The Evacuation Part 4

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For audio click here. 
for part one click here and part two here and part three here

Warning: this does contain scenes of a mildly disturbing nature. 

“Hey lady,” Iveta turned around and saw that bastard police officer coming down the steps. She didn’t like the look on his face. She carried on walking. She’d managed to just about hold it together while she watched David get on the train, but she knew if she talked to that toe rag, she’d lose it completely, and that meant either violence, or hysterics, or both. 
“Lady,” he put a hand on her shoulder. Iveta stopped dead in her tracks. “You want to get on that train, maybe I can help you.” 
“I don’t want your help.” That was a lie, but she didn’t want him to know that she’d do almost anything to be with her husband and child now.
“You know the Russians are on the border. This time tomorrow there will be no way out. We’ve had our orders - close all crossings at midnight tonight.” 
“I don’t believe you,” Iveta said. 
“You’re willing to take that risk?” he turned her round to look at him, squeezing her arms. 
“Leave me alone,” she said, trying to shrug off his grasp. 
“I can get you on that train. But you need to…” he let go and stood back, loosening his trousers. “Suck it,” he said. 
Iveta shook her head, not daring to look down. 
“You married a foreigner, who left the country with your baby. The Russians are going to be all over you like a onesie. A onesie made of barbed wire. They won’t give you a minute’s peace. I’m giving you a chance to leave, to get out.”  
“I’m not putting that in my mouth,” she said. 
“Touch it then!” 
Iveta felt sick. 
She loved David with all her heart, she thought of him and Lucie on that train.  How she’d love to be with them. But could she really touch this low life? Jerk him off, give him satisfaction? She swallowed.  She thought of the times she’d had sex with David just cos he wanted it. She’d done it for him then, surely she could close her eyes and think of the Tatras. She breathed in all the air her lungs could capture.
She slowly reached out her hand. No, she couldn’t. She pulled it back but He grabbed it, put it on him. She breathed out all the oxygen in her lungs. She felt the clammy skin and nearly retched. He moved her hand for her. What was wrong with this guy? He was doing the work, why did he need her? 
She willed him to finished quickly, but he was a stayer. He groaned and moaned like a dubbed German porno until eventually she felt him tense and heard him whimper. She felt the sticky liquid on her hand. 
“Quick,” he said, putting himself away. He grabbed her dry hand and led her up the steps onto the platform. The train slowly was pulling out. He grabbed a door and threw her onto the train, she had better post-coital experiences.  
Iveta stood panting squeezed in amongst the others who had just made it.
“We’ll come back soon,” a woman patted her on the shoulder, completely misreading the tears. 
“I need to get to the toilet,” Iveta said, trying to control her breathing. No one moved. “I’m fucking pregnant, I need the fucking toilet,” she yelled. Christ, she’d just pleasured a sleazy policeman she had no qualms about telling a little white lie. This time people opened up.
She washed her hands once, twice, three times. She then washed them again and wrung them dry; would she ever get them clean? She noticed the stain on her jeans and got a paper towel and scrubbed and scrubbed until the jeans were so wet she couldn’t tell if the spot was still there. 
David had told her that this was a beautiful journey, and she was on the same train as her husband and child. She should have been happy. But she sat on that train toilet ignoring the scenery and letting tears drip to the floor.

for part five click here

The Morning After

For audio click here 
This story carries a green warning, don't read and eat.

Rhys groaned. He desperately needed the loo, but he knew any movement might kill him. He groaned again. It was no use; he’d have to move. He hauled himself up, his head flopping around like someone had wrung his neck. He stood still for a moment deciding whether or not he was going to vomit and a wrecking ball came crashing through his skull.

One step,

two steps,

reassess, he felt he could make it. Three steps, four steps, his stomach flipped. Deep breath, deep breath. The demolition ball was swinging around again. He managed to get to the loo just in time to get his head down the pan and throw up what looked like the remains of a hastily eaten pizza while simultaneously wetting himself.

Wetting yourself in your normal clothes is one thing, but wetting yourself when you are dressed as a giant bottle of beer is another. Rhys heaved up the last of the pizza and beer and flushed the toilet. He then tried to pull the foam costume over his head, smearing his own wee all over his skin.

