Progress

I used to hear the birds sing in the morning

Welcoming in the new day

Now I hear the planes flying

All the birds have flown away

I used to watch the ants making their way

Through the grass on the ground

Now it has been paved over

Not a single ant can be found

I used to look to the stars at night

Now the lights are so bright I cannot see

I used to watch the sun rise up over the meadow

Now the smog and buildings hide it from me

I wonder will my children mourn the planes, the pavers and the light

As I mourn the birds, the grass and the night

Maybe this time.

A sly smirk curled its way over his face as he watched her through the window. She was making dinner; the window was slightly ajar, enough for the smell of the meat cooking to waft out toward him. He breathed deep, the smell of roast lamb making him hungry, but it was not food he would need to quench that hunger.

He already had his knife in his hand, as he shifted his position the blade caught the last rays of the setting sun and reflected them onto the back porch of the house. Every kill was different for him, every single one, while he stood there he was savouring the moment, planning everything down to the minute detail. He knew he would reflect back on the kill after it was done, wonder about ways to perfect his work, ways to make the excitement of it last longer.
The first kill felt the best, it was sloppy and he was terrified after, but the rush of adrenaline that came with it was like nothing he had ever known before. Each kill that followed it seemed to lose something; they shadowed it in time and in satisfaction. For that reason he had to keep killing, to find that rush again, to work out what he was doing wrong now that he didn’t do that first time.
As he watched her he thought, “This time. Maybe this one will be the one.”
He waited until she had sat down to eat. He knew she was alone, he had watched the house all day. He walked up to the slightly open window in the kitchen. He opened it properly and climbed inside.
He did not attack her straight away; instead he walked up the stairs and intentionally made a sound. He waited, he knew she would hear it, try to ignore it, pretend it was the wind or something. After a little while he made one of the upstairs doors slowly creak shut then he moved far away from it, knowing she would have to investigate.

Sure enough up the stairs she came turning on every light she passed and trying not to appear afraid. He remained hidden, letting her check the room and confirm that it was empty, he even heard her mutter something about it being, ‘just the wind.’
He allowed her enough time to settle down to her dinner again before he made another sound, this time in the upstairs bathroom. He dropped something breakable into the sink, smirked at himself in the mirror above it and then went back into hiding.
She came up the stairs again, her eyes wide and her hands shaking slightly, but still she tried desperately to show no fear. She got to the bathroom, looked at herself in the mirror, saw that she was frightened and tried to calm herself. She looked down into the sink, she smiled thinking herself a fool to be afraid of the sound of something slipping into the sink and breaking.
She looked back up at the mirror still smiling, but it was in that instant that the smile was wiped from her face and she stared in sheer terror at what was reflected in the mirror. He stood right behind her, the blade of his knife shining in his hand. She did not have time to turn around or scream. In less than a second he had moved and slid that blade gracefully across her throat.
She did not die instantly; he held her upright with his other hand as he stared at her in the mirror, blood dripping down from her neck. She couldn’t scream, she couldn’t move, she could feel herself dying and she could do nothing to stop it. Nothing but stare at his reflection in the mirror as it stared back at her.
When she was dead he let her lifeless body fall to the floor.
“Maybe next time. Next time will be the one.”

White Walls

Despite the lack of posting I am still here. Other than writing more of the hitman story I've had a bit of writers block. Nothing seems to inspire me to the point of writing, nothing good anyway, and I don't want this to turn into a blog with nothing but whinny depressive posts that after you've read them you want to off yourself just to escape having to read more.
I'll give it a shot though.

It was perfect, the perfect apartment, the perfect main room. She stared at the white painted walls. The whole apartment looked brand new, she knew it couldn't be, the building was very old, but the previous owners had done a wonderful job of restoring it to newness. White walls, brand new carpet, perfectly clean cupboards, everything white. She had just unpacked all her belongings and was sitting down enjoying the personal freedom that comes with finally having your own place. She was wondering what colour to paint the walls. White was nice, but she wanted colours, rainbows of colours.

