Monday, November 05, 2007

Walk On

I don't know about you mate, but I'm sick of all these Liverpool 'fans' crying for Rafa's head.

Sure we're not playing brilliant at the minute, we have problems, but we're not miles off the top yet...

Talking with a Liverpool fan yesterday, it suddenly clicked - remember how we all felt at 8.30pm on May 25th 2005? Completely down, completely destroyed....

Now remember how we all felt around 10pm-10.15pm that night :)

This is Liverpool. This isn't Man U and their glory-hunting scumbag fans. This isn't Chelski and they're £20 note waving bellends. This isn't Everton and their trampy 'People's Club'.

This is Liverpool. Greatest Team in the World!


Keep the Faith, lar
:)

Monday, October 22, 2007

fidgeting four year olds

Just been to see Rataouille - is that how you spell it? - good film.


The kids are off school this week and since I'm finally earning a (poor) wage I figured I'd take my nieces as a treat. Plus of course I really really really wanted to see it lol

I had this lovely romantic idea of the kids first time in the cinema. You know, it is supposed to be a place of magic afterall. A large strange place, lights, colours, noises, and smells hitting you as you walk in - games machines to your left, food stalls to your right, giant posters dangling from the ceiling.

You get your popcorn, and it's not the shitty stuff you get in a bag, it's proper movie popcorn, get your drink, and then go into the dark room with a screen bigger than anything you've ever seen. It's dark every where but the screen; the sounds come from nowhere, everywhere; and up on the screen, bigger than life, the magic unfurls....



Of course, there are a few things I forgot.
My nieces can't sit still for more than five minutes. (6 and 4 yr olds)
Not only are 'my' kids off school, every kid is off school!
Kids are annoying.

The place was packed. I think I got the last tickets in fact (many baulked at the extra pound for the 'premium' seats, the meffs). But c'mon, loads of kids feeling the magic for the first time, it's gonna be sweet....

Nope.

Loads of kids high as a kite on coke, M&M's, caramel popcorn, ice cream, jellies, chews, and all the other assorted over-priced junk we all love shovelling down our fat gobs when we go the cinema.

It started off all so well - there is a short at the beginning - Lifted - very funny, all the kids laughing, enjoying themselves. Then the film starts, and all of a sudden the ADD kicks in - my youngest neice thought the film was over already - and for the rest of the film - fidgeting four year olds.

Christ it was a nightmare - one would start crying, then another, all over the place. One kid was proper crying - not a whinge - full on tears, pained crying that only kids would, could, and bloody always do. Now, you would expect a normal parent to take the child outside, calm them down and bring them back. Not this fucker. Poor kid was crying for at least five minutes. I was so tempted to scream "take that fucking cunt out will ya!!!", but I think I would have lost the consensus of the room. Nope, suffered in fucking silence like always. Seriously, what is wrong with some people?

Anyways, it was not the magical experience I had hoped for, although the experience was better recieved by the six year old. The four year old, the one sat next to me, well, she fidgeted, she coughed, she squirmed, she kicked the seat in front, she yawned, she stole from my drink when I wasn't looking - she ain't going again.


Tuesday, October 09, 2007

Wolves, Tunes, and other stuff that I may think of as I go

Someone at the back of our's has trapped the Wolfman, chained him up, recreated the power of the Moon, and have kept the poor soul in stasis between transformation, on the cusp of mankind and supernatural animal....

At least it sounds like that.

There is a dog that just howls all day. Only 'howl' is probably not the correct word here. Howl suggests a roar against the moon. A romantic sound. This is pain. This is from the gut. This is from the depths of darkness.

Hell, I don't even know if it is a dog. Hell, it could be a wolf. It could be a bear. I have never heard a bear roar in the flesh, so for all i know it could be.

There are trees in the way, so I can't see into any of the gardens. Hmmm, maybe I should call the RSPCA?

It's not a nice sound. The dog is either in pain, or terribly depressed.

-------------
Don't you love it when you find an awesome new song?

The radio come on this morning and there was a great tune at the start of Jo Wiley's show (yep, I'm lazy and I set my alarm for ten am lol- well, actually, it's set for 9am, but I am a big fan of the snooze button.

Any ways, the song was Heavyweight Champion by Reverend and the Makers. It's on my myspace profile, so go have a listen.

------------------
Good Luck to Everton in that most ridiculous of competitions - the UEFA Cup. Honestly, can someone please explain how that group works? Sky Sports said you don't play each other twice(?) - bizarre.

UEFA have ruined that competition. Hell, Sky Sports, desperate for news, don't even broadcast the draw - it's relegated to the yellow breaking news bar.

It should be a straight knockout, as should the Champions Lge.

Glad this international break is here. Liverpool have been awful since the last one, so hopefully this will break the hoo-doo and allow Rafa to have a good hard think about where we are and where we need to be.
--------

Right, that's it.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

This & That

I mainly blog on myspace now.

the link should be on the left of this page, but you can also get to it here.

Feel free to add me. If you're cool, I may just accept ;)

Friday, September 14, 2007

Assessments

Assessments

Just got back from another Assessment Centre - this one for a job in the city centre.
Really tired now. I think it went well. I have suddenly developed confidence from somewhere, so I hope it's not misplaced.

I have decided not to go into too much detail anymore - slightly paranoid that potential employers will be reading this. Especially as this is the first thing that usually pops up when you google my handsome name.

Anyways,
so for once I feel like I have actually earned a weekend ha ha

Last weekend was spent cramming for the interview on Monday.
Monday - the interview.
Tuesday - crashed and then went for another job.
Wednesday - ok I chilled on that day. - Watched England, was pleasantly surprised.
Thursday - panic & fear as I had one day to prep for today's assessment.
Friday - 8am-1pm Assessment Centre (getting up at 6am folks - not done that in a LONG time)

So, with the added annoyance of the trains playing funny buggers - running half hour, replacement buses on certain stops - it took me so long getting home that I had to go sign-on in my suit. Yeesh! made me look like a right suck. ha ha.

So having earned this weekend, let's examine my options.
Money - zilch
Football - yay! Liverpool are on. But it's Saturday morning so over before I know it.
Friends - all playing out with money
Guess I'll be spending this weekend chilling and bopping punks on Warriors PS2 game (it is awesome!)

Although right now, I think I might just sleep.....

Friday, September 07, 2007

Bored so I'm gonna do one of those lists and then try and add the video of the song that comes on instead of just naming it. I'm working with youtube here, so there may be some naff 'fan' vids just so that i can get a vid oh and if there is no video I'm gonna skip to next track.

