http://www.writingforums.org/blog.php A writing forum dedicated to creative writing, where writers can use writing workshops, share techniques, and discuss every aspect of writing, publishing, and the writing industry. Members can enter writing contests, post short stories, and partcipate in the #1 writing community on the internet. en Thu, 17 May 2012 05:40:20 GMT vBulletin 60 http://www.writingforums.org/images/misc/rss.jpg http://www.writingforums.org/blog.php http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63136 Wed, 16 May 2012 21:07:07 GMT He ambled and limped through the narrow passage leading to the long stretch of white beach and disturbed sea. It was dusk and the light quickly faded, and the sand felt cool and soft beneath his feet. The tall grass waved in the hills of sand as he... He ambled and limped through the narrow passage leading to the long stretch of white beach and disturbed sea. It was dusk and the light quickly faded, and the sand felt cool and soft beneath his feet. The tall grass waved in the hills of sand as he limped past. His right foot slid down the sides of the small white bumps as he tried to balance without aggravating the injury in his left foot. He was Henri Le Rennet, a French expatriate of 6 feet with a handsome, defined jawline, hawk-like eyes, and a hard, stern face that winced at every step. He walked with a rough hand in his pocket and broad shoulders slightly shrugged. The wind picked up slightly as his distraught body wandered aimlessly to the water.

Across four Aprils the violent rebellion dispelled his primitive nature. An incessant commotion occupied his mind. Distant gunshots and faint cries of dying men echoed in his head like the curious noises that frighten children in the night. As he reached the water he looked up from his wet, sand-covered bottoms and felt the cool ocean breeze brush his long, disheveled black hair across his right cheek. The water greeted him as the moist air kissed his neck like a lover welcoming him home from the long war.

As his narrow olive green eyes adjusted to the vast sea that lay flat in front of him, a blanket of waving shadows welcomed him. Man often takes solace in the comfort of the ocean. The ocean greeted him; the calmness slowly melted away his frozen vitality, setting free his visceral being that wandered in hopeless abeyance. ]]> Henri Le Rennet http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63136 http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63133 Tue, 15 May 2012 01:05:36 GMT I've never had a blog, nor have I ever cared to. I've probably been afraid of what may become an addiction, should I indulge in "blogging". I am posting this as a curious experiment; like not wanting to swim, but checking the temperature of the water anyway.

I will write here very freely, as I would speak, trying to abstain from the severe editor inside me. I don't mean that I'll be divulging top-secret information about my life, but I will try to maintain a dialogue that flows conversationally.

I am a shiny, brand-new member of the forums, and of writing. I am focusing on short story writing until novel ideas begin to bubble to the surface of my mind. I am reading short stories every chance I get, from many genres and many authors. Also, I've started critiquing the short stories of other members, which I’ll try to do at least a couple a day.

