No More Robots

(A short piece of fiction written for a competition called WriteFight, run by Alex Huth. Forums can be found here: http://www.sixinchsnowblanket.com/phpbb/index.php )

"It's not so bad here, I suppose. Three meals a day, new linens on a Wednesday (Although Maureen gets impatient and just wets herself), even get a lovely nurse to tuck you in of a night; puts the duvet around you and gives you a little pat on the head. Doesn't cost a penny, well not for me anyway, government handles the bills and all I have to do is stay quiet and smile when people come round.

Not that they do much, smart lad in a suit and tie every few months comes to bother me, going on for hours about experimental treatment injections of insulin or something like that. I give up telling him to clear off eventually; smile at him and sign where he tells me to. He pats me on the head an' all; says "You've made the right decision love", and I says "I don't care how nice your suit is, it's Mrs. Barr to you." Anyway, he apologises to me and hurries off, must have somewhere important to be. That was a year ago, I've not seen him since. Suppose all he wanted was me name on his paper, didn't care so much for the converse. Was a nice suit though, one of those posh foreign names sewn into it.

There's Rose, lovely name. Lovely little lass an' all, does her hair before she comes out even though it's only me to see it. That's true class, old values you don't see anymore. Wavy and brown it is, right down past her shoulders, must brush it 100 times every night. That's what my mother says to me "Lily, you brush your hair exactly 100 times every night before you get into bed, and all the boys will love you." Didn't do me any good, I don't remember any boys at all. 'Cept the lad in the nice suit of course, but I'm getting on a bit for him to be looking at my hair. She doesn't like it when I talk about the man in the suit, says it's one of the things I make up. Apparently I do that a lot. Don't though. I've never told a lie in my life, and why would I have invented a man I didn't like? I'm not mad you know, just recovering from an illness. That's how my mother died; recovering. Silly way to die, recovering means you're supposed to get better. Funny how Rose got me thinking of my mother, she always does. Just sits by my bed, holds my hand and chatters on softly. Calls me mum. But I can't be, she can't be my daughter. I'd remember a daughter, I'd remember a lad. You need lads to have daughters, they don't just pop out on their own.

It was that lie that tipped me off, made me look around and see what was really going on. Why would someone be lying about being my daughter? I asked the nurse when she came by, I says "Nurse Gosling," bloody stupid name that is "Why would Rose lie about being my daughter?" Well, she only goes and says "She is your daughter, don't you remember?" I refused to speak to her for a few days after that. Something had been wrong lately. Gosling had looked after me so nicely, been kind about my 'recovery'. Now she scowls a lot, crosses her arms when she's not fluffing pillows, or changing the flowers. Poor lass, doesn't excuse the lies though.

A couple of weeks passed, and I pretended everything was alright, but I could see it wasn't; they were flustered. My suspicions were confirmed by the black & white television that sits on a ledge in the corner of my room. I'm not supposed to watch the news, but I had been feeling rebellious and Nurse Gosling was late on her rounds, so I furtively switched over at ten o'clock. Well I didn't half get a shock when Trevor McDonald pipes up with "Mrs. Barr, you must listen. We have no time." Nearly fell out of me bed I did. "Mrs. Barr, you are in incredible danger. You are being held there for a reason, you are dangerous to them. The people around you are not real, they're mechanical, built by MI5 to keep you safe, to stop you from telling anyone. Your life is a lie. Only you can stop th-" Then the snooker was on. I turned to see Gosling looming over me brandishing the remote like a tribal spear. "You are NOT allowed to watch the news Mrs. Barr, and you know that."
"And just why not?"
"It is bad for your mental health."
"It's your mental health what needs checking."
"I shall pretend I didn't hear that Mrs. Barr, now you just quiet down and enjoy the sport."
"Well, I can't watch the bloody snooker on a black and white television can I?" She just harrumphed and marched out. Interfering witch.

