Lucifer's Mouthwash

Lucifer’s mouthwash

Observation of a hypocrite

Sifting between hordes of alcohol fuelled, happy go lucky, grab ass primates, the poisonous toxin dealers also know as bartenders, served up several shot glasses of a toxic appearing spirit.
A minute switch was made prior to the apple sours being gulped down.

Thunderously ear-splitting tunes spilled from the speakers, to hammer the ear drums of willing participants to: venom safe to ingest for a nominal fee, tongues of vile villainously nude and crude women and highly probable deathly mind expanding drugs.

Neon lights, congested dance floors, skimpy and in some cases translucent clothing, mystified drunken stupors’, alleged rapists after arse grabbing issues. This was a typical night clubbing.

The restroom or as it was habitually named the “barfroom” was a different story. The illumination was blindingly dazzling, especially after being engulfed in the dimness of a moderately impressive, drunken walk, which would later be claimed as dancing and intoxicating booze.
Men lined up with mere than a passing resemblance to a group of meerkats, only with their tiny tadgers poking out to expel the toxins they’d just consumed. Essentially their penises are puking it out in a distinguishable, disgusting fluid.
What a waste

Even bouncers, inebriated and distracted, corrupt by their own authority over the general public and sexual desires, such as Las Vegas, they are the satanic locations of sin. Lust, greed, wrath, pride and envy, cram the fortifications of the club, all souls conceal at least one.
Searching each pleb for hazardous, superfluous, sundries, it was an excuse to grope and tell. A job all with lust filled desires sought. Each individual overflowing with hideousness wrapped in a greasy roll of skin.
Debauchery is what nightclubs promote; they display it, vend it and anticipate it.

Extra shot glasses are pilled along the bar and poured into, coins and notes are exchanged for mere centimetres of liquid.
Within seconds they’re spent, or spilt on the flooring, subsequently trailed by a few beers and a visit to the barf-room actually to barf.

These waves of citizens are a cloud enjoying their life and living to the fullest. Or are they a misguided and bewildered swarm of parasites who, through the consumption of hazardous materials, are committing the unholy ritual of suicide?

This was merely what had been singled out from a petite arrangement of samples of photographs. Being in the same vicinity as this havoc was wreaked could develop a major inconvenience if it was not controlled.

Skulls were painfully slammed into patrol car bonnets, whilst bouncers clenched their hammer like fists and disposed of vermin.
Midnight skies were striking; the buzz of various alcoholic chemicals, which raced though slightly pained bodies, enhanced the sight. Dozens of twinkling stars, several genuine, various doubled.

So I was cynical, sufficient motive to be discarded like last weeks paper? I think not.

Blindness: the eternal imperfection and acquaintance to the darkness. It’s a location where everywhere is your favoured place, and every woman, your desire.
I’ll admit when I awoke I feared I was blind, I saw nothing but blackness. I even cried out in a shrill tone, but lay motionless in alarm of my position.
“What are we gonna do with yew?” a burley Irish accent shot through my eardrums like a jackhammer. Didn’t he realise I was hung over and in the centre of a crisis.
“Piss off!” I spat back at him through my blindness.
“Did sumone hav’ a late nite?” he replied patronizingly, lifting my blindness away, which in reality turned out to be a newspaper, sprawled across my face.
I wish he’d left it there once the luminosity scorched my retinas.
“Put it back!” I bellowed, learning the scene I’d passed out in.
“Wood yew luk a this?” Francis said glancing at the paper.
“I can’t!” I grumbled feeling my eyeballs sizzle. The pleasant sunshine felt balmy on my features. My brain felt like bacon in a frying pan.

Once the glow ended offending my sense of sight, I found myself observing Francis’s well built, pale physique. It was understandable for a grave digger. Francis folded the paper and put it under his armpit revealing his freckled face.
Francis offered me a hand and helped me, in my condition into our apartment.

Gloomy timber flooring, pale, white fortifications and ceiling, an anti-racist (black and white cause we’re not racist) couch, a black, expensive, stylish coffee table, smothered in cans of multicultural beers and hanging from the wall a 42 inch plasma screen television. Three rooms linked onto the lounge but they weren’t in any better state.
I’ll agree it wasn’t much, but was still home and as long as I had my laptop and printer I was delighted.

It appeared like the type of accommodation a drug dealer would reside in excluding the plasma TV, my laptop, my printer and Francis’s weights.
Actually the weights might also be there, taking into consideration; they have superior physiques, the majority of which comes from sprinting. Although there’s also usually platelets of blood splattered around, well anywhere with a sink.

“So Francis what was it you wanted me to look at in the paper?” I asked, letting a stream of slightly misty water wash some expired pain killers down, as my cranium slowly adjusted to the intensity of the sun shinning through our windows.
“Oh its nuthin, Jus the paper boy dropped it in the mud.”
“Thought you wanted to show me something important”
“Well I can tell yew sumthin you did last nite. If that’s important to you, like why yew were thrown oot.”
“I wasn’t thrown out, I was. It was suggested I leave.” My voice drowned slightly and I spoke quietly with embarrassment in my voice. “With brute force.”
“Well I herd differently, I heard yew were suggested to leave with brute force, because, yew climbed on a table and began shouting oot loud over the music about how people were killing themselves and pointed oot all the reason they’d die and burn in Hell, essentially yew were broadcasting yer attitude across to the whole club. I also herd when the bouncers ran after yew, yew pointed oot their flaws too. You were like a fecking devout Christian priest, preaching how the everyone’s gonna die and what was so dreadful about people and the fecking club.”
“I’m sure I’d remember doing that” I said rejecting the memories which flooded back to me, with each passing word.
“There is wan thing though; I’d like to know why I found you passed oot in the driveway this morning”
“I don’t remember anything after hitting the ground outside the club, I remember landing on my arse then smacking my head against the ground and staring at the stars, and then that’s it.”
“Well yer keys were in the front door.”
“Perhaps I lost grip and fell over.” I had been curious why I had a bruise on my coccyx. “Haven’t you got to be at work?” Francis’s childish freckled face glanced at his watch before he swore and hurried out the door.

