Friday 16th May
A funny thing happened today.
As you may or may not know, as part time work while I'm at College, I clean the law courts in the centre of town. I go there every afternoon 3.00 till 5.00.
It's not bad. My co-workers, and the people in the building are generally nice people.
(Not passing comment on some of the judges who are WAY above their stations...)
Anyway, we snuk on to third level today, the three of us; a fellow cleaner and my supervisor Kareem. His pic was in an earlier diary entry.
I rapped on the door to the judges room and no answer came, despite the fact that his lights were on. So I went in. The other two stayed outside.
It was empty. I knocked on his toilet door, thinking, you know, that he may be busy in there. Nobody was in there.
Within two seconds I had come up with a cunning plan and executed it.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE!!!" I yelled in the deepest voice I could muster. My voice is naturally quite high and soft, so it sounds odd when I speak like a man who's testicles have dropped so far as to be practically dragging on the pavement.
My supervisor and the other cleaner, Wang, ran like hell. They shit themselves.
I poked my head around the corner and they realised they had been had.
It was absolutley hilarious. Then we realised that a court hearing was going on next door, and what with all the shouting and laughing, we could see ourselves being yelled at by the REAL judge!
So we all ran.
To hell with cleaning his toilets!!!
What am I on about? Who fucking has a clue?
You had to be there man.
I completed a first draft of my tramp story.
It needs a helluva lot of work, but here it is in what I like to call the first cut.
Roy and his Companion.
A short in first crappy draft by T. Healey.
A street bum and his travelling companion sat together in a park.
The tramp, who no longer cared for his given name of Roy, lit a cigarette. He offered his friend one, slyly, with a chuckle. Of course, his friend turned him down.
Together they watched the children playing on the swings, on the merry go round, and digging in the sand pit. A water fountain sparkled in the afternoon sun.
Roy lit his cigarette with a disposable lighter which he then pocketed, even though it was now empty. The red hot end blazed as he drew on the cigarette, rolling the tobacco smoke into his mouth and down his throat where it sunk like milky syrup into his lungs. Slowly, as a small and light gust of wind drifted by, he exhaled. The wind caught his smoke, and carried it off; the smoke dispersing within seconds as if it had never existed.
Next to him, his friend voiced his concern. Roy paid him no mind; he knew that he didn't really give a shit about him smoking.
No, his pal just didn't like the smell. Roy smoked his cig all the way down to the stub, and then with a flick of one finger sent it spiralling off onto the grass in front.
He watched it, slightly detached, as it spun in the air before hitting the lush grass.
The little kids on the merry go round were hanging on for dear life by the tips of their fingers, screaming.
His friend didn't see the humour in what they were looking at, so he remained mute. It was very rare for him to speak at all, if ever. Roy grew to worrying about him sometimes.
He dug into a yellow carrier bag which sat beside the bench, and pulled out a new bottle of wine. It was cheap but cheerful; at least, it could get you cheerful. He popped it open with a key ring bottle opener which he had on a bunch of key rings which had no keys. Of course, he didn't have a front door.
Just the open road and the hard bench or city street.
Bubbles warbled pleasantly along the bottle and then up to the top, as he drank, where they collected making a large air cavity that smelled of his soaked breath. Roy almost hissed with joy as he put his teeth together and felt the sweet, sweet wine trickling through the gaps and into his mouth. His rotting teeth were now like a dam that had too many holes in it.
His friend declined when he offered him some, so in joke he tipped a little bit on to his head. Not too much, he wouldn't want to waste it. But just enough to piss him off.
He then grabbed his friends face with both hands, balancing the bottle in his lap, and shook the face he held.
He laughed hysterically.
His laugh turned into a shrill cry when his friend clamped down on some of his fingers with his teeth and really bit down hard. The bottle in his lap dropped to the grass as he jumped in shock. He bent down to pick the bottle back up, and to his surprise none of the contents had spilled.
Roy rubbed his finger. “Why d'you do dat?” he asked.
His friend looked out resolutely at the sun which was dying on the horizon. It reflected gold in his eyes which were softly solemn.
“I'm sick to death with your company, Roy. When are you going to do something with your life, other than sit there all day smoking and drinking?” his voice was rough and ready like that of a snooker hall fist fighter ready for another tumble out back.
Roy smirked, took a mouthful of wine, swallowed, and said “Wen I fill like it, dat wen.”
