A Lonely Star in the Night Sky

Song playing: The Ballad of Mona Lisa - Panic! at the Disco


Sitting in the corner of the bar, she was invisible; the ghost, as many liked to call her. It was how she liked it, alone with no-one to bother her will small talk and awkwardness. No-one to annoy her with unoriginal line. Yet she found herself waiting - waiting for him to arrive. He was the opposite of her. He was alive.

He was late today. Normally that wouldn't bother her, but she had a task to complete and unfortunately, she needed him. He didn't need to know that part though. She checked all the times around her: the wall, the phone, the wrist - all the same. What was taking him so long? Time was clearly not on her side today.

Finally, after minutes passing of her deciding upon her next move, the familiar creak of the door was heard. As much as she disliked it, he made her feel something- passionate, alive, though she could never speak to him. As a result, people call her intimidating, a bitch, a snob. In fact she is none of those, she just finds it hard to speak to people - anxiety, fear of rejection play heavily upon her.

Instead she prefers to be alone, sitting at a table listening to his voice. His voice gave her all the power she needed. The ability to put pen to paper and create. He maybe an entertainer to the crowd but to her, to her he was her muse. Across the months she has had many muses, but they wilt rather quickly. Would he dry up in the desert sun, or will he set her mind alight?

What's In a Dream?

"Not all dreaming is the same. Dreaming runs the gamut of human experience (and sometimes beyond), incorporating a dizzying range of emotions and events, often with elements of the bizarre."
-Michael J. Breus, PhD

Understanding a dream is difficult - was it a dream, or was it your mind telling you to be aware of something? Was it an accumulation of the day (or week's) events built up in and released at that particular moment in time? Dreams often don't tell of anything, just the release of those pent up emotions.

The reason for this post is, one dream has been particularly upsetting. I do not feel the need to describe my actual dream, but perhaps find out why I am dreaming of it. For two weeks, give or take a few days, I dream of a particular event that always ends up with a bad outcome. I'm left alone, everyone else with their loves, their friends, their family. Now normally that wouldn't bother me as I am naturally a person who prefers the solitude, her own company, however this dream felt too real, almost like I was no longer part of the Earth. It was so real, I almost thought it was to be true; that I would soon departing my life.

It wasn't until I decided to distance myself from the people I talk to the most, that I realised what the dream meant to me. It wasn't that I was coming to the end of my time, it was more of the opposite - closing the door on my old life. Looking at the people around me, I could see that they were a mixture of old friends and new friends, past and maybe future loved, my fears and hopes all balled into a reoccurring dream. It was a dream to help me decide what I wanted in my future, almost a warning. Did I really want to sabotage my own happiness? Did I want to stress over events that were most unlikely to happen?  If I continued down the path I was currently on I would.

So what if I'm scared of failing at work? It wouldn't be the worst thing that would have happened. So what if the next flight  I go on ends up being a disaster? I can't let the fear of the unknown stopping me from living my life. My dream was simply happening to tell me to let go, stop over-analyzing things. Let things fall where they may and cross that bridge when I get to it. Yes, life is full of cliches and mottoes to help you through your life, but only you can control what you want to get out of it . 

Dreams are simply but that, dreams.

What is in a name?

What is in a change?
What?
Why?

I do not know much about much these days, but for some reason I wish to change. Or more precisely, wish for a change. That change began with a new title for my blog. Why? I am not sure. Perhaps, I am becoming more muchier than I once was, and that my love for Alice will still be around, but I do need to grow up into an adult. To some people, living on their own, finding a new place to live may not be a big deal to them; to me it is. A new job, a new apartment, everything is new. A change. I have never had to pay for bills, bar a phone bill. I have never had to depend solely upon myself. Yes I am independent, but that is different. I now have become an adult. I no longer have the opportunity to act like a brat within reason. I have to be responsible.

Is that the change I wish for? No not really.

I'm not particularly sure what change I want. All I know is that the upcoming academic year will either make me or break me. I hope it is the former, I have no back up plan to rely on if my world falls down around me.

That Girl

That girl you see at the bar isn't always drunk, just lacking in confidence. She isn't intimidating,  just shy. She isn't quiet, just unsure of how to talk to people. She prefers to listen and admire the people around her.  When she does talk, please don't mistake it as flirting as many people do.  She doesn't flirt, she just smiles with her eyes. She sits alone writing, she isn't a weirdo. She does her own thing regardless of what others think. That doesn't mean she is snobby and thinks you are beneath her, she likes being in her own bubble.

That girl doesn't like it when you accuse her of being ignorant. Nine time out of ten you are annoyingly creepy and stating the obvious. Yes she is writing in a bar, yes she is alone. She prefers to stay away from your kind, the kind that makes her stomach roll. She has a reason to ignore your advances. You don't understand being told 'no' for the umpteenth time. You insult her speech, her fashion style. That girl has her eyes set on someone else.


That guy. The guy who appears to be a walking cliche; his smile lights up the room, his eyes sparkling with mischief with a hint of playfulness. His hold makes you feel protected. His touch makes you feel warm inside. An accent that rivals the stereotypical Irish charm. An international crush. Almost perfect. That guy happens to be someone untouchable, out of her league, her friend's crush as it seems too. one could guess it's due to his ability to charm ant woman he comes across.

For now that girl will dream instead.

Almost Comfortably Numb

Not sure that the title of this post actually matches my current mood. I'm probably just numb. Today probably has been added to one of the worst days in my life. Normally I get the sense of how bad a day is going to be soon as I wake up; I normally sleep in or fall out of the bed (quite literally), but today started of like any other.

I don't particularly want to revisit my memories of today as I am simply happy enough that it is over. Yet I need to somehow justify my feelings, or lack of. After today's events, the Middle East has finally won and has tipped me over the edge. Who knows if normality will return? Maybe it won't.

Everything and everyone here is crazy, and that is putting it lightly. Sure you do get some wonderful people, but for the most part, life here sucks. I know that tomorrow will be a different story, so I have to live it out till then. As I always say; let's see what happens.