My stomach turned like a washing machine whilst my head pulsated excruciatingly. Warmth circled my brain. I collapsed my body over our couch and accidentally knocked my head on the arm. The strike rained through my skull like splintering wood tearing through and throbbing outwards.

I had no Idea how much I’d consumed, spilt or spent on drinks but my wallet was drained, as was my own existence. I required a siesta.

Dreams: unattainable, subtle, mysterious and magical. Epilepsy inducing flashes of images which enrage us, startle us, dishearten us and delight us. Nightmares alarm us from afar through the use of psychological trepidation. Whilst we dread them grasping us, slashing us to microscopic shreds and devouring us alive they decline to interact due to waking us and losing the illusion of our nightmares.

Snoozing delicately I allowed my pains to slither away, and gained the vigour to attempt to get to work. Settled cosily on the couch I rested my laptop on my sore tender thighs and clicked on the Microsoft Word 2002 application to embark.
Seated behind a blank word document and contemplating what to enter was easier said than done.

Graveyard shift

Splitting the earth’s crust was essentially the occupation for Francis; I always observed it as opening a death’s door and locking it for all eternity when the dirt was packed in.

The death industry would never be out of business, there would always be customers. But in time the cavities below the shell of earth would fill up.
Rain or shine, whatever the weather Francis would be shovelling soil, to make vacancies for new customers.

Unsullied air, lyrical birds (not just the ones with feathers) working out to expose physique and endurance to pedestrians who enjoyed viewing. Francis wasted his working hours putting on a show for the ladies, working up a sweat to the point where his shirt had to come off to swab the sweat away and cool down.
I had heard countless bizarre stories from Francis which had primarily been bets or dares, once he’d mentioned to me, that he wore a gimp suit, for a full day.
It was a £159 bet.
Francis won the bet; he also put that money into our fund when we were saving for our plasma screen.
For individuals who operate with the deceased, they had a sense of humour, sick twisted and perhaps slightly deranged at times, but it was still there.
Whenever I noticed things out of the ordinary with Francis I understand completely, and if anything, you could say I’m a ghastly influence on him, as I urge him to do it.

An occupation in which you don’t work instead you enjoy yourself is the perfect job, as you’ll be having so much enjoyment you’ll never realize your working. This is primarily the motive why I reached out to become a writer, as I can work when I choose. I doubt Francis feels the same way. I couldn’t squander my day shovelling the earth to pieces. Our careers varied vastly except for the time we were both left doing the graveyard shift. Francis was trapped in the graveyard shift and I was only there when I had writers block.
Unfortunately I suppose that’s why I’m rambling, currently as I’ve writers block, so I guess you could say Francis and I are stuck in the graveyard shift.

Knock Knock Bang

Nine hours subsequent to a blank word document being caught in a staring competition with me, and I had nothing to show for it.
In black and white the only item which gazed back at me was the petite vertical cursor which words spill from when fingers met keys.
Not even a title.

It wasn’t that I was drawing blanks; I had heaps of ideas every instant racing through my mind, only half a dozen practical and the remainder too complex or lengthy.
No characters had revealed themselves as it was my main setback.
All characters I created were so implausible I rejected the proposal of them, before anyone else got a chance.

“You have to be able to believe your own characters before you let anyone else decide if they can believe them.”

Morning had vanished from my eyes and afternoon set in, Francis frequently would have re-entered our accommodation, from a perspiring dead end job, at eighteen hundred hours, or as its formerly known six O’clock.

Francis is capable of looking after himself, he has a brutal, exterior, built up muscles and gallantry to daunt or even punish his demons, which soon become mine, through his petty need of companionship.
The sly bastard.
Joy rose within my interior greasy flesh at the effortless resonance of tumblers rolling in the lock and our front door leisurely swinging inwards, due to the hinges, which wept insignificant creaks, as if a cry for help.
Francis was home!
The door crept in gradually.
I wasn’t wrong. Francis was home. Accompanied by two generously proportioned men, Francis crashed into the flooring catching him self before indenting his features into the wooden flooring.
Sober, unscathed, valiant and skint. That was Francis for you in a nutshell.
He viewed these guys as gentlemanly thieves, as they told you to your face you were being robbed, and didn’t attempt to immerse you in any illusions.

I observed their yellowing fingernails, slightly tattered and torn clothing and grotty skin, followed by an unmistakable retched stench of urine. I viewed these guys as unsuccessful bailiffs, failures in world of pilfering glee.

Once more in debt, Francis had wasted away his existence and lost money he didn’t have, but luckily I had cash stashed away.

Not only did they linger expectantly in the threshold, obstructing our only departure, (unless you’re astoundingly undersized and nimble like Francis who can manoeuvre through the bathroom window.) but the broader of the two popped a cigar into the cavity of yellowing teeth and a blackened tongue, and began puffing away into our accommodation, whilst the gruffer one started toying with possessions and observing them, probably wondering how much they’d be worth on the street. I wouldn’t heed him touching them, except for one tiny dilemma, they were my things he was touching leaving gritty, smarmy and greasy murky prints all over.

Francis had vanished along the hallway to gather the money, leaving me gnashing almost through my tongue trying not to explode at the loan sharks fiddling with my belongings, and polluting the nice fresh air we’d been enjoying.
The navy coloured ceramic bowl we used for our keys, now it was tainted with greasy finger prints around the edges, ceramic sculpture of a wolf gazing at a family of skunks, now it gave off the appearance of black rats, crystal sculpture of a majestic eagle taking flight, now it looked like it was suffering from Vitiligo.
Last was my collection of adorable crystal animals, which were passed down to me from my grand parents. First up was hedgehog, my tongue felt sore from the force of my teeth, mouse was next. Hedgehog had been replaced with a shady smudge on his underbelly.