Pizza? he thought to himself as he stood under the shower. He couldn’t remember eating pizza. The thought of it made his woozy all over again. He fixed his stare at the shower curtain and told himself he wasn’t going to be sick. Then, he bent double and heaved into the bath tub. How much fucking pizza?

When he stood up he realised the water was hurting his hands. Why? He looked at the skin on his fingers and saw red blotches - blisters. What on earth?

Looking at his memories of last night was like peering through a dirty, shattered window. He could make out bits and pieces. He’d been playing drinking games at Mike and Suzanna’s with Batman, and then tried to get off with Harry Potter, until her pirate boyfriend had come over and marked his territory. He vaguely remembered dancing in the club with Lucy but she wasn’t in costume, and he had no memory of getting from Mike’s to the club or getting home.

Despite being clean and dry, cleaning up the mess in the toilet, and putting the costume in the washing machine, he could still smell pizza and the wrecking ball was still doing its thing.

He sat on the sofa, pecking at his tea; maybe Facebook would shed some light on how the evening went. His phone was nearly out of battery, but he didn’t want to move to find the charger. He scrolled down Facebook, one hundred generic happy new year messages and then he saw his face. It was not exactly how he expected to see it. It was a not taken on a mate’s camera phone, or by the club’s photographer but by a security camera. It wasn’t on Mike’s timeline or Suzanne’s but on a link shared by the local newspaper. No one said great night last night Rhys, the headline read.

‘Man dressed as beer bottle wanted for alleged Pizza theft.’

Before Rhys could read the rest of the story, his phone died.

In case you are wondering, that was a real Headline from the barry and District News Website.

The Evacuation Part 3

For audio click here 
for part one click here and part two here.

David peeled himself away from Iveta and walked the five paces to the train door. It was a walk to freedom, but he felt like he was walking to the guillotine. Don’t look back, he told himself, maybe she’s behind you, maybe she’s coming with you after all. He hulked the big suitcase onto the train and then carefully placed the holdall with Lucie next to it. The first-class carriage was empty. He chose a seat in a compartment and looked out of the window. There was no sign of his beautiful wife. She’d gone; vanished into the bowels of Hades forever. He placed the large suitcase on the luggage rack above his head, balanced Lucie’s holdall on his lap and closed his eyes. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be; till death do us part, not till a Russian invasion do us part. He sniffed heavily and searched his pockets for a tissue; wiping his eyes and then his nose.

The carriage didn’t stay empty for long. The compartment soon filled up with kids and parents and bags and tears. David kept looking at the door, hoping against hope that somehow Iveta had found her way on to the train, but each person who walked down the corridor was too tall, too fat, too male, too short to be his wife. One woman looked vaguely like Iveta and David’s heart nearly leapt from his chest, but it soon settled back in disappointment.

The train jumped into motion and slowly pulled out of the station. That was it, no turning back now. He watched Prague, and Iveta, slide into the distance. This was one of David’s favourite journeys; the reflections of the countryside in the river were usually breathtaking. But today the river was like ink, blotting out all reflections. Lucie murmured and muttered in her sleep. She’d be waking up soon. David wasn’t sure he could cope without Iveta. His phone’s screen told him there was no reception, so he could even hear her voice ask her for advice.

He wondered how she felt, where she was. She was quick to say he should go, too quick? Maybe his escape was the escape she’d been hoping for. Maybe she had another man tucked away in Prague that she could flee too. What was he thinking? She was right, it was more sensible for her to stay. She was always the wise one, that’s why he loved her.  Lucie gurgled and gooed. He picked her out of the bag. She beamed a sleepy smile at him. David smiled back.

“Let’s get you fed, young lady,” he said through the tears. This wasn’t going to be easy.]

