30 June 2009


Life should always be like this thinks Sharon.
She's been in Pain Garden for two solid days.
One more and the club closes.
She's eaten crap bar food, consumed god knows how much champagne and thinks she's done about 17 e's, some K but she's kinda lost grip on that one. She did some lines of coke about five hours ago and now she needs some more.
Her back is starting to hurt bad from a three hour stint in the sling, where she was whipped, by a woman dressed in tight leather with her breasts exposed, Sharon could see the woman's nipples harden every time she bought down the whip. she's been burnt with cigarettes by a naked guy who eventually fucked her as he worked his way down her thigh with a Marlboro lite as he burnt her a woman worked some nipple clamps on her until there was a trail of blood, which was licked by a guy, she thinks, dressed as a satyr.A crowd had gathered for that one, she lost count of the number of men who came over here. For a while she lay in the men's urinals, letting guys piss all over here, it kinda snapped her out a K hole.
She knows a life exists outside of the garden but only just, there's another day to go.

29 June 2009


Sydney Thomson is about to get a harsh life lesson on the meaning of the word irony. He's just learned that his debit card mysteriously stopped working and is sweating out the hope it has nothing to with Jake's trickery. He's always been his own worst enemy, and now he's about to meet a man, ironically named Sydney as well, who will make the metaphor a flesh-and-blood reality.

Just over a mile away this other man has just been given confirmation that his target has been spotted on CCTV swearing at a bank machine, 3400 miles away from where the GPS on his mobile says he is, but they've already confirmed that the phone is sitting in an express mail pouch at a post office in Dubai, a fairly weak attempt to confuse them. After what he did, did this Sydney Thomson fellow honestly expect to gain access to his funds so he could just disappear? No, this would be a soft target, and he would enjoy smashing it.

Five miles away Jake and Sam have turned off their own mobiles. No one knows where they are, and it's nice this way, for once out of the shadow of the world. They're holding hands naked and sitting in the warm stream beneath the afternoon sun and making insane plans to really disappear totally, sneak aboard a ship that will drop them in some corner of the world where they will never be found. Iceland or South America or wherever.

And Jacob Sr., who never liked the damned mobile his work made him carry around, considers its silence before tossing the fucking thing in the nearest wastebasket, is wondering now why everyone has vanished and more than a bit scared for Sam's health, only the fact Jake Jr. may have been the one to spirit him out of hospital gives him comfort. If anything Jake is fiercely loyal to Sam, as more than one would-be bully has found out, several of whom found themselves in hospital over the years for picking on his older brother. He sighs and fishes his mobile out of the trash in resignation, hoping it decides to speak up with some answers. There's just the issue of Sharon to deal with but the fact she seems to have disappeared from the face of the planet neither concerns or saddens him much. His affairs were just lying to himself, their marriage had been gone for years, dessicated and dead, and the discovery had just been a final confirmation. He finds himself in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, surrounded by an impossible number of people for him to feel so alone, and he notices an absinthe bar. He thinks to himself, absinthe, I wonder what that tastes like, and yes a part of the thought is maybe it can take him back to the creative days where he painted and wrote, before drowning in a sea of business suits and photocopier ink. He wonders if that cute, gawky blonde teenager who wrote poems for the girls he should have married, the lad he used to be is still alive in there somewhere, waiting to be revived, or if he had vanished like everyone else had.

Jacob Snr

"get dressed"
a nurse, a rather sever nurse is standing over my bed. The various tubes and monitors have all been withdrawn, there's no security guard and there's no Sam.
"where's my son, is he alright"
"he's fine, he was discharged this morning, your other son collected him".
"not my shift, I don't know, in this bag are the painkillers you may need, take as required but do not exceed the dosage as stated, it's all on the bottles".
She hands me a paper bag with the medicines inside.
I dress and walk out, take the lift down to ground floor and through the sliding door, air, wind, hits my face and I turn into it, to feel something, anything. I take my mobile out and try and phone Jake's number, no answer.
Exactly one hundred and thirteen miles away, Sydney Thompson watches as the screen of the mobile lights up, with Dad calling and a photo of a rather distinguished looking man, Sydney studies the picture closely, yes that's the boy he taught in his second year at the school, a devious, nasty boy who could charm, delight and destroy all in equal measures. The mobile stops ringing, it's followed by a text message, Sydney reads it
'U @ hme or cottage.....Dad...reply 2 me'
Meanwhile exactly five miles from Sydney, Sam and Jake Jn are sat outside in the garden of a rather secluded cottage, they feel as if they are the only people on the planet.


It's getting close to dawn and fuck if he isn't thinking about how this all arrived here, the shitty night when Jake was running a 102 fever and would only let Sam close, just it happened so natural there, his hand slipping into the PJs while Jake closed his eyes and pushed him down, and the taste like an appetizer before it went over, and then curling up with him, his shallow breathing just like now and this must be so wrong but he won't let it be, he tastes his brother's lips and it's marmalade tasting and he feels guilty he didn't make him something better to eat and fuck fuck this is gonna be a bitch to make work but he wants it to and fuck all if it's always been this way just neither of them could admit it, just sit in the shower and jerk off, he remembers Jake telling him that was his first time and feeling so guilty about it.
And he's thinking, what the fuck, I mean you can't control this shit, just try to avoid it which always fucks up in the end and he strokes his butt gently and watches Jake slowly getting hard from the touch and he has to ask in a whisper, "Do you want me to?" because saying it out loud would be...
And all Jake says is yes and he doesn't have to ask him to be gentle, this has gotta be his first time also, and he makes sure he goes slow and has to bite his tongue to stop it from being over too soon, I mean, this is the first time and it's got to be something awesome Jake'll remember for the rest of his life, soft and slow or hard and rough, Sam's guide being the noises he's making and fuck he must be doing this right even though he's only done it a few times before because his hand is stroking him, too, and he's starting to drip and Sam wants a taste of the precum which is sweet and salty and tastes just like the marmalade he put on his toast earlier and fuck he can't hold back, he just starts cumming and it won't stop and Jake can feel it and he shoots, too, it's like so powerful it just flys all over the wall, its like he wanted to cum like this forever and he doesn't pull out he just leans over which makes it go in further and fuck if that doesn't make him cum again and he starts to pull out but Jake grabs him ass and pushes him back in and says, "no, not yet," and how the hell are they going to explain this to the world and why should they have to, he doesn't want to, Jake's ass is so tight around him he can't resist but to start pushing again, even if he doesn't have much left to give he wants to and he grabs Jake's sweaty hair and kisses him.
Yes, it's marmalade and too many moments that they put aside and he just wants to take care of him now, he makes a point to bring him toast and coffee and all Jake does is thank him and trace the scar on Sam's back and it makes every hair on his body stand up and Jake says "I want this" and Sam knows his brother to mean he wants it and lays back while Jake goes down and its like the one time he took acid, the room just explodes in colors and...

