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It was a beautiful midsummer evening.
The smell of wild flowers and new mown grass wafts in the occasional
breeze.
The sunshine beamed on Renée’s long bronzed legs and the
tall green grass tickled our feet, as we lay barefoot together in the
meadow.
Will you love me and stay with me forever? I shyly ask.
She replies with an awkward expression that said it all, and I knew
there and then, that her heart would never belong to me.
I mourned her decline with a brave face and tried to remind myself that
I was a man and things of this nature should not hurt me.
She was achingly beautiful, wild blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and
a tall slender body.
I knew the first time I saw her that I was in love and that I would
do anything for her. As each day passed my love for her grew. My love
for her was so strong; I would of walked to the end of the world and
back for her even die for her.
As the sunsets and the day draws to a close, so does my hope and happiness.
Even the birds that sing in the evening seem to sing such sad songs.
I will always remember that day, that was the day I had my heart ripped
out and torn to pieces. After this day I never dared love any one ever
again.
Unrequited love is one of nature’s cruelties. Knowing the person
you love, does not love you takes away your faith in yourself and others.
A never-ending longing that leaves you alone in the cold. Every minute
of the day is spent wishing she were with me and hanging on to the idea
that maybe one day she might be able to return my love.
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by James Angel
Mark looked me in the eye; open hands ready to grasp. I wondered if
he could actually put his arms around my gut, never mind the strength
to pick me up. I had already put Wes up against the wall with a few
grazing wounds. They were never my intention, as we acted out dreams
that we thought we had left behind as the years went by. It was already
Wes’ Ultimate Warrior to my Big Boss Man, and Mark was acting
out Bret ‘The Hitman’ Hart. I had Becki egg me on whilst
Carla acted out a rule breaking manager. Clearly, we had invented backyard
wrestling.
Our arms clutch as the battle of strength kicked in, pushing each other
back and forth before releasing ourselves. Mark runs to the wall, only
to run back with his arm out for a clothesline, only to be picked up
by me in a bear hug position. Mark is light and I could easily feel
his ribs with my arms. I carry him like a baby rests its head on a loving
shoulder, only I just rub the body against the wall.
‘Oh fuck off, not me as well,’ Mark pleaded, as Wes got
back into his role, slamming his skateboard into my back. Both at each
side, at arms length, not knowing who was going to jump on me first.
Wes does his Warrior dance as Mark jumps on my back, arms round my head,
twisting and turning to bring me down. His left arm is placed around
my neck, and though I might have been choking, I don’t show them
the satisfaction. Wes then gives me a few tapping punches to my chest
before I finally give in. Mark releases his arms, as Wes ran up towards
me with a clothesline, which I duck, but Mark then had the skateboard
and taps me on the head, for which I decided to go down. With Wes’
Vans left foot on my chest, Carla slams her palm on the ground three
times, and Wes continues his act, holding imaginary ropes, to green
fields and a man walking his dog.
The promised sunshine wasn’t out, just light grey skies that
could have threatened rain. A few boys that we knew from Hafod High
made their tag signs on the battered benches. Mark knew them better
than I did simply cause they exchanged designs in school and boasted
where they placed them around. My head trickled sweat, our bodies spent
but not tired; we laughed and joked over our actions. Nothing could
possibly ruin such a fine day.
So I thought.
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Part 1 There were dark clouded
patterns floating in the darkening sky. Atmospheric like a new morning,
but it was a reminder that summer had almost come to its end, with a
hint of an autumn blowing round my head. Paper bag in hand, I could
have easily told Mac that I didn’t want to do an evening round,
since I got battered. Yet time proved to be a healer, so I was willing
to help.
The papers were stacked aside for me, with a list of house numbers
on a piece of paper. Mac offers a coffee to warm me up a bit; I walk
over to his office, take a chair and hear the news. A twenty-two year
old man was arrested in connection to the Murder of Miss Mary Anne Wilcott.
The newsreader goes through the details of her death again, but reading
it in the Evening Post had more appeal, more detail.
‘How’s school coming along?’ Mac enquired, pouring
water into two mugs.
‘Could be better,’ I replied. He had heard many of my school
stories; some he laughed at, some that he frowned upon. Wasn’t
much of a surprise when I told him that the class was prevented from
taking part in work experience. That week was getting closer and I wasn’t
looking forward to helping the caretaker. Most of the class had a gut
full of him using us to do his dirty work. At least Mac treated me as
equal.
‘Have you decided what you’re going to do after school?’
he then enquired.
‘Might go to college, just pick up what I was left out on,’
I replied, taking the hot mug of coffee off his hands. ‘Could
have a Saturday job, coming to think of it, to fund that the lifestyle,’
I added on with a chuckle.’
‘Lets see what I can do near the time. You’re a good lad
Martin. I’d be in a right state if you didn’t help out.’
‘That’s alright.’
Sipping on the coffee, our discussion then turns to Nathan, the one
I was covering for. Nathan didn’t ask for much and he certainly
didn’t ask for a single parent, alcoholic mother. He only took
the job to fund his Adidas trainers and Nike tops with a little money
for the youth club. He developed a work ethic, taking any round, come
morning and evening. He didn’t ask his mother for anything, knowing
what money was in the house be spent on a bottle of vodka. At every
possibility, Nathan would beat my house, on the Playstation or in the
park, kicking a ball against a wall, to forget about his home life.
However, someone made a big issue out of his personal life in Hafod
High, and needed several stitches around the neck.
‘Poor bastard,’ Mac remarked, ending the matter. The door
shop opened and he leave his burning Lambert on the ashtray. There’s
a discussion on the Wilcott case on the radio, local residents phoning
in with their views. I had mine that Mac shared; she caused nothing
but bother to locals, shoving the chapel down people’s throats.
She made to make others feel small, making sure she was right. No different
to the teacher I had once before. Yet confronting Gav and Sal proved
fatal. |
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