Protest Song of the Hopeless

Open black eyes, shine through.

I stare at the still frame,

I don’t even have your name.

They don’t see the need to give it,

It’s not your suffering I need to get,

But the many thousands you represent.   

My eyes drift down to the next story.

About how our nation’s getting lazy.

Is it me or did the world get crazy?

Hosepipe bans and famous one night stands.

A man cries because he needs the surgeons hand,

He’s not fat enough to warrant a gastric band.

 I go back to look at you.

What on earth did you do?

Holding the eyes of a television crew,

The pity of the world in your sight,

One rich donor can end your plight.

Or me. I could.

There’s cloth around your body, another covers your head.

They tell me that your child’s already dead.

Why? Was it something you said?

Because if not, if there’s no reason, then why isn’t it me instead? 

A tiny extract from my new novel.

Still very much in progress and without a name but this is why there's been a bit of an absence of updates.

Jess: Jess flinched back as she felt the pressure of a human foot where the sloped carpet should have been.

“Sorry.” She looked up into the tall man’s eye and felt herself stop grinning. She couldn’t be sure in this instant that it was him. But of course it was. She wouldn’t feel suddenly cold if it wasn’t. Her heart started beating double time and as quick as the shiver had covered her she felt her face and neck burning.

“Tom.” She knew it was stupid to say someone’s name at them. The man frowned and she felt suddenly that she had made a fool of herself. 

Tom: “Sorry.” A foot was on top of his and a girl was apologising. He looked up to flash her a grin. She was pretty. Shoulder length dark blonde hair, tall. It wasn’t that he was surprised that she knew his name. But the Tequila had made him fuzzy and slow and he couldn’t say anything. He just couldn’t. He stared at Jess for a moment and then she was gone. He saw her flash through the glass doors and followed past his table and on up the concrete path. He found her at the top, leaning on a gate. Hadn’t he expected to see her? Wasn’t that what the butterflies were about? He wasn’t sure now. All he felt was breathless shock.