Shorts by John Pallister (spicy books to read txt) 📕

THE DUTY TO DIE

Suicide was an act of cowardice damned to hell; being a martyr was an act of bravery and treasured by the gods. There was a fine balance between the two and Kate was in a state of complex thinking. She needed to make an impact, a way in which the later was obvious and her life would mean more after her death.
She stood on the edge of the building her feet delicately poised; almost beautiful, balanced between safety and a sheer empty dark void.
Tiny figures could be seen pointing up, faces too small to show emotions. Her head was clear, but still she was struggling to overcome nature's inner force of survival. She didn't want to die, but it was her duty to do so.
The camera crew stood near, filming but not participating to avoid any rash decision or a sudden jump. She wouldn't jump; not yet anyway, there was still time to get her point across.
Samuel had now appeared, his calm movement delicately gliding like an angel; a fallen one in the eyes of Kate. She would jump no matter what, but the moment needed to be precise.
Samuel a trained negotiator called out.
"Kate, you don't need to do this."
"What do you care; millions of people are going to die, we must stop the war."
Samuel turned to the camera crew telling them to zoom in on her and him talking.
"That's the point of free speech and opinions. Most people would agree, but one person alone can't change it."
"It's not about me." She screamed.
"And you think propaganda wouldn't twist the truth, you'll be remembered as a tragic mistake, an act of desperation; a front page wonder."
Kate looked down clutching her cross and putting one foot forward.
"Self-sacrifice, they can't brush this under the carpet."
"You can achieve much more alive, influence more, we can help. Give me your hand and come down."
"Never!" Edging closer.
"You won't jump I know it, trust me, I am not your enemy. This is pointless."
Samuel's eyes touched Kate's through a poignant stare of empathy. It was getting through and she sensed a real feeling of trust of understanding and human emotional love.
Kate grabbed Samuel's hand and immediately put her arms round him.
"Grab her!"
Unexpectedly two armed officers grabbed Kate.
"You bastard." She screamed kicking as she once again locked eyes with Samuel.
"I'm sorry I betrayed you." Tears forming and dripping down his cheek.
“It was not your duty to die."
Samuel turned to the camera crew who were already warming down and finishing the broadcast.
"Film; make sure you get this."
Confused and reluctant the crew agreed.
Samuel turned to Kate and smiled.
"This will make a more dramatic impact." He said calmly.
In slow motion it was ironically beautiful and symbolic, his bones breaking as he hit the concrete.

THE END


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HAMMER HORROR

Hammer chosen for its grip as his firm hands grip tight onto the darkened edge, nails organised like artillery ready to make that final stand. Each nail fits in a group and a sub group. He could imagine every nail having a unique personality.
Picking up a nail by the top; aggressively squeezing the head like feature. 7 in total. The wall white now knowing that once in the nail would be stuck, unable to get out of the tomb he would be creating for them. He laughed hideously remembering his hands doing the dirty work before on several separate occasions. Those faces; the look of horror. He didn't care though once the hammer had hit the nail their life would be buried forever deep embedded into it, never again to cluster up his toolbox. As he picked up the seventh nail he shouted.
"This one’s for you. You weren't even a decent screw and smashed it into the wall splitting its head as it smashed into its grave.

THE END


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Desperate measures

Chapter 1

Today of all days she had to drop that bombshell on him. She was leaving; leaving where? He didn’t care; he was more concerned about the timing, the anniversary of their recent deceased daughter who suffered an awful life; just six weeks old. He had remembered every torturous minute bit by bit like a dairy. Got dressed, seen to baby, baby screaming, Prayed, no hope, confused.
Michael was quite handsome not over the top confident but very loyal and he had stuck by Lisa through a terrible time, this is how she repaid him. They were meant to be together forever that was the deal. Some deal. He slouched into the chair turning up the radio to full blast moaning again and again. He felt the sudden urge for a cigarette but he hadn’t smoked since he’d been with her. Not even mentioning her name anymore. The women would be back soon, but only for a few hours to collect her stuff then she’d be out the door. Which door, back or front? He compared it to the PM, would she go out to publicity mainly the neighbours or would she sneak out the back avoiding the metaphoric press. The first being more likely, where everybody could fuss over her and not give a damn about him. After all he didn’t carry the baby, all he did was stick it in and pull it out. He laughed hideously and uncontrollably to himself. If he had two wishes he’d wish for their baby to be alive. The second wish was to have sole custody. She was a cold and bitter woman.


