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THE LAST LAUGH

PAUL WILLIAMS — 2008-09-05

GREENWICH PARK SOUTH EAST LONDON Every time I visit this beautiful park, I'm drawn to the same conclusion upon reaching this particular spot. The workmen were having a laugh the day they placed those benches into concrete bases. Facing the other way, you have a beautiful vista overlooking lush green hills and the Royal observatory, the steps descending towards the gorgeous green valley of squirrel infested grand old Oaks and the statue of General Wolfe. Placed this way, you overlook the ugly tarmac layer of a busy stretch utilised by joggers and cyclists with annoying frequency, dissecting the beauty of the landscape, and distracting one's eyes from the gentle contemplation of Nature's wonder. Yep, those workmen were having a laugh that day all right!

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DECAY

PAUL WILLIAMS — 2008-09-04

The years have not been kind to either of us. Twenty six years have passed by since I first stood on this very spot, fresher faced and less tainted by the rigors of life's many roller coaster like twists and turns, back then. Before the failing eyesight as the distance needed to view my motorcycle magazines now outstretches the lengths of my arms, before the thirty something battle of the bulge where nowadays I merely have to look at a cream cake to put on two pounds! Long before the days of needing an afternoon nap after any form of exertion. Where once stood a beautifully ornate bridge, there now lurks devestation and decay as mother nature reclaims the land that was rightfully hers, no longer cared for by dutiful gardeners, a cluttered pathway of intrusive bramble which leaves this secret haven devoid of visitors other than dewy eyed romantics such as we. Rusted metal, rotting away and encased by creeping vines, provides the backdrop to my happy memories now, as my eyes roll across the tranqil spot and my head is filled with rose tinted reminiscence from the days of my youth. The happy hours later spent here, the courtship days when silence was golden as Pat and I held hands and pondered our future together. Little did she realise that a murderer get's only six years, but she's still doing time with me after all these years!! The irony of the scene makes me smile. Together, we have grown old disgracefully, my retreat and me! My little Gingey baby still looks so beautiful, those eyes still burning bright, her infectious smile still warming my heart. There is rustic charm in this treasured location. And me? Let's not go there!

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FLUTTER BY

PAUL WILLIAMS — 2008-09-03

WINGS OF THE BUTTERFLY Flutter by, sweet butterfly Wings of golden hue In dreams of flight by darkened night I wish that I were you To scour the skies, with wings like eyes And race against the wind You glide and swoop, and cock a snoop At our pointless daily grind Your beauty vast, though life won't last Your precious timespan short To woo and mate, to contemplate The journey you have sought So calm and gentle, heaven sent you Down to please us so Though time is short, my sad retort As I must watch you go So rest a while, as you beguile These eyes that love you so With flapping wings, you show me things No words, I need to know Flutter by, sweet butterfly You thrill this happy heart I'll say goodbye, with cheerful eyes And smile as you depart (Written by Paul Williams, August 19 2008) SCADBURY NATURE RESERVE SIDCUP, KENT JULY 22 2008

