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The time had come.

The preparations had taken weeks.  Apart from preparing himself, Roy had to source the equipment he needed, fund the project, take delivery of the items and yet somehow leave no trace, no telltale sign that could lead back to him. 

He’d faked himself a student card and gone into the university library to use their computers or he’d find a back street internet café, the kind that transients used as they back-packed around the world, making sure he wasn’t stuck in a window, ensuring he could see everything going on but not be seen. 

He had to find a place for the deed, trawling the classifieds, appearing in pubs for one pint only, eliciting the information he needed before leaving, never to return.

He had found a quiet enough place, paid for it in cash using a false name.

The place was clean, out of the way and there would be no strangers blurting through the door.  Roy had made sure of that.  Now the place was ready.  Nothing had been left undone.

He’d gathered the people here that he wanted to witness this event.  He kept them silent.  They held their breath knowing not to cross him as he shut one eye and peered down the scope.  The place was in darkness.  Roy was calm, poised, ready to strike.

The door opened a little.  Someone was coming in, nervously, trying to adjust to the gloom.  The lights went on and Roy sprang into action.  He pulled his explosive, pressed a button and shouted: “SURPRISE!” in unison with everyone else.  His daughter’s shocked look turned to a grin, a moment Roy had captured on camera: “Happy Birthday darling” he said as he handed his daughter a glass of Champagne

Extract from A Stranger's Tears - Get your copy now

I’m visiting a place, a place where my friends and family have already been.

It’s my suicide attempt.

But this time I can see it from the outside.

I understand that it must hurt.

At the time (still at times) I honestly believed with every inch of my being that this was the right thing to do, that this would make everything ok.

I know now that it would have hurt people, I know that it did.  I feel guilty about that but I can’t yet see why they’d hurt so much.

I can’t believe that the feelings I would have if one of my friends committed suicide, the anger, frustration and that aching loss. are how people would feel, how people did feel, when it was me.

I don’t think I’m worth that much emotion.

When I glimpse the truth now and again, it makes me cry.

I still feel I have to earn it.  I feel like my actions can turn people’s love off and hopefully on.

I know that’s not true but I can’t feel that truth and I can’t yet live it.

This Latitude Sucks

He glanced at his watch

Soon he’d be in bed

But his thoughts wandered

Wended south

Like a migratory instinct

Driven to the warmth

To where he’d soon be

Going out instead

Of going home

Only his feet were glad

They’d stood for enough

The Strategist

The week had been long, busy with bureaucracy and emotionally draining.  Phone calls had been made and the due diligence had been done, ticked off, filed and left to gather its own dust.

 Fraser had finally escaped from the humdrum monotonous buzz of the daily grind.  He’d done lunches, been for coffees, smiled at clients and braved the snarling jams at rush hour.  He skipped tea, threw on his hat at its jauntiest angle and made his way pubwards. 

 The weekend beckoned with sleek, glossy hair, fake tan and miles of mascara.  He was ready to charm and was already imagining that tinkling giggle and adoring smile. 

 He opened the door, doffing his hat and spun it on the bar as he ordered up a bottle of the finest red wine.  He looked around and his smirk began to fade.  Bald heads, beer bellies.  The fruit machine clamoured and Pink Floyd were fifteen minutes into a solo on the jukebox.  He drained his glass in disappointment but declined to leave.  He knew this.  He’d been here before.  It was a man monsoon in the middle of a female famine.  But he would get by.  Either things would pick up soon or he’d steal someone’s girlfriend.

 He withdrew from the pack, let them howl together and lick each other’s wounds.  He became aloof; stood apart knowing this would engender curiosity.  Let the rest take the scraps; the barked camaraderie.

 And soon?  The plan worked so I put my pen back in my pocket.