Ear receptors in this close vicinity all heard the miniscule echo of shattering, and the vision of both loan sharks and I flickered to the crystal mouse.
My tongue was relived of teeth pressing down like a vice.

A fist was in position of the mouse, fingers gently peeled back. In his palm laid miniature shards of crystal with two ears. My dim crystal mouse was poured onto the shelf he’d been liberated from, to be reunited with hedgehog.
“Can’t you just leave stuff alone?! Just stop, jus, jus, just stop touching my stuff, why can’t you be more like him?” I indicated to the puffing loan shark. “Except not like him.” perhaps my worst move during this mini rant was turning to the puffer. “Can you please stop smoking that thing?!”

Echoing thumps, cracks and crunches, burst through my sinuses, and rang through my skull, departing from my ears. Lukewarm liquid dribbled, exiting my nostrils and streaming away from me.
My eyelids burst open in bewilderment to allow daze to settle in.

I’d been punched in the nose.

Loan sharks: fearless, sturdy, easily aggravated, essentially they take no shit, and if you’re willing to provide them with some, their willing to send jolts of hurt into your fleshy exterior they seem to be deprived of. If you even attempt to put off payback then you’ll find yourself pumped with hot lead, silver, gold or whatever bullets are made of. Unless your embarrassingly no threat at all, like me.

Lesson learnt, I wouldn’t need a refresher course.

Francis re-entered the lounge with fingers clamped around crispy, clean notes.
“That ours?” inquired the puffer in a low cough.
“Well” Francis’s tone suggested some funds were missing.
“How much?!” He replied furrowing his brows.
“Five grand” the words deeply spilled from Francis’s lips confidently, as he exchanged the money for the price on his head.
“You got one week” replied the puffer stubbing out his cigar into our wall and exiting led by his grubby assistant.
“Yew exploded on them didn’t yew?” Francis asked gazing down at me, as I returned the stare through watery eyes.
“Uhuh” I replied, still dazed and entirely unsure that if I got to my feet, would I wind up crashing back to the ground?
Probably.

Francis’s chalk like fingers in width and completion, clamped smoothly round my wrist as my fingers slid round his wrist and I was hoisted to my feet.

“How are you planning on accumulating this hefty fund by next week?” I asked cushioning my arse as it collapsed into our couch.
“I dunno”
“Sorry did you just say, you don’t know!?” I stuttered powerless to understand how Francis could simply dismiss the slightly minor fee which rested on his head, and would increase if Francis procrastinated when it came to the date of payment.
“Right, I’m going to wedge some tissue up my nostrils, when I return, I want a response. I’m not going to have my bones broken, sprained or dislocated because of your short comings.” I declared expressing slight fury.
Francis laid himself across the remainder of our couch, relieving usage of his aching muscles after a day hard labour.

Due to the little income we generated, the tissue we purchased wasn’t the smoothest in the world. In fact it most likely did additional damage up my tenderly bruised nostrils.
With blood absorbed into the tissue, discarded and two new pieces positioned to soak the remaining blood which may trickle down, I re-entered the lounge.
“Well?” I enquired expectantly.
“We’ll find a way”
“We’ll find a way? That’s not good enough; I want to know precisely how we’re going gather five grand by next week, because I despise having a price on my head.”
“Yew haven got a pwice on yer hed” replied Francis, cracking his fingers each one individually.
“I’m your friend and roommate; of course I’ve got a price on my head, you’ve got a petty need for companionship when you’re in a dilemma.”
“Well it does make it easier havin yew awound, sumwan else to take tha beatings.” Smiled Francis
“Thanks. When I wind up broken, devastated and on the verge of loosing my sanity due being unsure of my knowledge because some ill tempered loan sharks are unable to seek you, we’ll all know it was because greed caught the better of you, or you couldn’t pull together all the money that was yet to be paid, which will possibly result in my demise of being torched alive in an abandoned, shattered Mercedes Bens in a neglected location, once they discover I’m of no use to them, while you scarper away freely to ruin someone else’s life.”
“Why a Mercedes Bens?” asked Francis displaying no surprise
about my mini rant, then again why should he, he’s lived with me for at least nine months.
“I don’t know it’s the first car which popped into my head, and before you ask me how I know they’ll burn me alive, I’ve seen all those lame gangster films, I know what they do. But with that aside, how are we going to get their money?”
“ Wasn gonna ask bout how yew new, and they don acchully do that No Idear how we’re goin ta get their money, but I’m goin ta bed, I’m knackered. Also befer I go don’t worry I’ll pay tha money back, I already owe you allot as it is.”
Francis returned to his throbbing muscles and retired to his room, followed by the resonance of his door clicking shut.

Killing the voltage which supplied my laptop felt dreadful as I’d wasted a day’s current on a blank word document.
Francis was paying for that electricity, as I’m accumulating no income, and here I am wasting the money we need.

The stroke of midnight signals a failure

No plots. No characters. Not even a bloody title!

I had to come up with something, didn’t I?
I was due for a good idea, or for as long as I’d been waiting I was due for a world wide bestselling bloody novel.

9 hours had been totally wasted attempting to create, but I wasn’t ready to submit, well not for today anyway.

Good old electricity free, paper and pen where dug out, until I realised the pen was also free of ink.
So it became good old electricity free paper and pencil.

The lines on the page begun dancing, as I realised boredom had sank in and I’d been staring at the blank page for almost an hour!
Or was the clock wrong?

I wish it had been, as time pressed on my creative writing career didn’t.
Create a character, that could help give me a story, or at least I really hoped it would.
I didn’t want to produce a character that’d already been done, just with a slight difference such as every television programme, film or show. I wanted a remarkable character, someone we could all relate to, someone we all knew someone like, someone different from your average protagonist heroes, someone, not like me.

I figured the first step of creating a believable character, is basing him or her on someone, appearance wise.
But who?

