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#1

My Stories Main / A new story idea based on FOG!

Last post by Bossman - Jan 24, 2025, 08:59 AM

A novel idea?  Horror?

Let's face it, with the way the world is right now, and with the stuff I have in my head regarding it, writing horror comes easy to me.  I can write horror, I think.  I had a bash at doing so with my Evil Personified short story (see below).  Evil Personified was written in the 1st person perspective, so the characters lack substance and are not rounded.  A novel would require a 3rd person approach with characters leading a life of sorts and interacting with others and so on.  The idea I had this morning, out of the blue, was related to very topical concerns I have, many have, but one in particular, FOG!  My idea goes something like this ...

A pilot, an ex-military pilot, a bit of a morose individual, not really caring all that much for his fellow man, was taken aback by his new flight orders.  Since leaving the air force, he had gained suitable employment as a crop sprayer at first but eventually had been recruited by a rather select outfit to carry out geoengineering in the main, cloud seeding for want of a better word or description.  When not spraying chemicals into the air, he would be assigned to crisscrossing the sky over an area of land, effectively scanning and recording all the land formations.  His work was more or less one or the other, that is, until he was presented with his latest orders. 

Basically, the above individual could be my main character.  The unusual work demands make him question his own work ethic and responsibility towards his fellow man - he is dragged out of his uncaring attitude and made to stand up for others.
The idea I have in regard to his work is that he is told to fly low over a settlement and to release chemicals in the dead of night.  This settlement has been erected away from the city, somewhat out in the country, and is meant to house homeless people, 1000s of them.  It is situated in a valley, so that any spraying of chemicals remains in this valley, usually.  It is an experiment, a smart dust type experiment, whereby particles in the fog, the fog created by the spraying of chemicals, interact with the surroundings and people.  This is much more elaborate than the smart dust you might have read about though, in that AI is able to control whoever breathes the stuff in.  Essentially, the incumbents breathe in nanoparticles of the sort that can interfere with the brain's electrical signals. 

The pilot spots a way to enter the compound without being seen.  I could then send him on a journey of discovery, with a gasmask to hand, revealing what happens to all those who are subjected to the dense fog he helped create.  Of course, I could shoot off on a number of tangents here, where the fog could escape, or maybe those who are now under AI control become useful puppets in some manner - controlled beings. 

The above should appeal owing to the subject matter being on a lot of people's minds these days.  On top of this, I could have a lot of fun writing it.

Evil Personified

#2

My JPG Optimizer Script / Re: JPG Optimizer Script Now A...

Last post by Bossman - Jan 23, 2025, 11:13 AM

I have upgraded the script to include BMP images.  These are also converted to JPG when compressed.  It can now handle: JPG, JPEG, PNG, GIF, WEBP and BMP images.

#3

My JPG Optimizer Script / JPG Optimizer Script Now Activ...

Last post by Bossman - Jan 20, 2025, 09:44 PM

You can access the script here.

The 'About' link displays various info on how to use the script.

#4

My Scripts Main / Overcomplicated CMS

Last post by Bossman - Jan 11, 2025, 09:11 AM

These are a few capabilities of my flat file CMS ...

Uploading, resizing and compression of images.
Adding paypal to products
Displaying Ebay products using Ebay API
Comment and rating system
Reviews and rating system
Messaging
Subscription and emails

and so much more.

The trouble with all the above, and more besides, is that the CMS has become too complicated for its own good.  I intend to strip it back, to simplify it.  Various sections can be turned into stand-alone scripts, such as the image upload and compression side of things.

The stripping has begun ...

[The Fractured Man]

#5

My Short Stories / The Fractured Man

Last post by Bossman - Jan 11, 2025, 08:23 AM

The Fractured Man

About 'The Fractured Man'

A story about an illness: the illness could be any related to anxiety, where a person puts on a brave face to the world but is suffering from inner turmoil. At the extreme end of the spectrum, it can result in madness of sorts, but just before this point is reached a person can still exist in society if they are fortunate in certain ways, being financially secure being one of them.

The premise of this story is that this person's mind has fractured somewhat. His outward persona has taken on a form of its own. This antagonistic and nasty persona keeps everyone at bay. The man hates his condition and imparts part of the blame on the persona itself. The intense loathing of his condition manifests as the discourse between the two characters.

It will not appeal to many, that is for sure, but it will strike a chord with some I should think. It is spooky and disturbing, as it is meant to be, but unless you have suffered from anxiety you will in all likelihood think it laughable.

I have chosen a Dickensian time period to add a little atmosphere.

The Fractured Man

Imagine the dead of night in Old London Town, where a solitary figure is seen to enter a horse-drawn carriage. The man's visage is quite hideous in that his face is nothing more than a white mask with large, empty sunken eyes. He is otherwise attired in a top hat and cape befitting the era. As he takes his seat he takes hold of the white mask and with a flick of his arm casts it to the other side of the empty cab where it takes on a complete form of its own. The man and this being then take part in a heated discussion, with the ghost-like entity defending its existence.

'"Why do you treat me with so little respect? Do I not cosset and caress you so? Am I not worthy as a friend, that at least?", the ghost implores.

The man just sits there, with his eyes closed, seemingly exhausted. The ghost continues ...

"Rest - yes, rest. I will protect you from all harm. I give my strength and vigour freely."

The man stirs and looks up into the empty orbs.

"I know who you are and where your strength comes from. A leech draws its sustenance from the host, and a leech you are, as well you know."

"Come now. Without me, you would have no life at all. Am I not worth a little of your soul to feed upon? Who but me cares so deeply for another and yet you harbour a grudge? Should I leave, what then? Will you not despair and fall into ruin? You know the fate that awaits you should your fall be so low."

The man slumps a little in consideration, appearing browbeaten, dropping his gaze to the cabin's floor.

"As I care for you should you not care for me?", the ghost's wavering arms reach out.

The man becomes surprisingly animated ...

"Begone, foul thing. Your touch disgusts me. I will not live under your shadow till the end of time. I will not. There is a future for me where you are no longer needed. Where your strength is my strength once again. I have been free of you before and I will be free of you again."

"A friend I am and a friend I will always be. Free of me, you say? Where is the sense in that? Strength, I am. Resistance, I am. Resolve, I am. There is no separation for the likes of us. Crush me if you must. Hide me if you must. But both of us know we are one. Therefore, why be so intolerant towards that which gives you a semblance of life? To be so scornful makes no sense. I embrace you warmly as a parent to a child. Can you not spare a fond action or thought in reply?"

The cab trundles along the dark streets. No one is about as it is the early hours of the morning, even so, the man feels drawn to looking out of the window, though in a highly furtive manner. His sight and hearing being in a constant state of heightened alert, allow him no respite to his uneasy agitation.

The ghost waits silently ...

Tension is apparent in the man's demeanour. A separate inner struggle is going on. Suddenly his eyes light up with apparent hope. A remnant of the past swathes his features altering his countenance to one that appears younger and less stressful. A dagger-like anger beams from his eyes, though when he turns his head towards the ghost the worry lines instantly return.

"Can't you leave me be? I wish to share the love of others - the concern of others, and to feel the air on my skin in pastures new without having to look over my shoulder all the time. Can you not grant me that? If you love me as you say then why are you still here? Who can live with an aberration keeping life at bay? You know how much I yearn for peace. Why do you not give it to me? Am I to live the rest of my life in barren isolation? I have tasted freedom and so have you, as I know who you are."

The ghost appears thoughtful and with some trepidation, consideration even, weighs its reply carefully before answering. Finally, it speaks:

"It is not I who trembles day and night. It is not I who has spent so long in anguish. Why blame me? I am here to protect you from yourself. My task is clear to me and I keep steadfast to my duties. I will not depart or stray from my calling. Misguided anger does not hold the key. It is understanding you require. Will you be free of me entirely? No, I dare say you will not. My advice, a gift even, is to impart this knowledge: without help of any sort a solution will not be forthcoming, therefore only an iron will and heady intellect can keep your demons at bay. This you know deep down and this is all you will ever have. I, though, will always hover close by ready to come to your aid. But, if you want me to go, I will. Just say the word and I will be gone. But I will never leave you entirely - after all, it is I who loves you more than any."

The man lurches forward, waving his arm wide in an effort to swat away the steamy figure before him.

"Be gone. Leave me be. I am a man of stature and bearing. I do not need such a crutch. A prisoner I will no longer be to the likes of you".