On her way home from work the next day she stopped off at the hardware store and picked up a few tins of sample paint, just to get a feel for what they would look like. Maybe she could even paint a mural if she had time. After she had finished dinner and put on some painting clothes, she opened the tins and splashed some colours on the walls. She found it hard to imagine what the whole place would look like in those colours so she started painting pictures, she wasn't very clean with her brush and bits of paint splattered onto the carpet and onto some of her furniture as well. She didn't mind, most of her stuff was second or third-hand anyway. When she had had enough fun paining kittens and puppies and what were supposed to be trees she closed up the tins and went to have a shower to wash the paint of her. After that she went straight to bed.

She got up at the last minute, hurriedly got dressed and raced off to work, she had been in such a hurry that she had not really looked at anything, so it wasn't until she got home that night that she noticed what should have been so obvious in the morning. The walls were white, there were no bunnies or kittens or puppies or trees, they were gone. She stared at the walls in shock. How was that possible?

She opened the tins again and practically poured the paint onto the walls, paint spilled everywhere, she smeared it on every wall until she was exhausted and then she showered and went to bed. She woke in the morning thinking it must have all been some horrible nightmare, but when she stepped into the main room she was greeted once again by the whiteness of those walls. She screamed!

After recovering from screaming she stared at the walls confused, the paint had to be somewhere, she knew she had painted it and when she opened the tins again they were all nearly empty so she must have used it. She still had a crowbar sitting near the window, she had used it to open some of her crates when she moved it. She picked it up and using the bent end she tried to scrape off the white paint to find her paint underneath, but there was nothing. She scraped to the giprock and broke through that to reveal a wall cavity. She gave up and slumped on the couch just staring at the hole in the wall.

She was sure there was nothing in the deeds mentioning this strange phenomena, she would have noticed and something like this really should be enclosed with the sale information. No wonder the place had been cheap. She bit her nail, did she really need coloured walls she wondered. She knew she didn't, but that wasn't the problem anymore, the problem was that she didn't understand it or know if it was safe to keep living there.

She decided to paint the walls again and then stay up the whole night just to see what happened. She painted and then she sat down and waited. As she waited she noticed that it wasn't just the walls, there was no paint on anything, not even her things, she started to regret her decision to stay up in that room.

As the night drew on the shadows in the room started to move, at first she thought she was sleepy and just seeing things, but no, they turned into two people and started attacking each other. As she watched they stabbed each other and real blood came out of the shadowmen. It splattered on everything, including her. She looked on frozen in disbelief. Then as suddenly as it started they both fell down, apparently dead, she watched as the shadows sank into the carpet and disappeared. It was at that point that she noticed the blood and every other bit of dirt or out of place thing, like the paint on the walls slowly slid down the walls and the furniture and that too was sucked into the carpet. She stood up amazed and walked over to the wall, wanting to see if she could touch the paint as it moved, but that was a mistake.

She did not belong in that room either and she began to sink into the carpet, she didn't even notice it at first, she had been too transfixed on the sliding paint, but when she did she screamed and tried to get back to the couch. It was too late, she struggled and screamed but the carpet ate her up like quicksand and when the morning came it was a nice clean perfect room.

Sorry for the inconvienience

I have altered the settings on this page so you now need a google account to comment. You also have to do that annoying verification crap. Sorry to do this, but I'm getting a lot of spam comments and it's really starting to shit me. I do love your actual comments and google accounts are not hard to make, heck you don't even need to make one, you can link another email to it so it recognises that one.

I look forward to more wonderful comments, they let me know that someone is out there and likes my random weird stuff.

Whose viewing this shit? Speak and be recognised!

The Hitman

The sink looked white and clean at first glance. It was only when you focused in on it that you noticed the dirt and the filth. It was the same with the mirror above it. It had splashing’s of toothpaste, soap and saliva.