What did I want this person to have? Who did I want this person to be? What were they going to be?

A useful tip I had picked up, was studying how actors became characters, they walked around a room as the character they had to become to realise what would stand out to that person? How would they do this or that? What would they do with this or that? So why couldn’t I wonder around the lounge and make up my own character?

I placed my feet on the ground firmly and noticed it would probably aid me to know more about him.

HIM! Well there’s a start, I know my character will be a bloke, but what’s his name?

I wrote a list of male names spiralling straight off the paper, and to be totally honest after twenty minutes of noting those names down, I still doubt I had a name.

Name list

Thomas
Leon
Markus
William
Steven
Andrew
Brian
Theodore
Ralph
Shaun
Carl
Charlie
Charles
Chuck
Monty

Even my own bloody name wasn’t good enough for a believable character. I leant back on my chair to think of the perfect name.

Names and some really random words floated around my head, whilst I kept pushing myself further off the ground.

The grey carpeting rushed up to meet the back of my head with a rough thump.
Damn chair had fallen over.
But it had given me a name, Laurence.
I have no idea where the name sprouted from but Laurence shot into my head from the floor.
Springing back to my feet I gripped my pencil and scribbled it down breaking the sharp pin-point of my pencil.

It would’ve got on my nerves but I was ecstatic, I had a character for my best selling novel. Eyeing up the clock I learnt the time was 11:59.
And that was just spent coming up with a name!
I would do something else before it hits 12:00
Laurence would have Black? No. Blonde? No. Brown? Ginger hair?

The hands ticked into place and midnight was upon me, I’d failed and midnight was the signal.

Playing pretend

Thumping footsteps were heard from Francis’s room to the kitchen, then to the lounge and back to the kitchen, then to the lounge once again shortly followed by more thumping as he squashed a cockroach under his heel.

Lovely. Not the way I’d love to have woken up, but too late now my eyes were open and ears, still echoing with the horrifically disturbing sound of the crunch and squelch of the deceased bug on our flooring.

The sight of it appeared like it had just spewed its guts up and exploded whilst doing so. I tilted my head to Francis who was gesturing for me to sit beside him.
I did so straying as far from the disease ridden foot as I could, Francis knew I would do so and felt obligated to rest it on me.
Bastard.

After he swallowed down a spoon full of corn flakes I felt obligated to tell him I lost my scab collection. Lol is it bad that those words came to mind; maybe I’m spending too much time on the computer.
“I’ve got a plan” Francis mentioned with milk dribbling down his chin after another large mouthful.
“Eh?” I was too tired and my brain exhausted to remember what he was talking about.
“Fer getting’ tha money” Francis looked at me waiting for what he’d just said to click into place.
A few seconds later I was on the same page.
“Oh, yea”
“Well yew know those Securicor men?” I nodded “Well I had an idea why don’t we dress up as one and take tha money from a bank.”
“Yea, yea, sure. Go for it and tell me how that goes.”
“Yer comin’ too”
“Fine, jus give me some time to freshen up and change clothes.”
“Yew better get a move on. Those Securicor men usually come early.”

With those final words uttered I slid out of my clothes from the day before, and energetically hopped into the shower which scolded me as the first ounce of water came crashing down over my hairless back.

If I didn’t know any better Francis was flushing the toilet for farts and giggles, I knew we had a bet on who would give in first loses, but this just wasn’t fair, on top of his pranks he also had his debts which I dragged into dealing with.

By the time I entered the lounge smartly dressed awake and feeling cleansed, Francis had somehow already secured a Securicor uniform. Or was it genuine?
Actually I’d rather not know.

I scanned the room quickly just in case he’d knocked out the previous owner of the suit.
“Please tell you got that thing legitimately, and how do you know the Securicor guy is coming today?”
“Yew remember Bruno?”
“You’re poker buddy who spent eight months in prison, yea I remember him.
“He used to be Securicor man before he faked his death and he still keeps in touch with a few of the younger guys who work there.”
“Well, I suppose it’s better than bounding, gagging and interrogating a guy in closet.”
“Jus joking, that’s what I really did. He’s in the closet behind yew.”
“Oh god, please tell me you’re joking.” Heat rushed to my face as I feared he wouldn’t be joking. I clasped the handle and opened the door a crack.
“Jesus Christ you’re gullible. Come on we’d better get going.”

To my relief no man was found in our closet nothing other than coats and all the usual things families stow away like long lost heirlooms and treasures from far beyond.

Autumn leaves were crunched beneath our feet and gently blew around us to be caught in the lingering updraft beyond us.

My gaze met Francis’s once we’d eyed up the location from afar, I entered a shop on the other side of the street as I watched Francis enter and perhaps seal his fate.
We had planned for me to keep watch for the real Securicor guy and once he was on his way entering I would text Francis or attempt to distract him long enough for Francis to escape.
I highly doubted it’d work, and was even happier I wasn’t in Francis’s position.

I wished Francis had picked a different bank as the shop across the road was Ann Summers.

Forty minutes were spent looking at sexy games, which sadly out of the many failed relationships I’d been in, I’d played most of. I’d always been ecstatic when I won, so much that I discovered being a bad winner is a real big turn off.

The staff member’s eyes were burning a hole of embarrassment deep into the back of my skull, of which the heat had already began to warm my cheeks till they we’re glowing a rosy red.

Francis spent a long time deep within the fortifications of the banks hopefully getting somewhere.

My feet meandered away from the games, away from the window and to the back of the store out of vision of the staff.
I just couldn’t face their judging stares any longer, what made it worse was I had stepped directly into the section of the store in which a wide range of rubber penis’s we’re on display.

Could this experience get any worse?

Feeling distressed about how much longer I may have to hang around the vicinity, I glanced at my watch.
The time was 10:48AM.

I hadn’t eaten since 5:00PM yesterday, so I guess this day was going to get a hell of a lot worse, especially considering how much my stomach was howling out for nutrients, and how far we we’re from any stores which sold food.
Unless you count edible pants.