I think I’ll also participate in the short story and poetry competition each week. ]]> Pens http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63133 http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63132 Sun, 13 May 2012 17:05:50 GMT The classroom had always been so noisy in the past. Now it was barren of any signs of life. If it weren't for the memories he still had of the place, it would have been easy for him to think that this place had never seen the light of day. William had always hated the sight of the classroom, just like every other child he had ever met. Forcing a group of a dozen or more ten year olds into a confined space for over two and a half hours, with an adult standing in front of them droning on endlessly about things that seemed utterly useless.
Math, English, Science, History- William had failed them all. And upon even further reflection, he realized that he had failed at even more than that.
School was, if nothing else, supposed to be the social grounds on which friendships were forged and people were beaten up for their lunch money. But for William, it had provided nothing of the sort. People had always seemed naturally weary of him, and the creepy aura he resinated did little to help his case. Even the other so called 'social outcasts' had long since washed their hands of him, because he had refused to participate in any of their 'group activities', which seemed to consist of complaining, and pretending to smoke.
Years passed by pretty quickly, and soon memories of the classroom had began to fade to the point that they became romanticised. He would find himself secretly yearning for the 'simpler days' at school, forgetting that life had always been the same. For him, and, in a convuluted way- everybody else.
Growing older, William was introduced to another source of pain and anxiety, in the form of relationships. It didn't take him long however, to figure out that they were something that he needed to avoid, if he were ever going to survive. Years passed by like seconds, and soon William found himself waking up in a small low-rent apartment, as an old man.
What is a human being? He once asked himself. How do we measure the worth of those around us? Was it through acheivements like work and sucsessful relationships? Because he had neither. Did we measure a persons worth by how happy their life had made them?
Because everything William had ever done, seemed only to make him sadder.
In every movie or televison program, there was always a main character. And there, just out of focus- were the others. They never seemed to speak, and nothing that they did had any effect on the world around them. As the main character went through a life changing story, the others continued their menial existances. Perhaps, William was one of *those* people. It was a sad title, but at least it was *something*.
As the time crawled by, the world around him started to change, while William stayed the same. He was locked in the hell of nothing. Having nothing to do, nothing to live for, no family or friends... just nothing. And then William realized his true worth.
His entire life, he had been nothing. From school, to the harsh world outside- he had always been nothing. He couldn't think of a single instance of his existance having any real substance to it. It had always been empty. And now that he had grown to old to keep the shell- he was truly nothing.
William looked at the night sky with a sense of worry slowly creeping up on him. But now, he had no choice. He had been a non-existance for too long. And now, he wanted to graduate to the next step.
The fall from the balcony was far, and it did the job rather well.
Now he wasn't just a lonely old man. Now, he really was just nothing. ]]> J. Coffison http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63132 http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63131 Sun, 13 May 2012 10:50:47 GMT In life there are always expectations, everyone you’ve ever known has always expected something from you; whether it’s expecting a gift for a particular occasion, or just expecting the sun to rise the next day. There are all different types of... In life there are always expectations, everyone you’ve ever known has always expected something from you; whether it’s expecting a gift for a particular occasion, or just expecting the sun to rise the next day. There are all different types of people in this world, living very different lifestyles. Some people work and work constantly, all the time to achieve their goals in life, whilst others slug around live day to day doing nothing, thinking maybe if they wait long enough something will eventually happen. Expectations are based on what type of person you choose to be.
{Every moment of your life has a dramatic impact on the type of person you turn out to be. Sometimes you make decisions you regret.}

It was a warm windy afternoon; the sun had just started to set. The blood orange bright sky bounced off the mountains, creating a beautiful pitch black silhouette of the trees. Blurred out of it all with my mind, just thinking what possibly could make such a beautiful thing. And then there it was… again. “Jimmy” she said. I suddenly wish I was in a different world/universe/anything, just away from this life…
She was my bride to be. Not that I had a choice. She was my high school sweetheart. It was pretty much planned since my third year in high school that we would be married.

I turn around in a drift, “Charlie” I said surprised, I go to hold her hand; just to seem affectionate.
“I thought you were going to be back for lunch, where were you?” She said.
“I was just getting some stuff done” I quickly replied. As I looked into her dark blue eyes I realized she had been crying. I don’t like asking questions, but I needed to know what could have possibly been wrong.
“Have you been crying?” I asked intently but distracted by the beauty of the sun shining through her ruby red hair.
“I don’t want this anymore” She said unintentionally, as if she regretted the words as soon as they fell out of her mouth.
Looking at her almost in despair, I try to speak “.I...” nothing. My brain couldn’t comprehend what was happening. I go to clear my throat. “Why!” I blurted out. Squeezing her hands tighter, not knowing of my actions.
She pulls her hands away from mine. “I just can’t keep going on like nothing is wrong with this” She said softly, looking at her hand and the light imprint I left on it.
Now I really wish I was in a different world. But what would have triggered her to do this, such a big decision, what could I do to change the fact that she’s leaving me.
But then again I must have known it was coming. I was out here to avoid her. My life. This world. I needed a distraction from what had once been mine.

Flashes of memories come in and out of my mind. The first time I met her, beautiful red hair pinned up by a symbolic dragonfly clip, the most amazing smile lit up her pale yet endearing face. Nothing could ever compare to that one moment in my life where I felt like I had no control over any decision I made. I instantly fell in love with her. I felt like she had to be mine. It was an autumn day and I had just started at a new high school, once again. My mother had moved around a lot in the past from one town to the next. I’d finally get happy in one place than I’d get the news. Surprise, surprise. Moving once again.
It didn’t make me despise her at all; it just gave me the reason to never become attached to anything.