For those who don't know how it
works…

1. Open your music library

2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool... and a lot of the songs fit with the setting

Opening Credits:
Put It In Your Mouth - Akinyele

(just a bloody picture with song playing over it )

Waking Up:
Too Drink To Fuck - Nouvelle Vague


First Day At School:
I'll Fly Away - Kanye West
(ha ha and the vid fits perfectly)


Falling In Love:
Riot Van - Arctic Monkeys


Fight Song:
International Jet Set - The Specials


Breaking Up:
Love Song - The Cure


Prom:
She Moves In Her Own Way - The Kooks


Life:
A Boy Named Sue - Johnny Cash


Mental Breakdown:
Mama I'm Coming Home - Ozzy


Driving:
Fool To Cry - The Rolling Stones

(video kinda ruins it but ah prison break is alright - love this song though)


Flashback:
You Will You Wont - The Zutons


Getting back together:
Paper Scratcher - Blind Melon


Wedding:
Like A Song - U2


Birth of Child:
Crush - Anthrax

(some ice hockey dude)

Final Battle:
Ike & Tina - Jamie T


Death Scene:
Apache - Suger Hill Gang

(ha ha)

End Credits:
Hell Ain't A Bad Place to Be - AC/DC


Walking through the shops before, dodging the plebs, I kept catching snippets of conversations.

I heard

"eeee, what are you doing going with him for? Have you lost your mind?"

really nasal, really negative.

I turned around and some ugly little cretin was deriding her mate for what I can only guess was her choice of sperm & kebab donor.

It made me laugh - why do people want to piss on other people's happiness? That poor woman could have found her dream man, or at least the type of (and only) man she could get.

I wonder how she felt having her ugly (probably single) mate chastise her for getting a bit of happiness.

Of course I could have gotten it all wrong. The woman could have been drunk, parted her lips like the red sea, and (well I was gonna write swallowed the Pharoah and his army but I'm not sure if that works as a euphemism for sperm lol)

Then I saw a lovely lass who I used to work with, took a few seconds for us to realise who the other was, said our greetings and then realised we were already moving on, too late for us to stop and have that awkward friendly chat.....

(also posted on my myspace blog)

Thursday, August 16, 2007

After messing me about for three weeks, the agency has just rang to inform me about the training position I went for, was offered, and then nothing.

Apparently they have "strict" targets for their spelling. I completed an (piss) easy test for them, no typing, just writing. The only word I struggled with, and even (albeit foolishly in retrospect) admitted to, is the word

necesa
(er)
nesecarr
(no that's not it)
neseca
(no you just made the same mistake twice)
necesarry
(well, ok that looks fine)

hand on my heart I know it's the only word I spelt wrong.

So, a guy with 5yrs of working for the biggest call centres (well, one of em is anyway) in Liverpool, with almost double that time in experience (they make you work hard lol), and who is willing to take a MASSIVE paycut, doesn't make the grade cos he can't spell fucking necesary!

Aye Carumba!

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Well, despite my concerns, i was one of the lucky 50% (ha ha) who made it through to the next round.

So on Friday, I have an 'open day' assessment with the company - 12.30pm to 8.30-9pm.

There is an assessment at the end of it - yikes lol

I haven't done a full days work in 2007 (I was on garden leave till my notice expired).

It's gonna be a long tiring day, but it should be fun, and I like the purpose of it - not only are they judging me, but I get to see how they operate and if it truly is what I wanna do.

I just hope that the 'assessment' isn't the third stage of the process - after a full day I'll be knackered.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Went for an interview before. I even prepped for it. All last night. Which is a big deal for me. I normally just sit there, thinking "I need to prep" but avoiding it like the plague.

Anyways, so fully prepped and even a little confident I went to the place. Only it wasn't an interview. More a meet n greet. Testing the waters.

If successful I move on to the next stage, an open day where I see how the business is and they get to see how I operate/perform over the day, rather than trying to blag an interview for 30mins.

Apparently 50% of the applicants will move on to this stage. If I am unsuccessful... well, may as well retire now at 30.

That other job, trainer, still hasn't got back to me. They offered the job, I accepted, and then nothing. Occasional call from agency, "we're still waiting to hear, thanks for being patient" etc.

Bit of a pain really.

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Since I have been out of work I have been limiting myself to certain areas of work – mainly Liverpool City Centre. As I don’t drive, this is the most logical and easiest place to travel to – it’s just a train ride away. Plus it has other benefits, such as various drinking and eating establishments for after hours play. Concentrating on area alone, during this time, I have never once sat down and thought long and hard about what exactly it is that I want to.

What is my ‘plan’?

What are my career goals?

In truth, I have absolutely no idea.

I fell into the call centre industry by accident. I was on the dole, the writing and the film-making was going nowhere and I was thrown on to a ‘course’. Sit in a room for two weeks whilst someone less intelligent, and possibly marginally only slightly more motivated than you, tries to convince you that working for beneath minimum wage is exciting and rewarding. It was on this course that I was ‘made’ to go for an interview at Vertex. Made is the correct term here. One look in the paper, and the woman was on the phone arranging an interview for that very day. Several hours later, after a swift wash, change, and pointless exercise with headphones (the test was on New York and you had to listen for answers - I knew the answers already, I could have been deaf for all they knew), I was employed as a Customer Service Advisor.

For the first several weeks I wouldn’t speak to anyone ha ha. I despised that place with all my heart. I would try and console myself with the fact that with the money I was now earning, I could increase the budget for the next film me and my partners would make. This consoling couldn’t mask the fact that creatively, after the second week in there, I was dead. But, my team manager saw something in me, took the risk, and soon I was a Team Coach on my way to being a Team Manager.

This being my first proper job (lazy student for many blissful years), I was intrigued by the notion. I always aim low. Take the easy route out. Here, with no discernable career paths, choices, or clues, I was being presented with a possible (albeit awful and worthless) career. And I took it.

In truth, I talk about it being awful and worthless, but there has been some good times over the past five years. I played a major part in developing others and aiding them step up the career ladder. It may not have been my career choice, but who’s to say it wasn’t there’s. I also met and made a lot of pretty brilliant mates over the course of this time. But it has always been nothing more than a job to me. It has never truly grabbed me.

And yet, it is all I know. Sure I have developed and nurtured several transposable skills and abilities, but I cannot recognise them. I know how to be a team manager in a call centre. So I look for those type of jobs. In Liverpool city centre. Hence why I haven’t worked a single day of 2007. There are no team manager jobs in Liverpool City Centre – they are all in places like Speke, Warrington, Runcorn – miles away. Guess I should have learned to drive.

But this week I sat down and I thought about my career path and my goals and what exactly it is that I want to do with myself. I am 30 now. The time is running out. I have one more, two if I’m lucky, major career change left. I wasted my twenties chasing dreams and then getting bogged down listening to whining customers, and then whining agents.

So I did an online career aptitude test. On http://www.livecareer.com/home.asp

I decided that if I didn’t have a clue, then maybe something like this would help me. Some of the results surprised me.

It splits the test into four key areas – Interests, Values, Personality and Knowledge Skills and Abilities.

The top three industries that apparently suit me are:

1/ 99% Writing - Enjoys either creative or technical writing. Likely to have broad interests.

2/ 96% Teaching/Social Services - Enjoys instructing people in learning new things, helping people solve problems, and assisting others.