28 June 2009

Sam and Jake

and as he cries Sam realises hes crying in memory of all those times when he wishes he could have taken Jake and made love to him, all those times he laid in bed, listening to Jake jerk off or just watching him sleeping as he did and he realises that moments like this matter in a life, he knows this moment could mark out his life forever, a life of constant regret or a life having know total pleasure and as he's making that decision Jake holds him close and as he is held close Sam starts to move his body up and down, so their cocks are sliding against each other and Sam knows it's right here, right now, this fucking moment, this risk that's gonna define his life forever and as he moves, he moves forward and places his lips against his brothers and it's right fucking now, right fucking here, now and there's a relief as Jake pushes his lips onto Sam's and they kiss, long and hard and Jake's hands move to his brothers ass and he strokes before pushing a finger inside Sam and all Sam can do is relax to allow his brother inside him and Sam pushes back onto his brothers fingers to let him further inside and they are both biting each others lips hard and Jake moves his lips away and whispers into Sam's ear, "lets just do this, bite each others lips so hard they draw blood and then lets kiss and drink each other, take my life inside you, yours inside me" and they do, there's an exquisite moment when as they both bite they both feel the lip of the other give way and burst and at that moment they both feel the warm blood pass between them and as they do they both cum against against each other.


Sam has only snuck out twice naked and now Jake practically pushes him out the door and the sun feels so good it like makes him feel sleepy and fuck he's white as hell with a giant scar he realizes now and he's ashamed.
Jake has made him a drink and fuck all if his brother didn't learn from the master this shit is strong as all fuck, its Cuba y Libre and he brought out chips and some fresh-made salsa and this is weird as fuck cuz they're both naked and he really is kinda sure Jake is hitting on him.
And he bitches about the scar and how evrytyhing hurts and suddenly he's getting a massage, and Jake is strong so it's all pleasant pain, and there's a stream right there and he decides to go in and Jake does too and he's all like yikes, not cool, they're both hard, there should be something awkward about this, but there isn't, and...
i just frenched my brother and he didn't say shit and now idk wtf.
He tousles Jake's hair and shit he's going to hell for sure cuz he just laughs and they're both hard as fux and this is probably the wrongest road he's ever been down, Jake pushes him over on the bank and fuck he can't even put his mind around next it's just too fucked up and probably illegal in a dozen countries.
But it feels right and it starts to rain and they don't move and that's good because the rain is hiding his tears.

27 June 2009

Sam and Jake Jr

Sam has woken, he doesn't feel tired or down, he feels good.
He lies there a while making sure the feelings not gonna pass, but whenever he looks at Jake whose sleeping next to him he knows it won't.
He gets out of bed and walks naked to the kitchen.
Checks all the cupboards and fridge, Jake has stocked the lot by the looks.
He turns on the kettle and finds some fresh coffee, milk and sugar, aghhh today's gonna be good he thinks. Pops the toaster with some bread and is working through a whole loada jams and marmalade's when he notices Jake standing in the doorway with an ear to ear grin.
"good to see ya happy man" Jake says.
"good to be happy" Sam snaps back grinning.
Jake walks over and holds Sam close, running his hands through his hair, smelling it.
Sam feels as happy as a kid at Christmas with his first bike.
"Toast, Coffee" Sam asks.
"Both would be real cool".
Sam butters toast, pours coffee, puts it on a tray.
"out side's nice, here" Jake says
"hold on, I get dressed then" says Sam
"why" says Jake, "it's real secluded here, "let's just go like this".
Sam laughs and looks at Jake
"why not, who we gonna scare out here"
"no one here but us chickens" says Jake quoting an old Cab Callaway song they used to sing as little kids with their Mum.

25 June 2009


Sydney is practically falling over himself at the coup. For once, he's got Jake Jr. right where he wants him doesn't even notice the next text that flashes on the phone's screen: "Your balance is low."
He jumps nearly a foot in the air and stuffs the phone in his pocket when his sister yells to him, because something in her voice is a bit alarming.
"What are these charges?" she demands, waving some bill in his face, it's for his Orange mobile, and the balance at the top alone is enough to stop Sydney in his tracks.
"600 pounds??" she demands. But he can tell from the look in her eyes, it's just getting started, and starts to protest, reaching into his pocket to show her the call history and prove it must be a mistake.
The phone isn't there.
"This one is a number in Brighton. That's near the school, isn't it?"
He nods, not quite sure what to say but very sure who has his phone, the hell-child who won't stop, probably the whole thing with the disposable prepaid he thought was Jake's was all a set up, but he had Sydney by the short hairs now.
"I, I-called it," she mumbles, looking at him with red eyes. "A woman answered. You said after Madelyn you would never re-marry, and I uprooted my life so I could take care of you in your poor health."
"That's preposterous. My phone got stolen-" he starts, but wait, there's more.
"And all these international calls? Karachi? Islamabad? Dubai? You do realize there are people who will notice ninety calls to those places, they all have one thing in common. What have you gotten yourself into, us into? The woman, she sounded foreign."
"Well what did she say?" he bellows, feeling the blood leaving every extremity.
A police car speeds by, its siren blaring full volume, and Sydney already has a weak heart and damned if that doesn't nearly stop it right there.
"She hung up on me."
Sydney swallows, because she's never met Jake, who must be behind all of this, and someone who never met the demon would have trouble accepting that a boy of only sixteen could be this evil, and surely the boy had found help to pull this off, but that really didn't matter any longer. Apparently, Sydney had, too, totally underestimated the boy's ability for revenge. Always two steps ahead of Sydney, who for Christ's sake, graduated from Oxford.
The mailslot clatters shut, the postman must've forgotten something, and a neat stack of envelopes from credit card companies tumbles in front of them, return addresses from countries he'd never been to, and before he knows it, he's earned a slap across the face and the door slams behind her as she drags her children out of the house, tossing the keys squarely at him face before he has the reflexes to duck.
All that's left to do anymore is wait and see what more Jake Jr. has in store for him.
Jake's prepay buzzes, and his nerves really can't take much of this, two messages.
"Shappard. I gt my phones confused. Jake said you would arrange a meeting at your sister's cottage that wld be discreet if I kept it quiet about you two."
"Balance: £0.09, Please top up at o2.co.uk."
It occurs to him just hours ago his biggest worry was never being able to work as a teacher again, and all he can do is start laughing. He opens up the Johnny Walker and pulls an insanely large amount for himself, and he's starting to laugh so hard now he can barely drink it without spilling it all over his cheap tweed jacket.