It was only once she'd gone that Trevor's words got through to me. I was special? I was dangerous to these people? I said it out loud to make sure, and it felt right. I was special. Why else would I be here? Why else would I not have to pay? Why else would a young man come to see me? I knew what had to be done. They let me keep knitting nedles and wool in the oak chest of drawers by my bed, and I pulled them out. I had to do this quick, before they read my mind and put a stop to it. Heart racing, I hit the Nurse Call button, and crouched down beside the door. My palms felt sweaty, but my grip on the needle was good. I hadn't done much exercise for a while, but I am sure I've got enough strength in me to finish this.

It isn't killing, not really. Merriam-Webster told me that killing was an event that causes someone to die, the act of terminating a life. I could never do that, I would always put the spiders outside, wave them goodbye. This here is in black and white, to cause the death of a living organism. These things might look alive, but they're not. You can't kill a toaster, or a fridge, and that's all they are really. They can look human, but inside they're just wire and metal, even if their fake blood feels warm on my skin.

Stargazer

Stargazer they call me,
My eyes always fixed on the sky;
Hands reaching up for the heavens,
Arms spread wide in supplication,
Heels dug into the earth.
I can't let go today.

Free myself from gravity,
Find myself borne high,
Flay myself of shackles,
Fail myself.
Again.

Stargazer they call me,
My eyes always fixed on the sky.
Bound by your cruel astronomy
To bear this brilliant longing.
Staring at the sun,
I lose my sight.

Still,
You shine with the light of the ages,
A north star guiding me home.

Brave Heart (Final)

((I tire of this poem now, this is as far as I'm going in the edits. Definitely improved though. Thanks Ren.))

Black Douglas took my heart
But never made it to Jerusalem.
Now it's lying buried
In a Melrose Abbey tomb.

No more flash of steel
T'accompany the crack of wood.
Battle cry silenced
Beneath the granite burden
Borne by those
With the power to lead others.
Uphold their beliefs;
Fight for freedom.

Until the flames are smothered,
Like all such brilliance must be.
Hammer of England will fall no more:
The world is darker for it.

Thus false crusades do end
Amidst the failing heat of Spanish suns.
A lonely, loyal voice cries out
"Go first into the fight, brave heart,
As you have ever done."

Brave Heart (Revised)

((The second version of this poem, created under the critical eye of Ren. Still not perfect, but better.))

Black Douglas took my heart
But never made it to Jerusalem.
Now it's lying buried
In a Melrose Abbey tomb.

No more flash of steel
T'accompany the crack of wood.
Battle cry silenced
Beneath such granite burden

As is borne by those
With the power to lead others.
Uphold their beliefs;
Fight for freedom.

Until the flames are smothered,
Like all such brilliance must be.
Hammer of England will fall no more:
The world is darker for it.

Thus false crusades do end
Amidst the failing heat of Spanish suns.
A lonely, loyal voice cries out
"Go first into the fight, brave heart,
As you have ever done."

Brave Heart

((The first of my poems written after this blog was created. Trying something I haven't done before.))

Black Douglas took my heart
But never made it to Jerusalem.
So now it's lying buried
In a Melrose Abbey tomb.

No more flash of steel
To accompany the crack of wood.
Battle cries are silenced
Beneath such granite burden

As is borne by those
With the power to lead others.
Uphold their beliefs;
Fight for freedom.

Until flames are smothered,
Like all such brilliance must.
Hammer of England shall fall no more:
The world is darker for it.

Thus our failed crusade did end
Amidst the dying heat of a Spanish sun.
A lonely, loyal voice cries out
"Go first into the fight, brave heart,
As you have ever done."

Zaftig

((Last one. Anything after this will just be posted as and when it is written.))

Another
Breeze
Calls.

Days
Everlasting,
Forever
Green
Hills
In
June.

Kindly,
Lovers
Make
New
Odes.
Praising
Quicksand.

Rushing
Streams
Turn
Under
Veils.

Within
Xenophobia,
Yes,
Zaftig.

Worthless Artistry

I am no poet.

My crafted words
die before they leave my lips.
My artful phrases
lie in a gutter of self-debasement.

I am no poet.

Ruled by a form
I cannot master.
Rebellion unnecessary,
Revolution pointless.

I am no poet.

No grace flows
From this ball-point pen.
Twenty-nine pence
To write;
to cry.


I am no poet.