I have a flesh coloured tattoo..

"I drew it myself. You should see it sometime, if only you could see it (it’s invisible)."


I am a ghost, no word of a lie.  I'm not a ghost in the typical sense since I am alive,but I do appear to be invisible. The reason for this, let me explain. You see, there have been times when I spend my Thursday or Friday nights out socializing with staff or friends and they have all accused me the day after for not being there. They could have a full blown conversation, but would not remember it the next day. 

A similar thing had happened recently. Now I'm not sure how I feel about it. Yes, I laughed it off and was dubbed the 'ghost' but it's starting to wear me down. Am I really that bad at company that I don't make a lasting impression on anyone?  All I know is, that besides this little setback, I am still having fun. Last week had been a blast though; accidentally spilling drinks, getting wasted and dancing the night away.  I even found a small gap in my schedule to write something. It was during my writing night out that I had been asked if I had written anything on the local band and it got my brain working over-time. Why had I not wrote anything about them? I normally write about every local band I listen to. Was I that scared to erase the memory of the last band? Was I refusing to write a piece in the hope that they would never be as good as the previous? Whatever the reason, I feel as though I need to do a segment now. 

Bolt. My initial reaction was that of shock. I hear about them during my summer vacation period. All that was running through my mind when I heard their name was the Miley Cyrus movie with the superstar dog of the same name. Clearly, I had been hanging around children for too long. Yes I was being judgmental; I was yet to here them play and I was still getting used to the idea of a band change. As I have said before, I don't do particularly well with change unless I have control over the situation. I wasn't that nice in my thoughts either. However, once I heard them play the first night I was back in Al Ain, it was nice having that change in music. I became accustomed to listening to the same playlist every Thursday night. I even knew what song would come next. What really surprised me was the change in instruments! I had been told it would be a fun set but I never really expected it to be so. One change was the removal of the Bassist and the introduction of a keyboard player. That was better for me personally. Another, was the saxophone - rather refreshing if I'm honest!

The track-listing had changed too! I heard through the grapevine that they had been told not to play certain songs. It was rather nice to sing a particular song that you hadn't listened to in a while. The band members themselves came from all corners of the globe and brought with them their own personality. 
The band members have now changed. A new line up for the new year. In all honesty they seem to fit better together now. 

I would like to write more about this band but I simply do not have the inspiration anymore. Even my Saturday night routine has flown out of the window and would rather spend the night sleeping. I guess I lack my muse; the banter and distractions must have provided me with some ability to override the writers block I currently have. 

On that note, I will try to write something again soon. My mind is not used to storing all this useless drabble. 

Life after Books

” but there is this unwritten contract between author and reader and I think not ending your book kind of violates that contract.”
                                        John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

I recently read a book by John Green Fault in Our Stars and it was definitely an interesting read. Now I am not going to write a review on this story because I have my opinion and that is mine only. However, it made some interesting points about characters and endings of stories, and it made me question my own thoughts.


When a story is placed upon paper, characters and situations are born. They may not be real in existence, but they are real on the page. They are given a background, a life, a history, upon which they evolve into deeper beings. Simply immortalized in words. They are brought to life through their personalities. We learn their likes, dislikes, their ability to bond with other characters. No being is created from thin air. Even those that maybe only mentioned once or twice, they still play a part. It is this creation that poses a problem. As a reader you form your own opinion of each character, you seem to bond with them, learn to love or hate them. Yet when the problem of the story has been solved and the book comes to a close, you face a problem. Does that story really end there? What happens afterwards? Is the light turned off for good? Are these characters thrown in to a disposal bin of endings?

It was this thought that puzzled me the most. Do we really need to know what happens after that last page has ended, after that last period? If a story ends in a happen ending, is it really necessary to think about them more? The answer is no. They are simply words on a page that have been written for our enjoyment only. They are not biographies of life. They are not real people. It is not realistic to end all stories with a happy ending, the characters living a perfect life with everything resolved and dying peacefully in their sleep. That itself would pose more questions than answers.

 So what if a story ends in the middle, not completing the story. Take Hazel for example, the reader learns everything, if not more, that we need to know as if she was a real being beside us. Yet as the story progresses, so does our attachment to the character. This is our downfall. When the story dramatically ends, with no explanation, we are left with disappointment. What happened next? Did she live happily? Was she cured? The only person who knows is the character herself. Even her creator doesn't know. It is in this ending that we are able to write our own endings. Each one unique as the person next to us. Yes we may still be left with that question , what happened, burning our curiosity bit by bit, but stories life this imitate life perfectly. Just as 'stories end in the middle of a sentence' with no reason, our life can end at any second, without reason and those around will be left asking questions.

It is simply our nature to question everything and not to take it at face value. It is what it is. This is why I think John Green has hit the proverbial nail on the head. I would leave this post in the middle of a sentence, but I do not have the will power to do so.

So I will leave it with this conclusion. Forming your own answers in your mind is more appropriate than reading a solid ending in a story. You can create your own world for these characters, and no one will question it.

Write like no-one's watching...

Contrariwise…if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be but as it isn’t, it ain’t. That’s logic.

In the ten months I have been here in the UAE, I have spent the majority of my Saturday evenings writing. Sometimes it is a simple ramble like this, other perhaps inspired by the weekly events that have occurred. Some mould themselves around the people I meet. Some may be created from a deep emotion stirred within me. They all have something in common; they are my masterpiece.  I may not as poetic as Shakespeare or dramatic as Tolkien, but to me they are my prized possessions. My life written on paper; they are words scrambled across the field of lines.  Occasionally they make sense, the rest evolve as an organised mess.  

It is not a case of how I write, the techniques used, or the formation of the words – it is what I write that matters most. I write what I know. To me, nobody is a literary genius; anyone can write. In the same breathe no-one can criticise the way you express yourself. There is no right or wrong.  Every word you put into a sentence is unique. It is your snowflake. There may be a moment in time were someone will be jealous or angry at your words, but you will learn to deal with that.