For part four click here  and for part five click here

No such thing as a free lunch

For audio click here 
“Do you know,” Derek said, hunched over his lasagne, “I've not paid for my lunch since they brought in the self-service tills.”
“That was two years ago,” angry Bob Edwards said.
“Keep your voice down,” Derek put a finger to his lips. 
“How the fuck have you got away with that?” 
“Well, have you ever noticed that I always talk to you when you check out?” 
Angry Bob shrugged. 
“One day I was chatting to Maddy while she was paying, and forgot to bleep my card. No one noticed, no one cared. So, the next day, I chatted to you, but this time I forgot on purpose; again no one said anything. From that day on I always chat to someone at the check-out and well, Bob’s your workmate.” Derek smiled his gappy grin. “But listen, I retire tomorrow, so this is my parting gift to you.” 
“Thank you,” he said and reached over to give Derek a bear hug, his tie going into Derek’s pasta. “Thank you,” he said again. “thank you, thank you,” He wiped his eye, was he wiping away a tear? In 12 years, Derek had never seen such emotion. 


Angry Bob Edwards was gradually getting used to life without Derek. It'd been two weeks now since the old bugger had retired, and today was the day that Bob would try the lunch trick. 
“Lasagne please Katrin,” he said. Katrin nodded and gave him a big dollop. 
“Chips love?” 
Angry Bob nodded. 
Katrin pulled his plate high. Bob liked being served by Katrin; she was as generous as she was gorgeous. He gave her his best non-frown and went across to the self-service queue where Alison was paying.
“Nice Day,” he said. 
“Fuck Bob! You scared me.” 
“Sorry, I just thought I’d say hello. Can I join you?”
“Sure, missing Derek are you?” 
With that, they wandered away from the tills and sat down. It had bloody worked. No one gave him a second glance.  
He didn't do it every day; he wasn't as brave as Derek. But once or twice a week, three times in the week before pay day, he slipped through without paying and no one ever said anything. He wanted to tell the world, shout it from the rooftops. He’d beaten the system.

“I know what you’ve been doing?” Angry Bob continued to open his car door, hoping that the person wasn’t talking to him. 
“I said, I know what you've been doing”. Bob turned around and saw Katrin standing by his boot. She took a step towards him.
“What are you talking about?”
“I know you don't pay for your lunches.” 
They stood staring at each other. A car engine started up on the other side of the car park, a seagull squawked overhead. Bob didn’t know what to do or say. He was caught bang to rights. He dropped his head. The bubble had burst. Katrin was getting closer and closer. 
“Please don’t tell anyone,” he said, avoiding eye-contact with his accuser. 
Katrin went on tip-toe. Angry Bob thought she was going to whisper something sinister into his ear, but instead, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Don't worry,” she said, your secret’s safe with me.” She beamed at him. “Now how about you give me a lift home.” Angry Bob touched his face and did something he hadn't done in twelve years, smiled.

Poetry Friday 29 A Poetry Friday Special

When Poetry Friday Met the Topical Poet

For Audio Click here.

It’s been quite a serious week on the blog, so I thought I’d lighten things up for poetry Friday by going into my Topical Poet mode. Two Rhyming Poems for you today, that I hope will put a smile on your face. I would suggest you listen to them.

(Note: I am not totally happy with these two poems so please read them as first drafts and if you want to comment, please do.)

The British Prime Minister gave her big Brexit speech this week. Take a look at her outfit.

 

Bay City Roller’s Fan

They say we shouldn’t talk about

what Teresa likes to wear

and that we shouldn’t comment

on how she does her hair.

Just cos she is a woman

doesn’t give us the right.

to question her leather trousers

or say her dresses are too tight.

After all, we didn’t notice

how David’s suit was cut,

or if Tony dressed to right

and was his zipper shut.

No one ever mentioned

Gordon’s choice of ties.

and no one asks if Nige

has eaten all the pies.

Tony had his faults but he

never wore hipster flares

and David didn’t go to work

in what his daughter wears.

Gordon didn’t rock it out

in David Bowie Tees.

And Nigel never wore his jeans

with holes ripped in the knees.

So, I think that we might’ve commented,

even if it was a man

who gave their most important speech

dressed as a bay city rollers fan.

Three Little Words

The three little words,

that no man likes to hear.

We’ll know that we’re in trouble,

with the one we holds most dear.

Always uttered with anger,

they make us want to die.

we know we’re sleeping on the couch

but we really don’t know why.

They don’t bring love and happiness

they’re not put in a song.

The words that every man dreads

she said, there’s nothing wrong.

Thanks for listening / reading. See you next week.