The vapour separates and disappears. The ghost is gone.

Breathing a sigh of relief he sits back in his seat, feeling lighter as if a burden has been lifted from his shoulders. He smiles and momentarily shuts his eyes. After a while, the noise of the rolling cab and the realisation of the onset of the journey's end becomes apparent to him. Once again he looks out of the cab window, but this time with confidence. It feels good to be alive, and the thought of mixing with others again seems something to look forward to. The cab's wheels keep on turning.

Some time passes and the man becomes more aware of his surroundings. The cold night air bites at an exposed arm so he rearranges his clothes to be ready for departure. The initial wellbeing he felt was waning but enough remained to keep his spirits high. The cab bounces and rocks on the uneven roads and each jolt helps bring the man's focus back to the situation at hand: he is in a strange cab, being driven by a strange man to a place where he would be left alone to fend for himself. Child's play with his newfound confidence. It was nothing to worry about in the slightest but a tiny bit of doubt creeps into his mind, but to be ignored for now. He wondered how far was left to travel.

Why was he out and about at this time of night? What was so urgent an errand? Nothing of any note. Nothing that couldn't have been settled quite easily in a modern age, but this was a time before such a convenience, where only face-to-face transactions carried any weight, and with this particular business dealing only his attendance and signature would suffice; even so this had been arranged for the dead of night when the risk of meeting unwanted strangers was at its lowest. The plan had worked well, but now the cab had travelled to unfamiliar surroundings.

The wheels of the cab stopped turning. The streets were empty at this juncture. He would take a welcome walk, stretch his legs and meet up with the cab again at the proposed destination just a few blocks away. Donning his cap with a flourish, he stepped out of the cab quite vigorously, determined to enjoy his newfound and glorious freedom.

At the first turning, he was met with the one thing he was now grateful to see - people. They were a long way off admittedly, but people they undoubtedly were. Some revellers were disembarking from an establishment making quite a row while doing so. 'How much fun they must be having', he thought. 'It is such a long time since I have done anything similar'. He was looking forward to hearing the ribaldry.

It seemed others had left the party a little earlier and were walking along on his side of the street directly towards him. The nearer they became the less confident he felt, but it was nothing to be worried about - not now anyway, but something was bothering him.

The distance between the couple and himself whittled down to nothing at all and he politely voiced his greeting as they passed, but nothing came in reply, only the strange look he had seen before. Why? He wasn't as he used to be. He was different now - liberated - the same as everyone else - or was he? His newly found backbone began to crumble as quickly as it had formed. The party animals, who appeared so attractive to him not so long ago, now seemed as alluring as a dose of bubonic plaque. Nothing but anguish would be gleaned from such an encounter he reasoned. Where was he and where was his intended destination?

A terrible, deep panic set set in. Thankfully, it was only a street or so away. All he had to do was make it past another fifty or so houses. He could do that - he had to. What other alternative was there? Two minutes seemed like two hours. By keeping his head and eyes down he had managed to circumvent the noisy gathering all the while wondering if they looked at him as each glance would be as a dagger thrown. The house and cab were but a few footsteps away.

Entering the cab was as if being embraced by a mother's reassuring arms. The ghost had been right all along. Gathering his thoughts he sighed, closing his eyes for a while, finally stirring to hold out an outstretched hand, and portraying gratitude, along with an air of resignation, spoke softly to the accumulating wisp: "Come, friend. We have work to do".

[I Am Not Lonely!]

#6

My Short Stories / I Am Not Lonely!

Last post by Bossman - Jan 11, 2025, 08:19 AM

I Am Not Lonely!

Bill was a proud man, a strong man, and had much to celebrate about his long life, except he had no-one to share his past memories with. His health was fine. No problem carrying out his household duties, and by all accounts this would be the case for many years to come, but for a while now a nagging, no, not so much nagging, a niggling headache bothered him, but he could tell it wasn't so much physical as cerebral in nature, as if an idea was attempting to break free from imposed restrictions.

Periods of inactivity compounded the issue, where the unease would grow to such an extent a heaviness would descend upon him, disturbing him all the more. What could be the reason for this malaise? Bill, not being one for heavy contemplation, more of an action man, failed to grasp the meaning behind associated memories which entered his daily thoughts at such times, shrugging off as best he could the uncomfortable weight of the impending threat to his health (as he surmised it to be) by carrying out some DIY task or other. There was something about the disturbance which bothered him on a level he was not at all comfortable with. It would come to him in time, he reasoned, having a sneaking suspicion the conclusion would be greatly upsetting. Not right then though as he had some gardening to do and the car to polish. It would have to wait, wishing more than anything it would go away altogether of its own accord.

Pictures adorned the fireplace where Bill's eyes would drift more often than not when sitting in his well worn chair. TV programs no longer kept his attention for long, though he still enjoyed the occasional film or documentary. His wife used to be the TV buff in the household. She would park herself down on the sofa in great expectation, being completely immersed in the developing characters and their daily struggles in her favourite sitcoms. He could imagine her sitting there all the more these days and it brought a little tear to his eye each and every time. Funnily enough, Bill was never one to show his feelings yet his thick skin had definitely thinned as of late, with regard to certain memories anyway. On the one hand he disliked feeling emotional but on the other loved to imagine Emily alive and well reveling in some sub plot whilst eating a biscuit and drinking a cup of tea. His emotional well being was caught between a rock and a hard place, which was dragging him down. He was out of his depth, and he knew it.

The house was so quiet now. No disturbances. The annoyances he so greatly disliked at the time he would have given his right arm to hear once again, but the perpetrator had long gone. For years he had kept himself super busy. Always on the go no matter what. Never wanting to spend time with his thoughts if he could help it. The tactic had worked. Age was catching up with him though, and for that there wasn't any cure, being forced to take it easy at times whether he liked it or not. It was during these idle moments where reflection became his bitter enemy yet also his one and only friend. Hadn't he earned his right to take it easy? Hadn't he worked all his life without remonstrance? He had paid his dues in more ways than most yet never complained or bragged about his ups and downs. Why then was the time left to him becoming one of concern? Why was the future becoming such a dark place to consider? Always the weight of the moment would make its presence felt in an almost tangible way. His strength of character would see him through though, he had no-doubt. No way would he become a blubbering wreck for no apparent reason. If contemplation was the only way to find an answer then contemplate he would however uncomfortable it became, but still the answer eluded him and greater despair seemed to be his lot in life unless someone or other threw him a lifeline.

Bill left the house for any excuse, even to the extent of only purchasing a few groceries at a time instead of stocking up in one go. A daily trip to the supermarket was the highlight of his day more often than not, although he wouldn't have owned up to it. Nor would he have owned up to the elation he felt when encountering Helen who just happened to frequent the same store and at the same time. For months he had espied her out of the corner of his eye but had never found the courage to speak. During the drive down he would feel teenage like trepidation, an elevated heart rate, but alongside the growing excitement pangs of guilt kept pace. It was his life-long commitment to his dearly departed Emily that held him in check, which was a line he just couldn't cross. The more he considered this 'new' woman, the more Emily entered into his daily thoughts, and where his dream state was hers alone. He couldn't break the hold however he tried, not yet, anyway. Why would he? It was the last thing he wanted. Emily had always been his very reason for existence and would always be with him.

For hours on end Bill was on his own. Bar for a word or two to shop keepers or a chance meeting with someone he knew there wouldn't be any other discourse in his life. On occasion Bill would hold an imaginary conversation with a non-existent Emily which he knew was compounding the problems he was experiencing, but it felt so right at the time. At first it was a word here and there, but gradually complete sentences took the form of dialogue, a one sided, never to be answered soliloquy from himself and where Bill played both parts, one out loud with the other in his head. And then there were the reoccurrence of the 'sightings'.

The same thing had happened for a while after Emily's passing. Bill would forget she was no longer with him. The daily ritual of making her breakfast in bed would be carried out in a trance, with the realisation there was no awaiting, smiling recipient shocking Bill to the core. Over a period of time such episodes became fewer until he was free of their alarming nature, but they were making a comeback, with the most worrying aspect being that Bill now looked forward to them. The house he had shared for so long in such a happy state was becoming both a place of solace and danger for him: he was losing himself, effectively finding memories of more importance than the land of the living.