“You're just a bum, Roy. A smelly old street bum is what you are. Or at least what you've become. And you're not doing anything to stop yourself, are you?”
“Hey!” Roy's held the neck of the wine bottle tight. “Who yuh callin' a bum?”
His friend turned on him, scowling for all that he could.
“You! You're the bum, Roy. I mean, you don't see me smoking and drinking that shit every day, do you? No! Well I am not going to sit here and watch you waste your life. You're not even a friend anymore. You're a nobody.”
“Hey, fuck you!”
“Me? You talking to me, Roy?”
“Yeah! Fuck you!”
A sycamore tree above them shook with the gathering wind, and although it was a light wind, it was enough to cause some leaves to break away and fall.
A few stag beetles which had been combing the surface of the branches, lost their footing and fell to the grass below. As the tree shook, it sounded like a song.
A very slight, very tiny whisper that carried in the air to other trees who with the next blast of wind would add their own lines to the chorus.
One leaf hung on to its mother for all that it could. On no account was it in any hurry to leave. But before it knew it, it had snapped free from the branch holding it with a sound resembling the first crisp bite into a bright green apple. The leaf fell fitfully on the back of the wind; going up and down; side to side; twisting and turning on its descent.
It's surface shone momentarily as it caught the light, as it settled in, on the last few feet, for a soft landing...
Roy was gabbling on, swearing, cussing, insulting with a tongue so foul that it slivered inside his friends head making him feel sea sick. He ignored Roy and peered up at the sky, trying to decide.
I want to stay. No, go. No, I have to stay. He can't look after himself.
And what about you? Just fucking go.
You've been his hanger for far too long. Just get up, and leave.
A leaf slapped him straight in the face as it fell from a tree that hung over them. He shook his head, and looked it at now that it was on the ground.
He could see the veins. The membrane was thin and slightly translucent.
Had mother nature just spun him a turn in the face?
He stood up from where he had been sitting on the grass beside Roy.
“I'm going now Roy. You're on your own.” He said. The decision burned, but it felt good.
And to feel good, felt good for a change. It was good.
“Good. Go then. Fuck off.” Roy drained what was left in the bottle, which hadn't lasted more than ten minutes, and tossed it aside.
He watched his friend wander off across the grass, and an empty hollow opened in his chest. A tear that sparkled like the fountain nearby caught in the corner of his eye.
He wiped it away and looked in his carrier bag.
No more wine.
He checked his pocket for a cigarette, only to find that he had smoked them all.
His friend would not have had some anyway. He did not smoke cigarettes or drink booze. He ate when he ate, and when he could find some, he drank water.
He watched him walk off.
“Yeah, that's right.” His voice had the pang of longing and of sadness ringing it that choked the back of his throat. “Go. See if I care.”
His friend turned around and called to him.
“I don't give a shit if you do Roy. Goodbye.”
And he wandered off, out on to the streets outside of the park, his long black tail flicking from side to side, and his smooth but pointed ears up on his head listening to every sound on the road.
Near a streetlamp post he lifted his leg and relieved himself up against it. He thought about where he would like to be, and it occured to him that the beach would be nice.
To run on the sand and dice with the waves, as he remembered doing when he was a small pup. The thought filled him with longing and want.
And he was off.
Walking towards the sound of the shore which he knew to be close, leaving his broken master to see to his on problems; he stopped to sniff at some apple blossoms which lay on the pavement as he went on his way, nuzzling them with his nose. Summer had never smelled so good. And never did.
To anyone more than a dog.
Not much more going on. Oh, a big thanks to everyone who has offered their insight as to my story. It is gratefully appreciated, and every comment was taken under consideration.
Visit www.wilwheaton.net and, if you dont belong already, go and talk to these wonderful people.
I thought that www.williamshatner.com was the friendliest place to post on the web, but this is even better. It's so laid back.
WWDN is just cool.
No depression today. Thank god.
What a way to start a book!!!
Here is an excerpt from BRAVE NEW WORLD by Aldous Huxley.
I think that it is more relevant today than ever that people still following this train of thought:
A squat grey building of only thirty-four storeys. Over the main
entrance the words,CENTRAL LONDON HATCHERY AND
CONDITIONING CENTRE, and, in a shield, the World's motto,
COMMUNITY, IDENTITY, STABILITY.
Agree or disagree?
I don't care.
It's my party and I'll do what I want to... : )
Cheers guys and gals
For now and for later,
Look after each other.