He noticed it. He always noticed things like that, he couldn’t afford not to. A single hair, a single fibre, a single mistake and it would all be over. No, he could not allow that.
He leant forward moving his hands into the bowl of the sink, he nudged the tap with the side of his hand and water gushed forth into the bowl. It ran cold over his hot dirty hands; he caressed it with his fingers as it cleaned the blood from his hands. The bloody water pooled in the bottom of the sink. He watched it as it twisted its way down the plughole. It reminded him of a red rose being sucked away from the light by some unseeing hand.  A mirror of his life, he the all-powerful unseen hand.

He smiled as he stared at his reflection through the grime of the mirror. It was a crooked smile and made him look quite frightening. He didn’t see that though, he saw a successful man running his own business and getting very rich in the process.

The sound of a child crying distracted him from his reflection. The smile vanished from his face and he looked down. Beside the sink his hunting knife, the blade still gleaming red with blood lie waiting for him to complete the job. He picked it up, gripping the handle tightly, and then he stepped away from the sink and out of the bathroom. He walked up the hallway, so softly was his pace that not a sound came from his footsteps.
He passed the master bedroom, peering in; the sight of red splattered over everything caught his eye. He loved the colour of blood. It was so pure and real to him. He didn’t even glance at the mutilated bodies that lie on the bed. He had finished with them and now to him they no longer existed. All that was left was the red dripping and slipping slowly down the walls.
He kept walking, going to the door that had pink paper flowers stuck on it. He could still hear the sobs coming from within. Had the child not woken he probably would have left. She was of no importance to him, but now his blood was up and when a killers blood is up it is hard to stop killing when once one has started. He stopped just outside the room, putting his hands into his pockets he pulled out some latex gloves and put them on. Always the professional, he could not allow his passion to let him get sloppy. Reaching for the door knob he took a breath, and then grasping it, he turned the knob and stepped into the room….

Should I continue?

Driving Miss Daisy at the Theatre Royal in Sydney

For Tues 19th March 1 pm performance 2013

Today I had the pleasure of attending a performance of Driving Miss Daisy at the Theatre Royal. Having never seen any rendition of the story before, I was not entirely sure what to expect. I did know the basic storyline; an African American driving around a grumpy old lady called Daisy. I chose to see the play based on the cast, and it is true what they say, it doesn’t matter what the play is; if you have a good cast anything can be a hit.
In this case; the play and the cast were superb.
Put simply, I loved it. Being a history buff I enjoyed how the story moved through the major events happening in the background but didn’t encroach in anyway on the story. I liked the tastefulness of the story, given the era it was set it did not have to be so.  James Earl Jones in the role of Hoke Coleburn was brilliant. His actions coupled with his facial expressions brought the character to life and made the smallest quip hilarious. Angela Lansbury played the leading lady as Miss Daisy. She was perfect and I since found out she is 87 years old, a magnanimous performance. Although I have seen her in many roles and recognise her voice instantly, she played the part so perfectly that I forgot I was watching people perform a show, they both owned their characters and I doubt I will ever see two such fine actors on the stage together again. Boyd Caines played Daisy’s son Boolie. I have not seen much of his work before, but found him to be a great actor that played his character excellently and rather amusingly too.
The set was your basic play setting, and that was all it needed, a good script and a great cast don’t need any modern extras. I did enjoy the small part of the stage rotating, and the chair moving back and forth was adorable. As much as I admire them for smoking on stage, they might need to get a less stinky brand or better ventilation. It smelt like one of those nicotine free cigarettes actors smoke, which smell worse than the real ones. A few of the elderly people coughed a bit when the smell hit them.
The costumes were well suited, only Hoke maintained the same costume throughout, with slight changes. The others changed and the clothes suited the era being portrayed.

Source of picture
The venue itself was one I had never been to before. It was easy to find and the main show room was well designed with good sound quality around the room and decent visibility, however it could use better ventilation in that room. The venue has far too many stairs. Most of the audience were elderly and there was no lift at all. It was fine for me and some of the other young ones there, but it could do with a lift or escalator for the more infirmed.

The show concluded with a standing ovation as well it should, it was certainly deserving of one, and it is so nice to sit in an audience where the applause keeps going after the actors have left the stage. It seems to be a rarity these days.
A must see before it’s gone.