My latest collection of short stories, ‘Streetwalker and other stories’ will be free to download on Amazon from the 21st February until the 1st March.
Get ‘Streetwalker and other stories’ here: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Street-Walker-other-stories-Morris-ebook/dp/B00HLRNDP4 for the UK and here http://www.amazon.com/Street-Walker-other-stories-Morris-ebook/dp/B00HLRNDP4 for the US
Below is an extract from a story I am working on. The story looks at what happens when a lonely and confused 14-year-old girl, pretending to be 18-years-old, places an advertisement on the internet. Will she, as she hopes “have a laugh” or will what Lizzie perceives as a bit of harmless fun end in tragedy. This is just a taster. It is not my intention to publish the whole story free online. When finished and polished it will be on Amazon. I’d be interested to hear what you think. Kevin
“Don’t kiss me darling. You’ll smudg my makeup” Monica said giving her daughter a perfunctory hug. “I’ll be back late so don’t wait up. There’s a pizza by the microwave. Don’t answer the phone or the door to anyone. You know I’ll always call you on your mobile”.
Lizzie raised her eyes heavenwards. “Yeah mum, see you later”.
“Bye darling” Monica said picking up her fake crocodile handbag, which complimented the boots, and headed for the front door.
Lizzie grunted unintelligibly and headed for the stairs, the pizza could wait.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that darling. You can speak well when you choose. You don’t need to grunt like an animal”.
Without pausing in her stride Lizzie climbed the stairs. As she reached the halfway point the sound of the closing front door could be heard. Lizzie sighed continuing to climb the uncarpeted stairs. Reaching the top she walked straight on entering her room.
Lizzie pulled out a folding dining chair and, sitting down reached for her laptop. Clunk, she turned to see a screw from the chair lying on the threadbare carpet. Lizzie bent and retrieving the screw proceeded to tighten it with a mini screwdriver she extracted from the desk drawer. She knew her handiwork wouldn’t last. The thread of the screw was so worn but it should hold for a while longer.
Lizzie reached for the switch on her laptop. As she leaned against the desk it wobbled. The desk had come from MFI a DIY shop which had closed some 25 years ago and had been given to Monica, by Lizzie’s grandparents as had the Windows 2000 laptop.
“All my friends are using at least Windows 7 but I have to use fucking 2000!” Lizzie said banging her fist on the desk which shook precariously with the impact.
Lizzie switched on the machine and as it powered up glanced listlessly at her history homework. “World War I was caused by imperial rivalries between the great powers. Discuss”. “Who gives a fuck” Lizzie said outloud. “What has what Germany, Russia and the other countries did 100 years ago got to do with me? I don’t give a shit”. With a flick of her wrist Lizzie sent her homework over the edge of the desk. The momentum carried the papers across the room where they came to rest under Lizzie’s bed. The act of clearing her desk relieved some of the pent up anger in the girl. Feeling somewhat calmer Lizzie entered her password. Once logged on she sat stirring for long minutes at the monitor. Did she really want to do this? It was dangerous, you never knew what weirdos lurked out there in cyberspace. But she didn’t have to actually meet anyone. It would be a laugh, something to giggle about with her mates. She would put an ad on the web, maybe chat to some guys, get them all excited, maybe promise to meet them but she wouldn’t actually go through with it. God they would be pissed off waiting for a girl who never actually turned up. She imagined guys sitting in restaurants, glancing at their watches until, eventually the penny dropped that the girl they had been chatting with wasn’t going to show. “Serve ‘em right, the dirty pervs” Lizzie said as she clicked on one of the many sites which offer free advertising.
“18-year-old blonde seeks no strings fun with a generous guy”, Lizzie giggled as she typed. There was an option to upload a photograph. Lizzie thought about doing so. It was unlikely that her mum or any of her teachers would see the ad but, being a cautious girl she decided against posting a picture. Possibly she would send one to blokes if they asked.
“I confirm that I am at least 18-years-of-age or older and that I have read and agree to abide by the terms and conditions”. Lizzie checked the box and clicked on the create account button.
A brief moment of panic seized Lizzie. What had she done? She was 14-years-old for Christ’s sake, who knew what pervs would answer her ad. But the site provided her with a unique e-mail address ensuring that no one need know her actual e-mail unless she chose to let them know it which, of course she had no intention of doing.