She knew it was bad timing but it had to be done. He had brought it on himself, the stupid idiot. It was probably bad sperm, not her egg. Given up smoking, yeah cigarettes, who knows what else he’s been smoking. It wasn’t our baby, it was mine. She could tell he didn’t care. She had gone beyond caring about his feelings. He was mundane, boring and typical and he didn’t… Well you know, wasn’t very stimulating, although they hadn’t even made any physical contact for the whole year. She felt aroused, maybe she could play on his emotions and get one go on him before she declared herself single again. He was boring un-stimulated and a complete loser but there was a connection once and although every time she wished it would end. She had known no better being brought up the way she was.
Lisa was attractive woman, long brown hair and the bubbly personality but it was all a mask. She had to cover up the fact that… Well… She didn’t even think about it anymore, forgotten, thrown the ideas away. No creative outlook. It was best to be simple. No discussions, her way was the way, her reasons might be flawed but this time she was leaving him for good. No regrets, carefully planning her escape route. Through the back or front door? Which would you go out; which would HE expect me to go out, which one does he want me to go out? Oh I don’t know. Petty, pathetic rituals, we are so different, not even on the same wave length.


This was it. The time had come for her to meet him again. Christ it had only been a whole day, How things had changed. Banging on the door she could hear the awful racket that was supposedly music, more like some dick smashing two bin lids together and a singer on about 1000 cigarettes a millisecond. She laughed because if she couldn’t laugh she’d cry. How long had they known each other, she knew how long, but she couldn’t remember when they first fell in love.


Damn noises I’m coming to open the door, did she have to make such a fuss. Wish you were dead, yeah then none of this would have happened. I was the naïve one, not you, to do something we shouldn’t have done. You did all the…I’m not getting into that I want her gone anyway. I‘ve packed her bags already, neatly and organised, might as well make a final effort. Friends, we are more than that already and that will never change. How did this mess happen? Why did it turn out this way?


Will he ever admit that’s he wrong? I was forced into this. He made everything happen. I was confused. I’ll grab my things, oh look he’s made an effort, and it’s nicely laid out. Bet he hid some of my stuff. He’s going to pawn my jewellery. Oh no, it’s all here.


I’ll say goodbye and good luck. She’ll be back, Mum and Dad will be pleased, might even welcome me into the family again. Why did they disapprove? It’s not like we were doing anything wrong, or is it? In whose eyes? Not mine or hers. The only bad thing is that she’s leaving. Well we’ll keep in touch. Yeah of course, she won’t be going far. Far, I hope not, probably to her friends, damn wish it wasn’t like this. I remember declaring my love or was it her who said it first? Can’t remember the past much, keep forgetting, maybe I want to forget.


I’ve left, got my bags, my friend said I could stay at hers, but first I need to do something. I can’t; must do it. I need to be forgiven. He’s the culprit not me, maybe he’ll forgive both of us, but I must do it for the future, must break away. It’s taken it’s time.


How can I offer God’s forgiveness if she won’t tell me what’s she’s done. God has no secrets she must know that. I’m sitting here telling people that God will forgive, but people use me as agony aunt, well uncle, you get the picture. Oh she’s opening her mouth
This will be interesting.

Father I have sinned, well shall I say that or we have sinned, will God forgive us both or shall I just save my soul. That’s it here goes. I’ll tell him everything; well not the boring bit, gosh it’s like a bad scripted movie.

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Oh that’s different, I know that’s wrong but is it a sin or a folly? I don’t know what to suggest to her, it’s defiantly different she must be very confused and not quite in the right frame of mind.

TO BE CONTINUED ….


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TURMOIL AHEAD

It was his strong desire that had drawn him to the orchard. The breeze, mellow and the little rain drops that slowly trickled down his coat were gently reminding of the smooth journey of life. A conflict now arose and this tranquil retreat was an ideal opportunity to gather his thoughts and his strength.
He moved forward pulled out a small blanket and a few jam jars and a half stale loaf of bread. He spread the jam evenly and stared up the dusk sky.
The image of yesterday's encounter had now filled his head with a blurry and nightmarish vision. Moments had seen like an eternity and he had begun to question his sanity of what had happen. A series of unfortunate and tragic events had robbed him of any empathy. Now free-falling into torment despair and guilt he checked his hands and moved towards a small little dirty pond where he rigorously rubbed the guilt red stains off his hands before curling up on the blanket and finished off the jam