Vivika Widow's Blog, page 49

When Freedom Begins to Fall (A Conflict Chronicle)

In the not so distant future, news had been flashing ceaselessly on television screens around the world. For the first time nations shared a common ground. World leaders and others of importance were being killed indiscriminately. It was still unclear who was responsible but the west began looking to the east and the east to the west and tensions were high. Because of the widespread nature of the murders it wasn’t easy to point the heavy finger of blame in any particular direction. The killings were different each time and despite many militia and terrorist groups laying claim to the assassinations, the culprit was thought to still be on the loose. CIA, FBI, NSA and all the other lesser known government agencies had been searching for the killer or the group offering him the opportunities. The terrorist cells responsible were particularly difficult to place because they seemed to have no real motive. There was no political statement made and no payments demanded. Many terrorist groups throughout the world were claiming the killings as their own but their claims were always found to be without merit.

President Philip Owen had been stirred from his bed as new news was emerging of yet another death.

“You must come immediately,” said the emotionless voice over the telephone. His entire body leapt from sleep to wake in cold shakes. He looked to his wife Jackie lying beside him. The phone was still buzzing on the night stand so he switched it off and without turning on a light he left his wife sleeping and made his way to the Oval Office, pulling a green sweatshirt over his pyjamas to try to make himself more presentable at such an ungodly hour.

Inside the Oval Office a member of his staff had already switched the television on in anticipation. A news report was being carried out by a young journalist wearing a long black coat and a smug expression. President Owen had seen his face so often recently as he kept the world up to date with the exploits of the ‘Chaos Killer’. He was an American reporter named Jaimya Van Hols and he always managed to get himself the exclusives on the murders. People were dying but he could only offer a small amount of care because it was causing his career to flourish. Words scrolled underneath which read ‘Chaos killer strikes in the Middle East’. His Highness Mohamar Al Sayeed Ambhad, a Saudi Arabian prince had been found hanging from the ceiling by his feet in his stately room in the palace. His throat had been cut in a ceremonial way and when his security happened upon his body, blood was still dripping from the wound. Someone had managed to make their way in and back out of his chambers with the swiftness of a cat but no money had been taken and there was no sign of a struggle. It almost seemed like he had gone willingly to his death. Amateur footage that had been taken earlier showed Mohamar hanging and his distraught attendants weeping close to his body.

Prince Mohamar Ambhad had been a pioneer in building relations between his country and the rest of the world. He was beloved by his people and respected by his counterparts in the west. He had no known enemies and his death would only hinder progress.

President Owen dropped his head into his hands and brushed his dark brown hair back, which was gathering more grey as the death toll increased. He reached out to take some water but his hand was met by an empty glass. Jackie appeared in the doorway still in her nightdress.

“Another killing?” she enquired. Philip looked back at the screen without replying. “They will find the one who is doing this.” Whether as a wife, mother or politician Jackie was always found the same way. Her optimism was why the American people loved her.

Philip had met Jackie at a political conference back when they were both starting out in their careers. Both of them hailed from old political families. Their parties were in direct opposition so when their union was announced the nation rejoiced because it meant that the entire spectrum of American politics was brought to the centre. Jackie’s grandfather had been a man of great influence in political circles but Jackie was not without her own astuteness. She was a caring wife and mother but also an excellent partner. They would be married twenty years the following Tuesday and Philip didn’t know how he would have handled the past few weeks without her.

Beside President Owen the faint buzz of the telephone sounded again. It was hardly noticeable to him because the ringing had begun to merge with all the thoughts calling out in his mind. It wasn’t until a commotion erupted in the corridor outside, as the Secret Service agents on staff began to discuss the latest killing that he finally answered.

“Please hold for the Prime Minister, sir,” said the sweet voice of Emily Miller, the secretary for the Prime Minster of England. The voice was very familiar to Philip Owen although they had never met in person. She was always pleasant and he had come to know her so well over the telephone that he had sent her flowers of condolence when her mother had died recently.

