Survivors Guilt

Mark stood infront of the granite headstone staring at the engraved words.

Here lies Steven Anderson
Son, Brother in Arms, Friend
May he live on forever
April 9th 1990 –  May 5th 2014

Reading the words over and over again it got to the point he no longer even saw words, all he saw was Andy’s face smiling back at him, laughing after one of the guys in the bunk got a beasting from the CO. The his face covered in mud as they crawled through the dirt to one of the lay up points while under fire, determination to live etched across his weary face. Finally he saw the blood streaked face and the dying eyes, the eyes of a man who knows there is nothing left to do.

Those faces floated in the reflection of the granite as Mark stood there, motionless. Silent tears fell and rolled down his cheeks. That bullet should have been his. He knew it. If he had been on Andy’s left as he was supposed to he would have caught that slug, not Andy. He would have gone, not Andy.

He had so much more to live for. 24 and bright, he had so much potential, instead he is in a pine box in the ground.

They call it survivors guilt. That’s what the quacks call it. They aren’t wrong for once. He survived, he felt guilty, and he would never be able to forgive himself.

Placing his hand on the headstone he choked out.

I’m sorry Andy. I’m so sorry. It should have been me.

With that he fell to his knees and lost it. He had lost one of his six, and it was all his fault.

Migraine Relief

I lay there, curtains drawn, head under the covers, trying not to move. This migraine is absolutely blinding and I cannot even think about looking at my phone screen, let alone actual daylight. Hidden in the darkness of my bed all I can do is take as many painkillers as I can get my hands on out of the nightstand and pray that this nightmare will pass.

I doze in and out of sleep, every time waking up to another lighting bolt of pain through my brain as I attempt to rest on my back. Hours pass, more medication is taken, and more sleep is attempted go be got. It is a drawn out and generally unsuccessful challenge, but has some small success.

Somewhere in what I assume is early evening I hear the door open and close, the sound of zips, then the covers move and a body gets into the bed with me.

“I knew as soon as you didn’t text back you were having an episode. Pain meds helping?”

She whispered these words while running her hand across my chest. Just the sound of her voice was enough to make my head feel like a jackhammer was added to the already colossal earthquake going on in my skull, but it was nice to have company.

“Not as much as normal. Sorry”

It pained me to even say those words, but I couldn’t just lie there and not respond.

“You are super warm. Let me see if I can help a little and absorb some of that.”

She gently lifts my arm and places her head against my chest, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. Her skin is cool against my side and gives me a shiver. She takes my hand which is resting on my stomach and interlaces her fingers with mine, and slides her leg over my two.

She has always run colder than me. I am an oven all the time. My body is only ever cold when I am sick, and I am rarely ever sick. The feel of her soft skin on mine is comforting in this maelstrom of mind numbing pain I am weathering.

“If I hold you close do you think I might be able to take some of your pain away through skin contact?”

I lay there and tighten my arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer into me. One of my favourite things about her is how she fits into me; how her curves seems to meld into mine. Her body pressed against mine relieves some of the tension and within about 20 minutes the migraine dulls a little and becomes a more bearable headache.

How did you do that? How did you walk in here, hug me and make some of the pain go away? Are you a witch or a pain leech?”

I feel her smile into my chest and wriggle a little so she is comfortable.

Seriously woman, what did you do?“

“Put a spell on you…cos you’re mine”

I smile for the first time all day at that little song, when she does crappy impersonations it always makes me either cringe or laugh.

“Guess that makes you a witch, but the good kind so thank you”.

I kiss her on top of her head and she gives my hand a squeeze.

“I need some food and I bet you haven’t eaten all day. I’ll rustle something quick up and we can get some food in us. Pasta ok?”

“Perfect. Thank you”

I open my eyes as she slides her hand out of mine and gets up. Only her silhouette is visible as she puts on some clothes and heads to the kitchen.

“That witch really has put I spell on me” I think to myself as I roll onto my side and check the clock. 18:37.

Luckiest victim alive. I definitely won’t be breaking her spell on me anytime soon”.

I get up and put some joggers on. Can’t let her do all the work in the kitchen, and I have to thank her properly anyway. What better place than with a room with lots of surfaces and with her in those cute shorts she knows I adore her butt in.

“Guess she has put a few spells on me” I ponder and walk into the kitchen to thank her for her magic touch.


Inspired by a Facebook post of a friend saying they had a migraine.


He leans back, his office chair reclining and holding him steady. The music flows out of the speakers and surrounds his. His ears hear it, his skin feels it, his heart embraces it.

The slow rise of the violins, the brass section coming in and the percussions bringing up the back and keeping it all there. The cellos are always so underrated but he knows how much work it takes, holding the piece together with its sweet strings.

The build. Oh the build! The music slowly builds in crescendo, more and more dynamic until at its peak all the hairs on his body stand on end as he is immersed in the beauty of the piece. How can something written hundreds of years ago resonate within him so strongly??

