The Two

Author's Note: The usage of stereotypes helps a writer convey messages easier than without. This, however does not mean that the author subscribes to the stereotypes used.


There were two babies in a bottle.

The first was white. It looked like the baby that one would find in a photograph of a baby. Fair, with a small tuft of curly brown hair, chubby, Cute. But it was the expression on the baby's face that really drew your eye. It looked so angelic. It had a simple , happy smile on its face- like all the world was its own personal playground. You could almost imagine this baby growing up into the man - a big , courteous, successful man. The perfect man; or the idea of a perfect man.

The second was black. Not the blackness of mere colour but the blackness that you would associate with the purest of...evil. Blood-shot red and slitted eyes stared balefully out of a face that lacked all expression. When the baby smiled, pieces of food hung from its pointy bloodied little fangs.

Stillness.

The bottle contracted; once.

The white child opened its mouth, devoid of all teeth (Bless the little babe) and blew a bubble. Inside the bubble was joy, peace, hope, charity, chivalry, love...all expressed with the simple clarity of a child.
Goo, said the white child.

The black one opened its eyes. It raised its hand and ran its sharp, curved, black nails down the side of the bottle. Imagine the sound of nails on a blackboard; coming from inside of you.
Hate, the sound seemed to say, Murder, jealousy, prejudice, pleasure, lust....rape.

Mercifully, the sound stopped.

There was stillness again.

The bottle contracted.

There are rwo babies in a bottle.

....

There is one baby in a bottle.

....

We all have them - a good side and a bad side.

Prince Charming and the Beast; only, which is which, really?


"Sometimes, we fight; sometimes we win; but most of the time- we survive,
barely"

Bow Bow

The Den was a quiet little pub off Treacle Mine Road. Its visitors were respectable middle class,middle-aged men stopped by to have a drink on their way elsewhere;
for the most part.

The pub itself was tidy, neat, orderly. Soft yellow light illuminated comfortable cushioned chairs arranged loosely at small tables across the room.
Everyone knew the barman. And more importantly the barman knew everyone. He was probably called Tom.
Bradley H. Higgins was a regular to The Den. Now, there was a man who had been born to drink quietly at a pub like that. He came in at two everyday, on his break from work; drank his drink, and left, He spoke, albeit courteously, to very few people. He paid his tab regularly.
In appearance, he was unremarkable. Short, slightly built, he had thick, black hair which was engaged in a rapid recession from his broad forehead.His form, imdeed his very being, seemed to exude the words, "Mild mannered".
This story is about what happened at The Den one evening; involving the afore described Mr. Higgins.
It was two on a friday in December,and Mr. Higgins had just entered the pub. He made his was up to the barman and ordered his drink. He sat himself neatly and quietly down on his stool.
His drink was ready in minutes; Tom knew his job and his customers.

"You Bastard!".

At first, the only reaction to the sound was of quite puzzlement. It sounded alien and foreign. Surely such and animal scream could not have emanated from any of the pub's quiet drinkers.
As one, they all turned to look at the doorway, in which stood framed....a thing. He looked like a man, certainly the basic elements were there- face,body,legs; but there was something...animal about him. His hair was wild and matted, his face was dark and scarred. He was frothing at the mouth. His convict's attire hung off him in shreds.

"You Bastard!".
And as he screamed it the second time, he raised his hand and pointed- pointed directly..... at Mr. Higgins.


"You lying, cheating, manipulating WEASEL!".

There were sounds of alarm as the man advanced into thepub. Tom reached under the table for his club. No one did anything, mind you. They were all staring, transfixed.

"You ruined it all, you TURD! We were like BROTHERS! I looked up to you, I envied you , I TRUSTED you!". He spat on the floor and drew a breath; his face, hitherto contorted in a mask of fury , took on a rather strange quality. Was it my imagination, or was there something very...human...and wounded in that visage?
"I was HAPPY, you sonofabitch. I was with her and I was HAPPY! But you....YOU FUCKED it all up. You with your WORDS and your PRETENDING and you PROMISES and your DREAMS!"

He seemed to be working himself up to something. Tom pulled out his club, several of the guests rose. Mr. Higgins had still not moved a muscle.

"This is so FUCKING funny!", the madman laughed, deranged. "You're the Bastard and yet these people think I'm crazy!HA HA! They think that I'm evil! Look at you! Sitting there....sitting there where I should be Sitting! Drinking your little drink...Ha ha....SIPPING your little drink; and no one...NO ONE really knows....ha ha..NO ONE really knows what a sick, twisted little..HA HA..ha ha...ha."The laughter died with alarming suddenness.

His eyes narrowed. "Why don't you SAY something? Why in the name of all that is holy are you SMILING you demented freak?!"

Mr. Higgins is smiling.

"You-! You BLOODY-! You...!"

Mr. Higgins finishes his drink.

"Now, LOOK here, you-!"

Mr. Higgins gets up.

"But..! But I-!"

Mr. Higgins walks over to the madman and stops.

The world stands still.

"Bow Bow", says Mr. Higgins.

And out he walks.



The End.





What else can you say to a dog? 'xcept "Bow Bow" and hope it pisses off onto some other unlucky sod the next time.

A Spiderman

By day, I am surrounded,
By night, alone.
"Dusty trophies, empty hallways."
Talking to myself,
On the phone.

"Who am I ?
I am a Spiderman."

Alone in a crowd,
A twisted, seething mass,
"Mr. De ville, Remember me?"
Is this but,
A well played out
Farce?