Soon her sweet voice was replaced by that of the Prime Minister, Selena Samson. It was harsher and much less formal. “Another one Philip,” she greeted.

The President fell silent for a moment. “They will be lucky if they do find the killer. Already half of Europe is looking for him not to mention Australasia and still nothing concrete has turned up. He has been wanted by Interpol since the first.”

It had all began when Jacques Marlode, the prime minister of Belgium, was found in the bathrooms of The Hague. His body was trapped inside the window where the authorities believed he had been trying to escape his attacker. Jacques’ body was intact but his head had been taken cleanly. This was followed closely by Antonio Romero of Italy, who was discovered in the back seat of his silver car with diplomatic license plates showing no discernible cause of death. Arnold Grigsom, an Austrian official, had been murdered on his favourite golf course on the outskirts of Vienna. A cart carrying his body came crashing into the club house where guests were being served lunch. His torso had been torn and his heart removed. The assassinations had caused such an upset that the tabloids had dubbed the assassin ‘The Chaos Killer’. The latest killing in Saudi Arabia showed the assassin was continuing on his murderous rampage and they were no closer to finding him.

“He is definitely a professional. He has found his way into some of the most secure locations,” Selena was saying. “You and I seem to have been kept safe enough though. If I didn’t know any better I would swear it was one of us.”

President Owen immediately became defensive. No matter how late the hour, he would always be alert enough to return a challenge. “Something like this would never be funded on US coin!” he said. He had been particularly edgy lately.

Selena began to laugh, easing the tension. “Of course not. I’m just saying what others are thinking. Something has to be done so I’m calling an emergency summit. We will meet in the coming week or so.”

“A summit at this time?” He felt his people would feel safer if he remained in the United States at the present time.

“What else do you suggest? We wait around to see who is murdered next? None of us are safe you know. We had a break in at number eleven last week. We thought we had him at first when MI5 took him into custody. After hours of questioning it seems he was just an enthusiast.”

President Owen sighed. “I guess we have no choice.”

“My office will co-ordinate with yours,” said Selena. The President agreed and just when he was at the point of disconnecting the call she added. “Oh and Philip… Keep safe.”

President Owen’s eyes were immediately drawn back to the screen. Now the report was showing a large map of the earth with red markings on the places in the world that had been affected by the recent killings. South America and Canada had been touched but so far the U.S. had managed to evade attack.

“I don’t trust her,” Jackie was saying to her husband, stirring him from his swimming thoughts. “She is a little too ambitious. She would knife your back as soon as sit you on a pedestal.”

“I don’t trust her either but she is the Prime Minister of England and a good ally for us,” Philip assured.

“Doesn’t anyone think that having all the world leaders in one room together gives the assassin ample opportunity? It doesn’t seem likely he would make an attack in such a public area but you can’t be too careful.”

President Owen shrugged his shoulders. “Security will be very tight.”

Jackie Owen pursed her lips tightly. “I was in Saudi Arabia last month. I was on a diplomatic mission but it took me several hours to get through that security. This killer managed to get in and out without anyone noticing. Security doesn’t seem to concern him.”

Philip looked at his wife. He was used to having debates with her; it gave him well rounded opinions to take to his cabinet. They always argued over their political differences but this time she was genuinely concerned.

“If I’m called I can’t refuse to go. We need to show that we are doing everything possible. Besides, it might draw the attacker out. With so many people there it might cause him to make a mistake.”

“I am going to make a few phone calls,” she told him. “I’ll send for some coffee. I think it’s going to be a long night.”

“Send for water instead,” Philip called after her pushing the empty glass away from him.

Philip Owen laid his hands on the desk that he had fought several years to sit behind and for the first time in his political career he had no idea what to do next as the world began to wake to the terrible news.

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Conflict at Christmas: Presidential Pardon

Conflict was top of the agenda throughout the year. It was Philip Owen’s reason for running and it followed him on the campaign trail. The people were impressed by his attitude towards the conflicts and elected him the next President of the United States. He had work to do to deliver on his campaign promises but before his inauguration in January there was still one day when his presidential persona could be put aside – Christmas day.