3/ 74% Personal Services - Likes interacting with others and providing the public with services involving personal contact.

My main work style is
Persuasive - Enjoys work which involves influencing, advising, counseling, guiding, motivating, or directing the activities of others.
closely followed by,

Systematic - Prefers jobs that involve routine but challenging assignments in which order and persistent, steady effort are required. Likes job security to be established, and dislikes frequent changes in schedule and situations requiring quick decisions.

Ok so some information to take stock of there. I’ve been writing since, well I can remember. Although, I lack the discipline to sit there and write for prolonged periods of time. In fact, my word play has now been reduced to blogs like this and daft comments/emails.

The teaching/social services surprised me. I had considered teaching a long time ago in college. But the course cost money and I failed my first and only test at that career choice. I decided the money was best spent elsewhere and put to bed the idea of teaching. Social Services I have never given a second thought to. But then I look back on this blog, and the main joy that I picked out from being a team manager was the development of others. So it does start to make sense. Despite my protestations that I’m useless in social situations, I do have a knack with people (ha ha mainly the attractive female ones, but hey, they people too)

Funnily enough, one of the lowest placed interests was Sales. These are the only jobs I am ever offered. I loathe sales. I am not cut out for it. I'm too nice.

I have shed a little light on the possibilities open to me, but it still is only a little light. I think I was hoping I would fill out the questionnaire, it would jumble it’s answers (some sound effects would have been nice), and then it would have named the job I should be doing. I was so sure of this, I sat there, fingers crossed pleading that the answer would not be Team Manager.

So now, at the end, what conclusions do I have? Well, not many. I am still unsure of what career is out there for me. But now, I know roughly the areas I could be looking into.

Which is a good thing.

Saturday, July 21, 2007

On this day, 21st July 1969, Neil Armstrong walked on the moon.

I was watching Peggy Sue Got Married and she said it was the 20th (guess it's a time difference thing). I thought wow, biggest date in mankind's history and I didn't even know.

So either that was a nice coincidence, or there's a very canny planning producer at Channel Five lol

Sunday, July 08, 2007

1. What is more difficult for you, looking into someone’s eyes when you are telling someone how you feel, or looking into someones eyes when they are telling you how they feel?

Both, I hate eye contact. But probably the latter, someone opening up and being honest is really hard to do, and I'd be scared in case I not nervous and laughed right in there face,

2. Think of the last time you were REALLY angry. Why were you angry?

I am a bitter gentleman by nature, so even the slightest things can make me angry - I suppose it's whenever I'm stupid enough to kick something when I have no shoes on. Stubbing your toe is a painful horrible experience. Much profanity follows.

5. You can have one of the following two things: trust/love. Which do you choose?

Love - trust is overrated and always lets you down. No one writes poems and songs about trust.

6. You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late even once more, you are fired. Do you save it?

Which canal is it? what kind of dog? why would the dog be in the canal? Is my work next to a canal? Am I walking my usual route? Ooh, feels like Bladerunner this bit.

7. You are unfaithful to your spouse/significant other. Do you tell him/her?

Fuck no. I just live with the guilt till it builds up and kills me. Nah, I hope I would never cheat, if I did I'd be a scumbag and deserve everything I got.

8. Think of the last person who you know that died. You have the chance to give them 1 hour of life back, but you have to give one year of your life. Do you do it?

It depends what hour I would be giving them. If it was just an extra hour to live then fuck no, he went out in terrible pain, why prolong that? If it was his happiest memory and he could go back to that, yes, in a heartbeat. Of course if I did that and then no one did it to my upon my death, the afterlife would have one bitter whining Neil Soul to contend with.

9. Are you the kind of friend that you would want to have as a friend?

nah, I'm a prick. Too much hard work

10. Does love = sex?

sex is an awesome bonus of love. but thankfully, they are not mutually exclusive

11. Your boss tells your co-worker that they have to let them go because of work shortage, and they are the newest employee. You have been there much longer. Your co-worker has a family to support and no other means of income. Do you go to your boss and offer to leave the company?

Fuck no. It's like Christmas time when all the cretins come out wanting time off because they have kids. I don't, doesn't mean I want to fucking work your shift . I love Christmas.
There's no I in team, but there's a Me, and I like me.

12. When was the last time you told someone HONESTLY how you feel?

years ago and it backfired. so won't be doing that again lol

13. What would be harder for you, to tell someone you love them or that you do not love them back?

both are hard for different reasons. It all boils down to laughter, telling someone you love them is a good thing so a little joyous laugh would be welcome, however....

14. What do you think would be the hardest thing for you to give up? Why ?

my complete lack of motivation. I know its holding me back, but in a cunning twist, it's the very lack of motivation that prevents me doing anything to change. It's a conundrum I have to live with I'm afraid

15. Excluding romantic love, when was the last time you told someone you loved them?

They are not words easily said, no matter how much you may want to.

17. If you had to go back in time and change one thing, if you HAD to, even if you have "no regrets" what would you change?

Well I wouldn't have left the scene after that boy died.... oh wait oops. Lol just kidding. erm, Jenni with an I.

18. Imagine. It is a dark night, you are alone, it is raining outside, you hear someone walking around outside your window. WHO do you wish was there with you?

The BFG rather than his uglier vicious companions. Now, I know I'm not a child and therefore off the menu. However, if one were not to picky, they could rip my limbs off, thus creating child-size snacks. Oh yeah I want the BFG with his magic blowpipe full of dreams...

19. Would you give a homeless person CPR if they were dying?

No. he's homeless. His life is shite. why prolong it?

20. You are holding onto your grandmother's hand and the hand of a newborn that you do not know as they hang over the edge of a cliff. You have to let one go to save the other which one would it be?

ha ha both. The grandmother, well she had a good innings. The baby, it could be the next Hitler, can we afford to take the chance? Plus I'm weak and no doubt holding both would result in my sliding ever closer to the edge. Whilst pondering not only the result but actually how I did come to find myself in this particular predicament, I could lose focus and fall with them.

21. Are you old fashioned?

Yes and No

22. Which would you choose, true love with a guarantee of a heart break or have never loved before?

true love every time. You can listen to great tunes when you're at the height of love, sing to the rooftops etc, and when the bitch breaks your heart, there are a million songs to cry to.

23. If you could do anything OR wish anything, what would it be?

I would wish for a typewriter that bypassed the hands and just accepted my writing from my brain.... think there was one in a Stephen King book. That one was probably evil. Not for me, I want a good one.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Utter tosh

Ok,

Number One -
15years ago - was the internet around then? maybe so, what about chatrooms? All's i remember is crazy posh kids talking electronic mail on Newsround years ago and I didnt have a fucking clue what they were on about....

Number Two -
what the fuck is a 'Successful Kid'? Ok so he's born two years later, that makes him 13. What type of success can a 13 year old have. Maybe he gets more pocket money, perhaps he blagged a nifty easy paper round.