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JUST GRATE

PAUL WILLIAMS — 2008-09-02

The object which brought forth an impromptu barrage of tears from Helen's eyes, remained impassive and aloof as both she and the passers by stared at it's metallic form. Ears pricked up from several meters away as her gentle sobbing gave way to a resigned acceptance of what had happened. Tears on their own, cannot, she summised, repair the damage done. No, it would take a steady hand of a trained cobbler to achieve such a goal. David had by now curtailed his instant and spontaneous bout of laughter, realising that his reaction had in no way helped the situation nor placated his girlfriends real and obvious distress. The pretty red shoe rested firmly in Helen's left hand, as she sat upon the ground directly next to the tiny grate situated directly overhead the picturesque bridge. Not five minutes previously, after a magnificent evening meal at the 'Coach and horses' restaraunt, where Lobster and steak were the order of the day, washed down by Mascio Prosecco Frizzante and lavishly calorific profiteroles, David had expressed a desire to capture the beauty of his date, against the backdrop of bridge and water just along from the scene of the gourmet meal. Searching for that elusive winning shot, and beckoning her ever further back towards the weeping willow tree, Helen had inadvertantly stepped, bright red patent stilletto heel onto unforgiving metal slatted cattle style grate, and the resulting interface had left an obvious and unsurprising conclusion. Heel caught by the vicious slats, body twisting in shock, the shoe had ripped in it's moorings, Helen sent sprawling to the floor like a floundering bantam weight boxer hit by a sucker punch to her dainty glass jaw. To Helen at least, it seemed that, upon raising her mascara encrusted eyes to the surrounds, the entire park full of evening strollers had turned to gaze upon her plight. Oh the shame of it, the ignominy. The injustice. Those very heels had taken a month to locate and almost an entire months salary to procure. Tears now seemed the most appropriate course of action, as she remained planted to the dry muddy ground, licking her metaphoric and psychological wounds. As David did the gentlemanly thing, placing his Armani clad buttocks on the dry dusty ground beside his girlfriend's disheveled position, Helen rested her head upon his chest and began to laugh. The laughter soon spread to passers by, and , as Helen kicked off the one good shoe remaining, the couple cuddled and watched the sun slowly sinking in the evening sky. Ah well, thought Helen, what's a pair of shoes in the big scheme of things! HALL PLACE BEXLEY AUGUST 10 2008

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THE REPLACEMENT

PAUL WILLIAMS — 2008-09-01

CRAY VALLEY MEADOWS KENT JULY 20 2008 Deacon stumbled through the bramble, with the grace of a mortally wounded big cat at the end of a corporate funded hunt, finally emerging into the open space with the bridge just a hundred metres ahead. Hand held closely to his stomach, the warm seepage of ruby red lifeblood gently pulsing through his sweaty digits, in perfect time with the beating of his heart, as he stumbled ever closer to the stonework and algae cocktail, the sound of the river growing ever louder in his ears. He was aware of the footsteps behind him, and the sound of scything undergrowth and agitated breath, desperation mounting to finish off the job in hand. Blood covered flesh finally made intimate contact with the cold stark stonework, as, placing an arm on the wall to steady himself, Deacon swung round, bleary eyes focusing hard on the tall dark figure heading his way from the sanctuary of the treeline. His assailant walked menacingly, and with vigorous strides, 9mm hand gun held within black leather gloves, as the silencer barrel was fixed and twisted into place Deacon flashed in and out of conciousness, his mind vacant and wandering, perusing the avenues of his intricate and convoluted double life. The lies he had told, the secrets he had kept, the web of deceit he had spun, all seemed to pale into insignificance now as his life flashed before him. The game was up. He could walk no further, energy draining from his being as the blood pooled on the ground below him, his thought's of escape all but faded of hope and drive. He managed a cursory glance to his left at the hypnotic falling of the river water through a series of round tunnels, the crystal clear liquid forming tiny rainbows in the midday sunlight as it cascaded into the stream below. The footsteps ceased and the dark figure now stood three feet from Deacon's failing body. Deacon looked up at the feminine features, desperately trying to focus on facial features, somewhat obscured by the shadows of the direct sunlight " A woman " He afforded himself a wry smile, his half hearted attempt at ironic laughter thwarted by coughing, a gaping hole in his torso and a searing pain in his stomach. " Isn't that just perfect. My replacement, a woman! " The assailant raised the Baretta, the silencer now perfectly in line with Deacon's temple " You know, I was like you once ", he growled with all the purpose and venom he could finally muster. " And one day, it will be you standing in my place, when the organisation no longer requires your services " The assailant, momentarily halting, glinting eyes and beginnings of a confident smirk, snapped back " You were never in my league " A short crack wrang out, a single bullet to the temple followed by two straight to Deacon's heart saw his carcass hit the deck, dead long before the impact of bone and concrete ever played out it's deliciously seductive final embrace. As Deacons blood dripped and dribbled it's way into the river, the assailant turned tail, holstered her weapon and vanished into the undergrowth, long gone before the first screams rose into the air from shocked ramblers discovering the body of a nameless, faceless family man.