Sydney Thompson

Sydney Thompson former esteemed housemaster, now disgraced, he couldn't bring his mind to say the word sits in his room or rather, his sisters spare bedroom and turns Jake's mobile phone over and over in his hand, as if handling the phone somehow connects his back to the boy, that boy.
He's suddenly jolted back into the room by the phones vibration, he looks at the screen.
'txt message'
he opens it
'missing you'
'Jack Shappard'
Sydney blinks.
What Jack Shappard the headmaster, he thinks.

24 June 2009

The country.

Sam doesn't have a clue where they're going. His brain is still a little foggy but he's wondering why they've left London a good thirty minutes ago, headed south.
"This isn't the time to take me to Paris to catch up," he mutters, and Jake laughs that laugh that's a snort almost. There's something different than Sam remembered in his brother, it's almost like he grew up overnight, well, okay, it's been a good six months since he last saw him. But there's a determination to him now, like a goal, a seriousness he never saw ever before.
The taxi turns off and Sam glances at the meter, nearly losing his lunch when he notices it's over a hundred quid. He starts to panic, because he thinks all that's left in his jeans is a tenner after the disgusting lunch at Subway before he went into hospital.
Jake has the money, and he doesn't want to know how or where the thick wad of bills his brother is peeling off for the fare for came from, or why he threw in an extra fifty, telling the driver that he never saw them.
He propels Sam to an impossibly small cottage, well, calling it a cottage is a bit of an exaggeration, it's a cramped bookish space that looks like it was deposited from the set of Lord of the Rings with the name "Walker" on its door. He watches in a mix of alarm and amusement while Jake Jr. finds a poorly-hidden key and drags him inside.
"What have you done?" says Jake to Sam, and now there's a flash of real anger in those eyes that always seemed so doe-ish before, and he punches Sam right on the chest, yes, right there, and how the fuck does he know about this? wonders Sam.
Sam can't look at him now, and he knows it's dishonest to blame it on the anesthesia or whatever, lying to Jake has always been something only really stupid people who wanted to get themselves in a world of misery would do.
And the kid's facade comes apart at once, and it's actually pretty terrifying, because Sam has never seen this side of Jake before, he's pounding on Sam and crying and cursing like no one he's ever heard, he's all at once like the little snot-nosed kid that cried in thunderstorms and who giggled when Sam bought him candy he wasn't allowed to have.
And then he's quiet, eerily quiet, because Sam hasn't figured out how to respond yet.
"I know what you did," breathes Jake, looking at him with a look of such betrayal it scares Sam and makes a tear roll down his cheek. "I know."


There's a sudden flurry of activity around my bed.
Dad gets another shot, so he's gonna be out for a few hours again.
The activities to do with me.
Clothes are put on my bed, a Doctor arrives and signs off some papers.
Then a nurse says'
'OK, get dressed, the Doctor has said you are well enough to go home, your brother's in reception waiting for you'.
I dress, this feels too weird.
But no ones stopping me.
The nurse takes me down corridors and several floors in the lift, why was I in a psych ward and more important, why was my Dad.
Ground floor bell rings, I walk out the lift and there's Jake.
He stands and throws his arms open.
I run towards him, he catches me and I nearly knock him over.
His hands are all over me, my back, shoulders, hair.
I'm crying.
'hey come on Sam'
but I just can't stop.
He pulls me closer, bear hugs me.
'now come on, let's go'
I look into his eyes and as I do he turns me and pushes me forward.
We walk towards the exit.
There's a row of cabs, he takes the first in line, opens the door and I get in.
'I'm gonna tale care of you bro' he says
and I start to cry again and through my sobs I say
'I know, you will, you always do'.
Get home, he's already laid out food and we eat.
'It really is gonna be OK, Sam' he says.
'I know, I know' I say.
'can you stay'
he stops eating
'of course'
and with those words I feel a sudden strength, a sudden force to live, to try all over again, yeah, I'm gonna start over.

Jake Jr.

The driver of the taxi complained loudly while the boy lit a cigarette and smiled to himself, wondering how long it would be before Mrs. Perkins figured out she hadn't misplaced them once again. Everything about Jake was intentional, down to to the too-tight clothes he wore and the haircut more suited to a boy several years younger. He had learned from the master, his mother, but even had ammunition against her now that she probably lay awake the nights she wasn't passed out drunk wondering if it might bubble to the surface.
Sydney had been easy to deal with. And he was fairly sure the replacement would be the old geezer Southland who was so addled changing his grades would be easy. His strategy was quite simple, to be as charming and innocent looking to people that could fuck things up for him that they were disarmed before they even realized they were in battle.
The headmaster was different, he let the man have a bit of fun here and there, he wasn't exactly sure why or very concerned why, all it would take to bring him down was any number of little pieces of evidence, photographs, and he knew if it became necessary just how he would do it, he'd seduce the man's daughter first, then arrange for her to come across the pictures and e-mails by "accident," the old fool had no clue that Jake had the power to take away everything he loved in life without really trying much at all.
His mobile vibrated and he checked the screen, it was his dad again, but whatever reason he was calling Jake wasn't about to make it so easy on him. Send him fifty miles off to school and see how much the boy wants to do with you, no, he'd make his old man squirm for a day before innocently calling, pretending he'd lost the charger or some other forgivable lie.