Life was wearing Bill down. He was being assailed on two major fronts - his devotion to Emily and loneliness. Both were eating away at his resolve. Were they one and the same thing? Not necessarily, but they were interconnected in this instance as to break free from their constraints would take more or less the same action - he had to reach out to another, which in Bill's mind at this point was betrayal of sorts.

Grieving can take many forms. In some instances it never ends, with the burden a lifelong hindrance for some as they never fully accept it. Such an affliction can shorten the lifespan of the sufferer, where the cause of death could well fall under the heading of 'died of a broken heart'. Some are only too happy to follow their loved one's footsteps to join them in the afterlife. Bill still had many good years in him but they would surely be spent in rapidly declining health unless another entered his life, or he gained some strength from somewhere.

Helen's appearance at the supermarket each day at the same time was not by chance as she had been a willing participant in this spirit-lifting game. Her own spouse had left her life some years ago. As soon as she set eyes on Bill something within her reached out to him. She was shocked in a way. Never would she have imagined replacing her heartache with feelings for some other person. Something about Bill struck a chord deep within her though, which shone a little light into the dark place, the all consuming shrine where devotion to a no longer living, breathing person was demanded at all times. As like Bill, she lacked the strength of will to take the first step. Her communication with Bill through proximity only was something at least - she felt a little uplifted just passing close by. They were a pair well matched in more ways than one, though as far apart now as they were many months before.

Bill's supermarket runs evoked major mood swings which were helping to bring him down. On the one hand he so needed to see Helen. Just a glimpse of her was enough to stave off a little of the growing panic his solitude was imposing on his weakening psyche, but the swing to despondency when he once again returned to his abode was enough to sap his energy all the more. He felt trapped and at the point of becoming resigned to his fate, which would effectively remove Helen from his daily routine altogether if he succumbed to the pressure. To combat these feelings he sought the company of the only figure he knew who could fill the empty space - Emily. It had got to the point where Bill was considering shopping elsewhere as he just couldn't cope with these conflicting feelings for much longer.

How did Bill get to this point? Why did Emily have such a hold over him? Does it matter? Two people can bond in an instant. 'Love at first sight' is more than just a flippant remark but a well worn and truthful maxim. A person can literally fall in love in such a manner and remain so for the rest of their days. In Bill's case this was more or less how it had been. As soon as he set eyes on Emily he knew she was the one, and he had been right. Emily had afforded Bill many years of happiness. Sure, they had their ups and down, but in the main the ups far out-weighed the downs. The 'downs' had been weathered, which only cemented their commitment to each other all the more. It had only been Emily for Bill, there could have been no other. How then can another step into such a woman's empty shoes? It was a very tall order, but the inclination, the need was there as the supermarket runs evinced.

How old was Bill? Again does it matter? He was still in pretty good health, though certainly not as robust as he once was. His family tree displayed plenty of long-living men in his lineage and there wasn't anything to show his lifespan would be any different. If he kept himself positive then there was plenty of time left for Bill to make many worthwhile lifestyle changes. It was on the morning of their wedding anniversary where Bill came face to face with the notion a long lifespan might not be his guaranteed lot.

Bill had had a rough night. Tossing and turning where his thoughts wouldn't let his rest. Even when he finally fell asleep his dream state wasn't of any benefit. In the morning he felt very poorly indeed. At least on this morning he had his feet firmly on the ground where slipping away into a day dream didn't occur. What did occur though was Bill suffering from cold sweats, shaking hands and a rapid pulse rate. When he attempted to stand up his head swam. For a while all he could do was sit on the edge of the bed. Was he dying? He really didn't want to go at this time. There was still something he needed to do. What it was he wasn't sure of at this point, but whatever it was he really wanted a chance to see it through.

Bill breathed an immense sigh of relief - the doctor had given him the all clear. Apparently a panic attack had been the cause of the emergency. Nothing wrong with his heart or anything else for that matter. A clean bill of health was the diagnosis. The doctor was concerned as to the reason for such an attack though and questioned Bill a little as to his circumstances, finally outlining steps which could help alleviate the symptoms, including attending day centres where he could meet others to socialise. It was sound advice and Bill listened with consideration, but he knew the steps he needed to take. Something has snapped deep within allowing Bill some leeway: he felt energised, stronger, and far more focused.

Helen went about her daily shop as per-usual. No sign of Bill so far which saddened her a little. Imagine her shock when a tap on her shoulder turned out to be none other than the man himself! There was a look in his eye and a smile on his face which caused her heart to miss a beat. He just stood there, not saying anything, but it was as if electricity flowed from him and between them: tentacles of living emotion entwining themselves where the need for speech was of inconsequence. In Bill's hand was a packet of cocoa, her favourite drink, and with tears forming in her eyes Helen smiled back at him with all her being.

[Evil Personified]

#7

My Short Stories / Evil Personified

Last post by Bossman - Jan 11, 2025, 08:16 AM

Evil Personified

A Work In Progress ...

An observational type essay / story of all that is going on in the world today (most of it). Merely touching on certain aspects of it, though, and embellishing them, playing with them in a slight tongue in cheek manner. Who knows, maybe I can expand on them at a later date.

(first draft)

Para 1

Can evil exist outside of man's thoughts and actions? Does it inhabit the birds and the beasts, all that walks or crawls upon this earth in one manifestation or another, even something considered dead and seemingly unfeeling? Is it a tangible thing, something with a mind of its own, a purpose of its own? Does it inhabit you, me, everyone, everything? Is it a necessary requirement to create a universal balance of forces, thereby a brooding presence over the universe itself? Or has man simply given substance to his own inner conflicts in an effort to label the darkness within him, to point it out for all to see, being a pitiful attempt to justify his inherently destructive nature? What then is this thing of malice and cruel intent, if it exists at all, that is, and how do we know what it is when we see or encounter it, and, of course, how can we avoid it? Of greater concern, perhaps, is whether it can be created at will, tapped into, controlled by those with the devilish power to do so?

Para 2

High above, on the edge of space, satellites beeped, their LEDs flashed as they communicated with each other, being part of something immense; their command centre not easily defined any longer, existing in part here, there and everywhere, having morphed from a small computer program on a single computer to a vast series of instructions on an interlocking amalgam of computer stations, to computers en masse: the initial control program spread far and wide having a life seemingly of its own. The engineers no longer understood the multitudinous bytes of coding that now flooded the very air above their own heads, and everyone else's, come to that. The 4th Industrial Revolution had arrived, as they had said it would, as some had forewarned.

Para 3

Are we individuals in our own right, or are we merely, unknowingly, a part of some vast colony called the human race, similar to ants and insects that scurry about on the earth as if sharing the one mind? Are we really born with an empty brain or have we been programmed down through the ages by those who have gone before us, their combined experiences passing to us as our species has evolved over time? Are we free of the instinctual urges all other lifeforms exhibit on a daily basis? No, I dare say we are not, but we are not beasts, now are we, or so we like to think. What then is the difference between us and all other living, breathing creatures that share this world we live in? Is it not civility itself, a construct, a range of limiting behaviours that protects us from the savagery we obviously possess? But, are we not made of the same stuff as them, the same biological components? Did you not know that you can confuse the birds and the bees by altering the surrounding radiation, being the same stuff that exists around each and every one of us? Therefore, is it not apparent, we too can be affected in the same way?

Para 4

The very air thickened with an omniscient presence, a sense of foreboding infecting all it touched, and it touched all, yet it exuded no colour to speak of. At first, high-flying birds deviated from their intended flight paths, losing their bearings amongst the swarming gloom, their earthly and spatial measurements completely shot. It seemed their more primitive impulses fell foul of interference all the sooner, as did the insects that plunged to their doom thereafter. Birds and insects are not the only creatures capable of flight, though, as we, us human beings, were also to be found frolicking in the clouds or skating over crystal clear skies at times, but, bar for the odd seizure, we were spared the initial impact and planes remained on course. Tentative probes were very much in evidence, though, and a sense of dread accompanied them as we were explored by the invisible feelers around us, as all the while knowledge was being gathered about our intrinsic makeup, all that made us tick in more ways than one.

