In reponse to postcard fiction...

I sipped the whiskey. It was neat and cheap as far as whiskey goes, something you would probably get from your local newsagent - the kind stored behind the till, next to the collection of tobaccos,  an unspecific brand you've never even heard of before. It was harsh, coursing down my throat as if it were full of needles. I didn't flinch, just took another sip and let out a heavy sigh. My hand remained vice-like around the glass. I stared at the lone ice-cube melting into my drink and then I stared right through the glass. I stared into nothing, into eternity for an immeasurable amount of time. I could feel the despair leaking into my thoughts, mocking my melancholy and whispering the rumours. I pushed the glass round the top of the table, my mouth morosely dropped as my eyes followed the pattern my glass traced out in the puddle of condensation beneath it. The grease sat on the table as a second veneer, resisting the water snail-trail that glistened against the darkened room. I swirled the cube of ice around my drink, letting it clink against the edges. It noise seemed so loud in the empty pub. I imagined the landlady staring so hard at me, she was boring a hole into the back of my head. I put the glass back onto the table and gulped down some of the air. It was damp and solitary. I shifted uncomfortably on my seat. The land lady cleared her throat, I turned round instinctively. She had her head buried in a newspaper. The rumours came hurtling back to the forefront of my mind. The hushed voices speculated about my life; my wasted life. I had to stop thinking, thinking is just too dangerous. The ice had melted. I lifted my glass up to the window, where the fading sunlight struggled in. I finished my drink and with only a hint of a pause, took my empty glass to the bar and left.

Monkey-Monkey

Monkey-Monkey lived in a tree house above the Crystal Lagoon in the tropical jungle of Mount-Bumba. Monkey-Monkey was not the best behaved of monkeys and often found himself getting into big-baboon trouble and his ever-suffering mum was tired of hearing his ill-thought out excuses, which only served to prove that Monkey-Monkey was the most heinous of liars.

A couple of weeks ago, Monkey-Monkey painted all the ostriches pink whilst they had their heads stuck in the ground. When they pulled their heads into daylight, Monkey-Monkey told them they had turned into flamingoes. Now, you would have to be pretty intellectually challenged to believe such a statement, but where do you think the term 'bird-brain' originates?

“Monkey-Monkey, if you don't behave, the men will come and get you!” Monkey-Monkey's mum would say to him when he was up to mischief. This scared Monkey-Monkey a little bit because he had seen Gorilla's who had their hands cut off, but Monkey-Monkey always shrugged off his mothers transparent threats.

Last week, Monkey-Monkey's uncle came to visit. He was fat and balding and Monkey-Monkey thought he was a bit of an orang-utan at times. He sat in the tree branches drinking tea in a sloth-like manner while his idiotic offspring clung to him and imitated his every move in a way that the other monkeys considered 'cute' but Monkey-Monkey saw it for the revolting attention seeking behaviour that it was and took his chance at punching his little monkey cousins whenever nobody was looking. While Monkey-Monkey's uncle was visiting, Monkey-Monkey swung by to his Uncle's tree-house and located his hidden stash of fermented fruit. With a loud, excited shriek, Monkey-Monkey invited a few of his primate pals over and they feasted to the point of inebriation.

When Monkey-Monkey got home he was quite sick. Monkey-Monkey told his mum that an elephant had encouraged him to do it, saying that if he ate all the fermented fruit then he would become just like a human and that would mean that 'the men' would never be able to come and get him.

“Monkey-Monkey, you should have been born a cheetah!” Monkey-Monkey's mum would shout when she was at her wits end. Monkey-Monkey sometimes wished he had been born a cheetah and thinks his mother's narrow-minded bigotry in stereotyping a whole race of animal was nothing short of out-of-date racism that would get him into much more trouble than his usual cheeky antics, (or even physical violence, for that matter) should he repeat it at school.

One morning, Monkey-Monkey heard a horrible noise, unlike any animal noise he had heard EVER before. 'Bang-Bang-Bang' went the awful noise.

“Thud-a-Thud”

“Crack-Crack-Crack”

“What could this racket be?” Thought Monkey-Monkey.

“Monkey-Monkey? What is all that noise? What are you up to?” Monkey-Monkey's mother was as red as a baboon's behind.

“It wasn't me!” Monkey-Monkey retorted. “I don't know where the noise is coming from!”

“You've been upsetting our neighbours again, haven't you?” Monkey-Monkey's mum put her hands on her hips, she was fuming!

“No.... I've been asleep!” Monkey-Monkey protested.

“I'm fed up of your lies Monkey-Monkey!” She said. Monkey-Monkey knew from her face that she was about to go ape.

Then came the shouting, “Tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim-ber!” followed by a huge crash.

Monkey-Monkey and his mother rushed to the window, suddenly they were very afraid.

The men were coming.

Purple Girl

You're here with me in this room,
as we drink our soup from bowls,
but your eyes gaze is miles through me,
over stormy seas and sail boats.

The howling of the wind,
harks the ending of the day,
as I long to reach out to you,
but your eyes gaze is miles through me,
over stormy seas and sail boats

The red soars on your face,
your knotted brown hair,
with hands grasping for warmth
and the purple knit jumper, drawing me in
but your eyes gaze is miles through me,
over stormy seas and sail boats

I see your cracked, pursed lips
and they're not smiling for me,
your arms folded across your chest
and you clutch onto your memories
your blue eyes of longing, a million miles away
for your eyes gaze is miles through me,
over stormy seas and sail boats

Kick in the arse, how long will it last?

Ok!
Thanks for that kick in the arse JC!
You are, of course, a million times right and I should stop being a lazy Charlie Uniform and get writing, doing, whatever... so after I've eaten all that damn tasty fudge, I should begin... and start writing... good or not it has to be done otherise I might as well be doomed to return to Norwich and get a job at NU! arghhhhhhh!
Might as well sign my own death certificate!

So, I will endeavour to write and post more words to be attacked...

Lets get started...