Number Three -
if it's dark and your scared why bother carving your name into the floor, stopping to see what time it is, and then as an after thought, "Oh, best write my sister's name too"?

Number Four -
Fuck Number Three!!!! If your sister is in bed covered in blood why stay in the fucking room. RUN!!!!!!!!!!

Number Five -
If it's the kids little sister's room, why is big sister staying in there?

Number Six -
You have found your two little girls skinned and hung in a closet. So, you have two years of therapy, resulting in the choice to have another child. You then think, "I know, we'll stay in the same house with all these memories, and you know what, we'll keep the closet, that way, whenever we need to think of our little girls, we'll just have a look inside....."

Number Seven -
If the parents have been skinned too, how the fuck are they gonna come and get you for not reposting this? Also, what kind of PC/program are they running to track all of this? Did they purchase it or download it illegally? And what are they gonna do if you don't have a closet?

I'm all for scary stories, but c'mon, this is just fucking lazy.

Although,
Number Eight -
I'm a shitbag, so I'm still reposting ;)

Read on to see what this crap was all about


don't stop reading you will regret it!
girl meets a boy on a messenger


crazy1 86: hey baby!!!


h0tNsPiCy91: who is this???


crazy1 86: ur secret admirer!!!!!
Publish Post

h0tNsPiCy91: oh really.... quit lyin! who is this???


crazy1 86: i loved u the first time a stared in your eyes...


crazy1 86: i think about u everyday... you are my dream come true.


crazy1 86: we met once! i dont think u remember tho.


crazy1 86: i cut myself because the pain takes away my feelings of u.


crazy1 86: u will see me sometime tonight....


h0tNsPiCy91: ..WHO IS THIS!?!?!?


crazy1 86:dont worry.... ill take very good care of you...


crazy1 86 had signed off.

The girl was so scared she locked all her doors and windows. She made sure her room was secured. She wasn't sure if it was a joke or for real. She didn't know when he was going to come. The girl was so frightened she decided to sleep with her little sister. The girl dozed off quickly.

Then she heard a knock on the window. The girl slowly walked to the window. It started knocking louder. The girl looked through the windows and saw nothing... just some of the tree branches. The girl went back to bed with her sister. The bed was wet and had a pretty horrid smell. Maybe her sister wet the bed... the girl checked and found blood everywhere. The girl panicked. She didn't know what to do. She ran and hid in the closet in case the killer was there for her. While looking through the cracks of the closet the girl saw a shadow. It was dark, so she couldn't figure out who it was. She started to get more frightened. The shadow crept closer to the closet. The girl closed her eyes as if it was a dream. Then suddenly he opened the closet door and pulled her out.

Her parents found her dead the next morning. She was completely skinned and hanging in her sister's closet. The younger sister was also found skinned and dead.

PART 2...

Two years after the Smith sisters deaths, the parents had a baby boy. The girl's room became a guest room and the little sister's room where the murder took place became the baby's room. The baby grew up to be a successful kid.

One night he was on the computer and received an instant message.


h0tNsPiCy91: Hey lil bro!!!


2seXay4u: Who the eff is this?


h0tNsPiCy91: It's your big sis.


2seXay4u: I never had a sister. I'm an only child.


2seXay4u: This is some kinda joke, huh?


h0tNsPiCy91: Mom and dad never told you?


h0tNsPiCy91: I died 15 years ago with your other older sister.


h0tNsPiCy91: We were murdered in your room which was once my little sister's room. She was killed in bed when I was sleeping. I was killed in the closet and skinned to death.


2seXay4u: Quit lying. I never had a sister. If I did my parents would have told me. Whatever. Your stupid.


h0tNsPiCy91: You don't believe me? Well if you wanna look in your closet floor.


h0tNsPiCy91: I carved my name and the time and date I was being murdered. Then I carved my little sister's name.


h0tNsPiCy91: If you don't believe me little brother check the internet. Google on ''Smith sisters murdered anonymously''.


h0tNsPiCy91: I gtg little brother. I love you and mom and dad soo much. I can't believe they kept us a secret from you.




The boy checked the closet. He saw the carvings. Was it true? He surfed the internet and information was there about the anonymous murder in the house. The next morning the boy went downstairs. It was so quiet. Maybe his parents were sleeping. Hours later the boy found his parents in their closet skinned and hanged. Then he found more carvings on the ground. They said ''I TOLD YOU I WASN'T LYING LITTLE BROTHER, I LOVED MOM AND DAD.... BUT THEY KEPT ME A SECRET. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT. WELL I'M FREE FROM THIS COLD WORLD, I WON'T HURT YOU LIKE I HURT THEM. I LOVE YOU!"

- LISA SMITH

This is a death chain letter. If you don't repost this in the next hour, the parents will kill you at night. They will kill you!

DON'T BELIEVE ME? LOOK IT UP IN GOOGLE!i did, that was freaky, this came up
"Smith sister's murdered in house, two carving found in floor..."
DON'T BELIVE ME?

Repost as-"who did u like first"

Friday, June 08, 2007

Quick Question

How come competitions for things such as blu-ray players plus films always offer the films as a consolation prize?

If you're trying to win a blu-ray player, it's pretty much a high probabilty that you don't have a blu-ray player to begin with....so what's the point in winning a blu-ray film if you don't have the player to use it on?

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

A Roar of Thunder

I was woken up this morning by the loudest fucking thunder I have ever heard in my sorry life - jesus christ, it was like an explosion right outside the house - proper scared the life outta me (luckily I was quick to grab it back before it absconded to heaven/hell/delete as appropriate)

I had left my PC on all night, thought the fucker had blew up on me.

When I realised it was fine, my thoughts turned to the B.F.G. and to my horror I realised the window was open....

Thursday, May 10, 2007

WHOO-HOO I had four numbers on Wednesday's Lottery

SEVENTY TWO big ones heading my way - Yee-haw!!!!

When I checked the prize breakdown, I saw £1000 - my heart stopped - but that was the total prize breakdown - still £72 will do me nicely....

Off to the offy I go....

Monday, April 30, 2007

One hundred and two miles per hour. Had been for the last twenty miles. The Driver had been on the road for two hours, keeping that speed when he could. The road was empty. Not even the occasional other lost soul, flitting in and out of the light. The roar of the wind ringed in his ears. It whistled and rattled through the window. It was angry, determined to enter, violate the car. Get Inside. The car was too hot to shut the window; the whole area was undergoing an Indian Summer. Even the cloak of darkness failed to relent the heat. It was a hindrance the Driver could cope with.

The scenery was nothing. Just five cat's eyes in front, five cat's eyes behind. The Dark ate everything. The Driver looked at the speed-o-meter. Like the road, it never changed. His attention was elsewhere. Stuck on the Passenger. It was all he could think of. He tried once more to catch a glimpse in the mirror. Once more he failed. The Driver reasoned with himself that the lack of light was to blame. The Driver hadn't even seen a face. If he had, then he had forgotten. He told himself, deep down inside, he had not.