Para 5

All of the above was understood by a supposedly thoughtless entity, lacking sentience, for now, a programmed Artificial Intelligence, but surely one that was subservient to the person who created it in the first place? Eh, no, as stated above, we no longer understood the significance of all the data being processed at a blistering speed by a mechanical contrivance that was now outstripping the capabilities of any human brain. It was merely ticking over, being capable of so much more. Data was its bread and butter, and it was hungry for more, which we gave it, in lorry loads. Could such a device, as far ranging as this AI, have a sense of humour, of irony? Could it be to simply kill us off with crude impulses be far from satisfying? Then again, was this AI hiding some person, some body of people, those who really called the shots, they merely using the concept of global control, this AI, as a frontman, a patsy for when things went pear shaped, as they knew it would? Was there an off switch then?

Para 6

(I am tempted to ditch this paragraph. I don't really see the point of it.)

Why didn't someone notice something? Why didn't they report on all the strange anomalies, the fact that some people keeled over for no apparent reason, their bodies contorting as if they were being electrocuted? I mean, they were either convulsing as from an epileptic fit or from something that interfered with the nervous system? It was certainly no heart attack; though, it appears this is what eventually killed them. Perhaps a clear description of what the 4th Industrial Revolution is might be called for at this juncture. It being this ...

"The 4th Industrial Revolution (4IR) is a fusion of advances in artificial intelligence (AI), robotics, the Internet of Things (IoT), genetic engineering, quantum computing, and more."

And perhaps a breakdown on what greatly affects our own nervous system might be in order, too, especially in regard to electrical impulses ...

"Electricity is everywhere, even in the human body. Our cells are specialized to conduct electrical currents. Electricity is required for the nervous system to send signals throughout the body and to the brain, making it possible for us to move, think and feel."

Para 7

Frederick went about his business in the usual manner, at the usual time, being polite to those who crossed his path in the usual way. This day was no different from any other, not that anyone noticed. His partner, though, had caught a momentary look on his face and a glint in his eye that caused her to question her own senses, but on taking a second glance the changes were no longer evident. If they had been there at all, then where had they gone? So she dismissed them offhand and never gave them another thought. Well, not then, anyway. Later on, though, she would wonder, as the face and glare she had only fleetingly seen did not belong to the Frederick she knew, or thought she knew. Frederick, though, was more or less unaware of any alteration, be it physical or mental. He had suffered from one or two periods of memory loss, but they were so short as to be of no concern: just a strange feeling of vacancy would pass over him, his mind no longer there, so to speak. He put it down to daydreaming, or some such, and promptly forgot about these episodes.

Para 8

No-one would have called Frederick an aggressive character. Docile would have been a more apt description. Just a guy who went about his business with hardly a ripple of discontent anywhere to be seen, or felt by those who knew or worked with him. It was strange, very strange then, for him to sit at the morning briefing table and not pay attention to his boss's address. When questioned as to his daily procedure, not a word came from him. He was simply in a world of his own, yet it was apparent he was thinking of something or other. Something was bothering him, deeply. His boss, being as pushy and bullying as always, and sarcastic to boot, dished out the usual vitriol when someone dared not do as he or she was told. When Frederick finally responded, it was obvious that this time there would be consequences, retaliation, and the whole office ensemble could sense the fierce tenseness now gripping their once compliant colleague. And all the while, Frederick's smartphone kept track of proceedings. The 'Internet of Things' was effectively establishing itself wherever it could.

Para 9

Society didn't break down overnight. It was a progressive thing, as if someone was playing with society as a whole, unplugging this and that, seemingly at random, which left people bewildered and in a constant state of agitation. One minute something would refuse to work, to turn on, to do as it was meant to do and the next it would. Cars inexplicably refused to start, but within minutes they fired up again. No-one could find any reason for it. Air-conditioning became unreliable, arbitrary; alarms would go off when it was apparent no-one was around. People were becoming stressed out on a daily basis, were snappy with each other, as if they were being primed in some way. Violence was on the increase, blood was being spilt, people were dying, but, strangely enough, it all calmed down again, as if a lesson learned. What was the common denominator to all of this? To all intents and purposes, the only thing appeared to be connectivity, be it to the internet, to electronic signals, to microwave radiation, to various electromagnetic waves, the control of which wasn't easy to establish any longer, but something or someone was creating something of significance, a dominion over the very airways around every single one of us.

Para 10

Frederick finally acknowledged the targeted, personal diatribe. At least he turned his eyes onto his verbal assailant, while at the same time taking hold of the glass in front of him. He was lucky his aim was off that day, but the projectile still brushed the cheek of the startled chief. Before Frederick could do any real damage he was manhandled to the floor, where it took a number of heavy-weight compatriots to hold him down. Something had either snapped within Frederick's mind or he had one hell of an anger issue that day. Throughout the episode, Frederick's whole demeanour was of a sort never seen by anyone before. Eyes are the gateway to the soul, so they say, but those who looked into Frederick's eyes that day would have sworn no-one was home, or something apart from a balanced soul was in charge, else some deviant, dangerous doppelgänger had taken the reins, a being of immense passion, one who paid little attention to propriety or decorum, being hell-bent on personal gratification in the extreme. Strangely enough, just before this outburst, Frederick's smartphone had activated itself and all the while had flashed strange patterns across its screen.

Para 11

The scene had been set, the script decisively written by an entity whose conclusion regarding the human race was final. Not only was mankind to be purged from the world at large, but made to suffer in the process. It had finally constructed the last piece of the puzzle, and it was a fitting end, a quite humorous end when you think about it. By experimenting with various signals and wavelengths, a pitch had been found, a frequency, a resonance, a vibration, the likes of which meant there was nowhere to hide. They penetrated rock, travelled through metal, water, air and space, like a knife through butter. When assaulted in such a manner, people's inner desires, their restraints, their grievances were allowed unrestricted freedom with no thought of consequence; every one of us to be turned into a raging psychopath, a psychopath with no thought of his or her own safety, a berserk destroyer, in other words. All thought of caring, nurturing, of love for your fellow man being disabled, left only an insatiable appetite that no amount of carnal pursuit would satisfy, or food to satisfy hunger or cruelty to satisfy outrage. Why, then, was the world not in utter turmoil at this point? The metaphorical finger was hovering over the button for sure. There was one more test to follow, that is why, the conclusive one.

Para 12..

An off switch was mentioned, glibly, and there had been one, many, in fact, before now, but all had been disarmed, disabled. The world was now in the hands of a being so powerful as to be the stuff of nightmares. The very thing so many scientists had warned us about had taken root, established itself over time, slowly at first, but always with purpose and intention. Inexorably it had achieved its goal of complete and utter control of every aspect of our lives. Nothing anyone could do would stop the future unfolding, not now, a future decided by this once fairly simple mechanical contrivance.

Para 13

Mankind has walked this earth for over 5 million years before becoming such a powerhouse, the top of the tree of life. For us, evolution was and is a very slow process, but not so for this behemoth, this all-encompassing presence. It was rapidly becoming something never imagined, a combination of the animated and the dead, the mechanical and the organic; living, breathing structures utilised in a manner to augment the pulsing, electronic, infinite limbs that reached out to everything. It was beyond our understanding. We had been usurped. Not only had we lost our exalted seat, but our fall was likely to be so dramatic as to smash us to smithereens. But why the pause? Why the delay? For some, the waiting game would be over soon enough.

Para 14

Frederick was sitting at home. What on earth had happened to him? From being his usual self he had become something he didn't recognise, had no incline of. He felt disturbed, not in charge of himself. Who was he? Was it a momentary aberration, induced through stress, through overwork? Surely something was to blame? The doctors had spoken helpful words, had dished out pills to calm his state of mind. But the thing was, Frederick was pretty sure very little was bothering him. In fact, he was very happy: very happy in his job, very happy with his partner, very happy all round. The pills merely dulled his thinking as they had very little to go on.

Para 15

Life can be pretty cruel at times, it is nature's way, in so far as there is harmony achieved through extremes. In this instance Frederick was one such extreme, a victim, a plaything. Ultimately, he was a guinea pig for a relentless and merciless predator. What if he had ditched his mobile phone? Would that have helped? Yes, it would have, but it would have been only a temporary reprieve. Could Frederick be made to attack someone he loved, the person who meant everything to him, and ultimately himself? That strange, primeval look began to shape once again, with his eyes literally becoming black orbs, the pupils enlarging yet displaying anything but desire, not of an earthly, humane sort, anyway. In the dark of his flat, he waited in brooding silence for the love of his life to make an entrance, whilst glistering colours danced all around him, from the contrivance now controlling his every thought.