I was so hungry I couldn’t help myself, I realised I could leave the store and wait outside, but not starve myself.
I picked up five pairs, paid and left the judging eyes of torment behind me.
I lent against the wall just out of sight of the window.

I was relived to be out; I tore the first pair of pants out and gobbled them down.
After tasting them they wouldn’t have been my first choice I’ll admit but I was too hungry to care.

Once feeling filled with perv pants and embarrassed to the edge of oblivion, all I needed now was for the bloody Securicor guy to walk round the corner.

My eyes peered into the bank to realise I couldn’t spot Francis. Had he been caught? Was he in there getting the money? Had he already left?

That’s when the Securicor guy pulled up in his van right outside the door; my fingers worked furiously to locate my phone and elevate it from my pocket, and write a text message warning Francis that the real Securicor man was on his way inside.

Roughly 20 seconds after I received a text delivery service confirming it had been sent, I observed a small amount of commotion as Francis dashed through the doors with the small change box swinging open spilling all of the change along the ground.

Francis’s voice sounded exhausted and panicked as he shouted from the top of his lungs “ABORT! ABORT!” Francis vanished round the corner as he slid over car bonnets and dived through small gaps between travelling cars.

What a fucking idiot, there was no need to scream abort, that would only alert people he wasn’t alone on this job.

This meant it was time for me to run as well.
Unsure of were to run to I followed Francis except held off of the sliding over cars and diving between them.
I was eager to escape but not as much as Francis.

Francis and I were making a spectacular get away, until the most unlikely car probably ever, decided to storm down the street.

Focusing on Francis’s lead made me forget to check for speeding cars, no matter how brightly coloured they were.

Incredibly my day had managed to become a shit load worse, as it ended with me colliding with a brand new yellow mini cooper.

A concussion, a broken nose, a fractured wrist and the lost shoe

The collision was painful; due to the speed I was flung over the car and landed on my coccyx. The bruising already on it didn’t help.

I screamed out croakily as I made contact with concrete. My eyes were locked into the open position as the excruciating pain made it unbearable to close them.

Clouds were enjoying the gentle breeze which pushed them across the bright blue sky. I always wanted to be a cloud, lazily floating in the skies being pushed to and fro due to the wind; it would be one hell of a life. Although when I was five I wanted to be Kermit the frog.
It’s a shame really; I would’ve made a great Muppet.

Aspirations: desires, wishes and achievements. A goal people crave and cry out for. A desire which always ends in disappointment. The time they reach they’re goal, they realise how now there’s nothing for them to do, they’ve got what they wanted and now, live life just a bit disappointed through the many years spent achieving this goal. They realise they should have chosen a different one. Maybe they wish a more rewarding.

Fortunately for me the driver of the ridiculously, violent car had a pretty good knowledge of first aid.

I ended up re-entering the apartment with a bandaged up wrist, and only one shoe. My other was tied on loosely and soared through the air and out of sight at the moment of impact.
What a morning.
It had been eventful I’ll admit but when you’re whacked out on pain pills by 1:35PM you know you’re life has landed in the shitter.

I hadn’t taken so many for the fun of it, just to numb the pain in my writing hand as I attempted to write down something else about my character, Laurence the museum curator, maybe it was the concussion, or the slight over dose of pills, which made me think a museum curator could really be the perfect job for the lead role of a book. I couldn’t picture him in my head very well, but I could see the ceiling crashing down on top of me.

My eyes flickered open. It had only been a dream, I must have drifted off attempting to imagine Laurence, I checked my note pad, I hadn’t written his occupation yet. I slowly sat up in the dimness and realised it was nearly midnight. How long had I been out? My foot felt breezy still, it hadn’t been covered up like the rest of me. Francis had thrown a tartan blanket over me; it was like the sort of blankets passengers steal from planes, only comfier.

I felt around for my glass of water on the table, I last remembered seeing it half full.
I found it empty, once my sock absorbed about half a glass full of ice cold water.
I placed my glass back on the table and discarded my clothes in the washing machine, before retiring to the sofa once more.
It would be a while before I began writing again, or at least with ease it would be.

The most uncomfortable nights sleep was over; my bandages on my wrist were itchy but bearable. Before my eyes closed for the last time that night they were dry too.

I checked the bandages over to discover blood had dried deep within, clueless and worried I rushed to the kitchen and withdrew a sharp pair of scissors and sliced through the bandaging. My wrist was unharmed apart from the obvious breakage from the previous day.
Francis was still soundly asleep as I went to get rid of the bandage when I conjured up a better idea.

Sure it was mean, but it was to get my own back on Francis, I crept into his room, it was dark and felt damp, the air was musky and dust could be seen all over his bed side table, this is one room I would have trouble living in. I scattered the bandages all over his eyes.

I also discovered where the blood was dripping from as I felt a warm chill of blood dribble to the top of my lip before it leapt onto the bandages over Francis’s eyes.

More blood dripped from my nostril and stained the bandages in drips and drabs, till finally the gravity pulling the droplets down were powerful enough to break Francis free from his slumber.

I rushed out and rubbed the blood away, since my nose was broken I must have slept on it funny, which caused platelets of plasma to ooze from my nostril.

After sniffing and rubbing away any escaping blood and mucus I heard a deep breathing, followed by the voice of a fuming Irishman, screaming.
“What the feck?!”

Out of harms way

Soft fabric brushed against my hip bones as I slipped into some jogging bottoms. Francis stormed into my room to catch me slipping my arms into the sleeves of a light blue shirt.

“Not, fecking funny” roared Francis pinning me against the wall with streaks of blood dripping down his dripping face.
“Do you give in?” I enquired.
“Yew wesh.”
“Of course I do.”
“Well jus so yew know, I taught I was blind, and had my eyes bandaged up with blood dripping from them. Yew know for a fact that I’m scared of bein blind.”
“Yea, well I thought you’d be more inclined to give in then.”
“Oh no, but yew will give if yer playin dirty.” Was Francis’s finishing line before he hopped in the shower.

