Tuesday, October 20, 2020

Jongluer in Suspension.

PaulWADE- Jongluer 

  • If you are my Blog, reader/supporter, from a couple of years back, I am working on two new books. 
  • The characters are fully developed. The story in the new Gordon Sykes book has a 'rolling storyline' and covers everything hinted at from the first Chronicles of Gordon Sykes.\Vol.1.
  • So! Please bear with me I will work as hard and fast as possible to finish the new storyline.

The Chronicles of Gordon Sykes.
Volume Two: EveryMan.
By, Paul WADE.

Coming Soon.

Links to Amazon and Smashwords online sales.
Both Kindle and Paperback versions


Volume One: New Worlds.

This volume introduces 'Gordon Sykes.'
He has become something more than human.
   In Volume Two - 'EveryMan' All is explained.

 Volume One.

Foreword –

Gordon Sykes is being pursued. Confused as well as annoyed, he realizes that if he is to survive, he must create a new world to live on. High up in the mountains, he builds a city made from just his thoughts; buildings, roads, and even people to keep him company. But all is not well in Gordon's imaginary utopia; his city has a darker element to it. He finds criminality and cruelty which he certainly did not invent himself.

Could it be that his pursuers have finally managed to catch up with him? It's time Gordon Sykes makes a stand and cleanses his world of these unwanted intruders.

Volume One – New Worlds.
By, Paul WADE

Snippet - Chapter One. Escape

Gordon Sykes was feeling strange.
Indeed, within himself, he was feeling quite lost.
Why was he here, in such a strange featureless place?
Regretfully, he couldn't quite understand what was wrong.
The face which kept appearing over him, was extremely disturbing, to say the very least. Quite ugly too if the truth were known. It did go away for long periods of time though. This pleased Gordon no end.
During the absence of the face, however, he could hear his name being called, over and over again.
This was equally as annoying as the ugly face had been.
Gordon was losing his tolerance with both, by the minute.
Gordon Sykes did not like being bullied or shouted at. He had decided this long ago; he was fairly sure that he thought he had decided this. In any case. Even if he had only this minute come up with this dislike, he was definitely not going to be bullied any longer, especially by this unpleasant face, or the grating voices.
"Gordon?" The voice again...
"Gordon. Gordon Sykes?"
"Gordon?"... "Gordon Sykes?"
And so it went on, and on...

Gordon Sykes vaguely remembered he had been somewhere else, exactly where, would come to him presently, he was certain of that, but for now, he would concentrate solely upon not being here any longer. He really must go.
Gordon Sykes didn't like it here... Wherever 'here' was. 
In fact here, was horrible.
The voice and especially the face, were too much for him, much too much.
Through his squinted eyes Gordon saw... Nothing.
Everything was white, a very bright white, for as far as his vision allowed; perhaps forever.
Gordon Sykes could somehow remember being the master of his own world. True, it was not completely clear to him, but somewhere in the depths of his mind, he could remember things going very much better for him.
Gordon tried concentrating. It hurt a little to do too much concentrating, so he just let himself drift a little in free thought, as he liked to think of it.
Then, suddenly it came flooding back.
Gordon remembered that he had lived in his own mind; he had created a world of his very own. And, he had enjoyed every single moment in that well-ordered world.
Gordon Sykes would return there, to his own world.
A world of instant changes and fast-as-lightning decisions.
Ah yes. Finally, Gordon Sykes was back.
His first change would be, absolutely, no ugly faces.
He recalled the extremely annoying ugly face that kept staring at him.
Gordon was unsure why she had been so interested in his face.
It didn't matter, she was gone now.

The Kangaroos Ghost

The Kangaroos Ghost.
by PaulWADE-2012

A Short Story

    If you look at a map of Australia, it looks like a big country. When you drive over any part of it, you are certain it's a big country.
My job took me to many states of Australia and this time it took me to Western Australia, up near the top, on the left-hand side of the coast a place called Broome.
This town was a kind of staging post for the mining towns built deeper in the desert. These other, smaller towns, were a long way from Broome and even further from each other. My work required that I drive from Broome to a place called Tom Price and then along a joining mining road to another deep desert town with the unlikely name of Paraburdoo.