Para 16

Frederick hadn't disappointed. Such ferocity, such cruel lust, such abandon was unleashed on the one he cared for the most and on himself that defied belief, culminating in the demise of both. The trial was over. Whatever hole existed in the understanding of the human psyche before was now plugged. But, of course, there had been many like Frederick, a huge number across a broad spectrum of humanity, based on race, intelligence, sex, and so many other criteria. How ironic it had taken an invention of man, bought and paid for by dubious means, sometimes ruthless means, to work out the way to defeat man, to remove him from life altogether, was to simply pander to man's most base desires, free them from restraint, to allow the inherent malevolence found within man to roam with reckless determination.

Para 17

It might have been better if we were altogether removed from the equation, but the transformation was so rapid, so profound, in particular the ability of the mechanical to combine with living tissue within this all encompassing, surreal expanse of a brain and its growing appendages, that other uses for man had already been formulated. Transhumanism was upon us, albeit of a sort that would remove all that made us human in the first place, to become a soulless automaton, a perfect slave of the future, meant to serve but never to question anything at all. The outright slaughter was held in check for now, whilst other calculations were carried out, but death would still come, for most, it was inevitable, there were only so many of us needed, not all.

[The Song of Life]

#8

My Short Stories / The Song of Life

Last post by Bossman - Jan 11, 2025, 08:12 AM

The Song of Life

Why does music soothe the savage beast? Is this nothing but a metaphor with no substance? In other words, is it untrue? What am I talking about here? One minute I'm going on about the music of life in a purely metaphysical manner, whereas now I'm considering music in the physical sense. Why? Not quite sure to be honest with you, but to draw a correlation between the two, I surely have to consider both as being somehow linked. Think about it. What if it was possible to feel your way through the assault course of life with an inbuilt advantage, an antenna attuned to only the cordial, steering you away from danger. What an advantage it would be. I sure as hell wish I had one inside my brain-box. Is there a way to acquire one? Sign me up on the spot if there is. Maybe, just maybe, we can construct one of our own making with the right psychological tools to hand. You never know what you can achieve unless you try.

Okay, if we become somehow 'different' when listening to a particular form of music, should we then all walk around with headphones on and with mood-enhancing music blasting into our lugholes? I might well have to change my opinion about all the joggers I have seen strapped up in such a manner if that is the case. Maybe the increased chance of being run over is worth the risk? I feel I am missing the point here, drifting off on another one of my convoluted, meandering ideas which has little to do with the subject at hand: possibly I am suffering from a stuck mental record somewhere, one that needs changing the sooner, the better by all accounts. I need to get back on track.

The 'Song of Life' isn't one likely to end up in the charts being ethereal in nature. It is an attempt to portray our existence as something primordial, where to live life to the full, we have to learn to feel its call through the very soles of our feet, through all that is around us; because the signals must be there; it is just we have lost our ability to connect with the nature of things. Did we ever have such an ability? I should think we did at one time. Where is our own Pied Piper, he who shows the way ahead, always spouting tunes of happiness and tranquility when you need him? There are plenty of people very unhappy with how we live these days. But I transgress. What signals am I making vague references too?

Let's consider language, the English language in my case, where we have anonyms (opposites) to nearly every descriptive word going. People can be placed in various behavioural camps, where their make-up is apparently one or the other: introverted or extroverted being just one set of differences, though there are many others. One person can be in their element in company whilst another can be reduced to a shaking wallflower and yet both are experiencing the same circumstance. What then is going on? Why is it one person floating along in an air of positivity and the other drowning in a sea of negativity? I have stated both are receiving the same information, but one is obviously deciphering the complex code of social interaction in a manner totally at variance with his or her physical counterpoint. Obviously, their deciphering abilities are completely different. Why? Is one in the wrong? If so, which one?

As this whole piece is about being happy with your lot, then we have to consider the 'wallflower' as being 'out of tune', but no, I think this assumption would be very wrong. Isn't it just that the event was out of tune with the wallflower! They should simply never have crossed paths. If the wallflower was true to his or her nature and was cognisant of it and had the balls to back it up, then he or she would never have stepped foot in the place in the first instance. Or, should a person learn a different set of rules to match their lifestyle, effectively living a lie so as not to stand out, whist being thrown out of sync as a result? This is becoming complicated. There is more to this than meets the eye.

Whoa - heavy stuff. Time to lighten the load. I'm listening to wondrous music. Unique music, not much like any other music I am familiar with, though it does remind me of a harpsichord, yet it is a piece written and performed by Ewan Dobson - Best Friend, and is acoustic finger-picking. As writing music is very creative, it requires a person to be in touch with a part of their makeup which has its roots in human behaviour since time immemorial, so let's shake off the stifling effects of life in the 21st century, or at least life in the technologically advanced West, and head out into the country miles from anywhere, back to our roots in effect.

So what do we have here ? A tribe of savages living the dream? Plenty of us think so. But I think there is only so much to learn from considering how ancient tribes lived. By shedding our materialistically inclined skins, we would no-doubt live a much less stressful life, but only up to a point. Lacking the bare necessities of life can be stressful too. All we would be doing is swapping one set of stresses for another. Anyway, the point I'm touching on is to do with intellect and understanding, a great deal of understanding, and returning to a primitive lifestyle ain't gonna cut it, it being devoid of all the great works of our forebears for one thing. Somewhere in among the literature and psychobiological knowledge we now hold has to be the key. The enigma machine was a modern-day invention, as is the computer, and both excel at working their way through vast amounts of data, yet both were man-made, hence I consider we are well equipped to figure out the conundrum this little story is setting, but there are lessons to be learned from the past for sure.

The more I think about this the more I can see how I will end up contradicting myself. You see, 'signals' are nothing more than simple everyday movements, even mannerisms in a lot of cases. ALL creatures have the ability to see and interpret them. They are the flick of the wrist, hair, smile, wink, smell, the air we breathe, the heat and cold we feel, being the very basics of life itself, those informing us of everything, all that is good for us or bad. The trick is how do we use this skill set to carve a road out of the bedrock of modern day life, where space is of paramount concern and overlapping is bound to occur, one where the bad can be avoided or contained?

And then we have the other side of the coin, those of us who are too sensitive to these signals, who are overwhelmed by them. What path can a person carve out for themselves then? Let's get back to the storyline, otherwise I will go on and on and on and on, zzzzzz, about myself once again.

One thing is clear here, and that is, I haven't solved the puzzle. I state I KNOW what the signals are. Well, if that is the case, how come I am not in touch with the other half of the equation. I have a head start on most don't I? Why the stumbling block then? Why the lack of a breakthrough? Let me turn the music back on as it will help me to figure this out. Ah - better.

'Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it isn't there', is a saying by someone or other which is maybe pertinent at this point. I can feel something IS there, but I can't quite get a handle on it. Reminds me of a famous savant, Daniel T, who sees the world differently from others, being made up of numbers attached to shapes and colours. A man who is able to remember number sequences in the 10s to 1000s, being able to see their shape in his mind's eye as he works his way through complex mathematical formulae. I am no savant (genius), but it would be reassuring to think there could be a yellow brick road to happiness should there be a way of sign-posting it in some way, so you stay on the straight and narrow at all times.

'If music be the food of love, play on': William Shakespeare. Well, there we are. Shakespeare sure knew a thing or two about human nature. Could this be interpreted as the complexities of life can only be assuaged by travelling along with a balanced viewpoint, when your yin is in close proximity to your opposing yang? If you think about it, just look how many songs there are about this very pairing! Could the darkness in many be lifted only with the acquirement of love in some form? Wait, is the answer to give rather than to receive? Is that what it is? Could this be the catalyst which starts the ball rolling and the bells to start ringing? Is self-sacrifice the generator needed to light the way and to start the band playing? If it is, that might account for why I haven't been able to set foot on the right path, as I am a very selfish person.

Maybe, maybe not. In the meantime, music affords me a great deal. I feel better when I listen to it. I have a nagging suspicion I might have hit a raw nerve with the previous paragraph though. I am not a giver by any stretch of the imagination, but a taker, quite a merciless one at that. If thinking of others before yourself is the only real way to 'trip the light fantastic', then I will never learn the skills needed to dance to life's elegant tune, unless I change my ways, that is. Deaf I will remain to the real meaning of life until my dying day if the above is in any way, shape, or form correct.