Jennifer thought her father would have forgotten their traditions being so busy and her mother, Jackie, by his side every step of the way but their ranch in Texas was decorated with the same lights and Philip still had the same boyish look in his eyes he always got at Christmas. As thirteen year old Jennifer fell asleep she did so with a smile. Jackie told her that if her father was elected president a lot of things would have to change. Christmas, she was happy to find, wasn’t one of them.

The morning dawned and Jennifer leapt from her bed. She ran to the main lounge to find Philip waiting for her with open arms. The gifts surrounded him. He wore a grin and a green and white Christmas sweater.

“Come on! Dig in!” Philip cheered.

Jackie joined them, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands. She sat on the sofa facing the fire. Philip remained on the floor beside his daughter as she tore excitedly into the shiny wrapping paper of the gifts that had her name on them.

The first she produced was a hunting knife.

“Be very careful with that,” Jackie warned.

The knife had been the subject of much discussion between Philip and his wife. Both of them had strong arguments for and against. Jackie felt it wasn’t an appropriate gift for a thirteen year old and Philip – a keen debater – reminded the soon to be First Lady that Jennifer could wield weapons better than most adults. She had been hunting since she was seven. In the end it was what Jennifer wanted and that won over all arguments.

When the gifts had been opened Philips phone rang with a Christmas jingle. When he answered Jennifer noticed his face change. He was still smiling but it wasn’t the same one she was familiar with. It wasn’t his true smile. As he conducted his call his arms were still relaxed but his shoulders were set in such a way that wasn’t natural to him. Only someone who knew him as well as his daughter would recognise the difference.

A shadow passed by the window. Aaron Pierce was heading Secret Service detail around the ranch. Jennifer loved that they sacrificed their time with their own families so she could be safe with hers. Their sense of duty resonated with her.

Whilst Philip finished his call and Jackie set about finalising the arrangements for the party they were having that night, Jennifer leaned out the window where Aaron was stood watching the expanse of land in front of them.

“Merry Christmas, Aaron,” she said.

Aaron smiled back at her.

“Merry Christmas, mam,” he replied in a gruff Texan accent.

“Do you want some coffee?” she offered.

“No, thank you,” he said. “Did you have a good morning?”

Again, Jennifer was compelled by Aaron’s need to put his duty first.

“I did,” she said. “Will you see your family today?”

“We’ll all be doing our thing later when we have the change over, then I’ll be back tonight,” he explained.

Jennifer was glad he would have at least some time with his family.

Another Secret Service agent approached. He smiled at Jennifer who waved back. She closed the window and returned to the lounge where Philip was by the fire again.

The following year they would be in the White House so Jennifer absorbed as much of the image of Christmas at the Ranch as she could.

“I think there may be one present missing!” said Philip, raising his eyebrows with a hint of mischief.

Jennifer shook her head but smiled with amusement. “Really dad? Every year?”

Philip laughed heartily. He climbed to his feet and dashed off. He returned momentarily with another parcel with her name on it.

Every year since she was a small kid, Philip had always kept a gift aside for after all the others had been opened. It began when Jennifer was five and she mentioned something was missing from her list. Philip had created such a scene about Santa having left one of her gifts elsewhere in the house. Jennifer was beside herself. Even as she grew older, every year he loved to see the joy on her face as they recreated that same scene.

“Oh! Who could this be for?” he cheered returning to the floor with the gift. Jennifer shared the laughter.

That night, dad would become his presidential persona again. Her mother would be mingling and making sure she made the best connections. As he went deeper and deeper into his presidency Jennifer would have to remind herself more and more of the true man Philip Owen was with his warm eyes and goofy traditions, his love of Christmas and his family. The true man wasn’t something many people would get to see as he took on the responsibility of the country and Conflict became top of the agenda again.