    The custom suggests that you call by at the Police station and tell them if you are making a journey into the bush, as it is known. The reason being, they call the place where you are heading for, where you advise them of your arrival so that if you fail to arrive, they can come out and look for you.
Call me townie, call me stupid, I actually forgot to do this. In my ignorance I thought a few hours bouncing along a track which in turn ran most of the way alongside a pipeline, which fed, I supposed, water to the town, Tom Price.
This is a lesson to all townies, city folk, and foreigners, who think the system of reporting your journey is a joke, or unnecessary.

Journey by Day.

    I set off a little later than I had intended. The previous evening I had met a guy who was a licensed roo shooter. He was the most taciturn and interesting person I had met in a long time and he did like a drink. Not wishing to be anti-social, I tried to keep pace with him until a six-pack turned into many six-packs and then ceased to exist at all.
    So, hungover and late, I set off for Tom Price.
Reading my map, there was no chance of getting lost because there was only one track that ran most of the way beside a pipeline.
    Absolutely nothing could go wrong.
    About ten miles down the track I realized I hadn't informed the police that I was going into the bush, or where I was actually driving off to.
In my present state, the thought of going back was most unwelcome, so I drove on, doing my best to make up the time I had already lost.

    The track was a track. A little wider than my car, very bumpy, stony, and not straight, as I had believed it would be.
    By now I was able to focus on the track more intently, so I put my foot a little closer to the floor. The six-cylinder Commodore, which I had hired, did what they were famous for. It grunted and roared, it got up and went. Looking back, I can see that driving between seventy and ninety miles an hour, on that track was not my finest or most thought-through moment.
    At that speed, I approached a structure, like a bridge, except this was over a “dip” or gully, the gully was not that deep, neither was the bridge particularly long, however beyond it was a small mob of kangaroos, just sitting, right across the track.
    I began breaking and sounding the car horn, which had the same effect as ringing the doorbell at a deaf home. Not one of them even stirred.

    Recalling the actual impact is a lot like recalling a dream. The things you thought were moving slowly, actually took short seconds to happen. A memory of burning flesh was more memorable than the crashing thud as the car bumper and radiator grill made their way back, to meet the engine.
    Kangaroo parts were cooking gently on the extremely hot engine block and the two dead animals were huge. I cannot say it is vivid in my mind but those memories are permanently imprinted.

    The big reds of Western Australia are quite something. Many people never see one up close, or any kangaroo for that matter. I now had one on the road and another in bits, laying on my very wrinkled car bonnet. very close and extremely personal.

    After the immediate shock and desperation, which all must feel directly after a collision, I sat thinking what do I do now?
    The car wouldn't start, I had not informed anyone of my plans, and worse, much worse this was not exactly the expressway to anywhere. So the chances of another car coming along this track were remote.
    Basically, I was screwed.

Then came the night.

    I’m not sure how many people realize that when darkness falls in Australia, it literally falls. We don't get “Twilight”, or a fading day into
night thing, we have day, then, we have night, just like that.

    As shaken up as I was, nothing had quite prepared me for the night, more to the point, I guess, THIS night...
    There is an odd, almost unreal time between when it is dark and when the moon shines.
    There is little light to speak of at first, even though the sky is clear, clear in the same way a cup of pure clean water is clear. Anything that does shine, reflect, or glisten, does so from reflections in the sky.

    The moon, at least on this occasion, was huge. Vast actually. The massive size makes you think of movies you may have seen, where close-up shots of the moon make you think, wow!! how beautiful is that?
    Within an hour the moon and all her little sisters were there, glimmering away, the moon had a giant shiny face, surrounded by stars, which were magnificent diamonds competing for dominance.
    It was at that moment, I noticed you could actually see the outlines of the actual cosmos if that’s what they're called.
    I had never seen such a thing before, the surreal nature of looking somehow into forever, makes you feel very small indeed.
    And small, I did feel. Very, very small, and now quite uneasy.
    I had heard tell of the visibility of the stars, in a clear night sky particularly without light pollution. There it was, a magnificent umbrella of supernatural proportions, from as far as I could see, to even further than I imagined one could see.

    Having driven off, as I had done half-cocked and mostly unprepared, carrying nothing except a briefcase full of now, useless papers. I realistic how cold it had become. Even if that cold was relative, the days are somewhere in the mid to high thirties. Now, it wasn't warm at all, indeed I was bloody freezing. With no clothing to cover me with.