- Any feedback will be appreciated, be kind. I'm only new to this.

KaraLouiseGill ]]> KaraLouiseGill http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63131 http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63130 Fri, 11 May 2012 21:49:16 GMT So I was reading a good book, one called 10 Books that Screwed Up the World. It's a marvelous book, showing how many of the dumb fads of today have their origins in friggin' messed up people. Well, at least Nietzsche admits his general insanity. Not so much with the other people mentioned in this book.

But that's not the point of my note. I discovered something about Darwin I had not previously known that supports my theory about him. Namely, that he is a racist, and because of his British heritage (sorry Brits, but nobody gets a perfect family mix in heritage) his perspective of the races is skewed.

One of the things you should know about Brits is that they didn't like Irish people in the past. They oppressed the Irish for 700 years, attempting to destroy their culture and keep their neighbor in the British Empire. Look up things like Oliver Cromwell, inheritance laws, and the causes of the Irish potato famine to learn more about that. If I'm not mistaken, the animosity between the two countries began when the Romans conquered the Brits. Even though the Romans later abandoned them and allowed the Angles, Saxons, and such to take over, the Brits remained influenced by Roman culture and thought. They were culturized, and us Irish were not, because apparently the Romans didn't feel like conquering the Irish for whatever reason. Thus the great rift began.

So that's the background. Back to the book. In 10 Books, Benjamin Wiker lists among them Darwin's The Descent of Man, a book which applies evolution more distinctly to the human race. This right here should have forced all logical thinkers to dismiss Darwin. After all, how can you trust a man that says something like this?

"At some future period, not very distant as measured by centuries, the civilised races of mans will almost certainly exterminate and replace throughout the world the savage races...."

Seriously. How a person could read a quote like that and still take Darwin seriously is beyond me. Besides the obvious racism, the quote is entirely illogical. In studying history and the behavior of people, it seems much more likely that barbarians can destroy the civilized. After all, Rome was destroyed by a bunch of barbarians, and people these days can be very afraid of someone who even threatens violence without actually doing anything. The trouble with civilized people is that they forget they were once barbarians, and thus forget how to deal with barbarians that just so happen to be trouble (polite barbarians mind their own business). Also, barbarians aren't races, but cultures. Romans were primarily European, and they were destroyed primarily by German barbarians.

But onto my point. I had an "Aha!" moment while reading 10 Books. It was on pages 130-131, where Wiker is explaining out one of Darwin's concepts. This is the concept of race reproduction. Darwin is trying to explain that inferior races with low morals tend to "breed more" and thus create more problems for society. To establish his point, Darwin quotes a dude named W.R. Greg, as we must remember Darwin didn't create evolution, he dandied it up and made it a pretty story. Anyway, here's what Greg has to say.

"The careless, squalid, unaspiring Irishman multiplies like rabbits: the frugal foreseeing, self-respecting Scot, stern in his morality, sprirtual in his faith, sagacious and disciplined in his intelligence , passes his best years in struggle and in celibacy, marries late, and leaves few behind him."

"AHA!" I yelled -- in my head. "I caught you, I caught you!"

Indeed I had. It was the old snake come again. It was that old attitude, trying to say that us Irish are inferior. I was instantly reminded of the words of Charles Kingsley, British historian.

"I am haunted by the human chimpanzees I saw along that hundred miles of horrible country...to see white chimpanzees is dreadful; if they were black one would not see it so much, but their skins, except where tanned by exposure, are as white as ours."

Ain't that friggin' jolly? Now, let it be said that I don't hate the British, and I don't think anybody else should either. They've changed since those days, and also it's not really good to hate people. It just gets the cycle going again.

And evolution is the result of this. Now, Ialready knew before reading the passage that Darwin didn't like black people. This dude lined up the races by skin color and said the darker ones were the most inferior. But then he throws in the Irish, and it reveals his heart for what it is. He doesn't think black people are inferior through scientific observation (and indeed I'm not sure that such a thing can actually be proven), but he's trying to create a belief system so that black people can be called "scientifically inferior" and thus have an excuse for his hate. Throwing in the Irish proves this.