Whether it is the pen scratching paper or your fingers pressing the keys, the letters appear creating words that shape the sentences to come. They shine for you. They show your strengths, your weaknesses – but more importantly – your story. Your story is your own. No-one can speak any different.

This is my story. I write because I can. It’s my form of escapism (besides reading that is). I write whatever forms into my head. I remember someone asking me back in December “Why do you write so much?” 

Well if I were not to write, all the thoughts in my head have nowhere to go. They need to be released in to the physical world.  Scratch that; I would actually end up insane (if that were possible since I fell down the rabbit-hole a long time ago).  

Speaking of rabbit-holes, I think some people tonight have fell down them and have yet to escape. Everyone seems to be wilder than usual. With that in mind, this post shall take its’ leave and bid you farewell.

The further off from England the nearer is to France –

Then turn not pale, beloved snail but come and join the dance.

                Will you, wo’n’t you, will you, w’o’nt, will you join the dance?

                Will you, wo’n’t you, will you, w’o’nt, wont you join the dance?

A Note From MJR to DRG

1. bass

A four stringed instrument, part of the rhythm section in a band. No band is complete without a bassist.

Bass is, after all, the sexiest instrument.

 
What do you get a guy to say thank you for a being a friend? Thank you for feeding my reading habits. Thank you for the comfort you brought with you. Simply just thank you.
My Friend told me that I should accept the gifts as gifts and that some people don't want anything in return. But me being me, I can't take without giving back. So I have placed myself into quite a predicament.

This is nothing you can fix with a tacky fridge magnet or a key-chain. It's more personal than that. Well, unless there was something that said "You had me at your correct use of the apostrophe", but I don't think one exists.

Yet as I'm writing this note, I seem to almost answer my question. What better gift can I give you than the power of words? I promise this isn't a stalker note, I'd rather do that in person.

It's like my first post written in Paco's and this goodbye post has drawn a complete circle around itself. My first was about the beautifully talented Diesel Band I saw back in October. That resulted in a game of who could embarrass who the most. I clearly lost. Ain't No Sunshine was the first time you uttered my name on stage. Calling me out on the post I wrote about you and your band-mates. I should have known then that it would be the start of a weird acquaintance/friendship.

Lines did blur once or twice but outside influences soon corrected the tracks. Some of those influences were logical whereas others were jealousy and psychotic (not naming any names but one happens to be hidden in my name). We knew the truth and that was what mattered the most.

Fast forward a few months and the teasing began once again. This time in the shape of monsters and stalkers. I did some legal research and did you know that pimping is a crime. Unfortunately, your form of pimping didn't involve money so you won't be punished. Before you say "is that still pimping then?", it is.  Giving out a female's name on stage so people will find her on facebook to 'get to know her' is a type of modernised pimping. That wasn't cool man.

It is good to look back and laugh at all the crazy things that have happened though. Crazy to think that in a short while, it will be the last time I will see you. You're leaving for a new destination, playing your bass, breaking new hearts and causing more mayhem along the way.

I wish you all the best in your endeavours, your conquests and your music. I shall end this note the way I ended the first....

Rocking out to Linkin Park and ironically in the end it didn't really matter that I was some ordinary girl sitting in the corner of a bar writing. This is the music. This is me. This is you

Love, 

Melissa (a.k.a MJR)

Broken Hearts and Torn Up Letters

False face must hide what the false heart doth know

  - William Shakespeare

False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/w/william_shakespeare_2.html#mfFEewiobEAOeiXX.9

Games. As much as we had to admit it, we are all involved in a game. Whether you're the one making the rules, or the one following them, you are in a game. Just like any ordinary game there is a winner and a loser. Sometimes, the rules can change and the people playing both lose. The outcome of the game can depend on strength will-power and logic. If you become to emotional the results can be disastrous. Once you start playing, each move you make becomes dangerous and risky. There is no way out.

Take this game for example. Two people caught up in a game of Lust. Actually make that four people, more dramatic ending. It's the classic  'I want what I can't have but I will try and take it anyway' scenario. One person caught in a trap with several entanglements Does she choose the spark between a lover known for a day, the chemistry with a dangerous attraction, or does she choose the connection between a 'more than' friend?

Lets break it down even further. The first: The Lover. An instant spark between two people set in a scene fuelled by alcohol. Surprisingly the lovers met during a moment of sobriety but as more liquid was consumed, the hormones began to take over resulting in drunken promises of faithfulness, protection with the inclusion of number-swapping. The outcome will most likely result in akwardness and perhaps the blocking of the whole night were the two people will never meet again. Or it could swing the other way and something beautiful will become of the meeting. However this causes friction amongst others included and changes the game completely.

This takes us to the second part: The attraction. Two people once caught in the trap of attraction mixed with passion and intellect. A dangerous combination with consequences that have affected the whole game and its' players. Two people who had to draw a line in their meeting to keep one player from a broken heart. Yet the attraction has now become all one-sided. A mark has been left in one's head and is saddened when the other player is in charge of his own game with many other contestants, maybe one or two in a night. The loser then watches from the sidelines constantly comparing the winner to other participants in her court. She will be wondering when can she break free from the spell to play her endeavours free from jealousy and longing.

The two situations bring on the final part, the result. The decision: The Connection. As the act between The Lover and The Attraction unfolds, the understudy is waiting behind the curtains, watching every move she makes and every line she speaks. He patiently waits for his turn in the game but it never comes. She has placed him in a compartment in her heart safely locked away. Two people caught in a never-ending circle of hidden emotions which threaten to explode. The Attraction fades away in to the night one more time and The Lover takes centre-stage. This is the moment in which the players will know the outcome. No more rule-changing. No more manipulation. Brutality is amongst them. The Connection admits defeat and walks away leaving the lovers to their finale. They win the game and each other.