Time for that pizza Lizzie thought as she switched off the laptop. She would come back later to see what saddos had responded to her add. At the bedroom door Lizzie hesitated. She turned back and sat down at her desk. Lizzie reached for the laptop’s power button. She would delete her ad. “I must have been out of my mind putting that ad on there, I’ll delete the bloody thing. Fuck it, why should I? My life is boring as fuck. Mum doesn’t give a shit about me. I was an accident she once told me. A split condom in the back of a car and she couldn’t be bothered to have an abortion. Typical selfish bitch. I didn’t ask to be born but I’m here and I’m going to have a laugh. I won’t meet the blokes but it will be something to tell the girls about”. Rising from her chair Lizzie headed decisively for the stairs.
Many thanks to A (http://cupitonians.wordpress.com/) for inviting me to post on her excellent blog. You can find my post below
http://cupitonians.wordpress.com/2014/01/07/guest-blog-why-i-write/
Susie gazed out at the atlantic. Great waves crashed against the cliffs . A gust of wind caught the girl almost knocking her off her feet. She seemed not to notice, her eyes remained fixed on the wild sea. Unbidden the words came to her
“Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble,
Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink,
Till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble
The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink,
Here now in his triumph where all things falter,
Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread,
As a god self-slain on his own strange altar,
Death lies dead.”
Susie’s salty tears mingled with the sea water which the ever increasing wind blew into her eyes.
“I’m not crying, it’s the sea water making my eyes sting” So what if I am crying? All this will pass and go. Long after I am dead this will remain, the uncaring ocean buffeting the cliffs as it has for millennia. Eventually the cliffs and the surrounding habitations will be claimed by the sea. Out of the sea life came and to the ocean humanity will return.
But I’m 20, I don’t want to die”.
All flesh is dust a mocking voice intoned. Susie whirled around. There was no one save for the gulls which wheeled and screeched overhead.
“Yes I will die but please god not yet. I have my whole life to look forward to” Susie said burying her face in her hands.
“Stupid girl” the voice, like some insidious demon crept into her brain.
“Shut up, shut up” the girl wept sticking her fingers into her ears attempting to silence the tormentor.
“Stupid slapper. Silly whore” the voice said undaunted by Susie’s attempts to silence it.
Doing her best to ignore whatever devil was taunting her Susie reached into her coat pocket. She felt the plain brown official envelope.
“I can’t, I won’t open it. I’ll throw it away. Better not to know”.
“Ignorance is bliss, little miss a coward is” the voice sneered.
“Fuck off, fuck off” Susie screamed. Her words where lost in the howling of the wind and the crashing of the waves. Susie became aware of the crumpled envelope in her hands. In her agitation she had screwed it into a ball. How easy it would be to rid herself of the thing. One flick of her wrist and the letter would be lost forever in the depths of the Atlantic.
“Coward, coward” the voice taunted.
With a supreme effort Susie unscrewed the envelope and with trembling hands opened it. Reluctantly the girl extracted a crumpled letter.
“I can’t read it, I can’t” Susie wept. “Why did I do it? God let it be good news. Please, oh Christ I can’t bare it”.
Susie’s mind went back 4 months. She was drunk. She had never been so drunk in her entire life. The thump, thump of the music transported the girl into a world where only she and the beat, beat of the bass existed. She danced wildly letting herself be taken by the music to another realm.
Susie didn’t remember him arriving. One moment she was dancing alone, the next Susie was spinning around in the arms of a total stranger. Later that evening Susie recalled having sex in a cubicle in the gents toilets. Susie thought that she had consented but she had been so drunk she wasn’t sure.
“Christ, no condom. How could I have been so bloody stupid. I went to a good school, got all the right exams and I’m now at uni. I should have known better”.
Susie had gon to the hospital on the following day and had been tested for sexually transmitted diseases.
“You have herpes but that can easily be dealt with by antibiotics” the nurse had said.
Susie breathed a sigh of relief.
“You will, however need to come back in 3 months time for a HIV test”.
“Can’t I have that today?”
“The HIV virus can take upto 3 months to manifest itself so any test conducted today would be extremely unlikely to show whether you are, or are not carrying the virus”.
Susie had thrown herself into her studies for the next 3 months. When not studying she partied hard. Alcohol helped her to forget for some of the time but, in the early hours of the morning she would wake up sweating.
“What if I am infected? Christ only knows how many other girls that bloke slept with before we had sex”.
Eventually the 3 months passed and Susie returned to the hospital for her HIV test.
“You can call in for your results in a few days time or, if you prefer just telephone the number on your card quoting your clinic number” the nurse said handing Susie a small slip of paper.