22 June 2009


Sitting on the bed in his sisters spare room, his room now, his bed.
He hadn't the heart or inclination to unpack, that would be like acknowledging this was his place in the world now and he couldn't bare that thought.
Looking out of the window that looked into a simialrly dreary house opposite, Sydney sighed. He was brought back from this teduim by the mobile telephone vibrating on the bedside cabinet, his bedside cabinet, although not his phone. The screen informed him there was a txt message.
He worked through the keys until the message appeared.
'money in place.
ready to travel
await instructions
Trenholme, Trenholme, he turned the name over in his mind, not the same Trenholme that had been in the same year as Jake's father surely.

21 June 2009


Yes, this fitting irony. This will accomplish two things at once.

He's dug through years of photographs and to his own surprise Jake Jr. is in almost a dozen of them, maybe there was something the boy picked up on he wasn't telling himself.
So fit, so smart, and yes he did do everything to make sure the lad passed. Even giving him work in the summer and a place to sleep in the garage room because Jake had been so adamant he did not want to go home to Mum and Dad. He's met them once, and they seemed so cold, sort of ironic because they'd named the boy after his father, and there was mention of an older brother also, something elusive there because it always seemed to come up as an afterthought.
Sydney surrounds himself with these photos and to be quite sure, he must not be thinking right, after all he has a shrew and several wastes of life to look after, but his secret hobby is World-War II and now he puts this to use.
It's a Walther PPK, cold and black in his mouth while he starts the text.
"What we had was great, and I'm sorry for doing this to you," it says.
Even though there was nothing they had this will do wonders. Curse the boy for reading his mind like a psychologist. And the things Sydney could have shown him, the places, Roma, Wien, Muenchen, Berlin, all of which fell on tired deaf ears with the shrew who thought London was an exotic adventure. Yes, Jake would've liked those places, and wouldn't have minded playing as a nephew to Sydney for the tired eyes of society.
But that was never to be. And now he could exact revenge on the boy, filling his little life up with questions by police that might make him question everything he thought he knew so surely, even make the little fucker wonder why at sixteen he still slept in the same bed with his older brother, wonder about it all.
And suddenly the PPK tasted so great and he almost laughed at the thought of his blood on the Send button and wondered if they would return it to him.
Like so much in life, it just took one push.

Sydney Thompson

As Sydney Thomson contemplates life with his younger sister and her brood of half witted children in a unfashionable suburb of a town he doesn’t even want to think about, so ugly is it, iron strikes into his soul.
This school, my cottage in the grounds, comrades and boys all gone.
No summers sports days, long afternoons, watching boys in flannel whites playing cricket, no more mud splattered rugby matches to warm his winter days.
All that remains is for him to leave it behind.
No leaving party, no special photograph album with a monogrammed cover covering his years at the school, boys now men, he helped to mould looking out at him from the pages. That pleasure has been denied him.
Long serve and diligence count for nothing, especially when a boy as precious to the schools reputation as Jake are at stake, easier to sacrifice a teacher than a boy, he thinks as he turns to leave.
He walks from the garden and into the quad, where he hears a mobile telephone ringing, he follows the sound with his eyes. There is nobody here, a telephone forgotten by a boy no doubt in a rush.
He walks towards the telephone and picks it up, pushes the green receive button.
‘Thompson, can I help’.
‘Sir, sorry, Sir, this is awkward but I wonder could you help please and take my telephone to the office, you see I have left it behind’.
‘Certainly’ say’s Sydney Thompson glad to be able to help a boy in need, a last gesture of kindness on his part.
‘your name’?
‘Jake Jr, Sir’.
With that Sydney Thompson pushes the call end button and pockets the telephone as he leaves the school for the last time.
Knowledge is power Sydney he tells himself as he settles into the backseat of his cab, knowledge is power.

20 June 2009

On the Green

He pauses and shuffles his Oxfords in the tan gravel, then pauses to look back at the imposing rock walls of the building designed to scare the generations of children he has taught, and suddenly the box that somehow contains all that is left of thirty years of teaching feels like a giant block of lead.
Lead, Period Table Symbol Pb, periodic number 82, a soft and malleable metal...
The whack of the cane against the little brat's desk that started it all, and then the failing grade on the final examination that was the beginning of the end, and the next thing Sydney Thomson knew he was facing down the headmaster, a man who never smiled and now seemed to only have the most wrinkled frown on his forehead humanly possible. The accusations, and no opportunity for defense. Every protestation Sydney started to present was met with that cough that was as sharp as the blade of a guillotine. He had become aware then of the two bobbies that had appeared behind him, and the message did not need to be put into words. This sort of scandal would not do.
His thoughts were interrupted by a black taxi nearly running over his toes, and Sydney turned and found himself face-to-face with the little bastard ingrate. He thought first of yelling a defense, I never did anything to you, young man!, but that emotion quickly changed as the red-head who could have easily passed for Ron out of Harry Potter gave him the most evil smurk.
Yes, Sydney, I fucked you, and I fucked you good, you tried to flunk me out, who lost?? it said. It was all Sydney could do not to stride over and wrap his thick fingers around the boy's scrawny Welsh neck and ring it like a worthless rabbit.
Welsh rarebit.
Instead he found himself looking down, wandering towards the student garden he'd grown fond of grading papers in on sunny afternoons. He sat the box down and quickly found the small withered plant Jacob Junior had contributed to the offering, quickly checked to see if anyone was watching, and yanked his member out and urinated all over the pitiful thing, then smashed it into oblivion.
The little shit.

Jake Jr

Looks like we have a deal, the situations ongoing as they say.
I'm pretty happy as I walk into my housemaster's study.
'enter, boy' booms out from Mr Peterson.
'Sir, I need a pass to go home for a couple of days, my father and brother are both in the hospital and I think I should go and support them, Sir'.
'Yes, I was sorry to hear about that and had been expecting such a request from you'. I am surprised you didn't ask yesterday'.
'Sorry Sir, I spoke with the Doctor yesterday and he said there would be no advantage in rushing there and I had a couple of things I needed to sort here before I went, Sir'.
Mr Peterson, smiles now, as if all knowing;
'I see Jake, sensible, you seem on top of the situation there, good lad, three day pass be long enough'.
'can I have a week Sir'
'yes, of course, no problems' and with that he signs a pass form for me to take to the office.
I leave his study and go and sit in the quad, it's empty, every ones in lessons now, so it's safe to phone.
The Doctor picks up, of course he would it's a private line.
'It's Jake, Hi, I am on my way, I take it the plans are in place with the donor you have set up'?
'Yes, of course, but this will need to be discussed in person and not over the telephone, understand'.
'Yes, of course, see you tomorrow, then'.
As I put the phone back into my pocket, I hear a taxi pull up, mine I guess.

