Tag Archives: k morris author

Hospital

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“You are such a baby Charles” Anna said giving her husband a playful punch on the arm.

“You know I hate hospitals. The smell of disinfectant masking the scent of death” Charles replied with a shudder.

Anna’s smile disappeared, “You are really worried about this aren’t you darling?” she said pulling Charles close.

“Surely you remember what happened last time I went into hospital?” Charles asked snuggling up close to Anna. The scent of her hair, fragrant with apple shampoo calmed his jangled nerves.

“No darling, I don’t think you told me about it” Anna replied.

“I must have done!” Charles said, his whole body beginning to shake afreshe at the recollection.

Anna stroked her husband’s cheek, “I don’t remember, sorry darling. What happened?” she asked.

“You remember when that bloody jack Russell bit me and I had to go into hospital?” Charles said.

“How could I forget there was blood everywhere. You really ought to have made a complaint to the police and had the animal destroyed. It could have been a child rather than you”, Anna said.

“Thanks a bunch! So its OK if I get bitten but not if a kid gets savaged?” Charles said.

“No, and you know that isn’t what I meant!” Anna said.

“Sorry darling, my nerves are all over the place. I know that isn’t what you meant”, Charles said.

“You are forgiven”, Anna said ruffling her husband’s hair.

“As I was saying, I went into hospital and the nurse gave me an injection, I think they call it antitetanus, to kill anything that dirty little mut might have given me. Before leaving I popped into the loo and”, Charles stopped his face turning ashen.

“What did you find sweetheart?” Anna asked massaging her husband’s neck, (she knew how it helped to relax him).

“I opened the toilet door. There was this man leaning over the sink. At first I thought he had just been sick. Then I saw the blood. It was everywhere. The poor man had literally coughed his guts up and was stone cold dead. What a way to die”, Charles said, his whole frame starting to shake anew.

“Oh Charles. You never told me. I can’t imagine how upsetting that must have been. You don’t have to go you know”, Anna said.

“Its important. They are short of blood. I want to donate”, Charles replied.

“Would you like me to go with you?” Anna asked.

“No darling. You have an interview for that teaching job, Charles said.

“You are more important than a bloody job. I’ll see if the school can reschedule”, Anna said.

“No, that would be very unprofessional. I will be fine darling, honestly”, Charles said.

 

—

 

Charles tried to concentrate on the newspaper. It was no good, he kept seeing the bloodless face of that corpse propped up against the hand basin.

“Charles Craven please”, the receptionist said.

Shakily Charles got to his feet and walked through into a small room. The whiteness of the walls perfectly complimented the palor of Charles’s face.

“Please take a seat. Make yourself comfortable”, a young woman in a white coat said with a smile.

Charles gazed mesmerised at the woman’s blood red lips and her ever so perfect white teeth. They where, he thought unusually long and pointed. In fact more like the fangs he had seen on wolves when watching wildlife documentaries.

“You may feel a little prick”, she said advancing on him, the light reflecting of those perfect, sharp teeth.

Anyone Fancy Spam For Breakfast?

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Until very recently all of the spam I received was for older posts on my blog. However the spammers are now commenting on articles which have only recently appeared here. Fortunately most of the junk is caught by the WordPress filters but the odd spam comment slips through the net and ends up in my inbox to await it’s swift dispatch to my site’s spam folder.

Most spam comments are glaringly obvious, being marked out as junk by terrible grammar, poor sentence construction and spelling which ought to have the spammer confined to the stocks and pelted with rotten eggs. Come to think of it generators of junk should be put in the stocks as a matter of course irrespective of their ability to spell. So who’s going to throw the first egg? Form an orderly queue please and no pushing!

Update to my About page

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I have updated my About page to include links to my guest posts on other authors’ blogs. These already appear on my blog however, due to being posted some time ago many are difficult to locate, hence updating my About page.

I would like to thank everyone who has kindly hosted me on their site.

To visit my About page click here: http://newauthoronline.com/about/

Update to reviews of my books page

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I have updated my reviews page to include several recent reviews. These have already been posted on my blog however, posts get buried after a while, hence the additions to my review page.

You can see the review page here: http://newauthoronline.com/reviews-of-my-books/

Top Portuguese Academic Writes Book Decrying The English

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A leading Portuguese academic has written a book branding the English as dirty, drunken and promiscuous. According to The Telegraph he also labels his hosts (for he teaches in the UK) as “animals”. The book is, apparently only available in Portuguese, there being no plans to produce an English language edition, (I can’t for the life think why that might be)! In the event that the book is, in fact translated into my native tongue I would be fascinated to read what this gentleman has to say about my fellow countrymen and I. For the article please go to http://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/universityeducation/11095057/Top-Portuguese-academic-decries-filthy-English.html

The Lady On The Bus

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Shortly following my move to Crystal Palace in 1997 I took a bus to the Sainsburys supermarket, located at Crystal Palace’s football ground. There I sat, my then guide dog, Zeff lying at my feet, minding my own business when a lady began rattling Keys. I remember being torn between the desire to smile owing to the sound being reminiscent of the rattling of Marley’s Ghost’s chains in Dicken’s A Christmas Carol and the wish to get away from this lady who, quite obviously had mental health issues.