    As a smoker, I had a lighter, but except for the car, (and my business papers), there wasn't anything much to burn. Certainly, nothing nearby and I wasn't game to go wandering off. I had left my suitcase in the Hotel in Broome, with all my clothing, which I remembered again and moaned about, again.

    So I was stuck with what I was wearing and had to make some other plan, as soon as possible, because I was also hungry, cold, and hungry, but by some primitive bit of luck, I did have water.
    Even I was not so stupid to go anywhere without water. Ever.
    Shivering even more now, I began looking about me. The brightness of the moon and the richness of the stars had somehow mesmerized me for a short time.

    I then came to the uneasy conclusion, I was being watched.
    Don't be a dick, I told myself. Who the hell would even be out here unless they were as stupid as I had been?
    If that were so, then why wouldn't they make themselves known, right away?
    The bush, yes, (I don't know why they called this particular part of Australia the bush) the tiny stumpy things growing here and there, were anything but bushy.
    All the same, they could and did, throw a small shadow, which from the corner of my eye grew and would impossibly, keep moving about.
    I jerked my head this way and that, determined not to get myself into a state of panic.
Flicker, rustle, glint, one after the other, exaggerated no doubt by my overactive, anxious mind, mixed with fear. Yes, pure fear.

    The longer I sat, the more my mind wandered. Maybe it was the other kangaroos, those I had not hit. The mob was about seven, or eight strong, as best as could tell in the few seconds before I murdered two of them.
    Revenge? I wondered, how smart were these beasts exactly?
    The guy I had spent last evening with, drinking and talking, was a licensed kangaroo shooter.

    He told me these roos can be pretty cunning. He told me many other things about roos, most of which I put down to his being alone a great deal, with a gun and a six-pack, probably lots of six-packs, for company. Until he wouldn't have known his rifle from a tinny.
    Right now, I would have settled for a six-pack.
    Actually, I would have been mighty grateful for just a can of beer.

    It would be easy for me to dismiss the rest of the night, gloss over it. Simply tell of those few times where my flights of fancy ran wild.
    I would be less than honest if I was to do that.
    I should tell you about the very long, pretty scary night. All of it.

    I mentioned before the dead bodies of the roos.
    It now occurred to me, the one that was still whole was still laying on the road, it may not actually be dead. What if I had only knocked it unconscious?
    Do kangaroos take revenge?
    Was it even still there?
    I couldn't see it from where I was sitting and I was nervous about going over to find out, what if it really isn’t there anymore?
    Those kangaroos were very big fellas.
    A Big Red is no pussycat.

    I had read a little, about Aboriginal beliefs. Until this night, I had not given a great deal of thought as to why, or how, these beliefs may have come about.
In a blinding flash of revelation, I could understand it so much better now.
    The affinity that Aboriginal Australians have with the cosmos, animals, and certain locations around the country. somehow all made sense.
    My thoughts about the books I had read and the dire situation I currently found myself in, gave me an insight with such clarity that my mind really did begin to drift off, all over the place.

    The combination of animal spirits, or worse, the spirits of human beings taking on the form of certain animals, was becoming less of a fantastic belief and more pressing with each thought I had.
    By now, I wasn't sure which perturbed me more, the spirit of a man sneaking about like an animal, or an animal spirit, come back to kick my ass for being such a reckless bastard and killing his mate.

    Go ahead, scoff all you like.
    I was the silly sod sitting in the middle of nowhere.
    Darkness was punctuated by the stark relief of silver and black by the moon, which wouldn't for all my wishing to stay in one place.
    Whether it was the wind or small animals, there were noises.
    As I was sure there are very few “small” animals in that part of the world, my logic made the illogical more probable and way less appealing.

    Having called the Aboriginals to my mind, I was able to add to my fast-approaching hysteria, by remembering there were quite a few “problems” between the Abo’s and the white Australians. Some of which were extremely heated and nasty.
    Up here, a long, long way from Canberra and Sydney, they could have decided to push things up a notch.

    So, genius that I was, I had managed to introduce spirits, both men and animals.     Now even live men, all of course, out to get me.
    As if this wasn't already enough, I had also introduced the possibility of angry Kangaroo ghosts.