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FROM BOTH SIDES (PART 2 OF 2)

PAUL WILLIAMS — 2008-08-31

TIME FOR A SQUISHY BALL " Oh, Major! What have you done? " The dulcet tones of Major's owner wrang out in the picturesque picnic spot, but he was far too busy contemplating the demise of his cherished playtoy to take much notice. He'd had that particular tennis ball since he was a tiny puppy, and of all the toys adorning his garden back home, that silly little fluffy round thing had always been his favourite. Failing to comprehend how the spherical object had managed to collapse into two, he nudged one half with his snout, and prodded it with a tentative paw, letting out a resigned snuffle. By now, Steve, his owner had finally caught up with him, and sighing, placed a reasuring hand upon Major's furry back, gently stroking and smiling at the same time " Don't worry me old matey, I'll nip down to the sports shop in the morning and get you another one. I've got to go and sign the divorce papers with the bitch Queen, so I can make a detour whilst I'm there " Major frowned. Letting out his salivating tongue from the left side of his mouth. Clearly his owner did not fully grasp the gravity of the situation. This was his comfort ball, his little friend, coated in reminiscent scent and drool and steeped in happy memories that no new ball could replace. This ball was given to him when the girls were still quite young, and he always brought it here to the avenue of trees, and chased it around, pretending that he didn't know his owner was hiding behind the big Oak in the centre every time! This was important, life and death, the centre of his universe, not just any old ball! " I'll get you one of those really bouncy squishy balls that you so love when you're over at mum's house playing with Rex" Major's ears pricked up. Squishy ball, just like Rex's? Hmmmm... now we're not just whistling Dixie! Trotting back towards the car, his tail high like a bumper car's power line, he smiled to himself as he gathered up his leash within his mouth and chased his tail for a few fleeting seconds. Hey, it was just a stupid tennis ball, it didn't mean that much to him! Anyway, It was soooo yesterday, really.

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FROM BOTH SIDES (PART 1 OF 2)

PAUL WILLIAMS — 2008-08-30

THE SWEET SORROW OF GOODBYE Steve felt his heart ache with sorrow as he reached the exact spot where ordinarily, joy and laughter featured on the well earned lines of his forty something face. Now there was an emptiness, a void, as though a part of him had somehow died. He pondered how such a daily occurance as a walk in the park can be taken for granted, become a part of one's daily life to the point of feeling instinctive, natural, like the very motion of inhailing and exhailing breath themselves. Now, his heart felt hollow and broken, and even the memories of so many happy years could not prevent the corners of his eyes from becoming moist. He felt so foolish, this burly rugby sevens player, this man's man, the rock of inspiration for his family and friends reduced to a gibbering wreck on the cusp of shedding tears. But this feeling within, these memories relived, truly hurt. Walking along through the familiar avenue of Oaks, his mind cast back to the day that little snouty bundle of fur and ears was brought round to the family door by neighbours having rescued him from being drowned by his owner, callous and unsympathetic to a new litter of six German sheppherd puppies. It was love at first sight, though Steve had always claimed the dewy childlike fawning of daughters Emily and Casandra had forced his reluctant hand in offering the little tyke a permanent roof. Was that really fifteen years ago? Emily now at college studying Law, and Casandra herself a mother, so calm and natural. Even Valerie was, back then at least, a doting wife and mother, before the days of independence loomed like the cythe of old Death himself over the mariage, and the need to 'find herself' , which strangely precluded Steve, and necessitated the company of his former closest friend! Steve came to a halt by a particularly aged and impresive oak which, up until a week ago, he had always hidden behind as Major chased after his favourate scruffy ball, albeit at a leisurely pace with tired old limbs racked and riddled by the cruel hand of arthiritis, and eyes of cateract whitish hue. In his pocket he fumbled for the tiny gold coloured metal plate, the nametag which had adorned Majors neck all these years. Rusted somewhat, bent and aged, he gently rubbed the disc between his index finger and thumb, and sucked in a lungful of air. Through good times and bad, the pain of divorce, the sorrow of losing a kid brother to the ravages of illness, in all that time there had been one constant. When an empty house beckoned as children departed on their individual quest for lives, and Valeria moved to the warmth of another's bed, that silly creature had greeted Steve at the door. That big fluffy mound of loving fur, Major had given years of loyal affection, asking little in return other than some hearty food, and his daily walkies. This pain was real, this wound was deep. As Steve walked back to the confines of his lonely Jeep, still high with the aroma of wet dog and wearing a coat of moulting hairs with rpide, still harbouring the blanket in which Major had made that final, tortuous visit to the veterinary practice, he placed the key into the ignition barrel and gave one final look at the avenue of oaks. " Farewell old boy" The engine thrummed with a tappety resonance, as wheels slowly turned and yet another chapter of Steve's life came to an end.

