10 years, 4 months, 7 days and 3 hours
He’d been getting on her nerves. She’d asked him to do some simple chores; mow the lawn, clean the garden up, wash the car, iron the family clothes and feed his younger siblings their dinner so she could rest after a hard day’s work. He’d done them, but not with the speed nor alacrity she’d liked, and now he was complaining that he was tired.
She whips around suddenly and he sees an expression on her face he’s never seen before, as she spits out ‘You’re a spoilt apple just like your father. You should be grateful you’re even here. No-one wanted you. I was the only one that took you in. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to because no-one else wanted to. You look just like him, and you act just like him. He broke us, he destroyed us, he robbed us, he shattered all our lives…because of you?!’ The last word is spat out with such venom, Cassius jumps back, and freezes. Continue reading
There used to be a time when children wouldn’t even dare to raise an eye in a way that could be construed as answering back (albeit non-verbally). A day when one cold stare from a person more than 4 years older, would send waves of fear and bowel-debilitating horror at the prospect of this person reporting their rowdy behaviour to their parent. This person could be an absolute stranger, but these children certifiably knew that the report would reach a parent’s ears whether by letter, by mouth, by pigeon, a facsimile in a bottle that washed up on the banks of the Thames, etc. In these instances, these children knew that going home was near enough a death sentence following the automatic conviction as a result of third-party reports. There would be no Amnesty International to intervene, no European Court of Human Rights ruling that would be adhered to, merely tenfold punishment. The goodbye hugs to friends would be slightly longer than usual, the
Read Justice: Part 1 <<here
The overwhelming sense of freedom that she had felt in that moment, teetering on the precarious line between life and death, served to suddenly and unexpectedly scatter her thoughts, just as the strong gust of wind scattered the strands of her fine hair which now whirled about her and stuck to her face like a disordered cobweb. Memories that had lain locked in dark archives of her mind erupted to the fore; her personal grief, her family’s grief for her sake, and her fiancé’s family’s utter despair at a life so casually dispensed with; how even though each of these groups’ relationship to her beloved differed to her own, yet all had been united by several threads which had led to the centre of it all; him. His exit and subsequently their unborn child’s, had caused a break in the web which could never be mended to be the same way again, thus it had been left, to collect dust. Dust was the most accurate term she could think of to describe her relationship right now with the other threads of the web. Both their families had tried to reach out to her, but her anguish had been the self-absorbed kind that allowed for no other participants, merely observers whose own spirits drained at the constant efforts to regenerate, till they simply stopped trying anymore for fear of becoming overwhelmed also.
I knew I wanted to reflect on the passing of 2010 into 2011, but didn’t really know how I was going to do that. Then it struck me how a timeline or a chronology is often the best way of identifying and remembering significant events that have occurred. For me personally, I really wanted to reflect some of the things I have generally experienced and observed in my life, friends lives, as well as in the world in general as a means of providing a source of reflection and encouragement for the new year. Thus, I came to the natural conclusion that a poem was the best medium in which to do this, as opposed to boring you with a list *yawn*, the majority of which you could happily access on Wikipedia *fun times*, or a blog the size of a dissertation which it would necessarily be, to cover the whole year 0_0.