How so, you ask? Well, Irish people aren't particularly like black people, I guess about as different as any two different people groups generally are -- and I'm not really sure you can compare the two correctly, as the Irish are one ethnic group, but the terms "black people", "the dark skinned", and "Africans" refer to a large number of ethnic groups. If the Brits saw both of these groups as uncivilized and inferior, then what better way to justify a hateful belief than by glorifying it with the name of science? If the blacks and the Irish are supposedly equally uncultured, then surely, surely there is a genetic cause, no?

No. Look again at that W.R. Greg quote. Supposedly the Irish are so dang different from the Scottish. Wow. Really? Really? History lesson: the Irish and the Scots come from the same branch of Celts. It's the, um, Gaullic branch, I believe. The Irish are about as close to the Scots genetically as any two ethnic groups can be, and this dude is trying to say that they're nothing alike. Darwin, by including the Greg quote in his book, is showing his belief in this statement. And yet the Irish are still able to be included with the "inferior" Africans, who are about as distant from the Irish as any ethnic group generally gets genetically. By establishing this, Darwin shows that he is not motivated by science or genetics, but rather by hate.

What makes this even "better" is that the Brits are Celts. They come from the Brythonic branch, which includes the Brits and the Welsh. Their culture used to be very like Ireland's, and their ancient mythology a parallel. Therefore, if the Irish are in any way inferior, this doom also belongs to the British. They cannot call themselves in any way superior, because their anscestry is caught up with ours. After all, if white people are so "superior", but one of the white ethnic groups is just like black people, then exactly how superior can white people be? Sometimes I wonder what Asian people think of all this nonsense. I hope they're not fooled. After all, Darwin did say that they have less skull capacity than Europeans.

For the moment, let's forget about races. Let's look at evolution. It holds that over time, superior creatures and races will live, whereas the inferior will not. According to this, it's an instant implication that some races are "more evolved" than others (That's is, it's an instant implication unless Darwin had the guts and the stupidity to actually say this straight out somewhere in The Descent of Man). So, evolution all by itself requires racism, because it's extremely improbable that all races would evolve alike. Some are more evolved, and others are less. Evolution is therefore by its nature racist, basically requiring its followers to believe that certain people groups are better than others.

All in all, I have to laugh. I didn't know I was part of an inferior race. It's so dang funny, isn't it? Well, not really, but I have an Irish sense of humor. I laugh at stupidity. ]]> Gonissa http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63130 http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63128 Fri, 11 May 2012 09:08:09 GMT "The Perverse Artist"
By
Brian Paul Dunlop

I think I’ve got the psychosis. It all started after I got locked in the psych ward. What a strange day. What strange events.

They told me without a reasonable doubt that I am insane because of how I was acting. I told them I smoked marijuana and drank alcohol that day and I had also stayed up, late into the night, thinking of change, thinking about progression.

I said to them that I was a “political prisoner” and that I shouldn’t be
here. I yelled. Screamed at the top of my lungs, but they just thought I was insane and by the large amounts of THC in my system, they labeled me as having “marijuana-induced psychosis.”

I just had one bad day and everyone there thought I had lost my mind. Alcohol. Marijuana. Staying awake for over twenty-four hours. Stress. School. Aggravation. No. The reason I flipped out was because I had lost my mind. That’s what they said. And I stayed there for almost a month and was studied because I was a defective human being in there eyes - just another lab rat, just another scientific experiment.

I tried to plead my case to them everyday that I wasn’t insane, but
they wouldn’t believe me - they’re logic and judgment was far superior than I - I told them that I was an actor and had an HBO audition to go to within the week and that they were ruining my life, but they thought this to be just another paranoid delusional thought.

I was just another dreamer to them - another endless seeker, broken in a world shattered within. Believe me or don’t believe me. I hate you if you don’t believe me. The time spent in that ward was a time worse than when my mother passed on in 2004. It truly was, the worst three and a half weeks I’ve ever spent as anti-psychotic drugs were pumped into my brain.

I remember when I signed up to be a test subject out of fear to comply. Those scientists. They frightened me like no one has ever frightened me. And took me out of my life and had me live amongst the mentally inadequate, even though their scientific tests showed that I had the highest intelligence out of anyone that ever stepped foot in that psych ward as a patient.