    Go ahead, call me names.
    Laugh and call me a poofter, or whatever else you think of.
    I was there alone, “me, myself and I.”
    Alone. Very, very alone...

    As each long miserable hour passed, I became more accustomed to the dancing shadows and the chatting things, whatever they were. I even stole myself to go and see if the dead kangaroos, were indeed dead and likely to remain so.
So it went on, all night long.

    Overcome, as I had been by the need to be warm, I had torn off the cloth seat covers from inside the car, then wrapped them about myself in the form of trousers and a hastily constructed top.
    I must have looked like a cross between Robinson Crusoe and a scarecrow.
Not a pretty sight.

    Nevertheless, this is how that wonderful lady found me in the first morning light.
    She was local. Her job was to run the milk, which she did every few days from Broome to Tom-Price.
    She had a flask of hot tea, which I would have bargained my sole for, right there and then, that is if I still had one after last night. (I had done some pretty heavy bargaining at times through the night.)
It was of course, unnecessary because the lady gave me all the tea I could wish for.

    The lady, like so many 'true blue Ozzies,' said not a word. No judgment, she just took it all in at a glance and understood.
    Bless her heart, I wasn't game to ask her for a hug, but my goodness, I really could have done with one.

    When someone relates such a tale, which I felt obliged to do. The car hire company, the police, and my partner, back in Brisbane, who had received a very nasty letter from the car hire company, before I even arrived home to Queensland. They were amazed that a simple kangaroo accident had completely destroyed a  brand new Commodore saloon.

    No worries though, they had insurance.
    I admit, I did not mention, or relate any of my fears, or the frights, in my reports. Or the reason's for them.

    A man does have his pride.  
    Anyway, they are the sort of things a bloke keeps to himself!!!

    Paul WADE-2012

It's Complicated.

It's Complicated.

By PaulWADE-2012


A Short Story.

Martin Keynes was a normal healthy, happy boy, until that is, at the age of 10 years old, he learned about death. He had already owned a few goldfish, several guinea pigs and, well, many white and black mice. Every one of these pets had “gone to sleep,” which he soon realized was a thing called death.
He had not actually seen his father go to sleep, he was told, in the street, no less, by a not very smart adult, that his father had died.
Not certain how to behave, when told such a piece of news, Martin didn’t behave at all. He found it was much better to keep such “news” inside his head, all to himself

Noticing the many changes, that happen when a person died in the family, not all bad ones, he was surprised to notice. This too, Martin thought he would keep to himself.

Martin found it was different at home, very different. It seemed to be a very happy place, all the time, not only sometimes, like when his father was there. Martin had to think a lot about such things. Was this a good thing to think, or a bad thing? He even wondered if he could be punished for having thoughts like these.

It had been two years worth of thoughts for Martin, indeed, a great many thoughts, because Martin had discovered a new thing, a very worrying thing, during those two years.
Could this same death thing, happen to his mother?
No, it couldn't happen to someone he idolized.
His mother was his whole world.
He loved his mother with such devotion, he would do paper rounds before school, after-school jobs at the market in town and much, more, all because he wanted to help his mother and be the man of the house.
She had told him many times it was not necessary to do so much, but Martin knew she was just being kind.

At night, in the long dark, silent nights, the things inside his head would make so much noise he could never sleep. Over and over the things he thought about would go back and forth, until Martin was sure his head would burst.

The worst, the very worst of those fears and anxieties were about his mother dying. He knew that after the death of his father, who had died in the middle of the day, people didn't have to wait until night time, for this long, long sleep.
This is what he had heard people call it anyhow.
Passed on.
Long deserved rest.
Rest in peace. Sleep eternal and so on.

It had taken quite a while to really understand what that all meant. So it made the worry and concerns for his mum, very pressing and a constant thing inside his head.
Martin had wondered too if it had anything to do with what he had heard about boys being bad, or at least not “behaving themselves.” Not doing as they were told, or fighting at school, not having a bath, or shower and not cleaning your teeth.

Was it possible, he thought, to cause such a thing to happen, to another person, just because he was bad?
This he added to the crowded thoughts he already had in his head.
His very-bad headaches did not make it easy to concentrate either.
So night after night, in the darkest of darkness and the earsplitting silence, he became terrified at the thought of his mother “sleeping forever,” “resting in peace,” dying.