Susie had meant to call. She really had. However there always seemed to be something preventing her from making that call. There had been her friend’s wedding, her mum’s birthday and so, so many other things.
“Don’t make excuses. Of course you could have found a few minutes to make such an important telephone call” the insidious voice whispered in her ear.
“Yes, OK, I could. now fuck off back to whatever rock you crawled out from under” Susie shouted.
Slowly Susie raised the paper to her face.
“Dear Miss Armstrong,
I refer to your visit of 4 July and the test conducted on that date. We have, unsuccessfully attempted to contact you on several occasions. Having been unable to do so I am writing to inform you of the result of your test for HIV. I am pleased to advise that the test is negative (I.E. you are not HIV positive).
Should you have any queries regarding this letter please call the number above and quote your clinic number to the health adviser.
Yours Sincerely “.
Susie wondered idly why doctors signatures almost always resembled squashed spiders. For the first time in many hours she smiled.
“Thank you god. Thank you”.
The gulls screeched overhead, the icey wind buffeted the girl and the great waves continued to crash against the crumbling cliffs. Susie no longer cared. She embraced the storm for it represented nature of which she was an integral part. It felt good to be alive. Susie took deep breaths. The touch of the wind on her face was wonderful. She smiled as her long black hair blew wildly in the sea breeze.
“If you exist god, thank you, thank you” Susie said.
I updated my Amazon Author Page with my collection of short stories, “The Street Walker And Other Stories” this morning and I am impressed to see that Amazon has already made the necessary changes. Well done Amazon! If some poor soul is working on new year’s day to manually update author profiles then I am especially grateful to them! You can find my updated author’s page here http://www.amazon.co.uk/K.-Morris/e/B00CEECWHY/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
My latest collection of stories, “Street Walker And Other Stories” is now available in the Kindle Store. In this collection of flash fiction we meet a variety of characters, many of whom have been deeply damaged by life. The stories range from a young prostitute
who walks the dangerous streets of London to tales of vengeance and comeuppance. Serious issues of abuse of power are touched upon. Anyone who is looking
for a comfortable read should avoid this book.
You can find “Street Walker And Other Stories” here, http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HLRNDP4 (for the US) and here, http://www.amazon.co.uk/Street-Walker-other-stories-Morris-ebook/dp/B00HLRNDP4/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1388476386&sr=1-1&keywords=Street+Walker+and+other+stories (for the UK). For my Amazon Author’s Page please go to http://www.amazon.co.uk/K.-Morris/e/B00CEECWHY/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0.
“How could he do it? Put a pillow over Tony’s face and”. Jean shuddered unable to finish her sentence.
“There was always something not right about that lad. Didn’t I tell you he wasn’t right in the head?” Tina said addressing the small group who sat at a corner table in the Grapes, a bottle of white wine between them.
“Yeah Tina, you always said that” Martha said as she poured herself another glass of wine.
“But why? A kid just doesn’t up and suffocate his dad like that. There must be a reason. Kids aint born evil” Jean said.
“Bloody do gooder, why are you always looking for reasons. Boy is evil, that’s all there is to it” Tina responded banging her fist on the table as she spoke. “I’m sick of people making excuses. No wonder the country’s in the state it is, because people like you say “oh poor lad, we must understand him”. Understand him, the boys a monster. They should throw away the key. They won’t though. A good lawyer, paid for out of my bloody taxes and he’ll be out in 5 (7) years maximum”.
“They never should have got rid of the rope. You remember me saying that don’t you Tina?” Martha said appealing to her friend.
“I do Martha and I always agreed with you on that, as god is my witness I’ve always believed the biggest mistake this country ever made, apart from joining the Common Market, was to get rid of hanging. That little bugger will be living the life of riley while the poor bloody tax payer foots the bill”.
“But the kid’s only 13” Jean said.
“13, that’s old enough to know the difference between right and wrong. Society is going to the dogs. Have you seen Wendy’s Lucy? 14-years-old and pushing a pram and it’s the fucking tax payer who picks up the bill again!” Tina said banging her glass on the table.
“He was such a lovely man was Tony. Always laughing and joking and now that little sod has murdered him. Christ I don’t know what the worlds coming to. I’m glad that I haven’t got much longer on this earth” Martha said.
“Come off it Martha you will outlast us all” Tina said. “Hows little Ronnie” (referring to Martha’s grandson).
“Oh he’s great. Do you know what the little rascal did the other day?” The conversation moved on the subject of Tony forgotten.