All they did was patronize and label. Those sick cowards. And now here I am, outside of one of their houses. Dr. Harmond Lieberson - I
know where you live, I know where your children go to school and you’re all mine now.

The other doctors, I have locked away in my cellar. And the cold witch of a therapist who sent me to that dreaded medical center, I now use for sexual relaxation. Oh, how she screams and toils, but no one can hear her. My house is completely sound proof.

You know what’s funny? I didn’t hear any voices in my head until after I was sent out with a good bill of health from the Hordstein University Medical Center. What a crock of an existence - this science of ours, what do they know?

I think they learned their lesson as I cut all their children’s throats
in front of them as they cowered in the corners like the rats they really are. Then I send them back to their hamster cages and tie the
chains around their necks.

Soon the chains will come off, but if any of them try to rebel - I will have that person decapitated in front of everyone - to remind them who’s in charge - who’s their master.

But truly their life isn’t all that bad - they have a wheel in which to
run upon and they have all the pellets and water to drink.

Some of the female doctors look cute - I wonder if they’ll allow me to have sex with them even though I murdered their children in front of
them. Probably not the biggest turn on for them. Ha!

But I do it, anyway, as they cry, and cry and cry because now they know how much I hurt. How much pain I felt when they locked me away for a shade under a month and told me I had lost my mind.

Now, they are my slaves. And the male doctors I have sex with from behind with a strap-on dildo just to remind them on how they will spend the rest of their lives. They aren’t men, anymore. They never treated me like a man. They never treated me like an individual.

And some of them, particularly, Dr. Neil Larmon - I make squeal like a
pig because I remember how he use to laugh at me for being overweight and eating my food before everyone else at my lunch table. Now he’s the little piggy.

Before I went to the psych ward, I was a great writer of many genres because writing gave me pleasure - now all I do is torment my subjects because that’s all that gives me great ecstasy that I could never get in any pill or drug.

Wait, I think I can see him. The rat bastard. Now it is time for me to introduce him to all of his friends - oh, his children…that will be the best part, and his wife - oh, love is but a game, love is but a game. ]]> TheDude2002 http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63128 http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63127 Fri, 11 May 2012 05:46:05 GMT Until you have seen every image in person or attended every event you have ever heard of, you can not logically take this information to be fact but trust that it is fact. In childhood studies, a child reaches a certain age when that child accepts... Until you have seen every image in person or attended every event you have ever heard of, you can not logically take this information to be fact but trust that it is fact. In childhood studies, a child reaches a certain age when that child accepts and understand that everyone around them is a living, breathing, thinking human being just like themselves, but I don't understand how this can be implied as fact. Or even trusted as fact. A person is nothing more then the sum of his or her experiences coupled with the chemical balance in there brain. Life is logical, life being logical leaves no mystery. Except for your own consciousness, no one can do or say anything to prove to you that they are anything like you. What you see and feel I haven't a clue, what your neighbor sees and feels you haven't a clue. Do you know that your neighbor thinks and feels? Or is there actions just a logical outcome justified by there personal experiences and brain chemistry, in simplistic terms I like to compare humans to dogs. Just like humans a dog is just the sum of its experiences and brain chemistry. If the dog is beaten by a human, logically it should react with fear towards humans. If a human attacked by a dog, logically it should react with fear towards a dog. Myself being the sum of my experiences can only trust that everything I'm told is fact, I my self have no experience with death first hand and I will never know what death is like, nor will I know if I will ever die or if I can even die. I believe, since all I have ever known is life, logically its illogical to believe that I can die, the only thing that keeps me here is the fear of the unknown. I have no way to know if everyone really does live, breath, and think as I do. When I look at another human being, I do not see another person like myself. I see the result of a series of events and brain chemistry. All I can do is trust.

This has been my perspective on reality,
thanks for reading .-Joshua John Banko ]]> Joshua John Banko http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63127 http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63126 Fri, 11 May 2012 01:34:57 GMT This is a poem I wrote back in 2011, it became the inspiration for my upcoming novella of the same title.

My emotions have been swathed
The pencil lead has been engaged,
It’s appealing to the spirit mind on several levels,
I've looked for that matchstick once maybe several.