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Shattered Ice and Broken Hearts (A Red Snow Tale)

Edward ‘The Hand’ was a great knight of old. Born of a warrior mother and a wise father, he was strong and brave. When he reached his eighteenth year he went in search of adventure across the seas to the small but mighty island kingdom of Alnwick.

[image error]Alnwick: A smaller kingdom with great power. Alnwick lies as a landmass of its own. The people of Alnwick have been known to stand strong in the face of adversity. Alnwick is ruled by the Steward dynasty from Eccleshall and despite successfully avoiding the disagreements of their neighbours, Alnwick still yields a force capable of matching their larger foes.

 

In Alnwick, Edward learned archery from the best in the realm. He sampled their hospitality and lead their forces successfully against invaders from the Southern province of Susiname.

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Whilst a guest at the Alnwickian court Edward met the beautiful Princess Catherine. She was the only daughter of King Gerard and Queen Grace. Catherine was young, intelligent with smooth creamy skin and long flowing hair. She was drawn to Edward’s dark eyes. They shared the Alnwickian warrior spirit. They fell in love.

At first King Gerard refused to marry his daughter to the knight with her having so many suitors but Edward sought to prove himself worthy of the princess.

So with a fond farewell he and his new bride to be set sail, leaving Alnwick behind to return east to Edward’s homeland of Navaria.

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From the rocky land of old Navaria, Edward began to forge a kingdom worthy of his princess. He began with a beautiful garden filled with flowers of Catherine’s favourite shade of red. Catherine adored her garden and spent most of her time there.

Their union was blissful but before they could officially marry, Edward set to building a great castle called the Hand, so called because it consisted of five great towers.  He reached construction on the fifth and final tower when he received an invitation to the table of King Stephen of Ravensedge.

[image error]Ravensedge: Perched high in the Alinway Mountains east of Navaria. The Sparrington Hold boasts some of the greatest and most powerful knights the world has known. Ruled by the Deveraux dynasty from Castle Sparrington the people of Ravensedge are a mystery. To breach the high fort is to observe a kingdom of lost ideals, a world where values long gone are preserved. The feared Knights Guard, sworn to protect the Deveraux family, have been without war for generations but they wait. They train and they prepare because one day a war will come to them again.

Further east, high in the Alinway mountains they had heard word of the kingdom that Edward was building in Navaria and their curiosity peaked. Edward accepted the invitation with good grace. Catherine begged him not to leave her but duty called.

King Stephen gave a choice of his three raven haired daughters for marriage.

“Leona is wise beyond her years. She will make a sensible wife,” said Stephen of the first.

Edward refused.

“Elizabeth is kind and fair. She will make a dutiful wife,” he said of the second.

Still Edward refused.

When he looked upon the third he forgot all about Catherine. He was so lost in the allure of Mary, the youngest.

He brought Mary to Navaria with him and continued to forge his kingdom. He married the Ravensedge princess and she bore him a son.

[image error]Navaria: Famously the setting for the events of ‘Red Snow’. Navaria is a cold land filled with intrigue and tales of witchcraft. Ruled by the Von Garr dynasty from Castle Kroestov the people are held in fear by a curse of madness that plagues their monarchs. Navaria holds many secrets amidst it’s grey landscape and the Navarians have been known to be ruthlessly savage. They are set in their ways and when newcomers arrive over their borders it always arouses suspicion.

Still, despite this, Catherine waited for him, weeping in her beloved garden. She still believed he would return. When the chill of the long Navarian winter came she was blanketed in snow. They say her body is still there, still encased in ice.

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Art credits: Artist G

 

When I grow up …

At my niece’s nursery graduation recently and made some interesting observations. Before this I had thought the idea of children graduating nursery was a little on the silly side but when I got there, saw how excited the kids were, especially my niece, I realised that going to school is a huge milestone in a child’s life. If we can’t have pomp and ceremony to celebrate that then when can we?