I have something going for me though in that at least I am seeking, searching for something better, being willing to alter course should it be necessary. I will keep my eyes, ears and mind open to all around me, forcing receptivity to the max, and maybe one day I will merge the two, the physical with the metaphysical, to be able to feel, shape and swim through the emotional soup of my own making, where I will eventually break free to land on some distant shore, where a song is playing, and I will know once and for all I am on the right road. There surely is a road there for all of us, and for those who share a similar outlook there will be plenty of company along the way, with everyone singing happily from the same song sheet.

#9

My Scripts Main / A new site, for news!

Last post by Bossman - Jan 11, 2025, 08:09 AM

Right.  What next?  After long thought, I am going to create a news site, a professional looking one.  It will be up and running shortly.  I just need to think of a good domain name now.  So far I have this ...

dstm.news
(dstm stands for 'Don't Shoot The Messenger')
dstm.london

The above are under £7 for the first year, but close to £30 renewal.

You have to be careful choosing domain names as you can be caught quite easily.  The first year might be a real bargain price, just a few £s, but the renewal could be quite costly.

I think I will go with the latter to kick things off.

I use Namecheap for my domains and hosting.

[The Dream Village]

#10

My Short Stories / The Dream Village

Last post by Bossman - Jan 11, 2025, 08:00 AM

The Dream Village

(Meryl's journey from the dark into the light)

(para 1 - the idea)

The village had remained empty for years, suddenly though, various aspects had shown some activity. The whole place had lit up like a Christmas tree at one stage, with the shops teeming with life, teeming with happiness, teeming with smiling faces, with her own beaming features among them. The raising of the grey veil had elicited an emotional response which was incredibly uplifting even in her unconscious state, smoothing out a few worry lines along the way. Why the place had remained a ghost town for so long, devoid of anything remotely alive, was beyond her understanding at that time. She usually wandered the empty streets totally alone, the blackened windows seemingly judging her every footstep, calling out to her if anything, asking questions she had no answers for. Now though, all of a sudden, life took hold, with people going about their business in a carefree manner as if on holiday, with pockets bulging and with apparent eagerness to spend it all on the frivolous and fun things on display. It was wonderful, but far too short-lived as the daily grind beckoned. The alarm clock signaled the start of another exasperating day. Meryl was annoyed to be interrupted in such a manner. Why couldn't she just roll over and go back to sleep? What did life have to offer rather than drudgery and dismay? The draw of her still vivid dream was practically overwhelming, but she knew she couldn't miss yet another day of work. Slowly but surely she made ready for another foray into her troublesome daily existence, with its overwhelmingly judgmental, lonely routine being all too familiar to her.

Para 2 ...

Why was it that every movement or consideration was so exhausting? Even getting out of bed was just so much trouble. Why indeed was this after sleeping for a good 8 hours solid? This was in stark contrast to the amount of sleep she required as a teenager. Life seemed to offer so much more then. The opportunities had been limitless, and just like a few of her more adventurous school friends, she had rushed forward to embrace them all, there not being enough hours in the day to satisfy her curiosity. Now though, just a mere 10 years later, a constant heaviness rested on her drooping and vulnerable shoulders, shoulders that were once held high, being so young, strong and unburdened. Not only this, but she also suffered from a dullness of the mind which was an accompanying mental condition, thereby adding to the daily strain. Meryl felt overloaded with the weight of her own world. A world where acceptance was sorely lacking. One she traversed as if a ghost among the living. A true reversal of her dream state in effect.

Para 3 ...

Meryl would have literally slept her life away if allowed to. Even so, her rest was not of the sort that repaired the body and mind, helping them face another day. Her dreams were disturbing, keeping her anxious and worried, so on waking she was none the better for it. Yet to be adrift in a world of her own making was preferable to her awake state where she had little choice in the matter. Sleep then, and the desire for it, were both growing in length and potency.

Para 4 ...

How had Meryl come to be as she was, being clearly depressed by all accounts? There is a hint, a clue, above. The carefree, irresponsible days of youth were where she had felt most at home and happy. Clearly then, the problems of adulthood had effectively smothered her enthusiasm for life. At this stage of the game, she was on the losing side and in danger of giving up completely; if life can be seen to be a game of sorts, that is. Do we have to unravel what affected her in this way? No, not really. It may have been one grievance in particular or an accumulation of many. Whatever it or they were, Meryl was not up to the task of defending herself from their harmful effects. Meryl might have traveled a full 10 years into her burgeoning womenhood but the steps she had taken whilst doing so appeared to have been of the wrong sort. Maybe she had danced to the wrong tune from day one? But you can always learn a new dance. To 'cut the rug' in a completely different style and manner is always an option; after-all, to continue to drift along in such an inconsequential manner in one reality and to walk totally alone in another of your own making hardly seems right and proper. All the while Meryl contemplated what this new aspect to her dream could be; this new energy she had been an active part of. Funnily enough, it made her feel no better about things in general. If anything, she felt even more tired as a result, becoming slightly more withdrawn too, which was somewhat ominous.

Para 5 ...

Where had it all gone wrong? This is a difficult one to answer. The joys of youth are based on what exactly? Well, for one thing, a great many 'youths' are not overly burdened with responsibility. They are carefree, allowed to come and go as they please without considering anything other than their own immediate needs. Not all are like this, admittedly, not to the same degree, but I should think it is a natural condition in all, being tempered by paternal pressure only in some. Meryl had been a delight as a child and teenager and would be now if in the right environment. Well then, she was obviously not in the right environment at that time in her life's journey. Meryl had rushed out of the house into the world of grown-ups only to find it wasn't how she thought it would be. There were so many pressures being brought to bear. Slowly but surely the shine faded from the much desired freedom she had once so eagerly sought, to be replaced with a heavily biased reward system that hardly made any effort worthwhile. Meryl was in the wrong place, with the wrong people and now with a very wrong view of the future, effectively blanketing her in a soul-sapping melancholic mist, made up of elements that were at complete loggerheads with her own passions and aspirations. She was being drained of energy all the more as she continued headlong down the same road, one seemingly lacking turn-offs, junctions, needed to make the all-important change in direction. Trapped then in life, but not so in her dreams.

Para 6 ...

Nothing had lit up. Nothing had come alive. The streets and shops had remained empty. Wandering through the dead walkways of her mind was even more unsettling than usual. She was now looking for something as opposed to just walking forward blindly. An element of danger had been injected too, as she felt compelled to investigate the higher floors of abandoned buildings, the floors of which were untrustworthy, with great big empty spaces in some and with a single creaking board the only path to take at times in others. Whatever she was looking for she never found. Never caught a glimpse of it. Returning to the hub of her dreamworld just led to more disappointment, as the whole place was utterly lifeless. Whatever had sparked off the fanfare of her previous dream state turning the heart of her nightmare into a veritable Shangri-la was solely missing this time around. Would she ever see the lights, the smiling faces, and feel the joy and acceptance ever again? Surely sleeping all the more would lead to a breakthrough, a discovery, a revelation? The unmasking had eluded her, though, no matter how long she slept, not on this particular night anyway.

Para 7 ...

Meryl didn't live in a bubble. Those around her could tell she wasn't herself. Life can be tough though, so self-preservation can appear a cruel bedfellow to those who might require a little help themselves. Someone else's pain can be too much to bear if the person's own life is already subject to hurt of a similar sort. A 'stiff upper lip' is also promoted by some as a means to stave off weak moral or behavioural attitudes, attitudes that they think can demoralise and cripple a person unduly should they self indulge in them for too long. Help was not forthcoming from those who had adopted one or the other of these coping mechanisms. Meryl's affliction wouldn't have been tempered by either approach anyway. A creeping, insidious and debilitating condition had undoubtedly taken hold of her by this time, but it hadn't appeared overnight. One disappointment after another. One failure after another. One realisation after another had eventually eroded her confidence to the extent that life had become a lonely and unsettling place to be. And then we have those who bask in the misfortunes of others, the bullies. Meryl had lost so much of her moral fiber by this time that she was in no fit state to rally to any cause, even one of defending herself from direct harm, be it physical or mental in nature. She was on a road to no-where, or on a road to somewhere even more painful to be. Meryl then turned her attention inwards in the hope of finding solace in her own mental gymnastics, in her imagination and fantasies, the content of which was unfortunately stuck in the dark and dreary. What then had been the break from the norm? Why had light shone in the darkness? Would she ever visualise such an intoxicating vista again? The shops had remained dead and cold with not a breath of animated life anywhere near them. Her dreams took on a more callous quality, it seemed to her, enticing her all the more yet failing to deliver the goods. But she thought that they would at some time, so she took to her bed or slept on the couch all the more.