—
He felt the pillow pressed against his little face. He gasped for air. Just as he thought “I’m going to die” the weight was removed. It was always the same. For no reason the pillow or a cushion would be pressed against his face and at the moment when the boy felt he couldn’t take any more the torment ceased, until the next time.
He was a patient child. He waited the hate like a fire kindling within him. An afternoon of drinking in the pub. A man taking his last snooze on the sofa. You, dear reader know the rest.
I am considering entering RNIB’s annual writing competition. This year entrants are being asked to write a story on the theme of “a day in the life of”. The story may feature either a real or ficticious person. You can find entries from last year’s competition here, http://www.rnib.org.uk/getinvolved/membership/membersbenefits/visionmagazine/Pages/vision_magazine.aspx.
“Jock my dear chap its good to see you. I don’t think that I’ve seen you in the club since January”.
“Good to see you to Phillip old man. I haven’t visited the old place since December. I’ve been travelling in South America, Columbia mainly”.
“That would explain your absence. Can I get you a drink?” Phillip asked.
“Most kind old chap. I’ll have a whisky please” Jock replied.
Phillip signalled to one of the soberly dressed waiters.
“Yes Mr Drummond?”
“Two whiskies please Robert”.
“Certainly sir”.
“Bring them into the library there’s a good chap”.
“Of course sir”.
The two acquaintences ensconced themselves in huge leather armchairs in front of a blazing log fire. The fire light shone on the spines of the leather bound tomes which stood in the heavy oak bookcases. Jock lazily scanned the books his eyes pausing on an early edition of Hobbes’s Leviathan.
“And which is worst of all, continuall feare, and danger of violent death; and the life of man, solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short” Jock said.
“Do you really hold such a pessimistic view of the human condition” Phillip said stretching his long legs out towards the open fire. “Life is good. We have this excellent whisky which we are enjoying in one of Pall Mall’s most exclusive clubs and you go quoting that old pessimist Thomas Hobbes”.
“One mans pesimist is another mans realist my dear chap. Hobbes saw the necessity of a strong government to keep the herd of humanity in order. Tell me Phillip my old friend what in your opinion is the greatest evil, that which man fears most?”
“Lack of individual freedom. The Soviet Union and Nazi Germany both comprehensively stamped on liberty with horrendous consequences”.
Jock smiled sadly.
“You are an all round good egg Phillip and that is one of the reasons I derive so much pleasure from your society. You are incorrect in your surmise though. The thing which man rightly fears most is the lack of social order. He fears the theft of his property by the great unwashed. He lives in terror of the rape of his wife by the sexual pervert lurking in the shadows. Beyond the bright lights of this club their lurks a stinking mass which can hardly be dignified with the name of human. Government is there to keep order, to protect us from the mob and when push comes to shove you and I really don’t care which government holds sway. Our concern is that the authorities keep our person and property free from molestation and the mob in check”.
“But my dear fellow by your logic any government is legitimate provided that it maintains social order. Do you really believe that Franco’s Spain and other similar regimes should be lauded on the grounds that they upheld social order?”
“Tell me old boy how much value would you place in democracy if the people out there” Jock said gesturing in the direction of the window, “decided to run riot and attack your flat in Mayfair?”
“That is extremely unlikely to happen. Democracy has deep roots in this country and the people do, on the whole support the system”.
“Indeed and I support democracy while the democratic system maintains order. Hobbes view was that any government which promotes social stability should be supported but if that system fails then the populace are entitled to switch their alegance to whichever individual or government is capable of preventing chaos. So I am a conditional democrat” Jock said with a smile.
“But dictatorships of the left and right have caused incalculable suffering. I don’t need to tell you about the Nazi’s murder of six million Jews or Stalin’s Gulags”.
“Dictatorships have indeed committed terrible atrocities. However when you face losing your life or property a strong dictator is the lesser of two evils. Weighing everything in the balance it is the lack of order which poses the greatest danger to humanity. Imagine that rather than sitting here in this gentlemans club enjoying fine whisky that you had to cower in a dark corner for fear of your life. That marauding gangs roamed at will across this green and pleasant land. Are you really telling me that under those circumstances you wouldn’t welcome a dictator with open arms provided that he put a stop to the anarchy?”
“I hope I wouldn’t embrace dictatorship. There are other ways of dealing with anarchy other than resorting to authoritarianism”.
“Oh Phillip my old friend you are such a liberal. You are undoubtedly one of the nicest, most civilised people I know but if push came to shove I believe that you would do anything to preserve the life and property of you and your family. Hobbes’s Leviathan is not merely a dusty old curiosity with no relevance to the 21st century. In Colombia I saw the truths of his great intellect reveal itself to me”.