To be found under a curtain, swaying softly
silent in time with a beat,
And discover a disabled mentality is our only feat.
A song plays heavily like a thunder cloud
breaking west on the horizon.
Can you smell the salt drifting easterly
from the monochrome mountains?
Travelling on dust on particles that breach a certain rule,
a certain test for a fallen mule.

Being here amongst cacti I burn and swim
in a melodic almost fashionable heat.
Mincing through rock and minuscule insects
trying not to sting to step to destroy.
The sun is beating now I can hear its dull drum tap, tap, tap,
ever producing more bass
Less snare more crash less ride,
with the occasional clang of a bell.
My head aches.

Body wet, dripping oh so wet, and sticky
from the salty sweat I can taste on my lips.
With cracked skin they bleed,
I need rest,
I need feed,
I need water forever,
I need transport home.
With the endless mile and endless walking,
one feels like ones trapped under a dome of
Impenetrable transparent steel.
Metallic after taste breeds only like a virus
if one lets ones mind become vulnerable
in these harsh climates.

Where down the line did my life come to this?
Did it boil down to the factual events
of my complacent habitual style of living?
Or did I just happen to let fate seep its tendrils
softly spasmodically under my crotch?
Either way I'm here,
no escape,
just keep trodding to take the bait.

Same old strip, same old road,
different boxes
and sexual modes of desire.
Must be delirious.
How long have I been without water?
Keep track keep time...
How can one keep track of time in a space so destitute,
so devoid of procreation?
I know not the answer;
I don't even wear a watch,
Just a compass on my wrist,
and with the right kind of vision
this could be a time keeper.

But alas, that stage has not set in the part
where your brain has thirst for moisture
And shrivels like an elderly penis.
Lost of hallucinogen,
unkempt of secrets.

The stars are out tonight...
sheep bray in the distance.
I lie in a ditch with dust for a blanket
and in my mind a guitar licks a solo.
Cold and hollow.
Sleep is not an issue here,
for the question of whether my eyes will close
is still at a crossroads.
I saw a landscape that could cook the very fabric
of Satan's hoof prints.

This dark settles
and now it could freeze the world
into the oncoming ice age.
The body shivers,
the mind rots in a sense of self deliverance
and one by one my digits fall apart.
It starts with the toes, big first, getting smaller.
There is no pain in this unforgiving act,
Just robotic emotion to toy with
and piece a solemn jigsaw
of random thought.

"Why is this happening?"
I whispered.
Although there was no need to,
this habit turns on automatic
in these late hours.
There was something almost epically apocalyptic
in watching my vessel decompose,
In the cold dry evening under Orion's belt,
The strangest sensation that one has ever felt...

To be left alone in this strange dimension,
questioning the hows and whys,
To experience such obscurity
without the essence of being high,
To watch ones slow and gradual demise;
Underneath a draconian sky. ]]> BmovieBaby http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63126 http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63125 Thu, 10 May 2012 07:27:14 GMT One lone nights wish, to stand light years away.
lines and faces I see, I make points in space
dwelling around, unknown in darkness it seems...
"I still know I'm here safe and sound"

I can feel the textures creeping up, my strain of thought
with hungering divine, it may seem unreal
but all so true.
I believe...

The feeling so pure the sound so clear,
I see the place, the home I stay
flying down the river vine, I meet myself
inside the hay; sleeping in peace.

State of mind, seems to change.
Standing here a bush appear,
inside the bush I see a snake
constantly changing his fate
"it's out to get me..."
A serpents strike, I shook i fled...
Death

As I watch the walls start to change
here it comes again, again and again
the same mistake the same thought
leads me to run, to hate; myself

I need to go, I need too leave
this hunger inside me seems to be; more
than just this, these ideas I see, this voice inside me
it clogs the master the person I am, the one I want to be.

I wish I could leave and be, light years away
something unknown, a star perhaps, just watching and shinning
like the rest to be. For those who see may never know
when I'm free, for the space between is far undone.