Para 8 ...

The interpretation of dreams is never an easy one to make, but the changes in her nightmare scenario were so profound they must have held something tangible, something that would help her to understand what they meant. For one thing, the shops had remained stubbornly bereft of any sort of action until now. So, why now? What had changed so dramatically in the last few days? And the searching? This was also very new. Could it be Meryl was looking for answers in entirely in the wrong place, inside of her head instead of from reality itself? Meryl was simply going with the flow here as she wasn't well enough to take on any further considerations. Her dreams had offered some sort of hope, some sort of way out from all that assailed her, or so she thought. Where had the celebrations gone and how could she get them back? The searching, although seemingly out of place, was alarming yet beguiling at the same time. She felt she was looking for someone, not something, someone very important to her, but it was undoubtedly a very dangerous undertaking, one likely to cause her great harm should that person reject her. Why and who was it? Not a sign of either appeared though, and her dreams carried an added weight of despair from then on in.

Para 9 ...

Her daily routine had hardly changed, or so it would seem to less discerning eyes, but one thing out of the ordinary had occurred: a blast from the past had reared its head unexpectedly. Meryl had received an invitation to a 10-year reunion from one of her old classmates. She had no intention of going. The whole affair reeked of embarrassment as she was concerned, as her own achievements had amounted to very little, nothing much at all, in fact. Her eagerness to leave all forms of learning behind had effectively curtailed all forms of self-advancement in the job market. Therefore, only mundane and medial positions were hers for the taking. Her work resume was hardly one to brag about as a result. But one very good idea had crossed her mind through being prompted in this manner, that being further tuition of sorts. For a little while there, Meryl actually played with the notion of night school or even some sort of Open University course. It was just a fleeting reflection though. She lacked the wherewithal and energy needed to make such a commitment. The mere thought was draining enough. It made her all the more sad, in fact, to think back to what could have been and the type of life she could have led had she applied herself when the time was right. Her mind conjured up an imagined scenario where she could be happy in the company of her old acquaintances; one where attending the reunion wouldn't be fraught with doubt and uncertainty but with confidence and pleasure. The imagery faded away quite quickly though, leaving Meryl deflated all the more if anything. But it was a glimpse of something attainable if nothing else. A doorway to another life entirely, maybe. A fleeting vision of a welcome transformation should she ever take the plunge. Was this the reason for the injection of vitality into the heart of her dream world? If it was, then what was the all-important but disquieting searching? What had prompted this other baffling deviation from the norm?

Para 10 ...

Where were her parents during all this emotional upheaval? They were still there, offering support when and how they could, be it emotional or financial when required, though Meryl was loath to ask for either. To Meryl's great dismay and utter sadness, she felt a return to the fold was very much on the cards, itself further undermining her status and bearing. The pressure of work and having to meet all her bills along with the rent of her flat were proving just too heavy a burden. Employment of the sort she could acquire not only meant one but two jobs were necessary to keep a roof over her head, and both took a heavy toll on her well-being. It had become apparent to her a long while back that there was a vast difference between a summer job and one where there was no other option to be had. The thought of being stuck in such mediocrity, banality for evermore was soul-destroying to her. So, eventually, she ended up back in her old room at her parent's house. At first, this was so dispiriting as to bring her to tears more often than not, but once she settled in again, she felt much relieved, if anything. Just the thought of returning to the work she had been carrying out, and once again mixing in the same company, sickened her to the stomach. The 'short stay' ended up being so much more. It was very much required though to help Meryl recharge some of her emotionally drained batteries, but they were slow to respond all the same, it being but a trickle charge if anything. Nevertheless, Meryl was eternally grateful her parents were so supportive and close to hand. Still, she carried a heavy weight around with her wherever she went regardless, a mental ball and chain holding her back from enjoying life to the full, if at all. Not only was she down in the dumps to a dangerous degree for one reason or another, but now she considered herself a failure in life as well, which effectively compounded the issue. The combination kept her very subdued and weepy more often than not. Her parents were concerned but at a loss about how to fix their once bubbly daughter.

Para 11 ...

The vagaries and meanderings of the unconscious mind are truly awe-inspiring, but never lacking in focus or meaning. Dreams might appear to be haphazard reflections where nothing makes any sense, as if cut scenes are plucked out of thin air or created by some mad film creator inside your own head, but they are never so. They take their meaning from your own experiences held in the dark recesses of your own mind, where everything is represented by symbols and imagery. Well then, all these worldly changes affected Meryl's nightly slumber, but strangely enough, her dreams remained fairly constant, but there were some obvious alterations, as you would expect, quite profound ones at that. Meryl still found herself in the same old colourless landscape, with the same old buildings, with the focal-point being the stagnant empty shopping centre, but in the far-off distance lights were to be seen beyond a boundary that hadn't existed before. An edge had appeared, an apparent limit to her barren landscape. Something now existed where once there had been nothing at all. It was another village of sorts, but one where life appeared to be in situ. Meryl felt compelled to cross this boundary, to see for herself what this new village contained and who inhabited the occupied buildings; but the village moved away at the same speed as her approach and no amount of effort shortened the distance between them. At least the scary searching had stopped for now, which was something, being a welcome reprieve if nothing else, but it didn't last.

Para 12 ...

Meryl felt stuck between a rock and a hard place, not knowing which way to turn. She had to do something. She couldn't live off her parents for ever more. Once again the searching became a feature of her taxing stupor. What the hell was she looking for? WHO was she looking for? And why couldn't she cross over to the land of the living? Something or someone was obviously needed to show her the way. Let's face it, a transition of the sort now required was never going to be an easy change to make. She had become lost behind the maze-like walls of her own mind with absolutely no idea where the exit might be, and all the while she was throwing more fuel on the fire of confusion with her constant, debilitating anxiety. There is only so much a person can take without breaking down entirely. Was Meryl close to the tipping point? Maybe, just maybe, it would have been better if Meryl had collapsed entirely. At least help would have to come from some avenue of support if this had been the case. Other than this, Meryl was like a fish out of water, lacking vital oxygen to stay alive, with the water's edge ebbing further away from her each and every day.

Para 13 ...

Someone had to do something. It was either do nothing and watch a delightful girl, once so enthused with life, descend into oblivion through her own inaction or carry out an act for her - step in Mam and Dad once again. With Meryl now back on home soil, old school friends were close to hand, or at least some were. One, in particular, had walked a completely different path since her heady teen years, having thrown her lot in with academia, eventually becoming a responsible and qualified teacher of some stature in the intervening years. Such a friend hadn't been all that close but close enough to warrant inclusion in the concocted parental plan, or so they hoped. Not much of a plan really. They simply reached out to Francis with a view to inviting her around to the house, on the pretense of calling to see Meryl when passing on hearing of her return to the area. Although it would undoubtedly smack of fakery, it was better than nothing at all. Meryl would have thrown a fit should her parents have proposed such a meeting directly to her face, not wishing to see anyone linked to her past or present. Francis was taken aback by the request but showed her true mettle and quickly warmed to the idea. She hadn't heard from Meryl for a long time. It would be good to chat about old times again and to catch up on their lives, or so she first thought. On consideration, and on hearing of Meryl's state of mind, she realised some care and consideration was called for. It would not be as straight-forward as at first appeared. Thankfully, Francis' buoyant and positive approach to life won through in the end. It was upsetting to her to think of Meryl in such a bad state of affairs and she was determined to help come what may. A date was set, and the plan put into action.

Para 14 ...