17 June 2009

Sam - Requiem(?)

The beep beep beep of the machines has goin on for days and it's like having a headache that just won't go away no matter how much you try to make it, it's living in ma head permanent-like.
Doctor seemed interested at first when I talked to him, then covered his reaction, checking around to see if anyone was listening, which they got Dad on so much painkiller now idk if he'll ever come back around enough ta hear if an airplane crashed through the roof.
And I'm askin myself wtf am I thinking, why do I care if they take it, cuz I really want to tell this world ta go fuck itself is all I really want, stick me with a shitty broke body that never worked right, do they fuckin deserve this?
I sure as hell didn't.
And it makes me sick ta think they might stick it in some fat old blue-hair who's been sucking down fast food and Dunhills and Bombay for thirty years and wonders why their ticker's givin out. Got to set conditions somehow, I think, but that's fuckin stupid, too, I mean wtf am I gonna do if they lie about what they're gonna do with it, haunt them?
I can't get this taste out of my mouth, either, it takes like bad poison all the time, and they ran some other tests without sayin what they're for so I wonder if something else is about to go wrong with me, cuz that taste just isn't right, it's rotten and stale and tastes like the smell of the dead cat I found when I was six.
And I know that Dad's gonna wake up and find me gone and well that sucks, and a part of me wants him to feel that, to let him know what it really feels like for your son ta be dead.
Or maybe I think about it more and it's my decision, my body, and then all I can think of is what if someone like Jake Jr. needed it, some kid with an easy smile and a laugh that makes everyone in the room laugh, and smarts that won't quit, I mean, that'd be ultimate cuz then it wouldn't be wasted on some old bag of flesh or wasted keeping me around for no good reason, then it would mean something, yanno, and maybe I gotta find a way to wake Dad up and talk to him to make sure that happens.
And I can't stop crying and I feel so fuckin exhausted I just want this all to end ffs.
I think more about Jake Jr. and that just makes me cry harder.

Mr Trenholm.

'Mr Trenholme, sir, sorry to interrupt your meeting but the call your requested to be put through is online now'.
Mr Trenholm looks up from a dull report written by his rather over weight head of HR and looks at the faces of his heads of department, a dull lot, he thinks.
'you will have to excuse me, I am afraid, I need to take this call in private'.
They gather their papers and file out, to wait in the outer office.
He closes the door on them and picks up the telephone.
There's a transatlantic fuzz on the line.
'Mr Trenholme, sir'.
'This is Doctor Nash, we spoke recently'.
'Yes, Trenholme quickly says not wanting to cover the where and whys of their last conversation.
'Sir, I think we have a suitable heart for donation'.


What wasn't to understand, though, is what I really wanted to ask.
It was just a curse. No matter what I did, it ended up going wrong.
Now here I was, just a kid, supposed to have all this life waiting for me. Some fucking life.
I knew what it was going to be like. I used to be so cute and attractive, used to even turn myself on a bit just by flipping my hair in the mirror at myself, silly, I know, but now the instant I took my shirt off in front of someone I wanted to fuck around with, they'd react with fear to the giant scar I knew trailed down my back now, hell even in front of me when I took a bath, there'd be that a scar from which I could never hide.
I knew the diabetes could fuck up my kidneys, but I figured I was young and maybe I didn't have to worry so much. Now it was obvious, was there nothing left but embarrassment and slow degrees of death. Whatever chance I once had of finding someone was pretty much shot unless I stuck to the ugliest possible choice, some fat person who didn't mind what my body had become. I'd hate them for that, resent them for them being the only sort of person who would ever think I was cute again.
I was supposed to quit smoking long ago but never had found much desire to unless I was too broke for it. Now there really was no reason to stop -- might as well get it over with, fuck it, let's go to three packs of day and cheap wine on top of that, push the other fucking kidney over the cliff and make sure when it finally went there I'd be somewhere no one could find me, like dogs do when they go to die, they go away to do it in private.
Or maybe I'd convince this doctor he maybe could salvage what was left of my body and talk him into putting whatever was still salvageable on the black market, one heart, 50,000quid, the Doc wasn't such the purist he'd not be tempted to buy it.

16 June 2009


Sam's coming round, what am I gonna say, I've been lying here practicing this for three hours and i still don't know what I am going to say.
'Here son'.
'Dad' the voice somehow more questioning.
'Yes Sam, it's me, here, next to you'.
'What happened, Dad'.
'to you or me' I say.
'well, me, I just blacked out at work, it's just one of them things, they just keeping me in for obs'. 'You had a diabetic episode, you missed your shot and went under'.
I can see the look of recognition in your eyes, as you start to remember. I hold my hand out to you, you look and shift in your bed.
'don't Dad, not now K'?
'it's OK Sam, no worries'.
'was there something about a kidney' you ask.
The security guard whose now sitting in a chair by the door shifts, was that a move of unease?
I look at my son, he seems so vulnerable and small, like he did when he was small and chasing footballs all over the park, running and falling, always falling.
'I don't understand it Sam, the Doctor says they had to remove a kidney because it was too damaged to save'.
Your voice more urgent now,
'I swear Dad I've done nothing that would have damaged my kidney's, I don't get it, I've done nothing'.
'Me neither Sam, I don't get it either', I say.
He shifts in his bed again, pushes his head back into the pillow and stares at the ceiling and I wonder if we are thinking the same thing.
'Dad, I just don't understand this'.