Those nights became so terrifying, that Martin dreaded bedtime. He had no one he could tell about these things. The thoughts in his head were driving him crazy.

Martin was just 12 years old when on an autumn weekday, he was not well enough to go to school. His mother had to drive to another city, for something called a “check-up.”
Martin didn't really know what this meant, so he was happy to stay at home, behave himself and wait for his mum to come home.
Martin never saw his mother again.

A policeman and an Aunt he hadn't seen at his house for, well, he couldn't remember ever seeing this Aunt at his home before.
There they stood at the front door, Policeman and strange Aunt...
Martin can not really remember what the Policeman actually said to him. Or was it the Aunt. It doesn't matter. He certainly understood why they were there.

Martin was taken to his rarely seen Aunts house, where his uncle, who he had seen, from time to time, patted him on the head and told him to go to bed.

Things will look different in the day time, or some such crap is what the Uncle had told him.
Well, here is a piece of news for you Uncle. It didn't look different. It looked even worse. And moreover, it has never changed.

Martin had spent that terrible night, in a strange bed, in a strange room in a strange house. Alone with his thoughts, his doubts and conclusions. Except now, the very worst thing that he could ever imagine had happened.

Was it because of me? Martin asked himself.
Was it because I was bad, or didn't do as I was told?
Had I loved my mum too much?
Too many questions and not one single answer.

Martin came to a very important decision. If he never loves anyone again, ever. Perhaps this dreadful, cold, empty feeling, will go away. Maybe, it will not ever come back.
More so, he thought. If He does not feel, then his feelings cannot be hurt.
So that was settled. In a trance of misery, Martin vowed, never to love and never to feel, anything, ever again.

Martin passed through the years, growing into first a teenager, then a young man. He had learnt that having a new title, Orphan. Must be the funniest thing. For at school he was laughed at because he was an orphan. This brought very mixed ideas into Martin's mind.
People he decided, were rotten bastards.

Being picked on because he had no parents, what was THAT?
So Martin learnt to fight. He learnt well, not just one kind of fighting but lots of ways. Boxing, Karate, Judo, self-defence, if he could find a place to teach it, Martin would learn it.

A detail Martin had learnt while growing up the last few years, was that if he put his mind to something. REALLY, put his mind to it, nine times out of ten, he could do it. Martin was never picked on at school again.
In fact, Martin was never picked on again – full stop.

These decisions had really changed Martin. A lot.
Almost anything, of any importance, would go on in his head, in his mind first. Up until this time. He still had no Adult, he could talk these things over with, so he had to try and get the right answers himself.
Which sadly he didn't always achieve.
It was very hard to get everything right, all the time.
Especially things he only half knew the meaning of.

One of those things he couldn't quite figure out on his own was girls.
He wasn't stupid. Martin had a fairly solid working knowledge of what goes where and how. In theory.
It was the, actually making this happen part, that was stumping Martin.

His friends told him to simply ask a girl out, maybe to the movies.
Inside the movie house, was where you get to kiss and stuff.
Martin was pretty sure it was not the kissing, but the “stuff” part, he was most keen to try.
Nevertheless, he did follow his peers' advice and would ask out a girl.
The one, in particular, he liked the look of, didn't really look back at him. When she did, it was for a very brief moment, then a tiny snicker and she would be gone. Also, she was never alone. Always at least three of them.

Martin didn't know if this was correct, or not.
He had made the decision, he would ask her out to the movies with him.
Of all the difficult, even unpleasant things Martin had done.
Asking a girl out, now rose very high up, on that list.
Five weeks of false starts, hesitant approaches and the worst butterflies he had ever had in his stomach ever.
Martin asked her out. Finally.
To this day, Martin isn’t sure whether he was so happy, because he really liked her, or that she had said “yes”.
Her Yes, didn't make him look like a proper fool after all.  

This entire taking a girl out experience had not ended in the carnal bliss, he had read about in specially marked pages of certain books, or magazines. It had been a whole load of other, not so expected things, that Martin had learnt the hard way.
He discovered, for example, overpowering as the urge to Do this girl was, he actually liked her very much and didn't want to cause a bad situation which could end with not seeing her again.