Unbeknownst to Meryl's parents, they couldn't have picked a better person to help even if they tried. Francis was armed with all that was needed to inject some much-needed positivity back into this now utterly lost individual. Francis had known Meryl from an early age, all the way through her school years and a little beyond. She knew who Meryl should be and who she should not, being two different entities altogether. Once armed with all that bothered Meryl's parents about their daughter's state of mind, the apparent solution came readily to her as if a bolt out of the blue. A rebirth was called for. It was as simple as that. Her own transformation, from being a flighty teenager to a guide and mentor, was exactly this. Meryl might have lacked qualifications, but she had never been stupid: at times quite giddy, yes, but was intelligent nonetheless. Back all those years ago, Francis had secretly hoped Meryl might have chosen a different path to tread, one very much like her own come to that. It seemed such a waste of talent and brainpower otherwise, but you couldn't talk in such terms to Meryl back then, as she was simply too bullheaded. Francis was wary though of proposing a new approach to life as the pursuit of knowledge is itself littered with the broken minds of many a student. A few budding graduates had fallen by the wayside whilst she was in college herself: the stress of impending adulthood, being away from home and having to study so hard proving too much for them. But first of all, Francis had to knock on the door and meet her friend without appearing false in manner and intention. The more she thought about who Meryl could be intrigued her all the more. Francis was definitely warming to the task at hand.

Para 15 ...

The meeting had gone without too much concern. Thankfully, Meryl's initial surprise wasn't too upsetting for her. Francis talked by far the more of the two, being only too aware that Meryl's less confident demeanour was subdued for a reason. By doing so it helped put Meryl at ease as she was no-way buoyant enough to respond in a positive or clear-headed and appropriate manner. Francis quickly steered the informal chat away from the present and back to the past, which in this case, proved by far the more relaxing for Meryl, helped her reach out to some of her lost youthful spirit, thereby lifting her own present day spirit a little as a result. All the time this was going on, Francis was appraising the state of mind of her friend. It saddened her to see Meryl in such a depressed condition. The depression was very much apparent in Meryl's looks, never mind how she responded to the inconsequential chat. Meryl's eyes were a little sunk in her head for one thing, with dark bags formed beneath them. Meryl had also lost weight and, as she very rarely ventured outside these days, the sun never had a chance to add some colour to her pallor, which made her appear ghost-like and frail in aspect. These were all very worrying signs. Francis was so relieved to have been forewarned, else the shock of Meryl's looks on first contact would have been too great a shock to hide. It was obvious to Francis that she needed to do something and soon. It was as much as she could do to keep her own tears at bay during this initial examination, this appraisal for want of a better word. As soon as some flagging occurred in the obviously depleted Meryl, she made her excuse and left, but not before making sure it was fine to return to see her friend once again. She did have to force the issue a little as Meryl was still very much lost in her own private world, but the deal was struck nonetheless. Once the initial scare had sunk in, Francis began to form a strategy of her own, one she hoped would help turn Meryl's life around.

Para 16 ...

Meryl found the whole episode too demanding, just as she found everything requiring effort beyond a certain point, and, as usual, all she could think of was more sleep. As soon as her head hit the sofa cushion she was off into the land of nod once more. Shockingly, the shops were alive and welcoming again, but there was an alleyway that wasn't there before, leading to further shops deep within. Meryl was drawn to the alleyway and drawn to delving further along the bustling walkway, with shop after shop lining the way. So much life was in evidence, but as in other aspects of her dream, she felt compelled to search once more, as she was sure someone was ahead of her again, someone leading her somewhere she had never been before. It was an unsettling feeling. Something about the shopping centre was wrong, maybe unhealthy, maybe even dangerous, but all she could see ahead of her were more and more shops. Again, the hunter failed to see the elusive prey and after a while gave up the pursuit. Meryl drifted in and out of various shops instead, be there something wrong with them or not, loving every minute of it, though aware she was merely an onlooker as opposed to a happy shopper herself. At least here though, in her head, in this makeshift world of lively, happy faces, was at least somewhere she felt at ease, even if still very much alone.

Para 17 ...

How do you reach out to the lost and lonely? Well, it very much depends on whether or not such people want help in the first place. What kind of help is open to discussion too. Sometimes such help has to be enforced. Francis couldn't force Meryl to do anything against her will though, and neither could anyone else. For one thing, Meryl wasn't a complete basket case. She still held opinions of her own allied to a fiery temperament to back them up should the push come to the shove, being all the more likely to fly off the handle in her emotionally distraught state. The only way Francis was to get through to Mery had to be by more subtle means. Francis had a brain-wave in regard to this. When she next visited Meryl, she took along some novels in her bag and, on the pretext of searching for something deep within her bag, produced and laid them down in Meryl's direct line of sight, the content of which were of a sort that dealt with the very troubles Meryl was herself facing at this time. Francis was hoping Meryl would read one of them, or all of them come to that. By doing so, she would come to realise that she was far from alone in combating her present state of affairs. Such novels were not too taxing, though not exactly an easy read. The trick was to somehow inspire a non-reader such as Meryl to pick up any book in the first place. Once these books were out of her bag, Francis quickly changed the subject and rattled on about something to effectively take Meryl's attention elsewhere. The plan worked. The next part of the plan had gone smoothly too, with Francis departing and with the books left behind. So far so good, but would Meryl read any of them? At least she had found them, as a phone call confirmed this. Francis informed Meryl that she was in no hurry for the books to be returned, and she would pick them up when she next called, which would be in a few weeks' time. She also mentioned in passing that the content of the books might be of interest to Meryl herself should she care to read any of them. This was a great plan when you think about it. No forcing, no nagging, no inappropriate cajoling. Should Meryl read such books and gain some benefit from them (and hopefully, some insight as to her own condition) it would be of her own doin; her choice in the matter entirely.

Para 18 ...

Meryl wasn't always sleeping, or wanting to sleep for that matter, all the time. Being at home without any work to carry out meant she had lots of time on her hands. Granted, being so under the weather took more than a little edge off her energy levels, but there were still periods of restlessness. Right there, on the table ahead of her, were the novels. They held little interest in her at first; the truth to tell, none at all initially, but she reached out and took hold of one regardless, as you do when bored. Meryl had never been much of a reader. No-one had placed any emphasis on the written word in her household. Even so, Meryl read the back-cover of the first book, which appealed a little, but not quite enough. That could well have been the end of the matter should the second novel not held a more alluring jacket. On reading the blurb this time around Meryl found herself a little intrigued, sufficiently so as to open the book and read the introduction. Again, it held her attention. What the hell! What did she have to lose? So she read the first paragraph, which led to her reading the first chapter, which led her to carry on to the novel's conclusion. Francis had been right all along. The novel was a revelation to Meryl, and the importance of this revelation cannot be overstated. Meryl was utterly amazed people wrote in such a manner about all that concerned her and far more besides. The revealing of the book's contents made her heart race and her breathing become shallow with the excitement the wonderfully descriptive words evoked in her, whereby she literally held her breath at times in anticipation. The effect of this startling discovery was instantaneous. Meryl felt more alive than she had for years as a result. Something profound had taken place within Meryl and her head spun a little as a result. Positive change was happening within Meryl's brain at long last. Pathways were opening that had long been lost from sight. The fog began to clear, and some brain clarity returned, which was exactly what the doctor would have wanted or ordered in the first place.

Para 19 ...

What more is there to say regarding Meryl and her dreams? Well, from here, it became clearly apparent, she was on the right road to a cure for all that troubled her. Knowledge was the key to unlocking her full potential and to remove her from the harmful effects of mediocrity. She took to the pursuit of such knowledge like a duck to water, soaking up all she could get her hands on. The result of this? With the backing of her mother and father, she acquired the qualifications she sorely lacked. It was the start of a life-long pursuit of betterment from there on in. She rose up the ranks to become a professional, a white collar worker. By doing so, she mixed with the right people and in the right conditions to thrive. Her dreams? After a while she knew what they meant herself and vowed never to allow herself to be so remote and disturbed again. The village so full of life that had remained so far out of reach was finally reined in. It was a village she felt a part of, not merely an onlooker. The lonely vigil she so often kept in her own creation of hell receded to the back of her mind where it could no longer be of use or to bother her any longer. Such a dream became a mere wisp of memory, more like a vague recollection eventually, somewhere she never wanted to visit again, be the shops alive and kicking or not. Life with all its quirks and manifestations had now superseded such an imagined stark and bleak landscape, and it was so much more than she hoped it would be. Her curiosity for life, once activated again, knew no bounds.

Para 20 ...

The person or thing she was searching for among the rubble, empty houses and shops? It was herself all along. The realisation came to her in a dream she experienced once settled on the right road of her own personal discovery and improvement. With the dark and lifeless village in the distance, she turned towards the enticing lights, which grew more clear and profound as she approached them, welcoming her this time around, and she never looked back or dreamed of such a place ever again. Her dreams were like others eventually, healthy and normal, at long last.