I made my way to the lounge where I vacuumed, opened the windows, dusted down everything and wiped down our coffee table and kitchen table tops. My wrist was still painful to move.

Francis joined me in the lounge eating a bowl of Cherrios; we looked at each other then smiled laughing to ourselves at what we’d been through. We couldn’t help it.
Every time I stared at him I saw the scar on his right eye brow, from an angry ex of his and his jaw, still from the first time we met, was slightly out of alignment.

I can’t bear to think what he saw in me when he gazed at me, probably a lifetime of regret.

With only one shoe I decided to take a leisurely walk to the bins where I could deposit a recently worthless item.
I dropped the shoe in and walked away hearing it squelch, as it landed in banana and maggot pie.

Upon entering the lounge once more to see Francis working on his physique I opened the window so much further it was at a stretch.

Facing back into the lounge I wound up a couple of inches from Francis’s face, even though he was chest height on me.
“Can I tell yew sumthin?” asked a seemingly worried Francis I nodded due to the look of dismay upon my features.
“Yea sure, shoot.”
“Yew may want to take a seat.” He said resting his legs on the edge of the sofa. “We’re in a lot more trouble than owing Graham Groates 5 grand.”
“What do you mean we’re in more trouble?” I asked trying to remain as calm as possible, also due to the simple fact I was incredibly curious, why this was my problem too.
“Awright, now calm down I can see yer getting edgy awready, I was working digging Ms Lemmox’s son’s grave.”
“You mean Tom? The one who died in Iraq?” I asked curiously, Francis nodded.
“Yea, that’s when tree fairly big guys approached me and asked me my name, and asked if I had Mr Diates’s” he paused for a moment before carrying on seeming, slightly nervous about the next words to utter from his lips. “Lucky tie.”
“Yea”
“Just so you know, Mr Diates is a very superstitious, powerful business man, and he has, well had a very expensive tie, which he believed to be lucky as it brought him good fortune, so he wore it whenever he was making a deal. He lent it to a Mr Jonti who works at the bank, and never got it back, and because I owed Mr Diates a few hundred, he offered me the chance to clear my debt by collecting his tie.”
“So that was why you took so bloody long in the bank” I exclaimed understanding it all but feeling a little bit worried about any repercussions which could and mostly likely would follow.
“Yes, but I didn’t get the bloody ting back.”

“And they came to collect the tie you didn’t have?” I asked as Francis nodded like a woodpecker. “But if you didn’t have it, and three rather big guys were surrounding you then…” Francis interrupted me.
“I told them then and there I couldn’t get the tie and therefore didn’t have it.”
“They didn’t take too kindly?” I enquired jokingly
“No”
“They tried?”
“Yea”
“You?”
“Yea”
We needn’t say anymore as we we’re on the same page and able to finish each others sentences in this area of conversation.
“Do you think they’ll get out?”
“No, they’re quite deep.”
Francis had buried them.
He was recalling the incident in his head as he told it to me; he’d left out a few things.

“So Francis are you saying we might have to leave the country due to a few guys who’ll tear this place apart searching for us whilst preparing horrendous torture chambers and instruments to use upon us?”
“Uhuh”
I gulped and dashed to my fresh, uncontaminated room and whipped out a medium size grey bag, which I filled with necessities doing what I could to restrict movement in my wrist.

Leaving my room for which could have been the last time, I bumped into Francis who’d packed a green nap sack which looked as if it was about to explode, he’d slung it over one of his shoulders which can cause excruciating pain if prolonged.

I know only this because; I’d tried it for a week at school, and wound up crying when my teacher gave me a congratulatory pat for getting full marks on a geography test.

It would be a shame to leave our apartment, but at least I had my laptop and pictures of our apartment in case it was burnt down during our absence. At least then we could claim on insurance, mainly it was only because of the plasma screen TV.

I locked the door and pocketed the keys; it was unusual using my left hand so I popped a few pills to relive the pain, and decided to reject the idea of training to become ambidextrous.

Our next stop, wherever.

Wherever

To me, Wherever had sounded adventurous, exotic and hopefully tropical, it turned out to be a damp, dreary, dead pub with in eye sight of our apartment, where elderly women painted their faces with tribal war paints (or as it was better know, make-up) to ready themselves for the hunt, for some young fresh meat.

As young as I was, Francis gained the women’s interests from the second his foot landed on the other side of the threshold; by the time mine landed, their faces had turned to the growls German Sheppard’s use before attacking.
I acknowledged the fact that I wasn’t women’s glorious gift from God, but I didn’t think I was that ugly.
Or perhaps I was and ironically denied denial of my appearance.

Francis got the drinks in, as it was his way of apologizing when yet again I was dragged into another one of his little inconveniences.
Alcohol attempted to escape the glass by sprinting down the sides.
I ended their escape by wiping them away and licking my finger.

“Rite that’s a Stangbow for yew and point o Guinness fer me.” Said Francis as he placed our drinks down on coasters which where dampened by the previous drinks they were under.

“So where are we going after this drink?” I asked, awaiting Francis’s knowledge of the world.
“We leave the country fer a bit.”
“Yea ok, I know that much but where?!”
“Where would yew like ta go?”
“New Zealand? Indonesia?
“Right, Dublin it is.”
“Why bother asking me when you don’t even listen?”
“Cause it keeps yew occupied.”
“I’d prefer it if you actually listened to my opinions once in a while.”
“I do listen, I just don’t care, when I got a price on me head.”
“Well it’s you’re fault, come to think of it, it’s you’re addiction and technically should be you’re fucking problem and not mine. I should still be at home relaxing with a bottle of wine.”
“Yer but yew love me too much to miss out on the adventure, or let me come to harm.”
I smirked realising my life would be one mundane task after another without him.
“Your right” I unzipped my laptop on the table shaking our drinks, “Here use my laptop to book our tickets to Dublin then.”
Francis spun the laptop round to face him. His fingers worked furiously typing in the details and booking us two places to Dublin.
“How are we getting there?”
“We need to be at the airport by 8:45 tonight.”
“Airport?!”
“If we’re seen leaving from the airport then people will get the idea that we’re not going somewhere close by.”
“That’s true, so it’s kind of like misdirection?”
“Exactly” Said Francis gulping back his Guinness.

