I had a dream about three characters and I got really attached to them. I scribbled down a bit while I was at work, but I don't really see it going anywhere unfrotunately :(

She wasn't really sure what she had done to make him angry, she knew she felt bad for whatever it was though. It must have been something terrible to make him ignore her the way he was. All the things she could do to try and make it up to him ran through her mind. Dinner? No, he hated her cooking - it was too bland for him. A massage? That wouldn't work - he hated her hands on him when he was angry. She didn't have any money to buy him presents and she didn't want to mention sex when he was in a mood like this. He'd only want to do it... that way and Liz just couldn't bring herself to let him, although goodness knows he tried often enough. It crossed her mind that he half enjoyed watching her squirm, feeling her resist, but she dismissed that idea. He loved her, she knew that; she was just a bit of a prude at times. Frigid.

   Liz sighed, although it felt hard for her to do it. The atmosphere was heavy - like if she moved an inch it would ripple like jelly until it rubbed against Ben, bouncing and nudging him even further into his fury. Maybe she should give him some space? Go and see Lucy or something. But he didn't like Lucy. Liz sighed again. Staying in with her new book seemed the best option. She reached for it and settled down for the night, trying to turn the pages without disturbing the air.



It seems to me that the only way to convincingly do the job I do without taking great, orgasmic pleasure in hurting someone (Anyone) is to swear. Long, complex sentences filled with fat, juicy, x-rated words. Used as adjectives, they fill me with a sense of beautiful release. I glory in using base, dirty expletives to form tmeses and I feel bubbly giggles rising from my stomach every time I manage to make one into a place name. My mind-language never used to be so foul. Back in the day I'm pretty certain I even went so far as to blush if I saw something that could be even misinterpreted as a swear word. F.C.U.K for instance. Our high school geogrpahy teacher, Mrs Lunt. Curve the 'L' a bit too much...so many traps out there for a young, sensitive boy. Of course, that all changed when I joined up. However big and noble my reasons were then, and still are to be fair, my brain-words have been consigned for ever more to the gutter.

   That could well be part of the problem, of course. I love words. Sometimes I think I could live off just them. But whoever heard of a verbose policeman? "Excuse me, young sir, I do apologise for interrupting the course of your day, but I am afraid your presence has been requested by the local authorities" doesn't have quite the same ring to it as "Oit. You're nicked, sunshine." Although personally I can take or leave the 'sunshine.' Depends how much I am feeling like a stereotype on that particular day.

   So, here I am, sitting in the office listening to Chief Inspector "My Name's THe Big Dog's Bollocks" telling us all how Drugs are Big, Drugs are Bad, Drugs are the reason for Santa Claus not existing, all with a tone in his voice that suggests we did not already fucking know. I glanced over to Kramer, hoping to catch his eye, make a few crude gestures in the general direction of our beloved leader, but unfortunately he was somewhat busy. For a horrifying moment I thought he was taking notes, but I realised my mistake when he shifted, revealing a page full of naked women. Fair enough. Better than notes. Notes. How unfuckingnecessary. Tmesis. Smirk.

The End

1 comment about this story Feed