However, like all games, there is a final twist: The Heartbreak. As The Connection player walks away, he is forced back in to the game when she realises the consequences of dallying in such a sport. The Connection no longer wants to be a part, and two hearts break at once. The Lover is forgotten immediately, The Attraction is no longer holding a spell over her but it's too late. She has lost. No more drawings, no more communication with words and technology, no more smiles. She realises it's her fault. It was her all along. No one was playing games but her. She was manipulating situations to suit her, not noticing the effects it would have on the participants. A moment too late and the game is over.

The End is Near

The end is near. Well for my contract in the Middle East that is. It is hard to believe that this time last year I had sent off my CV to a teaching agency on a whim. I wasn’t hoping to get an interview after all I hadn’t even completed the PCET course. I had a back plan of course – supply teaching. I didn’t want to raise my hopes for them to be knocked back down. Yet never in a million years would I have thought of applying for a full-time teaching position in the Middle East. For me to do that I would have to step out of my comfort zone and open myself to rejection on a grander scale.  Nevertheless I put myself out there and waited for the inevitable reply. I didn’t have to wait long though. A few days later and I received an offer letter to be signed and returned as soon as possible. Time after that seemed to pass in a blink of an eye.  A year on and I am currently going through the same progress – signing an offer letter for next yet.

The thing that has me most excited is my vacation time in July. I will be going home. Though I will only be in the UK for four weeks as I have my very own Euro-trip booked; by Euro-trip I mean Newcastle – Amsterdam – Rotterdam – Stockholm – Gothenburg. Hopefully my next summer vacation will include Finland, Hungary and Denmark. When discussing my plans with my family over skype, my brother appeared and stated I should visit Krakow, Poland. His reasoning for this, which is horribly amusing, is to see how many Polish live there since the UK is swarmed with them. Slightly racist brother I have there.

I have been thinking about my plans for the British summer and I realised I will definitely need to make time for my best friend’s first new-born baby.  I am so ecstatic for her. It’s surreal that the girl  I grew up with for eleven years is about to be a mother.  She’s all grown up now. It also reminds of my little girl waiting at home for me – my beautiful nightmare of a niece. I can’t wait to shower her in kisses and maybe cause some mischief around the town with her. My Lillie-bug is one hilarious child. I am so grateful that she hasn’t forgotten me. 

In other news, someone recently mentioned to me about remembering me when I have published my work and it got me thinking; why do I need to publish my work? Is it to earn money? For someone criticise my work publicly? So everyone knows who I am? If these are the reasons  then my answer is no. I write to let my feelings out. I am not bothered if no-one or everyone reads it. It’s my hobby, my own pleasure – no-one else’s. I may link my posts on social network sites, but that is so one of my good friends can read it- and nothing else.

I am currently in the middle of writing a book – continuing what I had started in university for an assignment. Again this is for me only; to see what I can accomplish. I remember listening to my English tutor say to me: “Even if you only write a 100 words a week, you can still write a  complete novella or even a novel, but it all depends on your state of mind and whether you want  to finish something you have started.” This stuck with me for 3 years, but I didn’t return to my story until recently. 

It’s amazing what changes a person can go through without really knowing. I am still the girl who watches the world rather than participates, but at the end of the day I know what risks are worth taking and which choices are simply unrealistic. Whether it’s my upcoming plans for the summer, or my continuous need to write something, I know life has plenty of things in store for me.

Well that s enough writing for now,

See you on the other side of the Internet

Melissa

University Stories and Poems Part 1: Two Minds to Die

Two Minds to Die

I couldn’t save him.  And no miracle could ever change that.

**********************************

Jethro was one of those men; loud and obnoxious. No matter how many times a woman would try to put him in his place, he had a counter-argument ready at hand: “There’s no place for a woman in today’s society. It would be better if they just stayed out of sight and out of mind”.  The gentlemen, and that term was used loosely, of the 21st Century had not changed at all. They were still derogatory towards women, still finding faults at every possible chance, belittling them in front of other men.  Looking at Jethro, at the age of thirty-nine running his deceased father’s business, one would think that he would settle down with a suitable woman, but no.  This man standing at six foot four with dark short hair  groomed into a sleek style and a very fanciful taste in designers had no time for women. Even though his sparkling green eyes caused many to swoon in his presence, he regarded them as the worst of the worst, and after only one thing in life – a man’s soul. Once they possessed that target, the men might as well lose  their ability to live a successful life. Love and women make a man weak.

To the outside world, Jethro would have appeared to have been a hater of women all his life, but there was one exception; one that only his father and mother knew of. His relationship with his parents, when alive, was strained at the best of times; his father ignoring his existence, focusing mainly on the family business. The only time his father spoke was to discuss Jethro’s future.  His mother wasn’t exactly the maternal type unless you counted the marks made from leather on his back and the purplish stains on his body.  What haunted his mother to treat her own blood that way; no-one would ever know. More importantly, Jethro would never receive this closure to help him move on with his life. 

Things began to look up for Jethro when his parents reached the end of their time. The economy grew and so did his wealth. This was the beginning of the Aston Martin DB5’s as well as the chauffeured Rolls Royce, freshly pressed suits, well polished shoes with a gold plated Rolex attached to his wrist. He was living to accumulate his wealth.  Nothing could ever get in his way of luxury.  He held the world in his scrooge-like hands.  
Tonight, like any other, Jethro found himself sitting in his usual spot at the local gentleman's club, surrounded by people he barely liked. “There is nothing better in a man’s world then spending your riches on such fine products” he stated with a puff of smoke escaping his thinned out lips, a recently lit cigarette held between two fingers with ash ready to collapse onto the white linen covered table.  “Such lovely sweetness of these paper notes.” he went on to say. The endless talking about status and wealth made many of his acquaintances groan with displeasure, save for the ones who were on the same wavelength as dear Jethro. Those were the individuals who made his ego grew substantially larger, so much that the world seemed smaller than possible. 
 “I agree, though there is one thing I love perhaps that little bit more…” an associate said.
 “Do not say what I think you are about to say young man!” Jethro quickly interrupted with a clear complaint. “If you say the words my woman you are not man enough to be here.” This did not phase the fellow associate, instead he declared the words Jethro always wanted to avoid “My woman made me who I am today” he said gulping the malt whiskey down his throat.  It was possible to see the glare from Jethro’s eyes from the other side of the room.  A look which many had been on the receiving end of plenty of times. 
“Don’t spout such nonsense in my room. This goes to anyone and everyone. Women are nothing to us. Yes they may provide an heir to carry on our name and wealth, the latter being important, but the women themselves are useless. If you wish to talk about that irresponsible species then leave.”  He declared and found himself sat alone in what would seem as a library, the walls being covered in old mahogany bookcases, the rich fragrance of ink and paper as well as the itching of dust. He leaned back into the darkened leather Chester Armchair, and gazed up towards the ceiling. What had he become? A man so repulsed by the female gender, but it was no use in thinking.  It only led to more outrageous thoughts. If he carried on the way he was going, he would turn into one himself and that was no good. He didn’t need anyone.  He was a solitary person and it would always be that way.