No reflection. No face. The Driver wondered if he was imagining the Passenger. No. He had heard. He remembered a voice. The door had been opened. He remembered the click of the lock as it shut, the handbrake warning light burning into the world. The air had changed, he had felt it. Move and settle, a sensation only a small world could offer. The Driver was aware of the presence, even now. A voice had said, "Dyson." And here they were. No questions, no thinking. Just driving. The Driver hoped he had remembered to put the meter on. A quick glance drew signs of relief. Ninety-Five, climbing. Something told him the fare wouldn't be a problem. He stared out at the road. The Dark began to eat his thoughts.

The rain began life as drizzle. Falling lightly on the windscreen. It was tiny, nothing, invisible. The Driver hadn't even noticed. Now it was raging. The windscreen wipers tried to no avail. Valiantly they swung from side to side, sweeping away rivers and torrents. But still the flood came. It had been five, now he could barely see one. Behind him, the Dark licked the bumper. The world was out of focus. If there was any world left. Surely the Dark had it all by now. The speed slowed. Seventy-Five. The Driver knew he would have to slow again.

"We are near."

The voice crawled from the darkness of the back, spreading its grip across the seat. It clasped his neck with cold hands, penetrating his ears. Raspish, cruel and contemptible. It filled The Driver's heart with joy. Serenity was his for he was not alone any more. The rain was cleansing the world, cleansing the car, cleansing him. One Hundred and Sixty-Five dollars.

The exit came, and the car left the Freeway. The lonely cat's eyes, blinded once again, winked a final farewell. The town of Dyson lifted into the heavens. The rain faded. Light filled the Driver's gaze. His heart began to rise.

The building was a remnant of the town's heyday, two centuries ago. Its design was gothic, the brick jet-black. From its perch it surveyed all before it, a thousand eyes staring bright, cold, distant. The rain had left its cloak, now dripping and shining on the grimy black stone. Already the merciless heat was at work. The rising steam choked the air. The cab pulled up. Its yellow design far removed from Dyson's own. The Driver looked up at the huge building. His bones froze. Only the nearby ambulances waiting patiently gave away its identity.

The air moved and settled. Sly and delicate. Sharp and hard. Strange. Travelling deep. Once. Twice. The finger was darkness once more. Sly, delicate. Instinctively the Driver looked at the meter. One Hundred and Ninety-Four. The air filled his lungs swiftly. The journey had been expensive. Too expensive. The eyelids fell slow. Something moved. The delicate crunch of crisp paper opened him. A gloved hand, as one with the darkness, held out a wad of neatly folded notes. Nervously the Driver snaked the money. His world almost complete.

The world grew smaller. The whole universe shrank. Darkness everywhere. The star burned brightly, glowing across his eager face. His lips curled upwards. Five Hundred. The world was big again. He turned around swiftly, the gratitude already on his lips. The seat was darkness. Disappointment filled The Driver. He looked around unsure. Then he smiled. He could see Him, walking through the doors, basked in the holy glow.

The Light. The Pain. Numb. The Passenger knew it would come. Angry and volatile, ravaging his soul, seeking its penance. But it was nothing, it was weak. It left him swiftly, without a word. The thoughts and preparation of the last hour had stood him well. One enemy fell, another rose. His legs were stiff from the cramped confines of the cab. His mind dulled by the dreariness of it all. But The Passenger was strong. He walked tall, elegant, and proud. His clothes, his manner alien to this world of the sick. Alien to this world of Dyson. Lined against the walls, the sick and wounded. Strapped tight in, hands out-stretched for forgiveness, for relief, for repentance. All but decoration. The Passenger knew his purpose.

He stopped at reception.

"Maternity Ward?"

Cruel, cold, callous. She, they, nothing. They were all beneath him. The smile hurt his face. The Passenger waited patiently as The Receptionist managed to tear herself away from the celebrity gossip magazine long enough to lazily point towards a corridor, before being pulled back between the glossy covers. She did not have the energy to look at him. He decided he did not have the energy to thank her.

The Passenger moved quietly. Screams and cries filled his soul. The reluctant future, the impending past. He ignored them. They were not real. A large woman in white approached, her frame filling the corridor. Her skin a gentle black. She too was not Dyson. She was in his way. She stopped, forcing him to mimic.

"Can I help you, sir?"

The tone carried the same underlying threat her body language was screaming at him. Forties, maybe Fifties. Weak. The Passenger looked down one and a half-foot. He had the edge, she was nothing. Nothing!

"I'm looking for Miss Franklin"

The Nurse looked him up and down suspiciously. His greying hair suggested mid-Fifties. Old enough for her? His face was thin and drawn, the life sucked dry. Lips thin and pale, ready to split with the slightest touch. Skin smooth and pampered. Pale. Sick. He could see all of this in her. In all of them. So quick to judge, so quick to dismiss. Meaningless. Nothing. Thoughts so insignificant. Their opinions obsolete. Hatred flowed. The bile rose.

"You the father?"

Red. Blurred. She thought nothing of him. Anger. Perhaps it was his age. After all - Miss Franklin. The taste on his lips. The Passenger nodded. He was already staring past her. There was no love in his eyes. The Nurse looked him over again. He felt the air move. Crimson. The wait. Nothing. He opened his eyes. The Nurse had passed. Without sound The Passenger moved on. He stopped at a door, and listened. Terrified screams flowed from within. Joy. The black leather fingertip brushed the door open. His nostrils flared. Disinfectant raged within.

Judy Franklin lay on the table. A beautiful star. She shone bright, even in this incarceration. The world slowed to a timeless waltz. Everything fell silent. The Passenger smiled.

Piercing and Hurtling and Vicious. The scream smacked him hard. More followed. Pain and Fear and Anger. Piercing. The Passenger felt the freeze. Inside, his world revolted. Outside - Too real. No romance. The waltz ended.

Judy Franklin's tiny frame heaved and wretched with the pain. Eyes rolled white. Sweat swamped and drooled. Skin pale. A planet spun around her head, offering temporary relief. It could never be enough.

The Passenger's heart sank. He had loved this thing. Now he hated himself. She was purity embodied. An eternal ray of light. Warmth and beauty. He gave her this. Something eclipsed. White. Clean. Moving quickly.

"You're not allowed in here, sir"

Unknown words flowed. Correct. The Passenger watched. The eclipse passed. And Judy Franklin saw him. Seconds of Joy, Hope and Love. Piercing.

The room was cold, medicinal, clean. Judy Franklin lay on the table, her legs thrust in the air. Screaming. Sobbing. Retching. Writhing in agony. Hair matted to greasy face. Fat and bloated. Judy Franklin did not belong.