As I wake, laying in blood, waters of tears
I see my self... in a lone nights wish... ]]> Acidz http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63125 http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63124 Tue, 08 May 2012 22:34:37 GMT The date is 19th May 2014; Malawians just finished casting their votes in an intriguing and one of the most nerve wracking election. Now, hours later, the entire nation is glued to the radios. They have to know who is taking the Holy Grail home. ... The date is 19th May 2014; Malawians just finished casting their votes in an intriguing and one of the most nerve wracking election. Now, hours later, the entire nation is glued to the radios. They have to know who is taking the Holy Grail home.

Francis Phiri, mid 60′s, always has an overwhelming audience where ever he goes. He has been a human rights activist since early 80′s.*Not the tallest of men, but his intellectual capacity stands out tall as the savannah baobabs in the soils of Mwabvi reserve.

He speaks with authority and eloquence. His smile, which could be referred as ‘winning’, compliments his socio-economical arguments. People love him- their version of a ‘super-being’, a Martin Luther JNR, perhaps.

Of late, Francis’ NGO, Malawi Human Rights Organisation, has received billions of funding. It has just relocated to an exquisite five storey, newly built MHRO house. Things are looking up.

“How is John Tembo faring?” asked Francis, settled calmly into a leather couch, lighting a Benson and Hedges, “do you think he will win?”

“You will be surprised.” Replied Raymond.

Raymond Bwanali is a top notch business man. He started his career as a bank clerk of Rational Bank of Malawi. Today, twenty six years later, he owns an empire of companies worth a billion kwacha.*He is an ambitious young man, handsome and classy, in a suit that looks executive. His cuff links bear his initials, ‘RB’.

He gazed on his Rolex and said, “I guess Rosie is running late.”

Francis, Rosie and Raymond have a common vice, a vice as addictive as heroin- Gambling. They vowed to keep their ‘little secret’ away from the public eye. It was not an easy task. If any bad press came out it would mean doom to their careers and personal lives. No one of them had a flawless mechanism to handle shocks of such a predicament. The only means was hiding it in their closets.

They have been waiting for Rosie for some time now. Seconds turned into minutes, 19:04, the Johnny Walker keeps downing, still no sign of Rosie. 19:13, a sound of heels against the Italian tiles comes to life. Door opens. There she was, Roselyn Khan, one leg in front of the other, head tilted up like she was sniffing the air. Her long hair tied back, the red lipstick matching her see-through short dress, her Gucci guilty breathing life to the room.

“Sorry to keep you gentlemen waiting.” she adjusted herself on the couch and grinned.

It was alleged that her father was a wealthy Abu Dhabi investor, but nobody really knew the truth behind such rumours.

“Wine?” Francis asked.

“Yes, please,” she replied, a fake smile painted on her face, “gentlemen, just as a reminder, we are putting K700 million each. The winner walks away K1.4 billion richer”

“I’m placing my bet on Atupele Muluzi, Raymond you chose to go with John Tembo and Joyce Banda is Rosie’s.” Confirmed Francis.

Raising his glass as high as possible, Raymond shouted, “May the best man… I mean person, win.”

“Cheers!” a choir of gamblers sung.

This is how it begun, on 19th April 2013, Raymond at a dinner made a tempting offer to his friends. An offer that tonight, 19th May 2014, would make one of them even richer.

“How about we gamble on this upcoming election?” suggested Raymond, “we always argue about who will win. Talk shouldn’t be cheap. Let’s bet on our candidates. It’s called putting your money where your mouth is.”

It would be absurd for any of them to decline such an intriguing bet. They loved to gamble. However, this time around the stakes were high. If you lose, that was it for you. No more whiskeys, flashy cars, sassy outfits and camera lights.

Francis Phiri had placed his bet on DPP until he read an article on OwenTimes.com which shed a little bit of light to the issues which wrecked the party. It read:

On 7th May 2012, Joyce Banda rose to the highest office. Her ascendance to power was shambolic to the DPP.*

DPP top officials were vexed by the state of affairs- going to opposition benches in parliament. It was fatal. They knew it would be a tall order to get back to power. So they searched for loop holes in the constitution to maintain power. The following was what the DPP Bwanas were afraid of:

crudely put, DPP members (most of them) were a greedy lot, a bunch of unprincipled politicians. They would be on your side as long as you were controlling the state coffers. Will they stick to DPP now that they were not the governing party?