Floundering,wary,
out of place;
"Ha Ha."
Should I laugh or should I cry?
Should I run or stand and face?


LIstless, fascinating,
bored to death;
"La Di Da, La di darling."
Music, my love,
A stranger well meth.


Waiting for
the door to open,
"Alcohol, Alcohol, alcohol."
Cocaine, best friend-
a mind broken.


Hail! the new day,
She dawns.
"F%^k this, hangover."
Just like the last one,
She fawns.



Yeah, yeah;
coming.

Unconditional

Author's Note: I believe in God, despite it all; such is faith.





I, ___ take you, ___ for my wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death do us part.


The question is-
If I go crazy then would you still call me Superman?
Kryptonite.


I'd like to take a look at this abstract called "Unconditional Love".
Who among you will step forward to love this man unconditionally?

What if ...he becomes poor?
What if he loses his mind?
What if he becomes ill?
What if he is maimed in an accident?
What if he lies?
What if he commits murder?
What if he commits....adultery?


I can't see in one eye.. What if, someday, I lose vision in both?
"Even if you were blind, it would not matter, I will still hold your hand and walk you home"-My Art of living.

Should you find someone better, don't stop to think. Leave me and begone with you. I shall not hate you. I shall live in acceptance- in the line "As long as she is happy..."



Show me the person who shalt profess unconditional love and I will show you their Condition.



Is a mother's love unconditional? I have no answer to this one. In all honesty, probably it isn't.
There are certain things that I cannot allow myself to believe.

Note that I have always been far more interested in the angels on Earth than in Heaven.


There was a son who went home from school one day. Mum, he said, I'm sorry.I seem to have failed in my Maths exam.

There was a flicker in the mother's eyes.

That's alright Son.I'm sure you'll do it the next time, she said.

And she hugged him.

All was well.

However there is a part of me that stops at that point....the flicker.

Was that merely being human?

So, humans cannot love unconditionally, yes?


And so they brought about the concept of a higher being who could love unconditionally.

Why?

Because it felt better.

Is God's love unconditional, Father Jacob? Tell me then, why do we have confessions? Why is there Sin/Hamartia? Why is there a Hell?

So that you can be put through the whole rigmarole and at the end of it all He woll still love you?

Everyone deserves to have someone. For those that don't- there is God.

The floor is now open.

Nora

Never have her:


This one's for Nora

Kayla Silverfox: Do you know why the moon is so lonely, Logan?
Logan: Why?
Kayla Silverfox: Because she used to have a lover.
Logan: You tell this to the kids?
Kayla Silverfox: No.
[Logan laughs]
Kayla Silverfox: His name was Kuekuatsu and they lived in the spirit world together.
Logan: Oh, this is a true story.
Kayla Silverfox: Mmm. And every night, they would wander the skies together. But, one of the other spirits was jealous. The Trickster wanted the Moon for himself. So he told Kuekuatsu that the Moon had asked for flowers; he told him to come to our world and pick her some wild roses. But Kuekuatsu didn't know that once you leave the spirit world, you can never go back. And every night, he looks up in the sky and sees the Moon and howls her name. But...

he can never touch her again.

.....
Never have her: Part- 2:

Curse of the Wicked Witch:

I loathe Fate. I loathe her with all my heart, and with all my soul and with all my mind. Centuries have I stood here; the years have not been kind- what was once the handsome form of a Lord of men is now the wasted form of an old fool. Centuries, I said.
Death, that sly Bastard, has tried to creep up on me several times.

He has tried; and he has tired.

I am...immortal; an immortal in pain.


I am the Man Who Loved Her.

There she stands-Niyati.

She is just a hands breath away.

But if I stretch out my hand, and cross the line of Fate, she will die.

Shatter,

Disappear,

Begone forever.

Pity me, mortal.

.....


Blood on my hands:

What do I care if a thousand nameless people die in some corner of the world, as long as in the here and now, you are safe?



Heck, I may even have killed them myself;

so thay can't harm you.

.....

If I could:



God, no.

NO.

She's dying God, look at her she's dying.


LOOK AT HER.

An almost feral scream.

Do you know what it is like to be young and in love?

Do you, old man?

DO YOU?

The feral scream again.


My wife has cancer.


(Aside)

And how I wish I could reach in and pull it out.

(To Cancer)

Leave her.

Please.

I beg you. I'll do anything. I'll give you whatever you want, (Breakdown), ANYONE you want.

Take me, Take me instead. (Sob)

TAKE ME.



Ward number 353 at St. Ursulas was cold, so cold.

At midnight on the 27th of May 1969 there were only two people in the ward- Jonathan and Sarah. One was dying on the outside, the other....on the inside. She had cancer.

On the morning of 28th May,1969, the ward was still, so still There were only two in the ward- one was breathing softly and the other was breathing...not at all.

He was dead.


........
Nora:

Cryogenecist Dr. Victor Fries saved his dying wife, Nora by freezing her in a cryogenic chamber, till facilities to perform an organ transplant became available. The chance never came. The corporation pulled the funding on his project...


His face pressed against the glass.

On the other side, his wife lay suspended, an ethereal white mist surrounded her.

She looked peaceful,beautiful; like an angel in heaven.

He raised his hand, made as if to reach through the glass.

His mouth formed the word,

Nora.

When he stepped back, his skin tore.

......

Logan: Wow. Koo-koo-ka-choo got screwed.