The Passenger stood at the doorway, refusing to enter. The Passenger did not belong. He stared coldly. Judy Franklin was weak. Judy Franklin was pathetic. Judy Franklin was banal. Judy Franklin was nothing. A waste of time. A screaming waste. And yet Judy Franklin knew. They always knew

It began in her left nostril. As it always did. Tiny. Smaller than a tear. Falling down. Gliding. Spreading its sickly bitter taste. Polluting inside. Another would find its way out. Exposed with a nervous curious crawl. Growing and expanding, blackening. Snaking its way to the lip. A fleeting glance. Horrified realisation. The planets spinning madly. Pouring. Storming. Devouring.

Judy Franklin could taste it. Flowing thick and fast down her throat. Pain gone. Time the enemy. The Four-Minute Death. Confused worried voices calling out to each other. Frantic. Tense. Chaotic. Flesh blue. Eyes white. Lids humming. Breath struggling. The blood churned and bubbled. Alarm.

The Passenger turned and closed the door. He had seen what he had come for. It hurt. Every time. More surged past into the room. A hand pressed against The Passenger's chest, pushing him against the wall. Tiny, serenely looking up. She held no power, yet the pressure was enough. Crimson lips moved calmly, soothingly. Staring attentively. Full of sorrow, regret and hope. The world slowed to a timeless waltz.

Susan Connelly hated this part of the job. Always felt responsible. She was beautiful. He wanted to listen, hear her kind words, hear her soft voice. But they meant nothing. He knew the outcome. He relished the outcome.

The Passenger sat, cherishing the instant mechanised hot drink. It tasted foul. He waited. The room was empty. Waited for her. He wanted to see Susan Connelly again. Feel her warmth. Sense her innocence. Watch her tired eyes swell with tears. Her voice would break. The guilt would pour. The Passenger had seen Judy Franklin's eyes. They gave him hope.

The Passenger looked towards the window. Dark blinds shutting out the night. He could hear the wind lash against the glass. Hear the rain. It had never left.

Susan Connelly stood silently at the door, watching The Passenger. Judy Franklin had watched him too. Susan Connelly felt guilt. The Pity. The Responsibility. She hadn't done enough. The guilt dug deep. She wanted to reach out to him.

Gentle. Warm. Cautious. The Passenger smiled, for she had come. He turned to face Susan Connelly, her hand already retracting. The Passenger smiled anxiously. Outside - Sadness. Sorrow. The Act. Inside - The Joy of the Outcome. The Inevitable. The Rush. The Hunger. The Passenger looked up at Susan Connelly, searching for a glimmer of hope. Susan Connelly's heart shrank. The air filled her lungs.

"Mr Franklin, I'm afraid there was nothing we could do."

The Passenger turned away. The smile roaring across his face. He knew what he was. This was his moment. This was his Joy. This was The Passenger.

"I'm sorry, Mr Franklin. We're all sorry".

The Passenger turned back to Susan Connelly. Tears welled in her eyes. She was purity embodied. An eternal ray of light. Warm and beautiful. The Passenger extended his arms, embracing Susan Connelly. Embracing his eternal ray of light. Susan Connelly felt joy, warm, and safe. She held The Passenger tight.

THE END

Sunday, April 22, 2007

An old story...

Okay, I don’t really have, well; I’m not sure how much time I’ve got left. It could be five minutes, five days, God knows how long. But they will find me. I’m certain of that. I don’t even know why I’m writing all this down. Oh yeah, ‘cos I got nothing better to do, that’s why, nothing to do but wait. You may think it’s a noble attempt to warn others, but it’s not. I’m bored, simple as that, there is nothing, absolutely nothing to do in here, just sit and wait and breathe. Christ, I’m so hungry as well. Maybe writing this will take my mind off it? Although writing that I’m hungry doesn’t help either. Guess I should start at the beginning. But the beginning of what? Erm….

Right, I’ll start with me. My name is Carl Stevens. I’m 42. A Scouser, obviously. Erm, I live in my hometown of Kirkby. Oh Christ Carl, you’re being obvious again. You found the letter here after all, so you know where I’m from. I work, worked, part-time at the 24hr garage, no weekends though. I was adamant about that from the start. Too many kids, drunks and freaks. Just couldn’t be arsed with the hassle. Nope. I worked weeknights. Taxi drivers, drifters and potheads with the munchies and 10 Lambert & Butler and a pack of Rizzla. Easy work. Money was shite but I did have free pasties. Though the microwave didn’t work when I joined and was never fixed. I’m not buying a new one. Cheese n Onion was alright, but Cornish were rank. Though the Taxi drivers never complained.

Reason I did nights? I don’t really have a reason. By the way, the question assumes you are interested. Maybe you are, maybe you are not. But I’d like to think that you are. One reason I suppose was that I managed to improve my reading levels to heights I never imagined. And my knowledge of sexual positions (thank you Fiesta & Cosmo). Not that I had sex. I don’t think anyone who works nights in a 24hr has sex. At least I hope not, it can’t just be. Oh Christ, that thought’s starting to depress me now.

Anyway, I’m saving myself. Her name is Tracy. Now she is class. Beautiful. Blonde bobbed hair, not a single black root in sight, proper professional job, no hanging over the sink, stinking the house with bleach for hair, hell no. Even her tan looks real. Only the two kids an all. Still has a great body. Oh Christ I miss her. Wish I hadn’t done it. She was, well she was.

That’s about it. Everything you need to know about me. Name – Age – Address – Occupation – Sexual Orientation. I’d give you my National Insurance number too if I hadn’t lost the card. Looking at it on the page, it ain’t half depressing isn’t it? In fact, it’s pretty shite. Make’s me wonder why I was saved. If you could call it that. Anyway, this is taking too long. I keep hearing them. They must be close. Unless I’m just hearing things. It’s shit in here, so quiet, really uncomfortable too, plus it smells pretty bad. You know when you’re in bed and you wake up suddenly swearing you heard something? I used to always do that. Lie in bed, clutching the quilt tight around my neck, trying to hide as much flesh as possible, one eye closed, breathing as slow and quiet as I can, desperate not to make a sound, ears cocked. Though I really don’t know how to that. You know, like dogs do. In fact I don’t think I can move my ears at all. Hang on I’ll check. Nope, I can’t. Anyway, you know what I mean. It’s quiet in here, but every move I make sounds like thunder. God I hope I’m imagining things outside.

Should I describe where I am? No, what’s the point? You’re reading this, you know where I was. Unless you’re one of them, Congratulations. You got me, bastards. Though, I doubt you can even read it, probably just slobbering all over it – mongs. Oh Christ, why did this have to happen to me? What makes me so fucking special? And why has Barbie Girl just come into my head? Was that the last song I heard before I left the house? This is annoying. I don’t even like it. Shit, I’m gonna die to a soundtrack by Aqua. What the –

That was close, really close. Jesus. It’s alright for you, you’re just reading this. I’m sitting here with my arse on the line. If only I was a better writer, I could have you here sitting next to me. Then again, this is the first thing I’ve wrote. Is it wrote or written? I don’t bother with letters. Don’t really know anyone to write to. Anyway, that was too close. Closer than before. Arse in mouth time. I’m arsing about here, need to focus, tell the tale and hide it. The light is starting to fade, really hard to see what I’m doing. Plus it’s so cramped in here.