**********************************

The antique ornament isolated in the corner of the library chimed a loud brass sound of midnight.  Where had the time gone to? It was only a few hours ago when Jethro was sipping the harsh liquor burning his throat as it went down. He tried to focus his blurry eyes on something inanimate, and it became apparent that he could not hold his liquor any more.  That was only explanation he could think of. “Hang on” the confused words echoed in the room. “How on earth did that appear here?” He fixed on an offending piece of material on a small polished chair. He pushed himself of his seat, and headed towards it, his black potent shoes tapping against the laminated wood.  One look and he felt bile rise up his throat. There resting, was a scarf. A women’s scarf.  A woman’s paisley patterned scarf.

**********************************

The next few days contained very little happenings, and so Jethro spent his time holed up in his charming office, counting the golden coins and demeaning anyone that dared to interrupt him. Though on a particular Monday, Jethro was blissfully unaware that his life was not as it seemed. Removing himself from his cluttered desk, Jethro decided it was time to leave his hiding place and head out to the headquarters; the young gentleman’s club where no doubt a few females would somehow be there, on the prowl looking for their next victim.  Putting the scarf incident behind him, though he still never unearthed the mystery as to where it came from, he stomped into the coat room and stopped suddenly.  Next to his tailor-made Russian coat, was a red jacket, which looked awfully like a young woman's. “Maybe that darn woman-lover brought her here and left it by mistake.” But all he could think was; he hadn’t seen any female here at all. Grabbing the item of clothing, he walked into the lounge area, lit a warm chestnut fire, and threw the jacket into the flames. Watching it turn to ashes, he hoped it would be the last of the craziness.  He walked out the door into the front porch facing the bitter cold in his face, asked aloud “Is this a coincidence or just some weird turn of events?” and blew the thought into the wind.

Upon entering the social gathering in the club, many heads turned to speculate Jethro. He could see it in their stares; He finally graces us with his presence, I see, or I wonder if he drinks himself into a stupor and acts all egotistical.  Why should he change who he was.  It was better to speak the truth, no matter how harsh than to lie all the way through one’s life.  Advancing towards the barman, the room rumbled with a “make mine a double scotch.” that way his presence would be known to everyone and there was no need to queue. 

“Finally giving up on your denial of a woman?” a scrawny brunette said beside him. Jethro gave her a wariy glance. He had no idea what to make of that statement. “Remember me? It's Adrianna” she continued. He looked at her as though she was speaking double-dutch. What sane woman would talk to him?  
 “Go away I have no time for such witch behaviour from you.” He finally answered and began to turn away from her. 
“Look mister, I don’t care what your problem is with me, but you clearly have woman troubles. Carrying a pair of French knickers in their pocket is not something a man like you would normally do in a place like this.” Jethro abruptly turned round and faced her. “Oh you’ve finally want to talk to me now. All this time I have taken a back stage approach to you, trying to help you sort out your problems. I have heard all about you. I have tried to remain on the fence, but now this you misogynistic evil man.!” He tried to search her face for something, unsure of what it was, but something. Maybe someone had set her up to annoy him, or to cause a scene perhaps. He opened his mouth to give a retort but she beat him to it “Don’t you dare say a word.” Her finger pointed at him and an angry look took over her “First you walk into this place like you own it; secondly you emotionally abuse us women, especially me, when all I have done is defend you.” in the midst of the next phrase her voice took a softer approach which surprised the hell out of him “I know what your past has been like, and I admire your strength, but to act the way you do towards women and then parade around your dirty laundry, or should I say hers, I feel sorry for you I really do.” And with that he exploded. 

 “What right have you to say such ridiculous things about me?  I have not been with any woman and nor will I ever. You wonder why I called you a witch. Well here is the answer” A loud scoff came from behind him, the room had suddenly gone quiet. But he didn’t care he just kept on going. “You women think you know everything when all you do is cause heartbreak, and you just get in the way. What business do you think you are to me? Nothing. Now I don’t care how you know my past but suggesting I have been frolicking around is nonsense. Now move out of my sight before I say something I would never regret.” He could feel his face going beet red and instead of Adelaide, or whatever her name was, moving away from him, she approached him with determination on her face, reached out towards his coat, and somehow pulled a pair of scanty red underwear from his pocket. He finally remembered what she had said “carrying French knickers in their pocket” French knickers? And with that bombshell he snarled towards those listening and left the club.

On returning home, he bid his chauffeur goodnight, thinking of French knickers, a red coat and paisley scarf. Had he been cavorting and simply forgot? Maybe it was the scotch. However he soon disregarded that reason straightaway and strode in the direction of his drinking cabinet, and poured himself a double on the rocks.