With our problems weighed down under alcohol we grabbed our bags and went on our way. Upon exiting I was embarrassed as one of the older women pinched my arse for a dare. My cheeks lit up like the red light on traffic lights, it’d been a while since anyone took any interest in me, and even longer since an older woman had (Including my mum).
I just didn’t know how to react so I increased my walking pace.

The walk to the bus station wasn’t long but my wrist had begun hurting again, as the pills had worn off. We boarded a bus to Heathrow airport and squashed ourselves into the tiny seating areas. I had thrown my bag in the baggage compartment on the bus, whilst Francis brought his on with him and rested it in his lap with his arms around it and rested his head falling asleep.

How the hell can you do that and that quickly? I realized I would have to do something to keep myself occupied and looking out the window, talking to myself or trying to make new friends on a bus full of strangers wouldn’t suffice.

Until I saw the next last person, climb up the stairs on to the bus and rest her curvy arse in a seat. A seat 3 rows ahead of me and on the other side.
Damn!
I tried to wink at her when she faced to the back, but like in the films it’s never as easy in real life.
I think she may have thought I had a problem.
Francis somehow continued to sleep through the entire ruckus while I was screaming in my head, coming up with new techniques to try and get her attention.
All of which wouldn’t work.

Calling Francis’s name never woke him, so instead all whom dared to wake the slumbering ex-solider would have to be very careful, as he was on twenty four hour guard of himself.

Pushing, shaking, poking and hitting failed, as my curiosity grew of what he’d packed.
My hand gently and silently gripped the zip, and began to slowly pull the zip down instantly, revealing a black t-shirt, followed by a rapid back handed slap to the face, which caught the attention of the entire bus, even the driver.

Blood dribbled from my nostril as I hung out from my seat into the aisle clutching my face. Only to realise everyone was looking at me, even the gorgeous blonde.
YES!
I’d gotten her attention, I could see she was giggling and still looking as everyone else turned back to what they’d previously been doing.
Taking this opportunity I smiled back and waved revealing my blood-splattered nose.
She gasped then laughed some more before turning back.
The sight of my bloody hand was a shock as I hadn’t noticed what had happened.
“Did that werk?” asked Francis remaining motionless.
“What?” I questioned.
“Did that slap get her attention?” he asked once more
“Whose attention?” I was a little bit confused I’ll admit.
“The blonde yew’d been staring at, for the past twenty five minutes.”
“Yea, but how did you know?”
“I haven’t exactly been sleeping, how could I with all this noise.”
“Oh so you saw me?” Francis nodded, zipping his bag up. “Then why didn’t you wake up and why did you slap me?!”
“I was resting and, I’d always wanted to slap yew.”
“Thanks” turning round to observe the gorgeous blonde. I was greeted by a pair of prefect breasts coated with a pink sweater. I couldn’t help but linger.
The sound of a cough snapped me out of the trance and dragged my head up to see the occupant.
I was greatly pleased to see the blonde looking down at me, apart from the look on her face. She seemed a bit unsure and nervous.
“For you” she said in the sweetest French accent, handing me a tissue.
“Thank you” I replied taking it from her smooth hand and smiling. She smiled back.
Then the awkward silence began, damn!

I was sat there dabbing my nose with the soft tissue whilst she lingered around my seat, neither of us knowing what to say to one another.

Till my lips burst open offering her a seat which wasn’t available. She still politely declined though.
I stood up offering her my seat, which she agreed to taking. It seemed she didn’t want to be rude at first. As she sat down that’s when I felt like she’d just been trying to get rid of me. She pointed me to where she’d been sat and shooed me away as she turned to Francis and began rubbing up against him. It turns out she’d been looking for any excuse to flirt with Francis, but with me being in the way I was merely an obstacle.
Sitting in her previous seat I noticed the guy she’d been sat next to wasn’t exactly a looker.

I felt used.

Escapology

By the end of the bus journey I was beginning to feel tired but chose to stay awake till I got on the plane, that way I wouldn’t have to endure a never ending 10 hour flight trying to find something to do. The Japanese person next to me had fallen asleep with his face against the window and his mouth open. I couldn’t help but utter a smirk till I realised he’d also been dribbling, which was kind of gross.

I despised waiting for Francis to finish with his women and tell me all about what happened. When he exited the bus the woman I’d had a crush on was clinging to him, my eyes rolled as my heart sank just a little bit more into the dark, mad pit of despair.
Damn Francis.

As Francis approached me leaving the girl behind my eyes rolled as I picked up my bag to head into the airport.

Once we’d checked in and gotten past customs and especially the ridiculously masculine looking security officer with the bushy moustache, Francis and I realised he, was actually a she, and had found me attractive. I’ll admit I blushed but all I could imagine in my head was an image of me suffocating under her immense flabby/muscular folds of nakedness on top of me.

I rushed to the toilet were I relived my bladder and washed my face, when I came out I saw Francis sitting by the entrance to gate number 13, just my luck give us the unlucky number.
Shaking my head with a smirk I joined him and laid my bags down by my feet.
“I’m looking forward to this trip” I mentioned to him Francis who remained silent. “Right when we get to our hotel we’re going to drop off our bags then have a shower and go out to dinner.” Francis’s was locked in a gaze trapped in another world than the one I was left in babbling like an idiot.

