duty of a writer is to describe the world in all it’s facets not just the pleasant aspects and this is what I attempt to do in the story below.

 

John felt that familiar tingle of excitement as he entered the flat. His stomach lurched and his penis twitched with anticipation at the delights to come.

“Money darling”.

The girl spoke with a thick Eastern European accent. John wondered idly where she was from. Poland or Bulgaria he guessed as many of the prostitutes operating in London where Polish or Bulgarian.

“Is bareback included? It says on the site that BB is included in the price”.

“No darling I don’t do it without a condom”.

John could feel the excitement draining away.

“But it says on the site that you do unprotected sex”.

“No darling, everything with a condom”.

John walked towards the front door.

“OK darling you can do BB for £200” the girl said stepping between him and the front door.

“It says on the site £100”.

“100 with a condom and £200 BB”.

“I have £150 here, I can’t give you any more” John said holding out the money.

The girl hesitated for a moment before taking the cash and placing it in her handbag.

“You like nice relaxing massage?”

John nodded. The girl gestured towards the bedroom the door to which stood ajar. He entered closely followed by the girl.

“Take off your clothes darling”.

John undressed and lay face down on the bed. With a barely audible sigh the girl slipped out of her flimsy dress and tiny skirt. Moving across to the bed she began by massaging John’s shoulders. The tension began to drain away and John’s body relaxed. The girls’s hands glided over his back. John grunted with pleasure as she parted his legs and began to stroke his penis.

He rolled over and the girl moved to sit on his engorged penis.

“Not yet” John gasped. He loved to savour the moment prior to penetrating a woman. God what a thrill. There was nothing like it, the feel of a penis unencumbered by a condom sliding in and out of a wet pussy. The possibility of contracting HIV added an extra frisson.  Life was boring he needed a little spice and the possibility of getting infected made him sick with desire and excitement.

The girl’s vagina rubbed against his penis sending shivers of delight throughout his body. Eventually he could stand the temptation no more. With a moan he entered the girl. In a matter of minutes it was all over. Without a word John dressed and without a backward look left the flat.

Lying in bed that night John, as was always the case following unprotected sex with a prostitute began to reproach himself. Russian roulette. That was what he was playing and in such a game sooner or later the gun would go off. He tried to rationalise his behaviour. He knew from his researches that the chances of a hetrosexual man contracting HIV from one encounter with an infected woman was in the region of 1-2%. The chances increased depending on the viral load of the infected woman and whether she was taking medication to reduce her HIV symptoms. Indeed he knew that some people taking anti retroviral drugs had an almost undetectable viral load. But however he tried to rationalise his actions John was playing with fire and he knew it. But playing with fire was thrilling. You could get burned but that was, if he was brutally honest with himself the primary reason why he had unprotected sex with prostitutes – to relieve the tedium of his humdrum life working in his 9-5 job in the bank. So what if he did get infected? With modern drugs he could live an almost normal life so the prospect of infection didn’t bother him unduly. Sooner or later the luck of the boy who had played Russian roulette with his father’s gun was going to run out.

 

The end