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SIGMANTOID & THE BRIDGE OF WHISPERS

PAUL WILLIAMS — 2008-08-29

The legend of Sigmantoid the Troll, was born of venomous tongues which wagged tales of bloodlust and spite, and spewed bodies of brave knights daring to try and cross the 'Bridge of whispers'. For Sigmantoid was seven feet six, and muscle bound with fiery heart and temper bad and raging, the last remaining Troll in the kingdom of Threthsellar, governed by the mighty warrior, King Sabien. The King had issued a proclaimation that any brave knight so defeating the evil Sigmantoid and bringing forth the head and blackened heart of the foul odious beast, would receive the castles's vaults of gold and the hand of his beautiful daughter, Princess Fabrice as just reward. Long years passed and a succession of valiant and noble knights, clad in chain mail han crafted by virgin maidens and armour of ornately embellished Gold, failed in their task, slain by Sigmantoid and tossed limb by limb over the castle walls. Blood flowed and dreams faded with every attempt to slay the beast. As Princess Fabrice grew older, and more lined of face, her hopes of marriage filtering away like the fading sunlight on a summers evening, the king, devoid of any more brave knights in his kingdom willing to die in vain, rode on fiery steed to the 'Bridge of Whispers' and summoned forth the vicious Troll to fight one last battle. " Foul Troll Sigmantoid, do you know who you address?", asked the king defiantly, as he clambered from his petulant steed, Hercules, and pulled from his scabbard, a hand crafted sword which had slain a thousand Borantian heads, the sworn enemy of the King and his empire. " Of course " Sigmantoid replied, " My Lord, I am humble in your presence, and honoured by your visit. I bid you welcome " The king stopped in his tracks, bemused and mistrustful of his hearing, examining Sigmantoids cleft pallet and child like eyes. " Know then, that I am here to fight you? ", he exclaimed, raising his sword high above his head in readiness for battle. " Yes, my Lord. But if you must fight me, then know that you shall surely die. For I am Sigmantoid, keeper of the 'Bridge of whispers', feared by all and equally loathed, and no man is a match for my strength. But, my King, be you so assured in your desperation to fight me, that you cannot indulge a simple troll in a moments conversing on matters of significance? " King Sabien listened intently as the Vile Toll offered his services as personal guardian to his Majesty, keeper of the castle gates, and defender against the Borantian hoards who had long since threatened to overrun the Kingdoms somewhat depleted army of brave knights. For an hour and more King Sabien, resting on the dewy grass of lush foliage, listened intently to the eloquent words of the not so vicious Troll Sigmantoid, amazed at the reasoning and generosity of the beasts offer to restore his kingdom and pride amongst the dwindling army of frightenede knights. "Only a foolish King would walk away from such a gracious offer. But tell me Sigmantoid, why make such a gesture now, when I am prepared to fight you to the death" Sigmantoid sat next to the king, his large ogre like buttocks pounding the ground like a minor earthquake as they landed in the lush softness " My King, you have never before sent message nor word to me, other than the brave knights ripped asunder as they attempt to fulfill your wishes and slay me for personal wealth and the love of your daughter, Princess Fabrice. You have viewed me as your enemy, when never have I been one, having previously come to your castle gate with this same offer many years ago. You judged me harshly, and talked not with me, despatching your finest knights who chased me to the edge of the Kingdom, to the 'Bridge of whispers', which became my reason to live, my fortress, the home I had sought from you sire. " The King bowed his head in shame, weeping pools of tears for his stupidity, and the deaths of so many brave young knights. Rising to his feet, he stretched out a hand in friendship and beckoned Sigmantoid the Troll come with him and take his place in the Kingdom of Threthsellar. As the two wandered back towards the gates of the beautiful castle, a huge weight of burden lifted from the kings head, Sigmantoid turned his head and asked " Now, about the offer of your daughters hand.......... "