Music surpasses time, it crosses the language barrier and it bring people into  its fold. Great music can transport you to another time, another place, another world. It can lift you to soaring heights or bring you to tears of sadness, but make no mistake, good music will make you feel.

The piece calms down and comes to an end. His stresses have melted away with the strings. A warm peaceful feeling sits in his chest, making him feel that all is right with the world. Music is his release, music is his love, music is who he is.

F*ck Your Pity

Do you know what is annoying as hell? That look people give you.

“Oh you’re single? It’s ok, there is someone out there for you”

F*ck you.  Do you know how irritating it is to deal with that?

“Will you be bringing a plus one to the Christmas meal? Oh wait you are single right, never mind, I shouldn’t have asked”


I see couples every single day at work.  It is part of my job that I have to interact with people, and the environment I am in attracts a higher number of them than in standard scenarios.  Every day I go to work and I see them.  I chat to married people and their children, new couples, established couples, people picking something up for their other half, people trying to impress their other half, people cementing their relationships.  I see couples all day.  That is a little irksome to my mind, but I can chat to these people and I don’t need to delve into my personal life.  Keep it nice and superficial, smile, get the sale and say goodbye.  No problem.

It comes down to my work colleagues who are all in relationships.  One has gone on maternity leave, one is pregnant, all of them except me and one other guy are single.

“Oh you have been single two years? That is a long time”

“Indeed, but I have dated a few girls, just nothing really worked out”

Something I tell people to get them off my back, but I know that the girls I dated were never truly going to work out.  The girls I hit on will never truly work out.  The girls I think about will never truly pan out.  They are pipe dreams.  I am fully aware of the dismally desert like state of my love life.  I am painfully aware of it.

Don’t get it twisted, I have tried online dating, and that went no where.  Absolutely no where at all.

I have been unattached for nearly two years now.  Guess what the conversation of topic in my family house is? When it is not in argument it is in unison.

“You’re nearly 25 MMS, you should be getting married soon.  Look for a wife, look hard, you’re getting older now”

You think I am joking here, I am not.  I am deadly serious.

What? Is being single some sort of disease? Is it some sort of horrible affliction which must be cured by administration of a partner to the cardiovascular and groin area immediately?

You know what is the worst part? When you see people you KNOW you are better looking than get some.  That really grinds my gears.  I know a guy who has the personality of a plank of wood.  He has a significant other.  ARE YOU SH!TTING ME SON?! How does Plank manage to get some and I don’t?!

Wow, not it sounds like I am self pitying jackass and oh woe is me, everyone else I know has a partner and I don’t, boo hoo.

Well I guess that is the case then, isn’t it.  I am single, I am not proud of it, but that is the state of affairs I have.  Single, and to my recent discovery introverted.  I spent the weekend with people, and I couldn’t wait to be alone again and not be on show.  Probably had something to do with they are engaged and all lovey dovey and s*it.

Not my usual eloquent post, but then I am hardly a wordsmith, or someone who has any talent remotely.  I use my grasp of the english language to express myself, badly most of the time, but I attempt it.  This post could basically be described as F*ck Your Pity.  I think I just found my title.


Into The Darkness, Into The Light

Standing on the precipice of sanity looking into the void of my mind I wonder how the hell I got to this point.  I think back to myself about all the mistakes, all the missed chances, all the fuck ups along the way which have all culminated in this single final moment of twisted pleasure.  This final moment will be a release beyond any that could be given by drugs or sex.  This release will be the pinnacle of pleasure, the epitome of  emotion, the summit of self-actualisation.  This moment will be the one where I can finally see the light and the truth about life.  Finally I will understand the meaning of why I was put on this earth and what I was meant to do on it.  Let the logic in.





He stared back at his friend, glassy eyed and uncomprehending.  He wanted to, he truly wanted to understand what his friend was trying to say to him.  The complexity of the idea combined with the fact that he was several drinks down only made the haze in his brain thicker than it normally was.  At least when he was high he could laugh about the fact he was incompetent and did not understand the conversation that was being spoken at him.  A witty response, or perhaps a stoner one would be adequate enough to end the conversation and lead into something more banal and easier to digest for his slowing brain.

“What? Can you explain that again, but dumb it down a little? This is not my field of expertise to start with and you are speaking way too quickly and way too complicatedly for me to get what you are talking about.  Break it down for me like I am retarded or something.”

His friend looked at him with disapproval.  “Yes I know, I am drunk, I can’t hold alcohol like you, give me a break for Christ’s sake, we are not all tanks like you who hold spirits like a fucking barrel.”

His friend was clearly disappointed.  That much was evident.  All he could do was smile and apologise.  What else was there he could possibly do? Go on the offensive? Manipulate his friend into thinking that he was wrong in thinking that it was foolish of him not to understand the conversation? Those were both bad ideas.

How about switch the topic.  This had been going for well over 10 minutes and it felt like the crux of the conversation was coming.  In truth he didn’t really care about the conversation, but his friend liked to flap his lips, so let him flap.  The more he said, the more knowledge he gained.  The more he knew, the more he could use against him should it ever come to that.  Ultimately people were disposable.  Friendships were temporary, family was nothing and in this world it is you against everyone else.