It's a nightmare, Sam is muttering things under his breath. He's sweating a bit and I get an instant flashback to the last time I ever saw him have a nightmare, he must have been nine or ten, so impossibly long ago it seems. I wonder if he has happy dreams at all.
I wonder if maybe, just maybe, this new situation could bring us together again. It's selfish, I know, terribly unfair to act like this, to think like this because some huge part of this is for my benefit. I am not even certain he wants this.
I try to sleep. I feel so helpless, tangled in tubes and wires so much I can't even wake him up to tell him it's just a nightmare and will go with morning, though it is true that the very worst nightmares are impervious to the morning sun.

15 June 2009


I know this only a dream because everything’s black and white apart from the sea which is mauve and as the waves break the peaks go to red, leaving the beach bloodstained. Children are running and playing in the blood.
I’m stood on a pier, there is only one other person as far as I can see.
A man dressed in a black pin striped suit, white shirt, black tie and highly polished shoes.
His head appears as an egg, he has no facial features, his face is totally smooth, like an egg.
He holds at arms length, a silver medical dish.
In that dish is my kidney.

13 June 2009


I wish Sydney would come back, the rent-a-cop would run away like a scared cockroach.
And I look at Sam and realize this is something I created, something I probably didn't do such a good job being in charge of, I can blame myself for how we are today.
Sure enough, I made sure he was always fed and had a roof over him, but I can't remember the last time I was ever really a father to him.
I have a strange urge to go to a park with him and throw balls back and forth, it's something I can't remember when I last did that for him. I can't remember the last time we ever talked without it winding up in a yelling match.
There are moments in life that if you miss them, you never get them back, and I find myself crying. It must be the drugs. But maybe there is something to this, that the only words I can find to say to my son are apologies.


The security guards looking at us suspicious as my Dad reaches his hand out to hold mine.
Then he walks between the beds so my Dad has to withdraw his hand, I leave my hand trailing in the air, a remembrance of an intimacy so rare recently.
The security guard stays between us.
Inhibiting any conversation between us.

12 June 2009

Jacob 2009-06-12

I've come to and for once it in the past few days it doesn't mean pain. It doesn't, however, immediately make me feel better, because the NHS Doctor here is not one for subtlety or mincing words. He sees I'm awake, and he's just said something to Sam I didn't quite catch, now, noticing I'm awake there's someone stabbing me with a needle almost at once.
"Mr. Reilley, I only have one question for you," he says.
I start to say something to make myself a bit bigger in his eyes, but before I can, he says, "We've had to operate on Sam. He's going to need you here to be with him when he's well enough to be off sedation. But, for fuck's sake, man-"
Did the Doctor just say "for fuck's sake"???
"-you honestly are telling me none of his other Doctors told you?"
"Told me what?" I manage, wondering if I just hallucinated him saying that to me because of the drugs.
"His diabetes did not come out of nowhere."
He pauses, and all I can respond with is swallowing hard at what that means for me, for Sam, and then he says, "Get some rest. I think we can save your foot, the Major got you here in time despite the idiots who worked on you last."
And he's gone. I can just reach Sam, who is still conscious but avoiding eye contact, and with a bit of a struggle I manage to just take his hand which he doesn't pull away.
"I'm sorry, son, and I love you," is all I can think of to say.

2009=06-12 Sam

I just don't get it.
A minute ago my Dad charged in with that scary mate of his, the one who kidnapped me when I was 14 and living at Len's house. He carried me straight out of the house, slapped me around, then locked me in the boot of his car. He was the one who sat in my room for eight days solid as I slowly re-entered the life my parents had decided was fit and proper for me. He was the one who drove me to that school, where they took the cheques and nobody asked questions.
And what the fuck happened to 'do not administer drugs' why am I still here?
And now this Doctor is telling me I've had a kidney removed, cos it was too damaged.
And he looks and says 'any questions'
and as soon as my lips part he says;
'no good, now rest' and there's a needle in my arm and he's gone.

Jacob 2009-06-11

I have to stop waking up like this. This time it is to a loud crash which echoes horribly in my Whisky-soaked head like a ball peen hammer to the knees. The pain travels straight down to my feet which feel as if a million biting spiders are feasting.
It's Sydney, I realize, even in the dark his short burly silhouette is unmistakable, even at just five foot six, the man is fourteen stone, almost all of it muscles earned from years in the SAS and God knows what else. The man dropped mention of Mogadishu once in conversation and I was wise enough not to ask further.
He can tell I'm awake, and as is customary for him, he does not bother with pleasantries, before I can protest he has sized me up, down to the blood-and-Whisky drenched wraps on my feet, and lifts me up like a wife being carried over the threshold, putting as much effort into it as one might require when lifting a pen.
I haven't quite come around to what is going on, not that I would be in much position to do a damned thing about it in his bear's grasp.
"You're a fucking mess, you know this," he says to me as he tosses me into the front seat like a sack of groceries. "You're just damned lucky I got involved when I did, because charges won't be filed."
"Charges? What charges?" I ask, wishing he had at least allowed me a glass of water and a paracetemol before yanking me up.
He won't answer me, and before I know it, we are in a part of the city I would never dare set foot in without someone like him around. He has found Sam, I guess, easily enough, this is the sort of place he might wind up. We pull up to an impossibly filthy building that passes for a hospital, and an orderly appears with a wheelchair which gets him a glare from Sydney that would freeze anyone. Instead, I am carried in, every protest from some public servant being ignored, and one security guard who quickly decides not to get in Sydney's way beats a retreat.
And then I see where he has taken me. It's Sam, but I scarcely recognize him. He looks pale, sick, and the room reeks of vomit. I am tossed onto an adjacent gurney before I can say anything. Sam sees me, acknowledges me, but looks as if he is feeling to sick to say much. I turn to say something to him, but before I get the first word out someone has come in and ripped the bandage off of my foot with such force I scream in pain. A syringe I really hope is clean is jammed into my arm and all I can see as the room grows blurry is Sydney, arms folded, standing in the corner, and a man I guess is a doctor who has not bothered to clean the blood of his former patient off. Even through the blur of whatever was in the syringe i can feel the hot pain of whatever is cutting into my foot. As things fade out I look over at Sam and he is looking back at me, which is the only thing is this room that isn't terrifying me.