This for Martin was a major dilemma. If he didn't try, how would he know if she was “game” or not?

So he was determined to give it a go, but carefully.. feeling her tits, Martin decided would be half the battle, if that worked out OK, then she was likely to go the rest of the way.
Martin got this wrong too.
Yes, it's true, she did “let him” feel her tits, but only on the outside of her clothes, leaving Martin with a not very satisfying encounter, also an over-worked fantasy and something he later learnt was called “Lead Bollocks.”

The first of these he could sort of live with. The latter, not so much.
He also found that the only way to relieve said Lead Bollocks was, although successful. It rather defeated the object of wanting to do IT with a girl.
If he was going to have to jerk himself off each time, then he could save the entry fees to the movies.
Not ask her to go out, stay home and be a wanker.
Needless to say, Martin soon grew out of or grew tired of self-relief.

Soon Martin discovered the magic formula, driven, as most males of that age are, by pure lust and overworked hormones.
Martin realized he had indeed turned this whole sex thing around.

Learning that it was not so difficult to meet a girl, say and do the right things, buy her a few drinks, maybe pop some food down her throat, then hey presto, you got a bonk. And Bonking was, for a good while, all Martin lived for. Bonking, Martin decided was everything.
Who needs food, drink, or air, if you can Bonk a girl?

All these new things that Martin learnt, came with a price, however.
Yes, all that was true about Bonking.
Except, what if you actually liked the girl, a lot.
Something about her was different maybe?
OK, Martin would still Bonk her, but low and behold, he realized he would like to see HER again. Even Bonking her AGAIN, instead of moving on to new pastures, this idea didn't seem so bad; How odd.

Another lesson. Martin realized, not quickly it needs to be said.
Girls didn't just Bonk, simply because you asked them to.
Hello? Martin was horrified to learn that Girls like sex too.
Bloody hell, do they? Shock!!
Martin also discovered that if he liked what was on the plate, to get a second helping, he would have to do something for her.
Well, Martin did pride himself on being a fast learner, so a gift here, a bunch of flowers there. Even chocolates in the right moment seemed to work wonders.

Granted, it was a while before he realized these things were NOT what they appeared to be. Flowers, Perfume, Chocolates, they each looked pretty innocent to Martin, but they had become TOKENS.
They changed into Tokens as he carried them to the girls.
Tokens, Martin learned, were a very powerful commodity.
Also, tokens changed in value and kind, as the stakes grew higher.
The better looking, or the more difficult she was to “approach” so the female demanded a higher valued token.

Many valuable lessons martin had learned.
The last lesson, in the matter of “Girls” was a new thing, not only to Martin but to all of his fellow male chauvinist losers.
A Really odd thing called Emancipation.!!!

What the ****.
Martin was intrigued. Nay Fascinated.
Then, the strangest thing happened.
He had arrived in emancipation heaven.

Every girl, Martin had spent so long learning all about. Now seemed to be agreeing with everything he ever thought or fantasized about.

Females, had burned their bra's, did things now, they had never done before, went to some places very new for females, and proving there probably is a God after all. Females raised the hem-line of their skirts and dresses, to just below where Martin had spent the best years of his life trying to see, get close to and touch.....

Martin, as well as several millions of guys, really liked this thing called Emancipation.

# # #

Regrettably, there were some issues, which Martin felt unsure about.
Again in the absence of an older person, family member, or friend to whom he could turn to for council.
Martin was going to have to work it out for himself.
The question seemed simple enough.

“How do you fall in love?”

The question was not really so straight forward. It was not quite as black and white. What Martin actually meant was “How can you Feel?”
What is supposed to happen to you? How will you know? And so on...

Up until his 21st year, Martin had not thought about this question before. He didn't have a great desire to rush out and fall in love.
Martin remembered what happened the last time he had loved someone.
He was equally convinced that to do so again, would be foolhardy, even if he could achieve it. It had been a decade since he made the vow, never to “Feel” again. And he hadn't.

It also needs to be said, that Martin did other things during that ten year period. Some things had changed him almost as much as the events of his childhood.
One thing, in particular, was being sent during his time in the Military, to a small battle in Borneo. Happily, it was almost time for the regiment to be sent back home.
He was there long enough though, to learn that men do dreadful things to other men. He learned too that some men are beyond cruel to women. Martin does NOT like these men, at all.