At the end of the ceremony the kids were asked to announce what they would like to be when they grow up. Most of them had the ideas of becoming firemen, hairdressers, and dragons but there was this one little girl who said she, “Just wanted to be herself.” This struck me as an odd thing for a five-year-old to say. Perhaps she had picked it up from her parents telling her to just be herself but it got me thinking, do we ask children to map out their lives too early in life? Are we so set on them having a game plan that we forget they are only five years old?

I’m sure a lot of adults will realise that a child that young will change their minds several times before they come to a point where the real decision has to be made. I know plenty of adults who still haven’t made that decision properly and their minds change on an almost weekly basis too. What does a child as young as five really know about life goals and ambitions? They are at that miraculous age where they are told to believe in the impossible. This margin of imagination is getting narrower and narrower each passing day. Children aren’t being allowed to dance around in the blissful imagination for as long as they used to. They are taught to grow up faster and with that they are being asked to start putting their lives together as quickly as possible.

I’m guilty of it myself. I have asked many a child what they would like to be when they grow up. I’m not expecting them to know, it’s just a general query to spur their colourful minds on but maybe a child of five doesn’t realise that. By adults asking them that are they led to believe that it is something they should be giving due consideration to? I hope not. I like the idea of children being left to believe in the impossible for as long as possible. Santa Claus is only a brief visitor in a child’s life now and how many kids are in school still believing in the tooth fairy? Not as many as there would have been in previous generations.

That brings me back to that little girl, stood on a podium in front of family, friends and strangers. “I just want to be myself,” she announced. Part of me was a little heartbroken that a child that young would have to say such a thing. Another part was so pleased at her sentiments. “I just want to be myself.” Well I do hope that that little girl grows up to be herself. A lot of adults would strive for the confidence to just be themselves. Confident little girls like my niece who can do anything they turn their minds to give hope of the next generation always striving for that impossible.

I know that when I grow up I want to just be myself too.

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Author of Maestro, The Grip and Conflict graphic novel series.

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Character Profile: Tabitha

Name: Tabitha

Age: Unknown (assumed to be mid twenties)

Position: Owner/ proprietor of the Knock, Knock Club

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She has firmly dug her well manicured nails into life in Shady City. She has crawled from the bottom of life’s heap to gain her position and she won’t give it up so easily.

Little is known about Tabitha prior to the opening of the Knock, Knock Club but given what she is capable of it can only be assumed she came from no place good. Fortune smiled on her in the form of her beloved aunt – also known as The Baroness. Knock, Knock opened under her guidance and she has never looked back since.

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She is single handedly responsible for the Free Fall Massacre which saw several children shot and countless adults leap from the luxury Beckingridge building in the business district to their deaths. Tabitha is a mean queen who is not an easy target to topple.

Tabitha is wily, nasty and comically self absorbed. She has few emotional triggers but they may be worth exposing if the Knock, Knock club is to ever be taken down.

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The Knock, Knock graphic novel series is free to read HERE at Vivika Widow Online. Kindle Unlimited subscribers are also able to download for free!

The City Thanks you for Your Service (A Knock, Knock extract)

Mayor of Coldford, Jim Feltz, had given a lot to the city. The city was a demanding mistress though. It had earned its name as Shady City not just because of the gloomy weather but because everything was there for the taking by anyone not burdened by a moral compass. The mayor was such a man. Whilst the cities funds depleted he squirrelled away as much as he could. Things were going to implode soon. It was only a matter of time. The regeneration projects he had promised during his last campaign were halted. The poorest area of the city, known as The Shanties were now worse than when they started. People in high positions – people he considered friends – had pilfered the money away, leaving none for those lower on the ladder. There were no funds for expecting mothers he swore he would help and school budgets had been cut to the very brink. Only the exclusive school – Pettiwick – was  managing to weather the storm but that was only because it’s rich students were willing to pay the cost in private donations but not many could afford to send their children there. What did it matter? When campaign time came again he could  blame the opposition. After all he was just doing what he could with the mess his predecessors left behind. Half of the city would believe that and the other half wouldn’t care either way. He was done with all that. He checked his flight tickets again and stored them safely back in his pocket.  