**********************************

The next morning, his head gave the impression that he had one too many.  He couldn’t even remember climbing in to bed. He searched his memories for some inclination of what happened.   A few moments passed as he laid in his bed, when unexpectedly, just like someone had switched on a light in his head, everything came rushing back; the confrontation with Adrianna, the double at the club, the doubles in the lounge, sitting in front of the fire and then nothing. Blank. His hand rubbed at his forehead to relieve the tension. In the corner of his eye he noticed his arm wasn’t bare like it normally would be when he went to sleep. In its place was a pale lemony coloured sleeve, the type you would see a woman wear as a nightgown. He slowly lifted up his velvet duvet and peeked downwards. It was definitely a nightgown. Jethro froze in place. Each of the random items he had found in what he thought was a safe home, were his. He quickly jumped out his bed, ripped the nightwear from his skin like it was burning him. Burning him like plastic in a fire.  Not caring about the only attire he was wearing at the moment, being his underwear, he rushed through the house like a madman searching for other women’s clothing. “I’m a...” the word became lodged in his throat. Woman. “I dress in those.” He couldn’t understand what was happening to him. To be fair, he did not even want to know? Motionless, he walked to the harbour in his home; the cabinet.  He took a crystallised glass, and poured himself one final glass of scotch.

**********************************

Dear Miss A. Chase,

I regret to inform you that the inquest for Mr Jethro Shaffer’s death was again ruled for suicide.  The evidence left is sufficient to support this. I have checked his previous medical records for any mental health issues or depression and it was apparent that his schizophrenia was left untreated. As the records are confidential to the patient I cannot say anything further. If you need any help getting any closure for the victim’s recent departure...

I couldn’t read any more.  A tear fell from my eyes, landing softly onto the letter. I was too late to save him. I, Adrianna, who took no drivel from men, let Jethro slip away. I let him feel alone, like he couldn’t turn to anyone.  I promised his father I would try. Even though they weren’t that close, his father still cared. Maybe I was too young to understand what he was asking at the time. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. The truth was; he would never listen.

University Stories Part 2: Where My Demons Hide

N.B: The following story have been edited (though incomplete) though your comments on improving the stories are recommended. 

Where My Demons Hide

Prologue

Mörk drew a knife from his jet black trousers and quietly picked the lock of the door. His master's task may seem cruel and unjustified to the mortals, but to Mörk and those of his world it was simply second nature - kill or be killed. He knew he was a cold-blooded creature that didn't care for any human being in the world; his father had made sure of that. Mörk childhood had held no happy memories, for it was marked only by abuse he had been subjected to by his father; cold, familiar words blaring fresh in his consciousness as his jacket rubbed against old lash wounds. "You should never feel fear. You should be the creator of fear. You are a being of power." There was no longer any blood running through his body, just pure venom.

His kind, the majestic Giant race, lived undetected and safe in the mountains of Fjällhästen. He wouldn't exactly call it home though, no, home suggested a place of warmth and loving - he had experienced neither. The humans had no idea what was happening right under their noses. Cold-blooded gen-one immortals, those whom have suffered abuse from their parents from a young age during their training to show and feel no emotion were at war with a human-immortal hybrid. No matter how discreet the war is in the mortal world, the humans always ended up in the cross-fire. None of these creatures could let the greater world find out what was happening. 

 **********************************

 "Dammit" A quiet voice went unquestioned in the ridiculously small lounge. Astrid's eyes glared at the ancient television displaying an unsuccessful repeat of a show that should not have been aired once never mind again. Below the television sat a dilapidated coffee table which most definitely could not remember its better days. No matter how much she wished for a better life than one she was living, her career prospects were not exactly reachable.

It was for her little angel Darcy that Astrid struggled onwards, making the best of her poor situation. Miss Darcy-Elizabeth was her life and the only happiness Astrid could allow herself, for all the money she earned at a local bar went on little Darcy's happiness. Her little girl wasn't spoilt; Mattie just wanted to provide her with a normal and healthy childhood since hers wasn't particularly special. Her parents tried to provide what they could, given the circumstances of her working class background, and she could tell they were struggling financially but the love and attention was all she ever needed. If only they were here she thought. She could use her parents right now. Fresh tears started to fall from her eyes. Quickly she wiped them away before she started the whole expression of grief again.

She tried a new direction of thought, something to distract her from the pain. But she had nothing. Not even the simple action of letting her imagination run wild just like the books she would read. That pleasure always ended up with heartbreak, with romance and Prince Charming being her clichéd thoughts. How she ended up being a 23 year old single mother with a 2 year old daughter, was beyond her. Not that she regretted the events which led to this situation. The part that annoyed her was the fact that her childhood sweetheart had found a new love interest in her close friend. Her love life now was more drastic. She never felt like she needed to be with anyone else. She never wanted someone else to disappear from Darcy's life.  Her insecurities of not being beautiful enough for love always had her thinking of herself being a plain-Jane girl.

Her eyes had just closed when they quickly re-opened as she realised that Darcy hadn't woken up to see where she was at. Her daughter was like that, acting like a mother towards her, the roles being reversed. She always knew when Astrid was upset or just needed comforting. She slowly moved herself off the couch and headed towards the bedroom of her small and dingy flat. Opening the creaky door, that needed to be sorted out, she looked into the room and found her daughter fast asleep clutching her little Care-bear with small hands. She quietly crept into the room and crawled into the bed and held her protectively against her chest. What she would do to give this sleeping beauty a stable life. Her eyes started to feel heavy and began to close, but she never felt safe enough to get a well needed sleep. The room itself was full of damp, and had the temperature of a snowy day. Still her body protested until she finally gave in. Just this once though.

Startled by a noise, Astrid's eyes flew open. Her body froze. Was it her imagination? Or had the water pipes burst again? A little shaken, she rolled out of bed and crept towards the door.

 **********************************

The front door opened with a slight creak. He came to a halt, and listened for any disturbance that he had created. Nothing. Moving forward with silent footsteps, he scoured the room for any sign of human life. He quickly headed towards the door besides the kitchen, and in his haste he knocked off a glass that hadn't been placed correctly on the  worn wooden side table. No amount of power he possessed would have hidden that noise. "Djävlar!" Yes, he knew she was behind that door and it had disturbed her, but it wouldn't help by attracting attention to himself just yet.