11 June 2009

Doctor & Nurse: a short conversation

Double doors sweep open. An empty stretcher rests abandoned in the corridor. A water bottle and drip are sent into hiding by white flaying coat and brown sensible shoes. Green overalls, plimsols and surgical mask squeeks along behind. A door opens and slams shut.

"If that little shit remembers anything of what has passed here tonight we're all for the chop! Are you sure he was completely out? Are you fucking sure!?"

Green trousers drops mask and eyes the doctor: "He was out on arrival... That is certain. At what point he gained consciousness I cannot say exactly. It would have been around 12.45 that I..."

"That You possibly saved the only person you should have killed. What we have here is much more than a suicidal diabetic... what we have here is a HUGE FUCKING PROBLEM... a registered, treated and pissed-off problem!"

Green overalls lowers his gaze and eyes brown sensible shoes. He thinks and then sinks a flushed and tired head into clean hairy hands.

10 June 2009

Sam 2009-06-10

'Which one you fucking, fuckheads revived me'

'FUCK, who was it'





Two nurses and a Doctor are backed up against the cubical wall.

They look scared, they fucking should be scared right now.

'I said








The Doctor takes a step forward, 'I did'

'and why' I bellow at him.

he smiles, he must think he's on firmer ground now.

'you had a diabetic episode, you fell into a coma, your insulin levels were dangerously low'

I can't fucking believe this. Fuck wad. I shout cutting him off.

'Yes I know I had a fucking diabetic episode as you call it' I scream

the fucker steps back again.

'did any of you read this, when you so heroically saved my live'

I point to my chest and the ink on it, Gothic lettering, four inches high.



'Well did you' I say pointing to the Doctor

'you' now the nurse

'or you perhaps'


They look but dare not speak.

I pick up a jug of water from the bedside table and hurl it in no particular direction and then I feel an arm grab me from behind, then another and another push a needle into my ass.

As I'm going down I hear the Doctor say to a nurse I guess,'who is he'.

Jacob 2009-06-10 (Control)

I wake up and it feels as if someone stuffed five bags of cotton in my mouth and a thousand fiery needles in my foot.
The bandages are soaked red and I yell for Sharon but there's no answer.
The gin is gone.
And my mobile is silent.
Sid has found nothing.
I curse myself because I hate irony, and the irony kicking me now is so obvious, the one person I need most now is the one person I've hurt most.
My one son, who put up with all of the shit through two mothers, both of whom were somewhat successful alcoholics, and I never gave him his due for this, not even when the boy who was eight then took a punch to the eye meant for my stomach by the last one. He was just a small thing back then, and he started crying, and I remembered it like yesterday so vividly that it made me want to throw up.
I crawled to the cabinet, thankful for my longstanding insistence that I be ready to entertain all manner of businessmen and sell them on the new lines.
Glenlivet 21, great stuff, well tasted to me a bit like toilet waste but David from Bristol loved it, drank shocking amounts. Seventy quid each to keep it full up just to make sure the man bought the pricier Ricoh copiers and not the cheaper Russian knockoffs the lesser salesmen prided themselves on selling. Four bottles in here. He'd just purchased a dozen Ricohs for his office in Glasgow, so it would be a while before he would be here to drink my Whisky and tell bad jokes and hit on her.
The pain is unbearable. Maybe it's getting infected?
I cracked one of them open and drank it straight from the bottle, the nausea almost instant, but I held it back. It tasted warm.
I poured some of it over the blood-soaked bandage and yelled through a towel, lest I wake the neighbors. I knew that this was taking me right back down a dark path that had almost killed me at seventeen but at least it stopped the physical pain for a moment.
I leaned against the cheap fake wood cabinet door and drank deeply and thought about Sam, his left eye swollen shut almost as he cried and I learned to stop telling him that grownups do things for no good reason at all sometimes. And, now, I'm crying, me, Jacob Saxon, a full grown man, sitting here with a bottle of Whisky, nursing it like a newborn to try and stop my pain.
I've never apologized to him for that.
He must hate me.
This makes me cry more.
Most of all, this makes me want him here more to tell him how sorry I am for being his Dad.

Sam 2009-06-10 (Just)

No joined up thoughts now.
Almost no consciousness.
Just images mainly, lights. Filtered through shut lids, that thin skin that differentiates between sleep and waking, life and death.
I've walked through life lately wishing for da penny's.
Blue lights, flashing, ambulance I guess. Ah Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK
Bright white light with someone moving round me, paramedic? Maybe, dunno, WTF.
Regular white light, every second or so, bright, light, bright, light, bright, light.
Regular bright white light, a disc of light.
E.R I guess.

09 June 2009

Jacob 2009-06-09

As I expected. All the way home, Sharon didn't speak to me. I got several angry looks out of her, was all.
She almost closed the elevator door on me as I limped behind her.
And now she's poured herself a giant glass of Tanqueray with a splash of tonic for appearances and disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door on me as I ask: "Where is Sam?"
I stare for a minute, then sink onto the couch, wincing at the pain.
I ponder what to do.
My mind is obliterated by this white hot pain.
I have to focus but the paracetemol is in the bathroom and at present that would be sixty painful hops round trip.
Gin it is.
No glass.
I drink straight from the bottle like I did in college and almost spray it everywhere, calming the burn with the tonic which of course goes up my nose.
Where the hell is Sam?
I'm in no condition to find him, but, thinking of college I know who might be well positioned to.
I pick up the mobile and ring up an old friend from those days who now has a fairly vague job with the government, and soon we are speaking as if we have only parted company a day ago.
"Sydney? I've hurt myself, so I can't get about, but I really need your help, old friend," I say, which, as was always the case, is all I ever need to ask.
More gin.
My mobile is charged.
More gin.
Sydney, please find him.

Sam. 2009-06-09

I'm slipping.
I know the symps.
Done this before.
Sweating getting intense now.
Eyes are like losing some focus.
I can see the people in the club, kinda blurry, some are looking at me.
A bouncer comes over, shakes me, like hard.
'you out, now' he hollers.
No drugs, not here, kid'.
'Get ya shit and go'.
I look up him, from under ma fringe.
LOL stupid fuck.
This ain't no drugs OD.
It's the opposite ya dumb fuck.
I'm slipping into the comfort zone now.
Like under water.
Two hands, lifting me.
Ma feet are dragging the stairs.
The hands are hurting my shoulders and pits.
Grips too tight.
Air, cold, sharpe, it hits me.
They sit me on the floor.
I'm still slipping.
Fucking hurry up and go under, is all I can think.
Get me into that diabetic coma.
I wanna get there, so bad.
I wanna experience my own death.