I remember, at the time thinking “I hope she doesn’t follow me off the bus”.

On reaching my stop I alighted and to my dismay the lady followed me, muttering incoherently to herself, keys rattling as she walked.

I quickened my pace wishing to reach the relative safety of Sainsburys in double quick time. I entered only to have the lady grab hold of Zeff’s harness and for her to say “I’ll kill the dog”. Matters descended into black comedy with a member of the supermarket staff asking whether I was acquainted with the woman. I felt like answering,

“Do you think I hang around with mentally unstable individuals who threaten to kill my guide dog?” Instead I merely confirmed in a surprisingly calm voice that I had never met the woman before and could they please eject her from the store. Fortunately a security guard intervened at this juncture and escorted the lady off the premises.

In retrospect I should have insisted that the supermarket call the police as the lady was clearly mentally unstable, had made a threat to kill my guide dog and, quite obviously required medical and/orpolice intervention. I suspect the woman had stopped taking whatever medication she was on leading to her bizarre and, quite frankly frightening behaviour. I hope to heavens she didn’t go onto harm some other poor soul.

The above recollections where prompted by the following post which I came across earlier today, http://doctorly.wordpress.com/2014/08/11/sightless/

Those To Whom Evil Is Done

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Much of my writing is based on the premise that evil begets evil or, as Auden so eloquently puts it, in his poem, “September 1, 1939”:

I and the public know

What all schoolchildren learn,

Those to whom evil is done

Do evil in return”. (See http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/september-1-1939).

I do not contend that free will is an illusion, that we are prisoners of genetics or society. Many individuals who have experienced horrific abuse do not go on to become abusers. However the fact that significant numbers of the abused become perpetrators demonstrates that a vicious cycle can, often be set in train with parents abusing children who then go on to become abusers.

To take an example from my own writing. In my short story, Samantha, Sam is drugged and forced into prostitution by her brutal pimp, Barry. Barry possesses not a single redeeming feature. He is, quite simply a monster. Barry has, however been abused by his mother as a child (she locks him, as a 6-year-old little boy in a dark cupboard). From this ill treatment flows Barry’s view that,

“All women are bitches”.

He has experienced no love in his life and the brutality of Barry’s upbringing has destroyed the feelings of compassion which most of us, to a greater or lesser degree possess.

To take another example, in my story, The Hitch Hiker, a deeply troubled young woman exacts a terrible vengeance on men who stop to offer her a lift.

Both Barry and the Hitch Hiker demonstrate the validity of Auden’s view that, “Those to whom evil is done do evil in return”. Anyone reading much of my work might reach the conclusion that I deny the possibility of redemption, I do not. Deeply damaged individuals who have done terrible things can (and do) reform and go on to lead good and productive lives. However it does appear that a small number of people are, for whatever reason beyond help. I am speaking here of psychopaths. In contrast to most killers who can (and frequently do) show remorse for their actions the psychopath is incapable of genuine remorse (he may feign it to gain advantage but that is a wholly different issue). Barry would appear to fall into the category of psychopath, his psychopathic tendencies being derived from the abuse suffered as a child. He is, almost certainly beyond redemption.

Is Barry responsible for his actions? As a believer in free will my answer has to be yes on the basis that other equally damaged persons do not act in the manner he does.

Perhaps in the coming decades lawyers will argue that their clients should not be punished for their actions as they possess a genetic predisposition for psychopathy or, due to the lack of a particular chemical in the brain they can not be held responsible for their actions. Maybe this will happen, however (assuming such a thing exists), if certain individuals with a genetic predisposition to psychopathy commit horrendous crimes while others do not (as I suspect will be the case) then society will need to relinquish simplistic explanations for criminal behaviour and accept that “evil” stems from many and varied causes.

I am no scientist. I am, however suspicious of determinist theories whether they be Marxist or Eugenic in origin. “Evil” will, I suspect be forever with us and, in decades to come we will still be discussing why people do horrendous acts.

A MileStone Is Reached

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Today I was delighted to welcome my 950th follower (you can find there blog here which is well worth checking out, http://roughseasinthemed.wordpress.com/).

Many thanks to all of my followers. It is your comments, likes and simply reading my posts which makes blogging worthwhile.

 

All the very best

 

Kevin

Snatches Of Conversation

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“I picked up the can, threw it at him and”.

As an author, the above snatch of conversation, overheard by me while on my way into work this morning had me intrigued. I longed to hear the remainder of the incident but the speaker, a teenage girl, rapidly disappeared into the distance, her words lost to me forever. What kind of can was it? What, if anything did it contain? And, most importantly what caused the young woman to throw it in the first place? In an alternative reality the following exchange between me and the speaker took place,

 

Me, “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. I am intrigued. Why did you throw the can? And what was the reaction of the person you threw it at?”

Teenage girl looking at me as though I had just appeared from outer space, “P.. off. What has it got to do with you?”

Me, “I’m an author, I can’t help tuning into people’s conversations. I’m interested as to what motivated you to throw that can. Perhaps there is a story in it somewhere”.

Teenage girl,walking quickly away from me, “Get lost before I call the police”.

 

There is, in the above incident the makings of a story. I would love to hear your thoughts as to how the tale might go. Also I am sure that I can’t be the only writer who can not help but speculate on snatches of overheard conversations.