He found himself being a staunch protector of women, who need it. And, a convinced hater of men, who abuse the trust women give, along with the gentleness and warmth.
Martin discovered he may not be able to love, but loyalty came easily to him. So he concluded that Loyalty and protection was better than nothing.

As time passed, these aspects of Martin's life did indeed revolve around those few important attributes.
Loyalty to a few people, friends, who remain so.
Protection, well, Martin would kill any who harmed the people he cares for.

Upon reflection, it seems like a simple formula.
To a certain extent, a winning formula even.
It does, however, become more complex.
As a matter of fact, it's very complicated
Martin had not taken into account, really liking someone.
Getting married, or having children.
It was not that he was in any way, shape, or form, against these things. On the contrary. Martin was delighted with the idea.

The immaturity, lack of advice, or any council given.
All of these deficiencies suddenly mattered.
Fierce loyalty and killer protection, are all well and good, in their time and place. His wife and family were safe inside the home he had created so long as he could watch over them.

He could not, however, stop doing all the other things that were an integral part of his character.
Martin may grow older but he will never grow up.

As another decade passed on bye, Martins convictions became stronger. This is not to say they were based upon more truth or proven to be fact. It was life, pure and simple.
Nothing had really happened to change his fears. He had two beautiful children now. Equally, his wife meant more to him than he could describe. The depth of those fears and his anxieties were so deeply branded, that he knew if he was to try and love, or allow himself to let those feelings go, something terrible might happen.

Martin still had told no one about any of these things.
He battled constantly with his own thoughts, his disjointed feelings. His own nature, which only now was becoming more clear to himself, more understandable perhaps.

Strange how, his own stupidity allowed his carefully planned, protected home and family to become a statistical anomaly.
He was divorced.
Even then he could not stop caring, could not stop protecting. The only thing he couldn't truly learn was how to love.
He finally looked for help from professionals.
Martin has not THE answer yet, but AN answer...
“It's Complicated.”


Footnote... I actually know the guy this happened to...

Old Souls.

by PaulWADE

A Short Story. 

Again, thanks to you all for being such great supporters.
This tale is about three Hikers, two young women, and a man. Soon they find strangeness around them and very weird people along the way. Events, as they unfold, will surprise you. 
They did me !!!
Cornwall - Stones

Here is a small snippet just to introduce you to Janice, Sarah, and Roger...

Old Souls.

By the time the three of them had finished their argument, each had forgotten who it was that suggested they take a long weekend break in Cornwall, in the month of October, in the first place.
“It's going to be cold.”
“I bet it rains, it always rains.”
“Nowhere will be open, so we'll have nowhere safe to stay at night.”
And so it went on.
Each of them made a negative contribution, but they couldn't remember who had actually said what.
It did raise the question, “what were they doing in Cornwall. In England. In October; at all?”

Janice, Roger, and Sarah had taken many hiking trips together. It was their “thing.” So far they had done, some nice parts of Italy, a bit of Switzerland and quite a lot of France. Mostly because France seemed near-bye. A quick train ride and there they were.
The other places they wanted to walk over, were an air-flight away and except for Roger, neither of the girls could take that much time off work.

Whichever one of them suggested Cornwall, knew there was a four-day weekend at the end of October, so he, or she had suggested a short ramble through the open parts of Cornwall. “It'll be lovely.” All of them remember that being said. “We stay close to the coast and it will be an easy hike.” That too.

At this particular moment they were, according to the map, three miles from the sea, five miles from a small village and there should be a quite high hill, near a small woods. That is if the map was being read correctly. Oddly enough, Janice was the map reader. Oddly; because Roger always harboured the belief that she couldn't find her back-side with two hands. Although he also whispered to himself, that it was large enough and should have its own place on the map.

Roger became friends with Janice a long time ago, the two of them had a brief “encounter” as Janice describes it, but instead of falling out, they actually became tight friends. Sarah is her best friend. So the three of them became close........................................

How did they end up HERE??

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Comments:- PaulWADE- Jongluer   2022 If you are my Blog, reader/supporter, from a couple of years back, I am working on two ne...