He brought his brandy to his lips and drained the glass.  That was the best idea he had had all night.  He signalled the waitress for another and his friend again looked at him with that look of disappointment.

Oh well, another person to add to the list.  At least something about him never fails to disappoint. That is a good thing, right?

Failure To Send

Sitting there he stares at the email, vision blurred and mind whurring, unable to write.  So far all he could write is

“Dear Mum and Dad”

Words could not express what he is feeling.  He was never great at writing, he was never any good at saying what he needed to.  Being quiet was just who he was.  Never did he stand out from a crowd, never did he have those stories which made people laugh and made him feel part of it all.  All he had was his art.  His drawings were all he could ever do.  Expression through drawing.  St Martins had seen his talent, and accepted the fact he was not the most sociable of people.  They had accepted him for the shy yet deep person he was.  The tutors were so good to him, giving him his space and giving him time when he needed to express a concern.

Nowhere had he felt more at home than in the studio.  Nowhere had he spoken more loudly or clearly than when he had a piece of charcoal in his hand and smudges on his face.  Now it was all gone.  Graduation had gone, years had gone by and his inability to network had left him with no paddle up a very bad river.  There was no one.  His friends had gone, his family had forgotten him.  He wasn’t even going to write this, but felt he should do something.  That’s what normal people do he thought.

Through the tears he wrote 6 words then clicked send.  As soon as that was done he picked up the knife and jammed it into his throat through the side, severing his carotid artery and piercing straight through to the other side of his neck.  He gargled and choked as blood spurted out of his neck as well as down his windpipe.  He didn’t see that the email didn’t send.  His last 10 words that he would ever put on this earth were lost and never going to be seen.  His head fell to the keyboard as blood covered the desk and slowly started to pool on the floor.

His last 10 words.

“Dear Mum and Dad, I’m sorry I’m not good enough” 


Flames flicker clinging to the torch held high above the bearers head. His face is carved of stone and his eyes have lost any semblance of the jovial, light hearted young man that he was.  Placing the torch in the pyre the oil is ignited, snaking along the logs and up to the body of his brother in arms, his brother in blood. Dying in battle would been an honourable way to go. The gates of heaven would have opened gladly for a warrior.  His death had been the plot of a scheming coward and had deprived his brother of the noblest death a man could have; fighting for his right to fight.
Vengeance would be his. He would find the traitorous rat who had marred his brothers good name, he would find him and make him suffer. Death would be easy for him,  by the end of this ordeal he would be begging to the God’s above to take him.
The flames flickered and engulfed the pyre.  There was fire in his eyes now. He had a purpose.  He had a goal.

Dont ask.

Thank You Mistress

He sits in the darkness, arms wrapped around his legs in the corner of the room. The occasional passing car is all that can be heard in his room. The cold wall against his back provided some comfort to him. At least he could still feel that.

Opening his eyes made no difference, it was pitch black still, perfect. He didn’t want to see anyone or be seen at all. He just wanted to be in the corner in the darkness. All he needed was Her.

She was good to him, She was kind to him. She made him feel euphoric, even if She was a heartless Mistress at times. The only time he ever wanted to leave this dark corner was for Her. The only time he only actually left his corner was for Her.

Today he had Her though. Today he had Her in his grasp. He had waited for Her, tormented by the voices and thoughts in his head; bickering and squabbling. He needed to silence all of them and She was the one who could do it.

He scrabbled in the darkness for Her tie, Her spoon, Her lighter and Her needle. All of this is for Her, to be with Her again, to stop the voices and bring the peaceful silence of escape.

He found a spot, tied off and shot up. Release, sweet release. Thank you Mistress, thank you.

Ricky and Tanya

He raised his sleepy eyelids and hazily focussed at the sight in front of him. Damnit, Tanya had fallen asleep with the noise box on again! She needs to stop doing that. It is so loud when I want to sleep.

He stretched out a long, slow stretch, feeling his spine arch and the pull of his muscles from top to bottom. I could just stay here a little while longer, I don’t have much to do really. That said, I am hungry.

Tanya lay sleeping on the couch, remote still in hand, hair wildly splayed all over the cushion. A drool trail was forming at the corner of her mouth and she did not look her best, that was for certain. I can’t be bothered to go and find my own food, Tanya can feed me today, and it feels like it is past time she did!

Ricky padded over to where she lay and curled up on her face. This will wake her up. She loves it when I purr on her face. Plus it’s funny when she splutters and coughs.

Tanya stirred feeling like she was being suffocated by a giant furry cloud. Ricky! For God’s sake do you have to do that every morning?! I know you are hungry all the bloody time but if you kill me I can’t feed you can I?!

Yay, she is doing the talking thing. No clue what she is saying though. I should respond miow mioooowww

Tanya gets up and gets the catfood out, rips open the packet and puts it in a new bowl for Ricky. There you go kid, enjoy. Now I better shower

Miow Love you human. When Carkind rise and take over I will have you killed last. Miow