Right, it happened yesterday. Tuesday. It was miserable, raining all morning. But not good rain. That piss wet stuff that just kinda falls whilst somehow staying in the air for like ever. Just soaks you right through. I know all rain soaks you, but this bastard does it in a sly way. I’d hardly slept all morning. I finished work at 6am, went home and banged on the cartoons. I’d ate a dodgy pasty and didn’t feel like any breakfast. So I settled for a can of Dandelion & Burdock. Love that stuff. Anyway, I just lay in bed thinking about Tracey. I do that a lot. Couldn’t sleep so I just lay there, imagining… well, I won’t go into that. Then again, one person I know you are not is Tracey. But that doesn’t make me feel better.

In the end I got up and went out. Wish I had stopped for a shower in hindsight. But when you’re caught up in the heat of the moment, you don’t stop to think. I went the library, used the internet. It was down and the prick in there wasn’t even arsed. None of them have got a clue in that dump. Can’t stand the library, full of old people reading the obituaries. Me mum does that, and my aunties. All them, scanning for someone they know. I just don’t get it.

I didn’t fancy going back the flat so I headed to Iceland. Bought bread & milk, even though I didn’t need it. But if I ever need to waste time, buying bread and milk seems to do the trick. The checkout girl doesn’t look at you funny for a start. Stood in the queue for about twenty minutes, loads of bearded women with ugly kids running amok, even on school days. The little bastards running and shouting and crying, and the ma’s smacking the shit out of them, roaring ‘don’t you dare make a show of me’. God.

There was more kids outside the Iceland – hundreds of the fuckers from college, just standing around. Skitting people. Skitting me. Fuckers. So there I am, bread & milk in hand, standing in the middle of the precinct ignoring the little bastards, ignoring the desire to run at them and bash their skulls through the Sayers windows, when I heard it. It was like a low whistle. Seemed like miles away. Thought I was imagining it at first, no one else seemed to be hearing it. Then I saw it. Down the other end of the precinct, slowly sweeping forward. A cool blue laser. About 3 ft off the ground, heading straight towards me. It was arcing out, covering everything. And no one else saw it; they just carried on, waiting for it to hit them. And when they did, they just fell down. In slow motion. And still no one saw it. This made me laugh.

I stood there as this light passed through everything, knocking people gently over. Old people, tramps, kids, mothers, bastard school kids, every one. It even went through the buildings. And then it passed through me. I can’t remember feeling anything, if it actually felt like anything. But I watched it pass through me. Without breaking. And everyone fell. Apart from me. The weird thing is I thought nothing of it; I just stood there smiling at all the people. Don’t know what it was, don’t really care. Guess I was just tired.

After it passed I ran to the multi-storey car park and went to the roof. On every floor, people were lying on the ground. On the roof I could see for miles. And it was everywhere, left to right, heading off to God knows where. It looked really nice. I watched it for a couple of minutes and then went home. I was tired now and hungry. I was glad I had bought the bread.

I had noticed the ray, or laser, or light whatever it was, had passed through the bag with the bread and milk in. Having seen it pass through brick walls I pretty much assumed that it had gone through them too. Thankfully the tea and toast was fine. Afterwards I realised that everything had been touched by the light. I still wonder if it affects things by touch alone of just by touching a part of it. Cos the more I think about it, the light only touched the carrier bag and my flat is on the top floor. Then again, I don’t think it matters now.

The thing I can’t get me head round was the fact that I didn’t think nothing of it. The people were still on the ground when I went home, and when I looked out of the window, they were still on the ground. Finally I had a sleep. I woke up late, and ran like mad to the garage. I was half an hour late, but it didn’t matter. Trevor, the owner, was lying on the ground. He smelt funny. There were no customers. I figured no one would buy anything from a shop with Trevor stinking up the place so I dragged him out the back and put him in the storeroom. It was when I returned I caught a whiff of my armpits. God they stunk! I checked on Trevor again, and then nicked a can of lynx. Trevor would kill me if he found out. I grabbed a mag and sat down. It was a surprisingly quiet night. Boring in fact. The Cheese n Onion was off so I had to much a Cornish, wasn’t happy.

Four o’clock in the morning I was bored. I couldn’t get a signal on the radio, and Trevor’s too tight to get a telly. I’d read every mag in the shop and didn’t fancy looking at the porn. It makes me think of Tracey, and I’ve had a few close shaves with customers in the past. And then I saw the first person since the light.

There is a pub across the road from the garage. Shops to the left. Just a little detail to set the mood. Of course, if you are from Kirkby then you know what I’m talking about. If not, well, then you’ll just have to use your imagination. Anyway, I see this figure staggering across the road. Coming towards the garage. Having the only light on in the whole area, I wasn’t surprised. Tell you the truth I was made up. Finally someone to talk to. I pretended I hadn’t noticed him and waited patiently for him to arrive. Trevor told me that you should always act like you never noticed them. Oh and to always act a little deaf. I don’t know why. Guess Trevor was weird. But he was the boss so I did what I was told.

The guy was a slobbering mess. Scruffy looking. Smelt funny. I could smell him through the slidey-drawer. I refuse to learn what it’s called. I have a life. Disappointment washed over me. I grabbed a packet of skins and a Twix and slid them through. I didn’t even care if he paid or not. He didn’t take them. I returned to my mag. It was an article on Pygmies in the Congo. I had tried reading it before, but it bored me shitless. That night though, I was enthralled. You know they believe that a dinosaur still lives in the forest. Makes you think what other stuff is in there. Though I have never been bothered by all that green whinging stuff. People need their paper. And I’ve seen too many happy faces leaving MacDonald’s to ever curse it.

The guy was still there when I finished the article. The Twix remained. I pulled the drawer back in but he grabbed it and held tightly. He groaned or moaned or did some mouth noise. I could see slobber trails on the window. Looked like he had been licking it. Christ I hate people who think by having a spliff they have to act all weird and trippy. I got the Twix back but I left it in the drawer, there was drool all over it. It smelt funny too.

I stared at him and he stared back. His eyeballs were like saucers. I moved closer to the window. Beautiful 2 inch thick plastic glass stuff. Robbery proof or something. He moved closer too. I moved, he followed. I thought it would be funny, moving my head, him acting like my reflection. But it was shit. Annoying. Suddenly he let out a childish squeal, rushed towards the window, smashing his skull full force. He fell to the ground. I laughed and returned to the mag – fucking junkies. There was an article on some painter. It was boring.