“How so?”
“You know that successive governments have been fighting a losing war against the drug traffickers?”
“Of course its all over the media. Occasionally the authorities will kill or capture one of the leading drug barons but another quickly steps into his shoes”.
“Precisely so. However the really fascinating aspect of the whole Colombian situation is how many of these drug lords are regarded as heroes by the Colombians who live under their jurristiction. The barons provide healthcare and other forms of charity which helps to cement their hold. Granted there is a good deal of brutality but this isn’t the primary means by which the drug traffickers maintain their power. If you have nothing or very little and someone (anyone, even the devil) suddenly furnishes you with money which buys you comforts, you will embrace him as a liberator with open arms. For the poor of Colombia the drug barons release them from the state of nature allowing the people to flourish in an ordered society”.
“But what of the horrendous effects of drugs on the poor sods who’s lives are wrecked by them?”
“If you are a peasant farmer in Colombia is the stupidity of some junkie in the back streets of Leeds really going to be top of your priority? No your concern will be with the welfare of your family. The local drug lord has just provided you with the money to purchase medicine for your sick little girl so why should you care about some silly kid shooting up heroine on the other side of the world? The bottom line is my dear chap that people will do anything to survive”.
Jock paused his eyes taking on a far away look.
The hut stank of bird droppings. Chickens wandered in and out at will.
“You like young girl” the man at the coffee stall had asked.
“How young?” Jock had asked.
“Eighteen mister” the man said in broken English.
The child looked about thirteen. Jock hesitated, what was left of his moral compass holding him back.
“It OK mister. I need money. You fuck. No problem”.
Yes people would do anything for money and security however slight that security might be Jock thought as he finished his whisky.
“Good to see you Phillip old bean. I’ve no doubt that we will run into one another again soon” Jock said rising and shaking Phillip’s hand.
“Nice to see you to old man” Phillip said.
Phillip gazed out of the window as Jock Carmichael walked briskly away from the club. Was his acquaintance right? Was life a mere matter of dog eat dog with the necessity for government (any government however brutal) to maintain order?
“I hope not” Phillip muttered as he reached out his hand for the bell which summoned one of the waiters. Time for another drink he thought.
The title of a book provides a clue to it’s contents. It is designed to arouse the curiosity of the book buyer. When choosing the title for my collection of short stories, “The First Time” I picked the first story in my collection entitled, appropriately enough “The First Time” as the title of my anthology.
“The First Time” derives it’s title from the fact that the main actor in the story (Becky a young graduate with a first class degree in english literature) encounters her first client as a professional escort (prostitute), hence the title, “The First Time”.
The title aptly sums up the plot of the story (I.E. the effects of Becky’s first act of prostitution on her psychological and physical wellbeing). “The First Time” is not, in any manner intended to be erotic, however on looking at my book’s page on Amazon I see that many of the people who purchased “The First Time” also bought books which are clearly erotic in nature. To give just two examples purchasers of “The First Time” also purchased “Fifty Shades of BDSM” and “Jessica’s Seduction”. I must confess to being somewhat puzzled by these results as my book description does not so far as I can ascertain give the impression that “The First Time” is in any way erotic. I quote:
“In this collection of short stories the author explores why young women enter the world of prostitution while other stories look at what happens when the
worlds of sex and technology collide.
In “The First Time”, the first story in this collection, we meet Becky a young graduate who enters the world of prostitution in order to clear her debts.
The story looks at the effects of prostitution on Becky and her fellow escort and friend Julie. In “The Pain Behind the Smile” Issie presents her friend,
Peter with a birthday cake, however things are not what they seem.
In “Lucy” the acquaintances of a crusty old bachelor speculate how he could attract and retain the affections of a beautiful young woman. As with “The
Pain Behind the Smile” things are far from what they seem.
“Hemlock” explores what happens when machines attain the capacity to appreciate high culture. The story is both humorous and deeply serious.”
I am delighted that during the free promotion of “The First Time” my book was downloaded a total of 110 times. I still remained puzzled though as to why many of those who downloaded my book also downloaded avowedly erotic works. There is nothing wrong with erotic literature but I still remain somewhat bemused regarding the company my little collection keeps.
(For “The First Time” please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-First-Time-ebook/dp/B00FJGKY7Y/ref=la_B00CEECWHY_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1381576128&sr=1-1).
K Morris - Poet 