He was snapped back into reality by my clicking fingers blocking his sight.
“Shut up fer a second.”
“Why, you eyeing up your next woman and figuring out your angle?”
“No, I know that guy.”
“What guy?” Francis was looking at a guy who looked like he belonged at college in the US.
“See the gouy in the green Abercrombie hoody?”
“Yes” I nodded “why don’t you go say hi?”
“Cause he doesn’t know I know him.”
“Then how do you know him?”
“A while back, when I was in L.A. Befer I met yew; I was doin a job and I overheard that he was in debt so I offered him the chance to get the money he needed to pay off his student loans.”
“I take it you were wearing a mask when you offered him the chance?” Francis nodded. “What was this job?”
“Robbery”
“And, this guy was ok with, killing?”
“We didn’t kill anybody.”
“Then how did you pull it off?”
“We used non lethal weaponry, like firing itching powder at them.”
“Oh right.” I said thinking about it and realising crimes don’t always involve killing people just threats.”

I sat back realising Francis had a life before he met me, a crazy one which he nearly lost. Since he met me he’s been trying to go straight. But sadly Life doesn’t always work out the way you want it to.

Which I’ve been learning ever since I met Francis, even though we end up in bad situations all the time, Francis has always had faith that we’ll get out alive and well. He’s planned for us to get out alive and well and every time we have done, so far.

Luck: Well, what can I say it’s alright for some.

Once we’d boarded the plane and unhappily trudged past first class customers relaxing in luxury, being sucked in by their films, we found ourselves stuck at the back near where the stewardesses converse and a toilet. Can’t say it was the prime position everyone was fighting for, as it still stunk from the previous flight. Whoever the last person was to use it, must have had some serious bowel problems. I wasn’t too happy either when Francis made his way to the centre seat while I was stuck in the aisle getting wafts of the horrid stench my way, every time someone opened or closed the door and walked past.
Ugh.

Our bags were packed in the overhead bin which refused to shut the first 3 times I closed it, but it changed its mind so Francis closed it.

I turned to Francis to and asked him, “How longs this flight?”
“Um about 10 ours”
“Right” With that I found my fingers playing with the interactive screen in the back of the seat in front of me. I decided to check through the films to see if anything worth watching was on.
I plucked out the headphones and plugged them into my ears and the arm of the chair.
To my surprise I found 265 films waiting.
Wow talk about spoilt for choice.

A huge variety of Disney films were on, which pleased me I’m a big kid at heart, I knew in this journey I’d need to watch one or two even if I’d already seen them.

One film jumped straight out at me and I couldn’t resist I knew from the moment I saw it I had to watch it, I tapped the screen to play the film and used the remote in the arm of my chair to turn up the volume.

I was watching Twilight. I’d read the books and loved them, so the film had to be amazing, right?

2 hours a drink of orange juice and packet of pretzels later I was highly disappointed, I expected so much more but, it never delivered. I’d been on flights before but never one as tremendously long as this one before, this was ridiculous.

Tedious, torture, mind-numbing, these were only some descriptive words which came to my head about this flight, and that was only for the first 3 hours.

I withdrew my note book from my bag once the seat belts light went out and decided to scrap Laurence, I just couldn’t believe him myself as a character, I sat there with a note book on my lap and a pencil in my hand thinking of a guy, someone I could truly believe. It’s depressing that I spent about an hour just sitting there thinking or trying to refocus myself as my mind kept drifting off to completely irrelevant things like what would I say if I met Mike Tyson or what would my last meal be if I could have anything?
It would be fish and chips.
Is it bad that I’ve trailed off so far away from thinking about who, this character will be I’ve actually gone and answered my random question out of pure boredom?

I was awoken by the plane shaking and realised I somehow must’ve drifted off, sometime during this flight. I looked down to see my notepad sitting on my crotch. Probably courtesy of Francis, as he was awake and drinking, just like the Irish.

“Yew missed the meal” Francis told me once he’d downed most of his whiskey.
“What?”
“They came round with food already, and you missed it.”
“Then why didn’t you wake me?” I exclaimed, I was pretty hungry.
“Couldn’t be arsed”
“What do you mean you couldn’t be arsed? I’m less than 3 inches away from you. And you couldn’t muster up the strength to nudge me from my slumber and yet you can kick the shit out of 3 people at a time with nothing more than your fists and dumb luck?”
“Yew mean yer dumb luck?” asked Francis as I rolled my eyes.

No one on the plane other than Francis and I would understand this, but I remembered it pretty well as its how me and Francis became friends.

He came to my rescue, I was being mugged in an alley way below some houses, when a mysterious Irish man came crashing down through the rotting wooden fence above and landed on one of the muggers. I would’ve taken that as a cue to run for my life, but Francis landed and knocked unconscious the harmless guy of the bunch. I was pushed against a wall with the steely cold and dangerously sharp knife against my neck. Francis was kicked on to his front by the third man and then finally kicked in the face. My hopes of leaving with my money were extinguished at the moment as both muggers approached me. Francis wasn’t down just yet, he quickly got up pulled down the first man’s pants very swiftly, which helped me as he bent down to pull his pants up I ran and hid. Whilst the 1st man was down pulling his pants up Francis hit the 2nd man in the face, as he brought his elbow back he dug it into the 1st mans back and dropped on him elbow first so when the 2nd man swung his fist to hit Francis, he missed. On the floor Francis swung his feet around to wipe out the 2nd man’s feet from under him followed by lifting his right foot before slamming it down into his face. I watched in amazement, I was gobsmacked that a saviour could be so disrespectful and crude as Francis took a leak on them before turning to me and asking, “Can yew take me ta the nearest hospital?” I nodded in bewilderment as he wrapped an arm around me and began limping.
I guess it must have been the adrenaline which kept him so pumped up he didn’t notice the pain.

Francis smiled at me and offered some of his whiskey, which I would’ve gladly accepted if I wasn’t so hungry, annoyed at him and liked whiskey.

It seemed that escape from the crushing boredom on this flight was impossible; it was just one place where sleep couldn’t even be used to kill time.