08 June 2009

Jacob 2009-06-08

I just awoke and the Doctor is peering at me intently, and the only impression that I can think of is of a vulture waiting for its meal to die.
It's not a pleasant way to wake up. And, as luck would have it, about to get worse.
"Where is my wife?" is the first thing I can think of, which is a terribly selfish thing to ask considering that without even knowing if anything is amiss, I'm back to my old anxiety attack days of college.
"She's right there," with a gesture to Sheila, which of course is shocking on two levels and more than a bit alarming. This perfectly groomed woman now looks as if she has gone through several cycles on a washing machine, unkempt, exhausted, first off, and of course she's not my wife, which also means that if Sharon walks through that hospital door jet-lagged from a 12 or more hour flight, and poor flyer that she is, probably more than a few sheets to the wind, questions about why my secretary has apparently overnighted in hospital with me will come up. Bad questions.
"That's not my wife," I stumble.
The doctor registers shock before I realize that he was in fact pointing at a very tired look Sharon, sitting directly across from Sheila, not even attempting to conceal the pack of cigarettes in her vest pocket that she thinks I believed she'd quit. It is only slightly moderated by the fact that my boss is also there, all of them looking quite concerned. Which I suppose is normal, I mean it's not every day that one's loafer fills up with blood in the office lobby. That doesn't really help much, however.
"When was the last time you had a check-up?" ventures the Doctor, trying very hard to avoid the non-medical questions.
"Well, I don't know, I mean, maybe a year, maybe two, I mean," now offering up the salesrep laugh that sold copiers worldwide, "I mean, what with work and the economy as it is, it's been busy."
Searching for clues in his eyes. No luck.
"Well, we don't have the full blood count back yet. That's going to come in tomorrow or the next day. In the meantime, before I bring your wife in, is there anything you would like to tell me?"
"About what?"
"I mean, have you been feeling stressed, depressed, you know, the like?"
I almost fell for that one before I realized that the needle I stepped on might not have been Sam's insulin kit after all.
"Not really, why?"
He nods without giving further information.
"Very well. We will get you out of here shortly, and come back on Thursday. I...I can offer you assistance, I mean, if you're having any sort of problem with..."
"With what?" I ask, throwing as much defiance in my voice as I can muster. This is a family matter and none of your bloody business...
He smiles a little too tentatively and pats me gently. "Very well, I will see you Thursday. And, in the meantime, you're to stay off of that foot as much as possible. We have to remove a lot of small pieces of metal from it."
Then I became very aware of the pain and, as if reading my mind.
"I really can't give you anything for the pain, you understand, right? And you should not take any more aspirin than needed because that might thin your blood too much."
I didn't understand, but now the anxiety was growing, and I just wanted to be home, so I nodded, and with that he was gone.
This was going to be a great day, I could feel it already. It was then I noticed the only person missing was Sam, and I had lost an entire day or more in here somewhere.

06 June 2009

Sam 1 2009-06-05.1.50

The mobile's ringing from like a mile away
Now it's closer.
It's mine?
where is it?
Fuck, now I have to get outta bed.
there's shattered glass on the floor.
OK. alright
'what the hospital'
'no she's in Tokyo maybe, I dunno, Tokyo, yeah'
'my dad'
'no I can't come now'
'Sheila, dunno her, no, sorry'
'listen, no I'm not gonna come OK'
'Look, I'll tell his brother Ok, Im going there now, yeah on my way, OK?
Hang up, WTF, Hospital, Dad, not like I care, not like he does by the look of it.

Jacob #1 2009-06-05 13:13

I look down and I can't believe this. I mean, my loafer is literally soaked in blood. And I'm at the front desk, and there's Sheila, and I - wow - I, I honestly don't know what to say. Balls, she's noticed, and now she's running around the desk.
I'm trying to answer her. God I am such a weak man. Ever since I was ten the sight of blood made me faint, and now, in front of Sheila of all people, I, I...
The next thing I know I am looking at a man in a white coat, and all I can think is, how did I get here. He's asking me all sorts of questions about drug usage and he's writing something in that awful black pad of his and I can see Sheila, but she doesn't seem to look at me. She looks...no...not angry, well, yes she looks angry, but why does she look so scared?
And what is this doctor saying to me about more tests and confirmations? I quit smoking ten years ago. I don't eat red meat. What tests do they need, I simply stepped on a broken bottle or-
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
Fuck this.
My hands hurridly unfasten buckel on my belt, undo button, zipper down, trousers down.
Man, seven small cuts, flesh slashed downwards on the top off my leg.
In one of the cuts I see a fishing hook still in place.
I dropped my fucking briefcase and everything just-
Oh my god.
Where's a bathroom?
I feel dizzy and I just realized the wet in my loafers is blood.
It's blood.
ahhh fuck.
The cab drivers raving against the world, immigrants,football,celebrities, I've had em all in er ya know.
Slam door hard.
Watch lift travel the floors.
Corridor, harsh light, offices,cubical.
"Dad, you didn't really..." I waved him off. I was now twelve minutes late and good luck getting to work on the tube. Another tenner or more on a black taxi. Great. I don't know, why, I felt a little sick.
a broken hyperdermic lay shattered on the floor. Their eyes met. The look only a Father can give a son. Shake of the head and a slow walk towards the door. WTF it's time to get up I guess.

things get colder.

It was raining and shitting and snowing and I realized I'd forgotten the fucking umbrella. I was six minutes late already and Sam was still asleep and my wife was in Tokyo like always and why the fuck isn't the 'kid' up yet for work? I kicked over his amp on the way in to yell at him, I mean, living at home at that age was bad enough, now he broke my toe, and I felt something sharp. Like really sharp, like doctor sharp, right through my toenail and it felt warm and I screamed because it hurt and he woke up and stared at me, same dead eyes as ever. The eyes woke up and met mine and he said, 'Oh shit, dad, you didn't just step on that, oh fuck,' and that was when we both looked down.