He heard small and soft footsteps moving across the room behind the door he was currently heading towards, when all of a sudden they stopped. The handle started to move downwards and the door opened slowly. Mörk put his hand into his pocket attached to his jacket, retrieving a cloth doused in chloroform; fortunately for Astrid , the amount used was not enough to kill, merely to subdue.
As the door opened, the human revealed herself. With no time to waste he brought the cloth to her face and smothered her mouth and nose. She kicked and squirmed trying to escape. Such a
Dumskalle! he thought. Such a stupid little human. A few moments later she fell limp into his arms. As he flung her over his shoulder his gaze fell upon another human lying soundlessly asleep, unaware of the commotion surrounding her.  "Great, what am I to do now?" he said to himself; no point in being quiet since he had his main target. The only thing he could do was dump the unconscious body into the back of the van.

Still he felt no emotions for what he was about to do but he wished he did. Did he really have to act so callously towards the female? Yes.

Mörk moved swiftly back to the house and picked up the other human, which he noticed was a little baby girl who seemed to sleep like the dead. Heading back to the van once more, he opened the door in a quick movement then stopped, frozen. An unknown feeling came across him. He looked at the little one and re-thought his of acting so harsh. He carefully laid her across the seat and wove together a makeshift baby seat with his hands. Thin pieces of thread weaved in and out of one another until the process was complete. Magic. One way of using my power for something other than death. He fastened the human's daughter next to the driver's seat and climbed in. With a quiet hum of the engine turning, he drove off into the silent and deadly night. This had been the only time he had actually been close to feeling something like emotion. Love.
 

 **********************************

Astrid awoke with an oppressive headache. She hoped that what she had seen was a weird dream, something her mind had created which normally happened living in the place she did. Her eyes opened and it was completely dark with a little light coming through a gap in the wall, and instantly she knew something was up. She tried to open her mouth and realised she couldn't –something was stopping her. Her hands reached up to remove the offending object and noticed her hands were tied together with some sort of rough material. What the-moving her gaze to her feet, she found rope around her ankles. Ok no need to panic. Actually maybe I do. I can't scream I can't move. No this is all a dream I will close my eyes again and open them and then maybe I will be back at home in my God-damn uncomfortable bed. She thought. Then she realised, the vivid nightmare she had last night wasn't a nightmare, it was reality. And this - Where was Darcy? Her baby Darcy. She felt her eyes starting to close again. NO she mentally shouted. She had to stay awake. She had to find a way out and find Darcy. Only she couldn't. Her body slumped against the wall as she slipped under a fog of confusion again.

A sudden jerk woke her up once more. She looked around and again saw nothing. She didn't have much time to process where she was at as light poured into the darkness and pain shot through her eyes.

"Good you're up." A rough voice came from somewhere in front of her. "Now I'm going to take off this tape from around your mouth if you promise not to make noise. I can't deal with that silly response right now. Nod your head if you are going to scream"

She automatically nodded her head. She wanted someone to possibly notice her and the monster of a man. However it seemed that this guy was a violent type as she felt a sting in her cheek. Her eyes widened and tears began to flow.

"I'll ask you again, are you going to scream if I take this off you?" his voice sounded even rougher and scarier than the last time. She shook her head. As much as she wanted to scream, her body simply wouldn't allow it; she had no energy, no willpower to refuse.

"Well done" he said, this time patronising and evil. His hand went to rip the tape when he stopped "actually I think I will leave this on since you will probably scream when it tears your skin apart." What surprised her after he had spoken was the sound that came out after those seemingly kind words, was his laugh. It was beautiful but dark. It sent shivers down her spine and she daringly took a glance at her kidnapper.

 **********************************

Take that as a no then! Astrid thought. Her poor angel would be scared and alone. How she wished she could comfort her. At least she could speak aloud although, that would be the only positive thing to come out of this mess. She looked around in the dark room, with the only light visible from a small oil lamp barely lighting anything. In the far corner she could make out a worn out mattress no doubt crawling with bugs and other flesh eating things. Urgh. If it was the only chance she would have at comfort it would have to do. Though the obvious question she wondered was; how the hell would she get over there? Her hands and feet seemed like they were on fire. Rope became the only restriction of moving. After moments of deliberation and numbness, she rolled awkwardly to the other side, noticing that the smell of death was becoming worse with each passing second.

She could feel the rising of bile in her sore throat, and tried to block out the awful stench. Finally, she manoeuvred herself onto the mattress and fatigue began to creep upon her. Hold tight Darcy! was the last thing floating around before she succumbed to the darkness.

It was too quiet in the room, far too quiet for a human to be dead. Though how that was possible Ansgar could not know. He eyes bore into Mörk's searching for the answer, the truth. Was she dead or alive? He actually hoped it was the latter for the sake of both of theirs lives. But he could honestly say that he wanted her to be alive for the sake of his brother. Mörk needed to some to care for him. Someone like he had. His own saviour; his own Bjørg. His life had been a living hell until she entered his life, making the dark light, the bad good and his world worth living. He hoped that Mörk would not complete this mission and run with the female. But no, he had to follow orders and remain heartless. Yet Ansgar knew his brother's heart was there somewhere. He had to have some emotions buried deep somewhere inside himself.

The idiotic master had gone too far this time. Taking an innocent human and bringing her into the world of Chaos and Death. It was tempting to kill the bastard to end this suffering but it was the biggest sin. To kill the creator was to kill you. If everyone wasn't living in a hell already they had to through that in to the fine print. His hand raised slowly as to signal his brother to move out the way.

"I cannot allow you to do that" Mörk argued. His eyebrow lifted in authority. Though he was always silent, no one protested against his actions without reason.

"She… she.. oh goddammit your going to find out anyway." Mörk stammered trying to find the words to describe his failure.