DPP lost the public trust it used to enjoy. How long will it take them to earn it back without MBC and other state assets at their disposal? Was it going to be before 2014?

Among other things, the above forced the Bwanas to hold onto power. They worked around the clock to deter JB’s constitutional right, orchestrating a failed coup d’état. She had to be stopped at all cost. Fortunately, sanity and constitutional order triumphed over greed: Africa had her second female president.

Right after reading this, Francis had to change boats. He believed the UDF could do the trick for him. Raymond, on the other hand, was an MCP die hard. He called them a ‘pride of lions’. Unlike the DPP, these guys were disciplined to some extent.

Raymond used Plato’s tripartite theory of the soul as his centrepiece to define MCP members.

“Plato in his treaties the republic argued that the soul is composed of: reason, appetitive and passion,” Raymond would say, “you are healthy if your soul is dominated by reason. Only a handful of our members’ reasoning is subordinate to greed. The rest are loyal and dedicated to the party. That’s why we still stand the test of times.”

“I hope your ‘pride of lions’ stand JB’s heat. She mitigated the fuel and forex situation and the donors are back. I think all the other parties were counting on that predicament to score a political mileage.” Rosie counter attacked.

They defended their political beliefs until every single fact was exhausted. Then a session of discordant followed.

“I think Joyce Banda and her PP, that includes you Rosie, don’t have any convincing long term solutions to our problems. What policies is PP formulating to make sure we, as a country, will never slide back to such a ridiculous situation we were buried in?” Francis asked.

Rosie laughed, trying to discredit Francis’ statement, “You’ve just reminded me of a book titled Back from the brink- 1000 days at number 11 by Alister Darling.” She spoke on top of her voice, more like Patricia Akweni Kaliati, the only difference of course, was that her arguments were at least substantial, “Mr. Darling, former chancellor of the exchequer, said ‘your first question to answer during a crisis is how to stop the queues. You can’t resolve a problem until you quell the sense of crisis. You need time to work out the best solution in a calm atmosphere.’ “

“Our short term objective was to make sure Malawians were not sleeping in filling stations anymore. Now that we have achieved that, give us some room to formulate long term solutions. It is called procedure, Francis. You don’t cross a river before you approach the bridge.” She fumed.

Her eyes moved up to Francis’ face. “I think you and your UDF should spend your time efficiently rather than attacking a government you were privy to. How do you accept a cabinet position just two years to an election? What a political joke?”

The faint announcement from the radio ceased the arguments almost immediately. “We have the results, unofficial results, of 2014 general election”

Was it going to be JB or JZU? Maybe against all odds, Atu would do it for Francis?

You would see their legs shaking, litres of sweat rolling down their restless faces like they just came out of an intense cardio. This was it.

“Joyce Banda…”

Before the presenter finished, Francis busted out off his seat, infuriated and full of adrenalin. He was gasping for air, a gun in his right hand.

“I… I will not accept this. I won’t. If I lose I’m done. My life is over. I’m done,” he cried, “It’s either John Tembo wins…” He pointed the gun at his friends, “… or we all die.”

“Calm down, Francis.” Raymond pleaded, Rosie confused and helpless.

“But he placed his bet on Atupele Muluzi? What’s happening? Was this a set up?” she thought. This was not important now. She had to get out of that lavish office, 20 feet from earth, or else, she was dead.

Raymond pressed the alarm button under his couch. Automatically, the lights went out. Horror of total darkness descended on the room immediately.

“I will kill you all… Then I will kill myself.” Francis screamed.

Raymond’s security detail was coming up. You would hear the sound of men in heavy boots running. They broke in. Two loud gun shots immediately polluted the air.

“As I said earlier, Joyce Banda…” a voice resonated from the radio, “…did very well, so did John Tembo. We didn’t tally the results of five districts against each candidate. We will not be able to announce the results now. Sorry for any inconvenience.”

Power came back. The fluorescent tubes blinked to life. The floor was full of blood.

Who died? Was it Rosie? Maybe Raymond? Francis stood there like a child who just lost his mother, his gun breathing out smoke.

Watch out for PART TWO. ]]> Owen Onions http://www.writingforums.org/entry.php?b=63124