“Will you be home on time?” Sylvia Feltz asked her husband as he pulled on a black coat and prepared to leave. “We have the Winstons coming to dinner,” she added. “I need you here.”  

The plan to leave everything behind had been in the works for some time. The day had finally come.  He had enough money to start fresh. When the finances of the city finally tumbled like a house of cards he would be well out of the blast zone. His family would have to face the music at first but they would get out of it cleanly for the most part.  

His eldest daughter, Lacey, kissed him.  

“I’ll be in the office this afternoon,” she said. “We need to start a new campaign plan.” 

Lacey was her father’s daughter. She was so like him in many respects. She had the same dark eyes and hair. She had the same permanent stern expression. She had gotten involved as his campaign manager the moment he announced he was running for City Office. She had aspirations of becoming mayor herself one day. She had a naïve view of politics though. A certain lack of compassion was required despite what many may argue. She would learn that soon enough.  

He stepped outside the building. People were becoming irate so he kept his security close. His silver town car wasn’t waiting for him. He trusted his driver, Shane. He had arranged to be taken to the airport rather than the office that morning and it wasn’t like Shane to be late. The mayor couldn’t help but worry something had gone wrong. He looked up at his security guard. He was expressionless. He stared straight ahead. He was much larger than the mayor in both height and girth. He had never bothered to learn the man’s name who’s duty it was to protect him. It didn’t seem important.  

His heart rate increased the tempo of its beat. It was really happening. The car approached the kerb. He couldn’t see Shane in the driver’s seat through the tinted windows. The security guard leaned forward and opened the door. The mayor made to climb in but he hesitated. A woman was sat waiting for him. She shifted over and patted the seat beside her.  

“Don’t be shy,” she said.  

Her ruby lips curled into a pretty smile. There was a gap in her front teeth that gave her a girlish quality. The collar of her grey coat had been pulled up around her neck. Jim took the seat. The door was closed and the car began to roll into movement. 

“Isn’t this cosy,” the woman remarked.  

He tried to control his breathing. He called upon every political stoicism he had in the hope he didn’t look worried.  

“What do you want?” he asked.  

The woman looked out of the window, watching the city pass at greater and greater speed.  

“Just giving a proper farewell,” she said. “Surely you wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to little old me?”

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Fear erupted inside him. He didn’t care he would be leaping from a moving vehicle. He clutched the door handle and pulled but it was locked. 

 

“Let me out!” he cried.  

The woman laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We have a little party prepared for you at the club.”  

Jim fell back onto his seat. Tears were in his eyes. His hands trembled.  

“The city thanks you for your service.”  

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Character Profile: David Finn

Features in Muse

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Age: 24

Occupation: Artist

With a talent for art that was natural and raw, David was raised in the Shanties – a deprived area of the Shady City that rarely breeds success.

He fought against the shackles of his upbringing and child hood traumas to become a notable member of the art community in Coldford. Unfortunately for David he was unable to out run his demons forever and an addiction to drugs and alcohol pulled him back.

As rough as sandpaper around the edges, David is the product of his upbringing. He isn’t polite spoken and his general manners leave a lot to be desired. Underneath it all though beats the heart of a truly caring man.

Once upon a time his work – paintings and sculptures – were sought after by collectors from all over. Now he is only seen as a down and out addict with the stink of the Shanties still on him. His explosive relationship with fellow addict, Laura Doyle, aided in that downfall.

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He doesn’t seek fame. He doesn’t seek fortune – although he wouldn’t turn down either. What David truly wants is for his work to have the same adulation it had before. To have someone appreciate the colours of his heart and soul that he paints onto canvas is more important to him than any amount of money.

David may just be on the up and up though. He has found inspiration in the form of a new muse, the unworldly and innocent seeming Julia Harvester – daughter of the old Harvester and heir to the Harvester dairy and meat brand.

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It’s a dangerous path David walks as he opens old wounds and suffers the pain in the name of art.