Yet Ansgar knew what he was going to say and silenced him with his eyes. His curse. His blue eyes made anyone fall under his power. He made his way stealthily to the door, with his hand paused on the handle. "I know she is alive. He stated to have her killed and I know why you didn't. But you must face the consequences of your actions I'm afraid brother. I wish I could save you this time but it is merely impossible"

Mörk glanced towards his only partner with a stunned look on his face. He had spoken for the first time in many months. Yet he did not know what he meant. Consequences? He knew why he didn't kill her? What was he talking about? He wished he could open his mouth to speak but Ansgar's power forbid him of such action. The power of silence was much greater than his. He could kill, he could weave atoms out of thin air into armour or other needed material but he could not make himself speak. Stunned into silence, he watched as Ansgar entered the room and beckoned him to follow. He wished he knew what was going to happen to the female now that she had been found alive. A heavy feeling fell upon his heart.

Upon his entrance to the dark cell-like room, he looked as to where he left her and found she had gone. His was momentarily puzzled until the slight sound of breathing was heard in the far corner. The cast of the light gave of the appearance of an halo around the female's head making her seem more angel-like than she already looked. How he wanted to know what this feeling was and why it was happening.

Ansgar gave a knowing look towards the female and Mörk and desired to save both of their lives, still nothing could be done. His feet headed towards the sleeping female and noticed the ropes burning through her flesh. Giving his brother a pointing look, he ordered him to remove them. Poor girl he thought. What a world to be brought into. He knew why she was here but was it necessary to bring her not some other human baring the mark. He knew it was callas of him to think that but this female had a life ahead of her. It would have been easier to capture one that was alone and living in poor conditions, one that probably didn't have family out looking for her.

Other the breaths coming from her tiny mouth where heard that was until the ropes set her free. It seemed Mörk had noticed the delicate moan escaping from her lips as he started to shift nervously, his feet twitching from where he was stood. A smirk appeared upon his face as he took in his brother's uneasiness. It was times like this that he missed the old times when they would laugh at each other's discomfort. Ridding himself of the past, he began to look at the problem just under his nose.

Mörk grumbled under his breath. He was unsure why her sigh of relief began to excite him, a feeling he hadn't felt forever. This female was beginning to get on his nerves. Was she sent to torment him? Make him feel things he shouldn't, such feelings that were forbidden and cursed upon. Yet the sight of her made him feel at peace with himself. Oh how he wished for them to be normal beings then maybe he would feel right about his emotions instead of feeling guilt. Her body began to curl into a protective ball yet her arms were searching for something or someone. Someone. Shit. Ansgar looked at him expectedly and felt himself removed from his power. He knew he had some explaining to do. But what to say exactly? Oh yeah, it turns out that not only was there one mark in there but two.

"Please tell me you did not say that" Ansgar said with an almost begging tone to it. It was clear he had better start telling everything that happened straight from the beginning. And so he did.

Ansgar's face begun to contort in pain throughout his recall and it was a sign that things were just about to get worse. Though how much worse was to remain unsaid.

 **********************************

(N.B. this part of the story happens a few years later after the kidnapping...I've lost the part of the story and will have to rewrite it again)

 **********************************

She had spotted him from across the bar. His eyes had distracted her; something that had made her freeze. The icy blue bore into hers. She silently questioned what colour her eyes were. Would they be hazel with curiosity or green with lust? Whatever the colour, she knew it wouldn't end well for one of them - one of them would be dead. Which outcome would be the worst was something she wasn't sure off.
             Humans tended to live a short insignificant life, barley accomplishing anything but a ceiling of debt as she had found out over the years.  Yet there was something about this human that questioned both her destiny and his. He seemed almost otherworldly and was definitely going to be the end of her. He was almost familiar. It was almost a silly thought; just because his eyes had this strange power over her, it did not mean that she had to do something about it. Despite her efforts to tear her eyes away from his, there was a strange pull in her body, almost like it wanted something. She had an unexplained urge to move from the quiet corner she was residing in. Her mind was a battlefield to understand what was happening to her, until she eventually gave in. Why not give her body what it wanted, what harm could possibly occur from saying hello. But she didn't want to say hello, she wanted him - Mr. blue eyes. She wanted him now. The craving for him was growing stronger with each second that passed. She wanted to wrap her fingers around that neck of his - make him feel pain. Yet the other side of her wanted to be underneath him.
            Conflicted, she gazed back to his eyes. This could go terribly wrong, but she didn't care. She walked over with a purpose and without letting him open his mouth, she introduced herself as Astrid and grasped his hand. Taking a chance, she held her gaze to this human and the look he gave was surprising. His eyes were glowing with a possessive need. She had seen the look in men's eyes when they stared at something that they wanted to claim as their own. Almost primal. Could she take the risk with him? Have one night of pure lust and leave him in the morning alive.

              It appeared he had decided this staring contest was going on for too long, as the grip on their joined hands had tightened, and she was to follow his lead. Together they moved as one, heading from the bar to the private room at the back. She was now the submissive, forced to follow him into the dark room. Suddenly he halted  and grabbed her face. The nature of the action caused Astrid to momentarily panic. Was he changing his mind? Did he not want this any more? But before she could let the words leave her mouth, she heard a deep voice in her ear.
"My name is Mörk" he said, almost growling at her.

He thought she was an angel; her smile light up the bar and her eyes were brighter than any star he had seen in the night sky. She was dressed in a tight white dress that allowed her womanly curves to be shown in all the right places. His pants strained as he imagined touching her skin, feeling her underneath him. Her body was made for him only. If only she would recognise him. Mörk found his hands moving across her bare shoulders. He wanted to tease her skin, make her beg for more. He needed to hear her moans of pleasure. He would take her and seduce her body all night. He couldn't understand why he was behaving this way. He was sent to kill this woman for definite this time yet something strange stirred up inside of him every time he was near her. He wanted to devour her body, he wanted to feel her soul. He wanted to rip of her clothes.

Astrid felt the atmosphere change.Amidst the lust cloud was under she remembered what he had said. Mörk. The creature that haunted her nightmares and teased her dreams. Mörk face now had the look of a wild animal that chasing its' prey. She was about to be hunted and it didn't scare her. She was excited, aroused. She wanted to be caught in his trap even if he was to take her last breath.