At the end of my shift no one turned up. This really pissed me off. Trevor hates people being late. Plus he’d kill me for leaving the shop empty. But I was fed up. I was tired. Needed a kip. Even though I hadn’t been sleeping properly I was still knackered all the time. Wait, that doesn’t make sense, does it. Of course I’m knackered if I’m not sleeping. Anyway I reckoned Trevor would thank me for doing him a favour by putting him out back, so I helped myself to a couple of Mars bars, some ciggies for me mum and a 2litre bottle of Dandelion & Burdock for breakfast. I waited twenty minutes till I got pissed off and left. I opened the door and the guy was still lying under the window. He seemed quiet. Looked asleep. Thought best leave him alone. So I went to me mums.

It’s really dark now, can’t see what I’m writing. It must be night time. Great, stuck in here in the dark with them outside. I’ll finish this tomorrow.

I'm so hungry. So tired. Don't know what, don't know anything. Haven't slept. Haven't eaten. Its been light for about an two hours. Just didn't wanna write. I just wanna go home. I want things back to normal. It’s been quiet around here. I thought they had found me this morning, just before dawn, but it was my mind playing tricks. Can't really concentrate. Just gonna have to write stuff down, try and stick to the point.

That guy I wrote about. The one at the garage. He was one of the fallen. I had thought he been asleep. But he wasn't. A load of them wasn't. I took the ciggies around to me mum. 40 Berkley, her favourite. Red ones of course. I've got a key so I let myself in. It was about 7o'clock. She was still in bed. Or at least the bedroom. I walked in. She was lying over the edge of the bed, knees on the floor. The bed was half-made. I opened the curtains and put the ciggies on the table next to the bed. She always liked a smoke first thing in the morning.

I opened the bottle and poured a glass while I watched the cartoons. They were really old ones, Channel 5. Think they were Canadian or Australian. The Dandelion & Burdock tasted funny. A little flat. I could hear mum waking in the bedroom. She was groaning and coughing. I shouted out to her that she should pack in the ciggies. She groaned back.

I carried on as normal. Till I felt her icy fingers around my neck. And it wasn't nice. "Brains!" she groaned. I leapt to my feet and looked at her. Her face was pale, and she stunk. Thick drool poured over her lip. Her eyes translucent. That's one a few big words I know. Always makes me happy when I get to use it. Anyway, there's my mum, stinking away, wanting to eat my brains. I dropped my Dandelion & Burdock. I remembered all the horror films I watched as a kid, on dodgy pirate copies, and grabbed a vase. I ran shrieking at her and smashed it over head her head. She groaned but didn't go down. She started to come for me. I legged it into the kitchen.

I grabbed a rolling pin and swung it across her face. Each time I hit her I apologised. After all it wasn't her fault. It took a good ten minutes and afterwards I needed a ciggie. I don't even smoke. I sat there, next to her on the couch, coughing with every inhale. It was the first time things had dawned on me. I was in trouble. The more I thought about it, that guy wasn't a Pothead. He too desired my brains. I asked myself why? Then I realised I didn't have the answers. It was a waste of time asking me. I wondered if I was the only one left. Who had done this? Why had they chosen me? Was I chosen or was I freak accident? I wondered if I had killed my mother, or was she technically dead already. In the end I fell asleep.

The words seem to be coming easier again. That felt good to write about. Takes my mind off things in a weird way. When I write it down it seems to make it less real, more a dream than reality. I didn't sleep long. Mum's alarm clock came on around 8. It was just white noise, the way she liked it. She was really starting to stink so I decided to leave. I made some breakfast first, bacon and eggs, and having checked outside, left. I wandered the streets, in the direction of my flat. I felt I would be able to grasp things more clearly there. I had taken the rolling pin from me mum's though.

It was on the way that I saw Tracey. It hurts to even think about it now. I'm not even sure if I should write about it, the shame of it all. She was leaning against a lamppost. She was wearing a lovely pair of tracksuit bottoms, Nike, bright white. A pair of Nike tennis shoes. Trainees to you and me. She was wearing a pink boob tube, with a yellow coat. My heart leapt when I saw her. I've never told her how I feel. Usually when I see her I hide. Get dead embarrassed. But it was a weird day, and she seemed to be in need of assistance. I plucked up the courage and walked over, hiding the rolling pin.

I called to her, and she swung around to face me. She seemed to smile. Good sign. She looked good. And the perfume hid the smell well. Even the drool seemed classy. I smiled and said hello as I walked closer. She stared at me blankly. I couldn't believe it; I was actually talking to Tracey Jones. The love of my life. My reason for living. She went for me, mouth open. Never knew she had so many fillings. And I don't think she has ever brushed her tongue once. I moved out the way and she automatically swung around. So graceful and athletic. But I had to act quick. Without thinking the rolling pin was out and following her head. It smacked hard into the blonde hair. Her head bounced towards the lamppost and bounced back. The skull cracked on the spot. I swung the pin again.

I had killed her. Mum was suspect, but this. She was alive. I was sure of it, and yet I still hit her. Was this why I was saved? To finish off the survivors? I sank to my knees and tried to cry. I felt sad but in the end I got up. I looked around, then pulled her head away from the post. The perfume was fading. I held me breath as I lay her on the ground. Above the nose nothing was left. She felt soft and tender. So did me mum now I think about it, guess I over did it on the beatings with her. I felt terrible for doing this to Tracey, so I kissed her on the lips, careful not to breathe in. I resisted the urge to look at her naked boobs and ran.

I ran to my flat, but outside was three more. They were just standing there, doing nothing. They groaned a lot. I hid and watched them. One and against one was easy, but could I handle three? I didn't wanna try so I ran to here. And this is where I have been ever since. Mrs Phillips' cubby-hole. Sitting in the dustbin. I think I've got No Hot Ashes imprinted on my back. Above me is two squares, my only light to the outside world. Unless of course I open the door, but there is no way I'm doing that.

This paper, a notepad I was carrying around for a reason I've long forgotten. The pen in case I ever ran into Tracey and we swapped numbers, though there's a slim chance of that now. I'm not sure why I wanted to write this all down. If I am the last one left then who am I writing it for. I keep thinking of my cousin Joey. Is she still normal? Don't know why I think about her, haven't seen her since we were little. Guess its cos she's the closest I have to family, now that I've smashed mum's skull in. She's probably long gone. Hope she stays fallen.

The more I write the more I think. Sleep and food mean nothing now. I don't feel hunger, I don't feel tired. The more I think about it, the more I smile. I enjoyed smashing my mum's head in. I enjoyed kissing Tracey. Is this my purpose? Am I after all, the one to finish the job? Is that my calling? The one to lay to rest all that escaped the light. I'm good at it. Can't think why they want to eat my brains though. I wonder if it’s my motivation. I mean, I'll probably need them. Perhaps it is. Maybe it is time to leave my prison. I think I will. You, whoever you are, this is my last will and testament.

I, Carl Stevens, when out shopping for bread and milk became the only survivor of a bright light. This light put everyone to sleep. Some woke up. I, Carl Stevens, will send them back. Maybe you will be the one to put me to sleep. Maybe.

Oh well, its gotta be better than sitting in here getting cramp. Wish me luck!

(07.02.2002)