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The High Five: Part 1 – The Nanny (A Conflict Chronicle)

Criminal Profile:

Name: Laura Goodman

Alias: The Nanny

Age: 52

Build: Average

Height: 5’6”

Weight: 119Ibs

Eye Colour: Brown

Hair Colour: Grey

Scars or distinguishing marks?

None

Charges:

Murder: first degree

Infanticide

Indecent act with a child under 16

Introduction of drug dependence in the body of a child under 16

Drug trafficking

Assault

Kidnapping

Making false reports to police

Obtaining financial advantage by false reports

Production of child pornography

Psychological Report:

A clear sociopathic personality. Shows no remorse for her crimes giving cause to believe she hasn’t been properly familiarised with the charges brought against her.

Needs to maintain control at all times. Shows no outward hostility but instead reverts to a display of gratitude in her demeanour that could appear charming to those not familiar.

The murder of her daughter in order to gain attention shows a clear Histrionic Personality disorder.

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Bullying

Firstly, what is a bully? To me a bully is someone who deliberately targets those they deem weaker than themselves to give a sense of empowerment. In my experience – from the play grounds to the work place – a bully is masking insecurities of their own and looking for a target to vent their frustrations.

It was always understood to be a childhood ailment like the chickenpox. ‘Every child goes through a bit of teasing’ it is said. Is that dismissal good enough? Is a child coming home after having suffered a day of physical and mental torment simply a rite of passage? It shouldn’t be. Children can be cruel to each other, especially teenagers. At a time of life where they are at their most vulnerable and most insecure is when these bullies tend to surface (being vulnerable and insecure teens themselves). So who is to blame for this distinctly inhumane way of behaving? After all, no child is born bad. Television, magazines and mass media not only fuel these insecurities by displaying glossed over images of what they should aspire to be but they also make violent images and videos more accessible. This is likely to be a contributing factor but I don’t think it is wholly responsible. After all, bullying has been present in our society long before the age of social media.   The home life of the child can also be a huge influence on how they behave with their peers. If bullying is witnessed at home it will follow them into the rest of their lives. This isn’t always the case either. I have met many children from difficult backgrounds and they still approach life with the most pleasant natures. The issue of bullying isn’t something that one solitary person/scenario can be blamed for. It is a problem which we as a society need to take collective responsibility for. Some where along the line the younger generation have been given the impression that it is okay to treat those ‘weaker’ or ‘different’ with hostility.This isn’t a new phenomena. Bullying has been around since society was first established. An alpha instinct is deeply embedded within our psyche but as civilised people we should be moving past that.

Bullying doesn’t stop in child hood. It is becoming evident that more and more adults are experiencing bullying in the work place. Let’s be clear… This means that grown men and women are subjecting colleagues to taunts, slurs and sometimes even physical abuse. Someone once said to me, “I’d rather be the bully than the victim.” This was a man in his twenties.

I have always had a special resentment against bullies. It is likely to come across in this article. Having been the victim of taunting because I was a ‘different’ child and because I would rather read than spend time with my classmates. The advice I received at the time was to make myself more like the other children my age. That was not helping. I am thankful that it made me a stronger adult for others this doesn’t ring true.

The problem with bullying is that it becomes more acceptable by people dismissing it as ‘a way of life’ or in adulthood by making the victim feel like they have done wrong by not ‘taking it’.

To quote a much beloved character penned by writer and friend Leo St Paul, ‘Bullying is the worst kind of cowardice’  I wholeheartedly agree.

Image courtesy of endbullying.org.uk

Death Steps Ashore

Pepya threw himself down in the shade of the forest. He had only reached the edge but he couldn’t take himself any further. He had a clear view of the coast line across the warm beach of East Africa.

He didn’t want to steal. He was an honest man and it was against his nature but his wife was sick and his children barely had one meal a day. ‘The General’ had come to his town and offered a lot of money to anyone willing to join his group and obtain resources by any means necessary. Pepya did it for his wife’s sake and for the sake of his children.