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LIGHT LUNCH

PAUL WILLIAMS — 2008-08-28

FARNINGHAM KENT JUNE 5 2008 Despite the proliferation of Police officers dotted around the taped off crime scene, a plethora of television crews attempted to breach the cordon, clammering over the finest of detail in an effort to capture the killer shot, the vital clue as to the nature of this most bizarre of events. Detective Inspector Monroe scratched his sunburned forehead, clearly bemused by the gravity of the situation and eager to establish a lead, from his team of phorensic investigators now examining the area for the minutest of clues. Last day on the job after thirty years loyal service, and all hope of a quiet day to bow out on, seemingly gone. Larger than life, and twice as ugly, Bob phelps, the genial pub landlord, carefully combed the single wayward whisp of hair clinging for it's life to his reddish balding head, and gappy toothed, smiled into Channel five's camera lens as the perky Blonde reporter asked him a few trivial questions. " Well, it was the strangest thing. One minute, the place was full of happy families, kids throwing empty pint glasses at the ducks, mums and dads seated at the tables having ordered sandwiches and lunch time food and drink, served fresh and tasty at a reasonable price, that's our motto you see..... a typical summer day really, and the next.... a blinding ray of light, like a beam from high above, a few muffled screams and nothing.... all gone. Everyone outside, simply vanished into thin air " A sudden shout from the distant perimeter of the field from a kneeling Police cadet, drafted in with colleaues to comb the ground for evidence. Monroe raced over to where the lad was situated and took from his juvenile, sweaty hand, a mobile phone, and a small piece of paper with some scawled writing on it. " Hmmm..... The call ended at one thirty five, that ties in exactly with the witnesses statements " Monroe examined the piece of paper, with the words 'God Help us' written almost illegibly in black ink. " But if there was a blinding ray of light and, kaboom!, then how did someone have the time to write this plea for help? " A phorensic investigator appeared from behind Monroe, almost making him jump as he touched the Inspectors arm " It's A time vortex, Jim, but not as we know it! To the outside viewer, it happened in the blink of an eye, but to the victim, it was slow, and oh so painful. I saw that on a rerun of the original sixties 'Star Trek ' series last week. Bones discovered this time Vortex and Captain Kirk didn't believe him at first, and Spock being a vulcan and all........" " Don't be a pillock all your life, Phil ", Monroe quipped, as he shook his head. "What have you got for me?" " Jim, we've combed the area and found nothing. Even the plates, cutlery and beer glasses have gone. It's freaky. I mean, we've found evidence of some sort of scorch marks over parts of the area, as if a bright light or intensive heat damaged the grass. Alien abduction is all very well and dandy, but unless the little green bug eyed fellas are planning to start their own parallel universe 'Little chef', why take the cutlery! Now do you believe me about the Time vortex? It's illogical, Capp'n, I need more power, he's dead Jim, make it so ....... " Monroe walked away without hearing the conclusion of his Phorensic officers best Star Trek gags, his eyes focusing upon a young distraught girl, being wrapped in a blanket and comforted by junior officers by the rivers edge. " We found a survivor guvnor, crouched in the water tunnel under the bridge, she claims she escaped the beam and saw everything " Monroe clicked open his mobile phone and pressed speed dial, gesturing to his officers that he would join them shortly. " Hello Helen, just thought I'd let you know, it looks like it's going to be rather a long day. Can we take a rain check on dinner this evening......... "