A merchant ship stopped at the Went Harbour. Men in dusty brown uniforms were loading and off loading. Pepya wandered closer. No one seemed to pay him any attention. He blended in. He lifted one of the boxes in the pretence that he was helping. The moment he touched it shouting erupted. He stepped back and raised his hands in the air. He didn’t understand what they were saying to him. He knocked one of the boxes over and emblazoned on the side was an image of four rearing horses. In the centre of those was the Admiral’s Seal.

Men in red uniform bore down on Pepya. They were more organised than the helpers. They were pointing heavy duty guns at him that only members of an elite force would have. Pepya tried to say apologise. One of the helpers tried arguing on his behalf but a soldier in red threw their elbow into his face, sending him crashing to the ground. The other’s fell silent. They dared not challenge.

Pepya ran. He had always been a fast runner. He had even been approached as a youngster in the hopes he could represent his home nation as a professional athlete.

A sharp pain fired in the back of his leg as a bullet clipped him. Since he hadn’t gotten away with anything they didn’t gun him down. The shot to his leg served as a painful warning. They chose not to pursue him.

The shadows of night were spreading across the horizon by the time Pepya returned home. His wife was in a terrible state of shock. She had kept herself on her feet as much as possible but she really should have been resting. ‘The General’ had sent for him. Pepya’s family didn’t like ‘The General’. They didn’t trust him. Pepya had tried to explain that their desperation was leaving them with very little choice.

‘The General’ had set up one of the few stable buildings left in town. It was were the bank had been. Those who used to work with the bank had either joined ‘The General’ or had been shot dead on the streets out front. ‘The General’ laid claim to the money. The people of the town had were forced to turn to him for loans.

Pepya was walking with a limp. Two boys in their early teens guarded the door of the bank. When they spotted him approaching the eldest called inside, “He’s here!”

Pepya climbed through the gaping hole, left over damage from rogue military manoeuvres in the town.

‘The General’ seated at a large oak desk that rightfully belonged to the bank manager. He wore the full military regalia complete with medals that had never been earned.

“You have had quite an adventure today, haven’t you?” ‘The General’s’ voice boomed. “I heard you tried to lift a box from a merchant ship.”

Pepya nodded in acknowledgement of the statement.

“Do you know who that ship belonged to?”

“They were a lot more guarded than I had first thought. They shot at me,” Pepya explained, avoiding the question.

‘The General’ stood. He threw his chair back and slammed his fists on the table. “That ship belonged to Admiral Bullbrand. Do you have any idea what you have done?”

Instant shots of adrenaline fired down all four of Pepya’s limbs. He began to shake. He didn’t know Admiral Bullbrand but his reputation was wide spread. “I … I didn’t know until it was too late,” he stammered. “I never took anything.”

‘The General’ grunted. He turned to the television behind him and pushed the play button on a video message that was already loaded.

“I received this message ten minutes ago,” he explained.

On the screen appeared the image of the Admiral. He wore a vibrant red blazer which gave a wildness to the piercing blue of his eyes. His sharp chin was held up as he glared at those the message was intended for.

“This morning I received word that an individual from one of the local towns attempted steal from one of my supply ships. I’m sure resourceful gentlemen such as yourselves agree that this can not be tolerated. The cheeky little fellow escaped with nothing more than a scraped knee but rest assured this is not the last you have heard of this.” Bullbrand leaned closer to the camera. He gave a sharp intake of breath and his narrow lips tightened. “If I were to let this go then word might spread. Before we know it we have anarchy on our hands and the beautiful beaches of your coast would run red with blood.” Admiral Bullbrand sat back again and took a momentary pause. He ran his forefinger and his thumb across his chin. “To show that theft from one of my ships will not be tolerated I will be with you within forty eight hours. I will see to the punishment of those responsible personally.”

The video message cut. Pepya was finding it a struggle to breathe. He felt two grown men grip his arm.

“You heard what the Admiral said.” ‘The General’ spoke calmly. “If we let you go and you flee we will all be destroyed. You have brought Him here. You have brought death to our shores.”

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