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I DON'T THINK THE BRIDE SHOULD BE WEARING WHITE

PAUL WILLIAMS — 2008-08-27

THE PARISH CHURCH OF ST MARY THE VIRGIN RYE, EAST SUSSEX JUNE 28 2008 Now, on first glance, it might seem a little odd to sit in a graveyard sampling the culinery delights of a pre packed salad bowl and perusing the morning's newspaper. However, on what was a gloriously hot and beautiful day in Rye town centre, in the Parish church of St Mary the virgin (built in the 13th century), this couple sat, content in each other's company, listening to the peeling of the bells, as a full scale white wedding unfolded directly in front of them on the lawns, complete with de rigeur, white stretched Chryslers and tearful mothers dressed in clothes far too young for them, hem lines to the navel - and the entire scene seemed so quaintly English nd surreal I'm certain that I heard the lady perched on the bench, without so much as a turn of the head in the direction of her husband, utter an astute observation on the meringue atired bride, clearly heavy with what could only be a baby elephant fit to burst from her motherly stomach, " You know, I really don't think that the bride should be wearing white! " They were nice looking prawns in that sald bowl, though!

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MOONLIT MENACE

PAUL WILLIAMS — 2008-08-26

Midnight air pulsates and writhes, mingling with the piercing light of a perfectly formed full moon, the product of another Sidereal month having passed into the annals of time. A triumphantly gloating, silvery white sphere sits high and proud, nestling dominance nonchelantly portrayed to the population of human ants, feverishly scampering way below. Streets glisten under flickering city lamps, as a plague of moths headbutt cracked glass lenses with conviction as they dance their delicious aerial two step on course to oblivion. Like mankind himself, they are driven by irrisistable forces too strong to deny, and spiral towards their certain destiny, and probable doom. Sporadically situated groups of night time dwellers, congregate on street corners, backs arched defiantly against the cold cement of shuttered shop fronts, flicking cigarette butts with their life drained dry, into stoney grey metallic drain covers, evidence of their time here as they drunkenly laugh and talk in loud tones enough to awaken the dead. Testosterone fills the air like the cheap perfume of low class hookers on the prowl for fresh meat. Here, muscle flexing, posturing and shallow words are the order of the day, as soul less eyes register shattered dreams and disillusioned minds. There is brooding atmosphere in this twilight landscape, the early hours emerging from the night before, as foxes scour the stinking refuse bins, piled high, for food worth scavenging, and bark their calls dissenting and perturbed as rivals enter keenly guarded turf. A war will ensue, there will be blood tonight from mankind or animal, as survival instincts, pack syndrome and blind aggression slip behind the thin veil of civility and lines are crossed. And all the while, that big old moon simply watches and smiles, no matter the consequence of the night's undoubted rumblings, she will continue her lunar cycle, unabated, undeterred. HALL PLACE BEXLEY, KENT JULY 29 2008

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TEMPORARY SANCTUARY

PAUL WILLIAMS — 2008-08-25

TEMPORARY SANCTUARY In lush tones of natures rich tapestry Peppered rays of golden sunlight fall Rejuvenating patches bare where life once thrived Bathed and basking in sublime tranquility Your secrets safe from invasive eyes So treacherous the pathway to your door So few the fleet of foot, to behold and admire You are safe, secure, untroubled by man A temporary sanctuary of sorts Your ancient oaks rise from sleepy slumber Limb like branches reaching towards the morning light Guardians of your secret borders Protectors from the prying eyes As stealthy roots, stripped bare and naked Creep and wander over algae rocks and stones Like mutant creatures from another kingdom Like fallen warriors from forgotten times Knotted form and wonderous shapes aplenty Changing with the march of seasons Grow strong my Emerald forest, survive Escape the clutch of man's foolish progress For when his time has come and gone You will prevail and prosper serenely Your eroded features offering a new perspective Those mighty oaks of centuries past Proudly victorious, honourable and majestic As Mother Nature claims back her land The balance of power tipped and favoured This beautiful Earth, free to breath once more (Written by Paul Williams August 24 2008) THE HIGH ROCKS TUNBRIDGE WELLS JUNE 8 2008

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